Elsie laughed. "What amuses me is that a soldier, the embodiment of Might, should dare to talk of Right."
Curtis grew grave. "If I did not think that my profession at bottom guarded the rights of both white men and red, I'd resign instantly. Our army is only an impartial instrument for preserving justice."
"That isn't the old-world notion," put in Lawson from across the table.
"It is our notion," stoutly replied Curtis. "Our little army to-day stands towards the whole nation as a police force relates itself to a city—a power that interferes only to prevent aggression of one interest on the rights of another."
Brisbane's big, flat voice took up the theme.
"That's a very pretty theory, but you'll find plenty to claim that the army is an instrument of oppression."
"I'll admit it is sometimes wrongly used," Curtis replied. "We who are in the field can't help that, however. We are under orders. Of course," he added, modestly, "I am only a young soldier. I have seen but ten years of service, and I have taken part in but one campaign—a war I considered unavoidable at that time."
"You would hold, then, that an officer of the army has a right to convictions?" queried Brisbane, in the tone of the lawyer.
"Most certainly. A man does not cease to think upon entering the army."
"That's dangerous doctrine."