We
can't mourn a man that we envy."
Half way to the distant sky-line, the horses of the squadron were
grazing peacefully over the stubbly grass. The corporal and the
third of the troopers appointed to guard them were far away towards
the crest of a ridge to the westward, and Carew and Weldon were
alone. Carew sat silent for a moment, his eyes on the scattered
groups of horses. Then he turned and looked directly at his friend.
"Perhaps," he assented. "I was sorry to be out of the scrimmage. It
took all my grit to obey you, old man; but it was an order. Now it
is over--"
"Well?" Weldon prompted him.
"Now it is over, I am less sorry than I was. The fact is, the future
holds a good deal for us."
"For you, perhaps."
"For you, too. The whole future of a man doesn't go to wreck in an
hour. There are other crises later on, and some of them are bound to
come out well. Save yourself for those, Weldon. There is no especial
use in throwing yourself away."
"I'm not. But, when the order comes, I must obey it," Weldon said
gloomily.
"It depends something on the order; but it depends a good sight more
on the way you obey it. When a man comes into collision with a
bulldog, it's generally wise to grapple with him back of his teeth;
else, you may lose a thumb or two.
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