"We won't touch that now. We'll just bandage it up. Are you feeling pretty comfortable?"

"Fine," said McCuaig with cheerful satisfaction. "We held them up, I guess. They thought they was going to walk right over us. They was comin' with their packs on their backs. But the boys changed their minds for them, I guess."

A reminiscent smile lingered upon the long, eaglelike face.

Half an hour later Barry found a minute to run into the adjoining room where the wounded lay.

"Anything you want, McCuaig?" he asked.

"A drink, if you ain't too busy, but I hate to take your time."

"Oh, you go to thunder," said Barry. "Take my time! What am I for? Any pain, Mac?"

"No, not much. I'm a little sleepy."

Barry turned the flash-light on his face. He was startled to find it grey and drawn. He brought the M. O., who examined the wounded man's condition.

"No pain, eh, Mac?"

"No, sir," said McCuaig cheerfully.

"All right, boy, just lie still," said the M. O., beckoning Barry after him.

"He is going out," he said when they reached the dressing room, "and he's going fast. That wound in the back has been bleeding a long time."

"Oh, doctor, can't anything be done? You know he's got a remarkable constitution. Can't something be done?"

"There are times when a doctor wishes he had some other job," said the M. O., "and this is one of them."

"I say, doctor, will you get along without me for a while?" said Barry.

"Go on," said the M. O., nodding to him.

Barry took a candle and went in beside his friend. As he sat there gazing upon the greying face, the wounded man opened his eyes.

"That you, Barry?" he asked with a quiet smile.

Barry started. Only in the very first weeks of their acquaintance had McCuaig called him by his first name, and never during the past months had he used anything but his rank title. Now all rank distinctions were obliterated. They were as man to man.

"Yes, Mac, it's me. Do you know what I was thinking about? I was thinking of the first time I saw you coming down that rapid in your canoe."

"I remember well, Barry. I often think of it. It's a long time ago,"

said McCuaig in his soft, slow voice. "I've never been sorry but once that I come, and that time it was my own fault, but I didn't understand the game."

"You've made a great soldier, Mac. We are all proud of you," said Barry, putting his hand upon McCuaig's. McCuaig's long thin fingers tightened upon Barry's hand.

"I think I'm going out," he said, with his eyes on Barry's face. "What do you think?"

It was the time for truth telling.

"Oh, Mac, old man," said Barry, putting his head down close to him to hide from him the rush of tears that came to his eyes, "I'm afraid you are, and I hate to have you go."

"Why, Barry, you crying for me?" asked McCuaig in a kind of wonder.

"Say, boy, I'm awful glad you feel that way. Somehow I don't feel quite so lonely now."

"Oh, Mac, you are my oldest, my best friend in the battalion, in all the world," said Barry.

"Oh, I just love to hear you say that, boy. Do you know I wanted to tell you how I felt about that time on the boat, you remember?" Barry nodded.

"Barry, tell me, honest Injun, did I make good as a soldier?"

"The best ever," said Barry. "They all say so, officers and men. I heard the colonel say so the other day."

Again the smile came.

"Barry, it was you that done that for me. You showed me, and you done it so nice. I never forgot that, and I always wanted to tell you how I felt about it. Barry, you done a lot for me."

"Oh, Mac, don't talk like that," said Barry, trying to keep his voice steady. "I did so little and I wanted to do so much."

"Say, I like to hear you. I'd like to stay a little longer just to be with you, Barry. I've watched you just like you was my own boy, and I've been awful proud of you, but I didn't like to say so."

The uncovering of the great love of this simple, humble hearted man broke down Barry's self-control. He made no effort to check his falling tears.

"I'm getting--kind of weak, Barry," whispered McCuaig. "I guess I won't be long, mebbe."

His words recalled Barry's nerve.

"Mac, would you like me to say a prayer?" he asked. "Just as you feel about it, you know."

"Yes--I would--but I ain't--your religion--you know--though--I like--awful well--the way--you talk about--Him."

"I know you are R. C., Mac, but after all you know we have just the one Father in Heaven and the one Saviour."

"Yes,--I know, Barry. It's all the same."

Barry had a sudden inspiration.

"Wait, Mac, a minute," he said.

He hurried out to the dressing room, seeking a crucifix, but could find none there.

"I'll run across to Headquarters," he said.

"Say, there's a machine gun playing that street awful," said the M. O.'s sergeant, "to say nothing of whizzbangs."

"Oh, that's all right," said Barry. "I'll make a dash for it."

But at Headquarters he was no more successful. He went out into the garden in the rear of the R. A. P., and returned with two small twigs.

The M. O. bound them together in the form of a cross. Barry took it and hastened to McCuaig's side.