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A regiment of regulars was making a long, dusty march across the rolling
prairie land of Montana last summer. It was a hot, blistering day and
the men, longing for water and rest, were impatient to reach the next
town.

A rancher rode past.

"Say, friend," called out one of the men, "how far is it to the next
town?"

"Oh, a matter of two miles or so, I reckon," called back the rancher.
Another long hour dragged by, and another rancher was encountered.

"How far to the next town?" the men asked him eagerly.

"Oh, a good two miles."

A weary half-hour longer of marching, and then a third rancher.

"Hey, how far's the next town?"

"Not far," was the encouraging answer. "Only about two miles."

"Well," sighed an optimistic sergeant, "thank God, we're holdin' our
own, anyhow!"





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