The sergeant stood at attention, with a wooden face.
“He's the kind of man they want in the front lines,” said Duff. “The devil himself couldn't break through where he is.”
“That's why I have him. Good luck. Good-bye!”
Throughout the night they marched, now and then receiving a lift from a ranch wagon, and in the grey of the morning, weary, hungry, but resolute for a place in the Wapiti company, they made the village.
Early as it was, Barry found his father astir, with breakfast in readiness.
“Hello, boy!” cried his father running to him with outstretched hands.
“Hello, dad!” answered Barry. His father threw a searching glance over his son's face as he shook his hand warmly.
“Not a word, Barry, until you eat. Not a word. Go get ready for your bath. I'll have it for you in a minute. No, not one word. Quick. March. That is the only word these days. As you eat I'll give you the news.”
Resolutely he refused to talk until he saw his son begin upon his breakfast. Then he poured forth a stream of news. The whole country was aflame with war enthusiasm. Alberta had offered half a million bushels of oats for the imperial army, and a thousand horses or more. The Calgary district had recruited two thousand men, the Edmonton district as many more. All over Canada, from Vancouver to Halifax, it was the same.
From the Wapiti district twenty-six ranchers, furnishing their own horses, had already gone. Ewen Innes was in Edmonton. His brother Malcolm was in uniform, too, and his young brother Jim was keen to enlist. Neil Fraser was busy raising a company of Wapiti men. Young Pickles and McCann had joined up as buglers.