"Think of your sins, What made you a soldier a-serving the Queen: God save the Queen, And God save the duffer who thinks of to-morrow. God save the man who remembers his sorrow, God save the man who can think of the past, Sundown at last: Here's rest for the past, and here's hope for the morrow!" That is exactly what the bugle said to a man who was sitting on the edge of the bench-land in the evening calm. He was a very big man, dressed in a grey woollen undershirt, worn-out riding-breeches with a two-inch yellow stripe down the legs, and jack-boots. By his side lay a broad grey slouch-hat, such as cowboys wear; on his knees a bath-towel--dry; and in his neighbourhood lingered a faint aroma…
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