The fact that he had left camp without leave bothered his conscience not at all. He was only doing what hundreds of others had done before him. Indeed, members of that army regarded their enlistment agreements as flexible contracts. Active campaigning kept them together, but when winter set in and the chance of battle was remote they sat before their fires and listened to the call of the home people who needed their help. Then the brigades dwindled. Jukes, bending against the drifts, defended his course with arguments that seemed to him perfectly valid. “Two years ’thout a single leave,” said he. “Ain’t that enough fer one man? Let some o’ these proud fire-eaters at home try their luck. I done my share.” He was shrewd enough to know that there were many thousands of able-bodied citizens who had never answered the call to colors and who were perfectly content to let others do their share of fighting. To men of Jukes’ nature, endowed with a keen sense of justice, this was only an added argument as to the propriety of his act. He had done far more than his share. Now let some other take his place. Even so, his thoughts turned now and then, as the afternoon advanced and he found himself in strange country, to that dark and miserable hut where his comrades rested, all but helpless. “I reckon there’ll be grand parade tonight,” he mused. “Well, there won’t be many turnin’ out fer it. No they won’t. An’ I bet they let the fire die again. As fer poor Will Cordes--the cussed Congress c’n take the blame fer that.” The graying shadows came again, flecked by softly falling snow. Here and there, at wide intervals on the road, he passed farmhouses with lights gleaming through the windows and sparks showering from chimneys. He might have turned in and asked shelter, but a stubborn pride kept him away. He was not a straggler, nor could he stomach the thought of begging at doors. He trudged on, waiting for dark to come that he might crawl into a barn overnight. His keen ears caught the sound of hoofs and he turned to find a solitary figure riding out of a side road and turning his way. Jukes resumed his march, stolidly indifferent. Nor did he cast another glance behind, although he heard the traveler coming nearer; instead, he took the side of the highway, prepared to let the other pass. The traveler came abreast and reined in, speaking courteously. “A bad day to be afoot, sir.” Jukes shifted his gun to the other shoulder and looked up to see a plump, benign face. The man was of a quality, a country squire, well dressed and bearing with him a pride of place. A pair of blue eyes beamed from beneath bushy brows, singularly penetrating eyes. Jukes felt the full weight of their scrutiny and was roused to sudden watchfulness. “I’ve marched in worse times,” said he, noncommittally, still holding aside to let the man pass. But the elderly gentleman was of a social nature.