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!"