too, and, as he drew on the buckskin gauntlets and wrapped the heavy
cloak about his body, his second sensation was one of actual physical
pleasure. Why should he regard the forest with a hostile eye?  His
ancestors had lived in it and often its darkness had saved them from
death by torture.

He looked up at the dark slopes, but he could see only the black masses
of foliage and the thin sheets of driven rain.  For a little while, at
least, his mind reproduced the wilderness.  It was there in all its
savage loneliness and majesty.  He could readily imagine that the
Indians were lurking in the brush, and that the bears and panthers were
seeking shelter in their dens.  But his own feeling of safety and of
mental and physical pleasure in the face of obstacles deepened.

"I've been just that way myself," said Sergeant Whitley, who was riding
beside him and who could both see and read his face.  "On the plains
when we were so well wrapped up that the icy winds whistling around us
couldn't get at us then we felt all the better.  But it was best when
we were inside the fort and the winter blizzard was howling."

"A lot of us were talking a little while back about what they were
going to do after the war.  What's your plan, sergeant, if you have
any?"

"I do have a plan, Mr. Mason.  I was a lumberman, as you know, before I
entered the regular army, and when the fighting's done I think I'll go
back to it.  I can swing an axe with the best of 'em, but I mean after
a while to have others swinging axes for me.  If I can I'm going to
become a big lumberman.  I'd rather be that than anything else."

"It's a just and fine ambition, sergeant, I feel sure that you're going
to become a man of money and power.  Mr. Warner means to become
president of Harvard, twenty or twenty-five years from now, and my
cousin Harry Kenton, a reconstructed rebel, is going to deliver an
address there to the new president's young men, while Mr. Pennington
and I, as the president's guests, are going to sit on the stage and
smile.  Right now, and with authority from Mr. Warner, I'm going to
invite you as the lumber king of the Northwest to sit on the stage with
us on that occasion, as the guest of President Warner, and smile with
us."

"If I become what you predict I'll accept," said the sergeant.

The chances were a thousand to one against the prophecy, but it all
came true, just as they wished.

The rain increased a little, although it was not yet able to penetrate
Dick's heavy coat, but they were compelled to go more slowly on account
of the thickening darkness.  They reached very soon the crest of the
pass and halted there a little while to see or hear any sign of a human
being. But no sound came to them and they resumed the scout in the
darkness, riding now down the slope which would end before long in a
great valley.

The ground softened by the rain deadened the footsteps of their horses,
and they made little noise as they rode down the narrow pass, examining
as well as they could the dripping forest on either side of the road.
Shepard was a bit ahead, and Dick and the sergeant, riding side by
side, came next.  Behind were the troopers, a small picked band, daring
horsemen, used to every kind of danger.

They did not really anticipate the presence of an enemy in the pass.
They knew that Colonel Talbot's command had turned toward the
southwest. All the other Confederate forces must be gathering far up
the valley to meet Sheridan, and the South was too much reduced to
raise new men. Yet after a half hour's moderate riding down the slope
Dick became sure that some one was in the narrow belt of forest on
their right, where the slope was less steep than on their left.

At first it seemed to be an intuition, merely a feeling brought on
waves of air that men, enemies, were in the wood.  Then he knew that
the feeling was due to sounds as of someone moving lightly through a
wet thicket, but unable to keep the boughs from giving forth a rustle.
He was about to call to Shepard, but before he could do so the spy
stopped.  Then all the others stopped also.

"Did you hear it?" Dick whispered to Sergeant Whitley.

"Yes," replied the sergeant.  "Men are moving in the thicket on our
right.  I couldn't hear much, but they must be as numerous as we are.
They're enemies or they'd have come out.  They're on foot, too, as they
couldn't manage horses in those deep woods.  Likely they've left their
mounts with a guard on top of a ridge, as men on foot wouldn't be
abroad at such a time on such a night."

"Then it's an ambush!" said Dick, and he added in a sharp voice:

"Pull away to the left, men, under cover!"

Shepard was the first to turn and all the others followed instantly.
Three jumps of the horses and they were among the bushes and trees on
the left.  It was lucky for them that they had heard the sound of the
wet bushes rustling together, as a dozen rifles flashed in the dusk on
the other side of the road.  Bullets cut the leaves about them.  Two or
three buried themselves with a plunk in the trunks of trees, one killed
a horse, the trooper springing clear without hurt, and one man was
wounded slightly in the arm.

"Take cover," called Dick, "but don't lose your horses!"

They dismounted and concealed themselves behind the trunks of trees.
Some hastily tethered their horses to bushes, but others hung the
bridle over an arm.  They knew that if a combat was to occur it must be
fought on foot, but, for the present, they were compelled to wait.  Yet
if their enemy was hidden from them they also were hidden from him.
All the conditions of an old Indian battle in darkness and ambush were
reproduced, and Dick was deeply grateful that he had at his elbow two
redoubtable champions like Whitley and Shepard.  They were peculiarly
fitted for such work as that which lay before them, and he was ready
and willing to take advice from either.

"It's a small party," whispered Shepard, "probably not much larger than
ours.  They must have expected to make a complete ambush, but we heard
them too soon."

"It's surely not a part of Colonel Talbot's command," said Dick.  "If
so, Harry Kenton and his friends would certainly be there and I
shouldn't like to be in battle with them again."

"Never a fear of that," said Sergeant Whitley.  "It's more likely to be
some guerrilla band, roaming around as it pleases.  The condition of
the country and these mountains give such fellows a chance.  I'm going
to lie down and creep forward as we used to do on the plains.  I want
to get a sight of those fellows, that is, if you say so, sir."

"Of course," said Dick, "but don't take too big risks, sergeant.  We
can't afford to let you be shot."

"Never fear," said the sergeant, dropping almost flat upon his face,
and creeping slowly forward.

The dusky figure worming itself through the bushes heightened the
illusion of an old Indian combat.  The sergeant was a scout and trailer
feeling for the enemy and he reminded Dick of his famous ancestor, Paul
Cotter.  Several more shots were fired by the foe, but they did not
hurt anybody, all of them flying overhead.  Dick's men were anxious to
send random bullets in reply into the thickets, but he restrained them.
It would be only a waste, and while it was annoying to be held there,
it could not be helped.  Some of the horses reared and plunged with
fright at the shots, but silence soon came.

Dick still watched the sergeant as he edged forward, inch by inch. Had
not his eyes been following the dusky figure he could not have picked
it out from the general darkness.  But he still saw it faintly, a
darker blur against the dark earth.  Yielding a little to his own
anxiety, he handed the bridle of his horse to his orderly, and moved
toward the edge of the woodland strip, bending low, and using the tree
trunks for shelter.

At the last tree he knelt and looked for those on the other side. The
sergeant was already beyond cover, but he lay so low in the grass that
Dick himself could scarcely discern him.

The wind was still driving the thin sheets of rain before it, and was
keeping up a howling and whistling in the pass, a most sinister sound
to one not used to the forest and darkness, although Dick paid no
attention to it.

Twice the clouds parted slightly and showed a bit of moonlight, but the
gleam was so brief that it was gone in a second or two.  Nevertheless
at the second ray Dick saw crouched beside a tree at the far side of
the road a small hunched figure holding a rifle, the head crowned by an
enormous flap-brimmed hat.  His imagination also made him see small,
close-set, menacing red eyes, and he knew at once that it was Slade,
the same guerrilla leader who had once pursued him with such deadly
vindictiveness through the Mississippi forest and swamps.  He had heard
that he had come farther north and had united his band with that of
Skelly, who pretended to be on the other side.  But one could never
tell about these outlaws.  When they were distant from the regular
armies nobody was safe from them.

"Did you see?" whispered Dick to the sergeant who had crept to his side.

"Yes, I caught a glimpse of him.  It was Slade, who tried so hard to
kill you down there in the Vicksburg campaign.  If we get another ray
of the moonlight I'll pick him off, that is if you say so, sir."

"I've no objection, sergeant.  Such a man as Slade cumbers the earth.
Besides, he'll do everything he can now to kill us."

The sergeant knelt, carbine raised, and waited for the ray of
moonlight. He was a dead shot, and he believed that he would not miss,
but when the ray came at last Slade was not there.  Whitley uttered a
low exclamation of disgust.

"A good chance gone," he said, "and it may never come again.  I'd have
saved the lives of a lot of good men."

But a flash came from the thicket, and the sergeant from the grass
replied.  A cry followed his shot, showing that some one had received
his bullet, but Dick knew instinctively that it was not Slade, the
crafty leader he was sure now being safe behind the trunk of a tree.

Presently the sergeant fired from another point, and then crept hastily
away lest the flash of his rifle betray him.  A dozen shots were fired
by Slade's band, but no harm was done, and then, the sergeant coming
back, Dick held a consultation with his two lieutenants and advisers.

"Perhaps we may flank them," he said.  "We can divide our force, and
taking them by surprise drive them out of the wood."

But Sergeant Whitley, wary and weatherwise, was against it.

"The risk would be too great, sir," he said.  "We can afford to wait
while they can't.  Our whole column will be up in time, while it's not
likely that anybody can come to help Slade.  It's true too, sir, that
this rain is going to stop.  The clouds are beginning to clear away,
and when there's light we'll have a fair chance at 'em."

"I think," said Dick, "that it will be best for Mr. Shepard to return
and hurry up a relieving column.  What do you say?"

"I think so too, sir," said Shepard.  "I can lead my horse back some
distance through the forest, then mount and gallop up the road.  They
may be gone before I come again, but if they are not we can soon drive
them away."

"We'll cover you with our rifles against any rush made by Slade's men,"
said Dick.

But it did not become necessary to fire.  Shepard was able to lead his
horse through the woods without noise, until he was at least three
hundred yards on the return journey.  Then he mounted and galloped at
great speed up the pass.  Dick heard the distant thud of hoofs growing
fainter and fainter until they died away altogether, and he knew that
Slade must have heard them too.  And a man as acute and experienced as
the guerrilla chief would easily divine their meaning.

The rain ceased, and the moaning and whistling of the wind in the pass
became a murmur.  The clouds parted and sank away toward every horizon,
leaving the full dome of the sky, shot with a bright moon and millions
of dancing stars.  A silvery light over the woods and thickets drove
away the deep darkness, and when Sergeant Whitley crept forward again
to spy out the enemy he found that they were gone.  He trailed them up
the lofty slope and discovered, as he had surmised, that they had left
their horses there while they attempted the ambush.  He was sure now
that they were far away, and he returned with his story, just as
Shepard arrived with the vanguard of the column, led by Colonel
Winchester.

"And so it was Slade!" said the Colonel.

"Undoubtedly, sir," said Dick.  "I saw him plainly, and so did Sergeant
Whitley."

"I'm not sorry he's here," said Colonel Winchester thoughtfully, "and I
hope the story that he and Skelly have joined bands is true, because if
they are in this region they're so far away from Pendleton that your
people are safe from mischief at their hands."

"I hadn't thought of it in that way, sir, but it's just as you say. I'd
rather have to fight them here than have them attacking our innocent
people at home.  In the early part of the war Skelly called himself a
Unionist, did he not?"

"Yes, and he may do so yet, but names are nothing to him.  He'd rob,
and murder, too, with equal zest under either flag."

"It's so," said Dick, and he felt the full truth as he thought of
Pendleton, and his beautiful young mother, alone in her house, save for
the gigantic and faithful Juliana.  But Juliana was an armed host
herself, and Dick smiled at the recollection of the strong and honest
black face that had bent over him so often.  He prayed without words
that these ruthless guerrillas, no matter what flag they bore, should
never come to Pendleton.

"I don't think our column on its present march need fear anything from
Slade and his band," said Colonel Winchester.  "Such as he can operate
only from ambush, and so far as Virginia is concerned, in the
mountains. Shepard says we'll be out of the pass in another hour, and
by that time it will be day.  I'll be glad, too, as the cold rain and
the darkness and the long ride are beginning to affect the men."

The column resumed its march, Dick rode by the side of Colonel
Winchester.  Time, propinquity, genuine esteem, and a fourth influence
which Dick did not as yet suspect, were fast knitting these two,
despite the difference in age, into a friendship which nothing could
break. The meeting with Slade was forgotten quickly, by all except
those concerned, and by most of those too, so vast was the war and so
little space did it afford for the memory of brief events.  Yet it
lingered a while with Dick.  Twice now he had met Slade and he felt
that he would meet him yet again at points far apart.

Dawn came slow and gray in a cloudy sky, but the sun soon broke
through. The heat returned and the earth began to dry.  The three
colonels felt it necessary to give their men rest and food, and let
them dry their uniforms, which had become wet in many cases, despite
their overcoats and heavy cloaks.

They were now in a deep cove of the great Valley of Virginia, with the
steep mountains just behind them, and far beyond the dim blue outline
of other mountains enclosing it on the west.  As the fires blazed up
and the men made coffee and cooked their breakfasts, Dick's heart
leaped. This was the great valley once more, where so much history had
been made. Lee and Grant were deadlocked in the trenches before
Petersburg, but here in the valley history would be made again.  It was
the finest part of Virginia, the greatest state of the Confederacy, and
Dick knew in his heart that some heavy blows would soon be struck,
where fields already had been won and lost in desperate strife.

But the men were very cheerful.  The little band of skirmishers or
sharpshooters under Slade had been brushed aside easily, and now that
they were in the valley they did not foresee any further attempt to
stop their march to Sheridan.  The three colonels shared in the view,
and when the men had finished breakfast and dried themselves at their
fires they remounted and rode away gaily.  High spirits rose again in
youthful veins, and some lad of a mellow voice began to sing.  By and
by all joined and a thousand voices thundered out:

    "Oh, share my cottage, gentle maid,
      It only waits for thee
     To give a sweetness to its shade
      And happiness to me.

    "Here from the splendid, gay parade
      Of noise and folly free
     No sorrows can my peace invade
      If only blessed with thee.

    "Then share my cottage, gentle maid,
      It only waits for thee
     To give a sweetness to its shade
      And happiness to me."

Colonel Hertford made no attempt to check them as they rode across the
fields, yet green here, despite the summer's heat.

"They're bravest when they sing," he said to Colonel Winchester.

"It encourages them," said Colonel Winchester, "and I like to hear it
myself.  It's a wonderful effect, a thousand or more strong lads
singing, as they sweep over the valley toward battle."

Dick, Pennington and Warner had joined in the song, but the youth some
distance ahead of them was leader.  They finished "Gentle Maid" and
then, with the same lad leading them, swung into a song that made Dick
start and that for a moment made other mountains and another valley
stand out before him, sharp and clear.

 "Soft o'er the fountain, ling'ring falls the Southern moon
  Far o'er the mountain, breaks the day too soon.
  In thy dark eyes' splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell,
  Weary looks, yet tender, speak their fond farewell.
  Nita!  Juanita!  Ask thy soul if we should part,
  Nita!  Juanita!  Lean thou on my heart.

 "When in thy dreaming moons like these shall shine again,
  And daylight beaming prove thy dreams are vain,
  Wilt thou not, relenting, for thy absent lover sigh?
  In thy heart consenting to a prayer gone by!
  Nita!  Juanita!  Let me linger by thy side.
  Nita!  Juanita!  Be my own fair bride."

They put tremendous heart and energy into the haunting old song as they
sang, and Dick still saw Sam Jarvis, the singer of the hills, and his
valley, where the paths of Harry Kenton and himself had crossed, though
at times far apart.

"Now!" shouted the young leader, "The last verse again!" and with
increased heart and energy they thundered out:

 "When in thy dreaming moons like these shall shine again,
  And daylight beaming prove thy dreams are vain,
  Wilt thou not, relenting, for thy absent lover sigh?
  In thy heart consenting to a prayer gone by!
  Nita!  Juanita!  Let me linger by thy side.
  Nita!  Juanita!  Be my own fair bride."

The mighty chorus sank away and the hills gave it back in echoes until
the last one died.

"It's sung mostly in the South," said Dick to Warner and Pennington.

"True," said Warner, "but before the war songs were not confined to one
section.  They were the common property of both.  We've as much right
to sing Juanita as the Johnnies have."

All that day they rode and sang, going north toward Halltown, where the
forces of Sheridan were gathering, and the valley, although lone and
desolate, continually unfolded its beauty before them.  The mountains
were green near by and blue in the distance, and the fertile floor that
they enclosed, like walls, was cut by many streams.  Here, indeed, was
a region that had bloomed before the war, and that would bloom again,
no matter what war might do.

They found inhabited houses now and then, but all the men of military
age were gone away and the old men, the women and the children would
answer nothing.  The women were not afraid to tell the Yankees what
they thought of them, and in this war which was never a war on women
the troopers merely laughed, or, if they felt anger, they hid it.

On they went through night and day, and now they drew near to Sheridan.
Scouts in blue met them and the gallant column shook their sabers and
saluted.  Yes, it was true, they said, that Sheridan was gathering a
fine army and he and all of his men were eager to march, but Colonel
Hertford's force, sent by General Grant to help, would be welcomed with
shouts.  The fame of its three colonels had gone on before.

It was bright noon when they approached the northern end of the valley,
and Dick saw a horseman followed by a group of about twenty men
galloping toward them.  The leader was a short, slender man, sitting
firmly in his saddle.

"General Sheridan!" exclaimed Shepard.

Colonel Hertford instantly ordered his trumpeter to sound a signal, and
the troopers, stopping and drawing up in a long line, awaited the man
who was to command them, and who was coming on so fast.  Again Dick
examined him closely through his glasses, and he saw the young, tanned
face under the broad brim of his hat, and the keen, flashing eyes. He
noticed also how small he was.  Sheridan was but five feet five inches
in height and he weighed in the momentous campaign now about to begin,
only one hundred and fifteen pounds!  As slight as a young boy, he
gave, nevertheless, an impression of the greatest vigor and endurance.

He reined in his horse a score of yards in front of the long line and
was about to speak to Colonel Hertford, who sat his saddle before it,
Colonel Winchester and Colonel Bedford on either side of him, but there
was a sudden interruption.

Fifteen hundred sabers flashed aloft, the blazing sunlight glittering
for a moment on their broad blades.  Then they swept in mighty curves,
all together, and from fifteen hundred throats thundered:

"Sheridan!  Sheridan!  Sheridan!"

The sabers made another flashing curve, sank back into their scabbards,
and the men were silent.

Sheridan's tanned face flushed deeply, and a great light leaped up in
his eyes, as he received the magnificent salute.  His own sword sprang
out, and made the salute in reply.  Then, riding a little closer, he
said in a loud, clear tone that all could hear:

"Men, I have been looking for you!  I have come forward to meet you! I
knew that you were great horsemen, gallant soldiers, but I see that you
are even greater and more gallant men than I had hoped.  The Army of
the Potomac has sent its best as a gift to the Army of the Shenandoah.
Men, I thank you for this welcome, the warmest I have ever received!"

Again the sabers flashed aloft, made their glittering curve, and again
from muscular throats came the thunderous cheer:

"Sheridan!  Sheridan!  Sheridan!"

Then the young general shook hands heartily with the three colonels,
the young aides were introduced, and with Sheridan himself at their
head the whole column swept off toward the north, and to the camp of
the Army of the Shenandoah which lay but a little distance away.

CHAPTER VI

THE FISHERMEN

The welcome that the column found in Sheridan's camp was as warm as
they had hoped, and more.  Fifteen hundred sabers such as theirs were
not to be valued lightly, and Sheridan knew well the worth of three
such colonels as Hertford, Winchester and Bedford, with all three of
whom he was acquainted personally, and with whose records he was
familiar. Dick, Pennington and Warner also came in for his notice, and
he recalled having seen Dick at the fierce battle of Perryville in
Kentucky, a fact of which Dick was very proud.

"Now don't become too haughty because he remembers you," said Warner
reprovingly.  "Bear in mind that trifles sometimes stick longer in our
minds than more important things."

"It's just jealousy on your part," said Dick.  "You New Englanders are
able people, but you can't bear for anybody else to achieve
distinction."

"We don't have to feel that jealousy often," said Warner calmly.

"Merit like charity begins with you at home."

"And modesty can't keep us from admitting it, but you Kentuckians do
fight well--under our direction."

"Don't talk with him, Dick," said Pennington.  "Against his wall of
mountainous conceit wisdom breaks in vain."

"I'm glad to see you expressing yourself so poetically, Frank," said
Warner.  "The New England seed planted in Nebraska will flower into
bloom some day."

Sergeant Whitley came at that moment and asked them to go and see the
new horses provided for them, and the three went with him, friends
bound to one another by hooks of steel.  The horses given to them by
special favor of Sheridan in place of their worn-out mounts, were
splendid animals, and Sergeant Whitley himself had prepared them for
their first appearance before their new masters.

"They'll do!  They'll do!" said Dick with enthusiasm.  "Grand fellows!
They ought to carry us anywhere!"

"Upon this point I must confess myself somewhat your inferior," said
Warner in his precise manner.  "The mountainous character of our state
keeps us from making horses a specialty.  You, I believe, in Kentucky,
pay great attention to their breeding, and so I ask you, young Mr.
Mason, if the horse chosen for me is all that he should be."

"He asks it as a matter of condescension, Dick, and not as a favor,"
said Pennington.

"It's all right any way you take it," laughed Dick.  "Yes, George, your
horse has no defect.  You can always lead the charge on him against
Early."

"If I'm not at the very front I expect to be somewhere near it," said
Warner.  "But don't you like the looks of this camp, boys?  It shows
order, method and precision.  Everything has been done according to the
best algebraic formulae.  I call it mathematics, charged with fire. Our
Little Phil is a great commander.  One can feel his spirit in the air
all about us."

Dick himself had noticed the military workmanship and that, too, of a
high order, and he understood thoroughly that Sheridan had gathered a
most formidable army.  It was not much short of thirty thousand men,
veteran troops, and he had with him Wright, Emory, Crook, Merritt,
Averill, Torbert, Wilson and Grover, all able generals.  Nor had
Sheridan neglected to inform himself of the country over which he
intended to march.  With his lieutenant of engineers, Meigs, a man of
great talent, he had spent days and nights studying maps of the valley.
Now he knew all the creeks and brooks and roads and towns, and he
understood the country as well as Early himself, who faced him with as
large a Confederate force as he could gather.

Dick and his comrades expected immediate action, but it did not come.
They lingered for days, due, they supposed, to orders from Washington,
but they did not bother themselves about it, as they liked their new
camp and were making many new friends.  September days passed and they
saw the summer turning into autumn.  The mountains in the distance
looked blue, but, near at hand, their foliage had turned brown.  The
great heat gave way to a crisper air and the lads who had come from the
trenches before Petersburg enjoyed for a little while the luxury of
early autumn and illimitable space.

They rode now and then with the cavalry outposts.  Early and his men
stretched across the valley to oppose them, and often Northern and
Southern pickets were in touch, though they seldom fired upon one
another.  Dick, whenever he rode with the advanced guard, watched for
Harry Kenton, St. Clair and Langdon, but it was nearly a week before he
saw them.  Then they rode with a small group, headed by two elderly but
very upright men, whom he knew to be Colonel Leonidas Talbot and
Lieutenant Colonel Hector St. Hilaire.

He felt genuine gladness, and, shouting at the top of his voice, he
waved his hand.  They recognized him, and all waved a welcome in
return. He saw the two colonels studying him through their glasses, but
he knew that no attack would be made upon him and the little party with
which he rode.  It was one of those increasing intervals of peace and
friendship between battles.  The longer the war and the greater the
losses the less men troubled themselves to shoot one another save when
real battle was joined.

They were about four hundred yards apart and Dick used his glasses
also, enabling him to see that the young Southern officers were
unwounded--Langdon's slight hurt had healed long since--and were strong
and hearty. He thought it likely that they, as well as he, had found
the brief period of rest and freedom from war a genuine luxury.

He waved his hand once more, and they waved back as before.  Then the
course of the two little troops took them away from each other, and the
Southerners were hid from his view by a belt of forest.  But he was
very glad that he had seen them.  It had been almost as if there were
no war.

Dick rode back to the camp, gave his horse to an orderly, and, walking
toward his tent, was met by Warner and Pennington, carrying long
slender rods on their shoulders--Warner in fact carrying two.

"What's this?" he exclaimed.

"We're going fishing," replied Warner.  "We've permission for you also.
There's a fine stream about a half mile west of us, running through the
woods, and it's been fished in but little since the war started.  Here,
take your rod!  You don't expect me to carry it for you any longer do
you?  It has a good hook and line and it's easy for us to find bait
under a big stone on soft soil."

"Thank you, George," said Dick happily.  "You couldn't keep me from
going with you two.  Do you know, I haven't been fishing in more than
three years, and me not yet of age?"

"Well, now's your chance, and you may not have another until after the
war is over.  They say it's a fine stream, though, of course, it's not
like the beautiful little rivers of Vermont, that come dashing down
from the mountains all molten silver, where they're not white foam.
Splendid fish!  Splendid rivers!  Splendid sport!  Dick, do you think
I'm facing now in the exact direction of Vermont?"

He had turned about and was gazing with a rapt look into the northeast.

"I should say," said Dick, "that if your gaze went far enough it would
strike squarely upon the Green Mountains of Vermont."

Warner's hand rose in a slow and majestic salute.

"Great little state, mother of men, I salute thee!" he said.  "Thou art
stern and yet beautiful to the eye and thy sons love thee!  I, who am
but one among them, love all thy rocks, and clear streams, and noble
mountains and green foliage!  Here, from the battle fields and across
the distance I salute thee, O great little state!  O mother of men!"

"Quite dithyrambic," said Dick, "and now that your burst of rhetoric is
over let's go on and catch our fish.  Will you also use your romantic
science of mathematics in fishing?  By the way, what has become of that
little algebra book of yours?"

"It's here," said Warner, taking it from the breast pocket of his
tunic. "I never part with it and I most certainly expect to use its
principles when I reach the fishing stream.  Let x express my equipment
and myself, let y equal skill and patience; x we shall say also equals
the number 7, while y equals the number 5.  Now the fish are
represented by z which is equal to 12.  It is obvious even to slow
minds like yours and Pennington's that neither x nor y alone can equal
z, the fish, otherwise 12, but when combined they represent that value
exactly, that is x plus y equals 12.  So, if I and my equipment
coordinate perfectly with my skill and patience, which most certainly
will happen, the fish are as good as caught by me already.  The rest is
a mere matter of counting."

"Best give in, Dick," said Pennington.  "He'll always prove to you by
his algebra that he knows everything, and that everything he does is
right. Of course, he's the best fisherman in the world!"

"I'd have you to know, Francis Pennington," said Warner, with dignity,
"that I was a very good fisherman when I was five years old, and that
I've been improving ever since, and that Vermont is full of fine deep
streams, in which one can fish with pleasure and profit.  What do you
know, you prairie-bred young ruffian, about fishing?  I've heard that
your creeks and brooks are nothing but strips of muddy dew.  The Platte
River itself, I believe, is nearly two inches deep at its deepest
parts. I don't suppose there's another stream in America which takes up
so much space on the map and so little on the ground."

"The Platte is a noble river," rejoined Pennington.  "What it lacks in
depth it makes up in length, and I'll not have it insulted by anybody
in its absence."

While they talked they passed through the brown woods and came to the
creek, flowing with a fine volume of water down from the mountains into
one of the rivers of the valley.

"It's up to its advertisements," said Warner, looking at it with
satisfaction.  "It's clear, deep and it ought to have plenty of good
fish.  I see a snug place between the roots of that oak growing upon
the bank, and there I sit."

"There are plenty of good places," said Dick, as they seated themselves
and unwrapped their lines, "and I've a notion that our fishing is going
to prove good.  Isn't it fine?  Why, it's like being back home!"

"Time's rolled back and we're just boys again," said Pennington.

"Don't try to be poetic, Frank," said Warner.  "I've told you already
that a man who has nothing but muddy streaks of dew to fish in can't
know anything about fishing."

"Stop quarreling, you two," said Dick.  "Don't you know that such
voices as yours raised in loud tones would scare away the boldest fish
that ever swam?"

The three cast their lines out into the stream.  They were of the
old-fashioned kind, a hook, a lead sinker, and a cork on the line to
keep it from sinking too far.  Dick had used just such an equipment
since he was eight years old, in the little river at Pendleton, and now
he was anxious to prove to himself that he had not lost his skill.  All
three were as eager to catch a fish as they were to win a battle, and,
for the time, the war was forgotten.  It seemed to Dick as he sat on
the brown turf between the enclosing roots of the tree, and leaning
against its trunk, that his lost youth had returned.  He was just a boy
again, fishing and with no care save to raise something on his hook.
The wood, although small, was dense, and it shut out all view of the
army.  Nor did any martial sounds come to them.  The rustle of the
leaves under the gentle wind was soothing.  He was back at Pendleton.
Harry Kenton was fishing farther up the stream, and so were other boys,
his old friends of the little town.

The bit of forest was to all intents a wilderness just then, and it was
so pleasant in the comfortable place between the supporting roots of
the tree that Dick fell into a dreamy state, in which all things were
delightful.  It was perhaps the power of contrast, but after so much
riding and fighting he felt a sheer physical pleasure in sitting there
and watching the clear stream flow swiftly by.  He smiled too at the
way in which his cork bobbed up and down on the water, and he began to
feel that it would not matter much whether he caught any fish or not.
It was just enough to sit there and go through all the motions of
fishing.

A shout from a point twenty yards below and he looked up, startled,
from his dream.

"A bite!" exclaimed Warner, "I thought I had him, but he slipped off
the hook!  I raised him to the surface and I know he was two feet long!"

"Nine inches, probably," said Dick.  "Allow at least fifteen inches for
your imagination, George."

"I suppose you're right, Dick.  At least, I have to do it down here. If
it were a Vermont river he'd be really two feet long."

Dick heard his line and sinker strike the water again, and then silence
returned to the little wood, but it did not endure long.  From a point
beyond Warner came a shout, and this was undeniably a cry of triumph.
It was accompanied by a swishing through the air and the sound of an
object striking the leaves.

"I got him!  I got him!  I got him!" exclaimed Pennington, dancing
about as if he were only twelve years old.

Dick stood up and saw that Pennington, in truth, had caught a fine
fish, at least a foot long, which was now squirming over the leaves,
its silver scales gleaming.

"It seems to me," said Dick, "that the very young Territory of Nebraska
has scored over the veteran State of Vermont."

"A victor merely in a preliminary skirmish," said Warner serenely. "The
fish happened to be there.  Frank's baited hook was close by. The fish
was hungry and the result was a mathematical certainty.  Frank is
entitled to no credit whatever.  As for me, I lure my fish within the
catching area."

As Dick resumed his seat he felt a sharp pull at his own line, and
drawing it in smartly he drew with it a fish as large as Pennington's,
a fact that he announced with pride.

"I think, Frank," he called, "that this is not good old Vermont's day.
Either we're more skillful or the fish like us better than they do
Warner.  Which do you think it is?"

"It's both, Dick."

"On second thought, I don't agree with you, Frank.  The fish in this
river are entirely new to us.  They've never seen us before, and they
know nothing about us by hearsay and reputation.  It's a case of skill,
pure skill, Frank.  We've got Mr. Vermont down, and we're going to hold
him down."

Warner said nothing, but Dick rose up a little and saw his face.  It
was red, the teeth clenched tightly, and the mouth drawn down at the
corners. His eyes were fixed eagerly on his cork in the hope of seeing
it bob for a moment and then be drawn swiftly under.

"Good old George," said Dick, under his breath.  "He hates to be
beaten--well, so do we all."

Pennington caught another fish and then Dick drew in his second.
Warner did not have a bite since his first miss and his two comrades
did not spare him.  They insinuated that there were no fish in Vermont,
and they doubted whether the state had any rivers either.  In any event
it was obvious that Warner had never fished before.  For several
minutes they carried on this conversation, the words, in a way, as they
went back and forth, passing directly by his head.  But Warner did not
speak.  He merely clenched his teeth more tightly and watched his
floating cork. Meanwhile Dick caught his third fish and then Pennington
equaled him. Now their taunts, veiled but little, became more numerous.

Warner never spoke, nor did he take his eyes from his cork.  He had
heard every word, but he would not show annoyance.  He was compelled to
see Dick draw in yet another fine fellow, while his own cork seemed to
have all the qualities of a lifeboat.  It danced and bobbed around, but
apparently it had not the slightest intention of sinking.  Why did he
have such luck, or rather lack of it?  Was fortune going to prove
unkind to the good old rock-ribbed Green Mountain State?

There came a tremendous jerk upon the line!  The cork shot down like a
bullet, but Warner, making a mighty pull and snap with the rod, landed
a glorious gleaming fish upon the bank, a full two feet in length,
probably as large as any that had ever been caught in that stream.  He
detached the hook and looked down at his squirming prize, while Dick
and Pennington also came running to see.

"I've been waiting for you, my friend," said Warner serenely to the
fish. "Various small brothers of yours have come along and looked at my
bait, but I've always moved it out of reach, leaving them to fall a
prey to my friends who are content with little things.  I had to wait
for you some time, O King of Fishes, but you came at last and you are
mine."

"You can't put him down, Dick, and it's not worth while trying," said
Pennington, and Dick agreeing they went back to their own places.

The fishing now went on with uninterrupted success.  Dick caught a big
fellow too, and so did Pennington.  Fortune, after wavering in her
choice, decided to favor all three about equally, and they were
content.  The silvery heaps grew and they rejoiced over the splendid
addition they would make to their mess.  The colonels would enjoy this
fine fresh food, and they were certainly enjoying the taking of it.

They ran out of chaff and fell into silence again, while they fished
industriously.  Dick, who was farthest up the stream, noticed a small
piece of wood floating in the center of the current.  It seemed to have
been cut freshly.  "Loggers at work farther up," he said to himself.
"May be cutting wood for the army."

He caught another fish and a fresh chip passed very near his line. Then
came a second, and a third touched the line itself.  Dick's curiosity
was aroused.  Loggers at such a time would not take the trouble to
throw their chips into the stream.  He lifted his line, caught an
unusually large white chip on the hook and drew it to the land.  When
he picked it up and looked at it he whistled.  Someone had cut upon its
face with a sharp penknife these clear and distinct words:

     Yankees Beware
     This is our River
     Don't Fish in It
     These Fish are Ours.
               JOHNNY REBS.

"Well, this is surely insolence," said Dick, and calling his comrades
he showed them the chip.  Both were interested, but Warner had
admiration for its sender.

"It shows a due consideration for us," he said.  "He merely warns us
away as trespassers before shooting at us.  And perhaps he's right.
The river and the fish in it really belong to them.  We're invaders.
We came down here to crush rebellion, not to take away property."

"But I'm going to keep my fish, just the same," said Pennington.  "You
can't crush a rebellion without eating.  Nor am I going to quit fishing
either."

"Here comes another big white chip," said Dick.

Warner caught it on his hook and towed it in.  It bore the inscription,
freshly cut:

     Let our river alone
     Take in your lines
     You're in danger,
     As you'll soon see.

It was unsigned and they stared at it in wonder.

"Do you think this is really a warning?" said Pennington, "or is it
some of the fellows playing tricks on us?"

"I believe it's a warning," said Warner soberly.  "Probably a farmer a
little distance up the stream has been cutting wood, and these chips
have come from his yard, but he didn't send them.  Dick, can you tell
handwriting when it's done with a knife?"

Dick looked at the chip long and critically.

"It may be imagination," he said, "but the words cut there bear some
resemblance to the handwriting of Harry Kenton.  He makes a peculiar L
and a peculiar A and they're just the same way on this chip.  The
writing is different on the other chip, but on this one I believe
strongly that it's Harry's."

"It looks significant to me," said Warner thoughtfully.  "A mile or two
farther up, this stream, so I'm told, makes an elbow, and beyond that
it comes with a rush out of the mountains.  Its banks are lined with
woods and thickets and some of the enemy may have slipped in and
launched these chips.  I've a sort of feeling, Dick, that it's really
your cousin and his friends who have done it."

"I incline to that belief myself," said Dick.  "You know they're ready
to dare anything, and they don't anticipate any great danger, because
we don't care to shoot at one another, until the campaign really
begins."

"At least," said Warner, "it's best to apply to the problem a good
algebraic formula.  Here we are in a wood, some distance from our main
camp.  Messages, bearing a warning either in jest or in earnest, have
come floating down from a point which may be within the enemy's
country. One of the facts is x and the other is y, but what they amount
to is an unknown quantity.  Hence we are left in doubt, and when you're
in doubt it's best to do the safe thing."

"Which means that we should go back to the camp," said Dick.  "But
we'll take our fish with us, that's sure."

They began to wind up their lines, but knowing that departure would be
prudent they were yet reluctant to go in the face of a hidden danger,
which after all might not be real.

"Suppose I climb this tree," said Pennington, indicating a tall elm,
"and I may be able to get a good look over the country, while you
fellows keep watch."

"Up you go, Frank," said Dick.  "George and I will be on guard, pistols
in one hand and fish in the other."

Pennington climbed the elm rapidly and then announced from the highest
bough able to support him that he saw open country beyond, then more
woods, a glimpse of the stream above the elbow, but no human being. He
added that he would remain a few minutes in the tree and continue his
survey of the country.

Dick's eyes had followed Frank's figure until it disappeared among the
brown leaves, and he had listened to him carefully, while he was
telling the result of his outlook, but his attention now turned back to
the river.  No more chips were floating down its stream.  Nothing
foreign appeared upon the clear surface of its waters, but Dick's sharp
vision caught sight of something in a thicket on the far shore that
made his heart beat.

It was but little he saw, merely the brown edge of an enormous
flap-brimmed hat, but it was enough.  Slade and his men undoubtedly
were there--practically within the Union lines--and he was the danger!
He called up the tree in a fierce sibilant whisper that carried
amazingly far:

"Come down, Frank!  Come down at once, for your life!"

It was a call so alarming and insistent that Pennington almost dropped
from the tree.  He was upon the ground, breathless, in a half minute,
his fish in one hand and the pistol that he had snatched from his belt
in the other.

"What is it?" exclaimed Warner, who had not yet seen anything.

"Slade and his men are in the bush on the other side of the river. The
warning was real and I've no doubt Harry sent it.  They've seen Frank
come down the tree!  Drop flat for your lives!"

Again his tone was so compelling that the other two threw themselves
flat instantly, and Dick went down with them.  They were barely in
time. A dozen rifles flashed from the thickets beyond the stream, but
all the bullets passed over their heads.

"Now we run for it!" exclaimed Dick, once more in that tone of
compelling command.  All three rose instantly, though not forgetting
their fish and their fishing rods, and ran at their utmost speed for
fifty or sixty yards, when at Dick's order they threw themselves flat
again.  Three or four more shots were fired from the thickets, but they
did not come near their targets.

"Thank God for that little river in between us!" said Pennington,
piously and sincerely.  "Rivers certainly have their uses!"

Then they heard a sharp, shrill note blown upon a whistle.

"That's Slade recalling his men," said Dick.  "I heard him use the same
whistle in Mississippi and I know it.  His wicked little scheme to
slaughter us has failed and knowing it he prudently withdraws."

"For which, perhaps, we have a chip to thank," said Warner.  "Shall we
rise and run again?"

"Yes," said Dick.  "I think they've gone, but fifty yards farther and
nobody in those thickets can reach us."

They stooped as they ran, and they ran fast, but, when they dropped
down again, it was behind a little hill, and they knew that all danger
had passed.  The thumping of their hearts ceased, and they looked
thankfully at one another.

"Our lives were in danger," said Warner proudly, "but I didn't forget
my fish.  See, the silver beauties!"

"And here are mine too!" said Pennington, holding up his string.

"And mine also!" said Dick.

"I don't like the way we had to run," said Warner.  "We were
practically within our own lines and we were compelled to be
undignified.  I've been insulted by that flap-brimmed scoundrel, Slade,
and I shall not forget it.  If he hangs upon our flank in this campaign
I shall make a point of it, if I am able, to present him with a bullet."

The sound of thudding hoofs came, and Colonel Winchester and a troop
galloped up.

"We heard shots!" he exclaimed.  "What was it?"

Dick held up his fish.

"We've been fishing, sir," he replied, "and as you can see, we've had
success, but we were interrupted by the guerrilla Slade, whom I met in
Mississippi, and his men.  We got off, though, unhurt, and brought our
fish with us."

Colonel Winchester's troop numbered more than a hundred men, and
crossing the river they beat up the country thoroughly, but they saw no
Confederate sign.  When he came back Dick told him all the details of
the episode, and Colonel Winchester agreed with him that Harry had sent
the warning.

"You'd better keep it to yourself," he said.  "It's too vague and
mysterious to make a peg upon which to hang anything.  Since we've
cleared the bush of enemies we'll go eat the fish you and your friends
have caught."

Sergeant Whitley cooked them, and, as Dick and a score of others sat
around the fire and ate fish for supper, they were so exuberant and
chaffed so much that he forgot for the time all about Slade.

CHAPTER VII

SHERIDAN'S ATTACK

More days passed and the army of Sheridan lay waiting at the head of
the valley, apparently without any aim in view.  But Dick knew that if
Little Phil delayed it was with good cause.  As Colonel Winchester was
high in the general's confidence Dick saw the commander every day.  He
soon learned that he was of an intensely energetic and active nature,
and that he must put a powerful rein upon himself to hold back, when he
had such a fine army to lead.

Many of the younger officers expressed impatience and Dick saw by the
newspapers that the North too was chafing at the delay.  Newspapers
from the great cities, New York, Philadelphia and Boston, reached their
camp and they always read them eagerly.  Criticisms were leveled at
Sheridan, and from the appearance of things they had warrant, but Dick
had faith in their leader.  Yet another period of depression had come
in the North. The loss of life in Grant's campaign through the
Wilderness had been tremendous, and now he seemed to be held
indefinitely by Lee in the trenches before Petersburg.  The
Confederacy, after so many great battles, and such a prodigious roll of
killed and wounded, was still a nut uncracked, and Sheridan, who was
expected to go up the valley and turn the Southern flank, was resting
quietly in his camp.

Such was the face of matters, but Dick knew that, beneath, great plans
were in the making and that the armies would soon stir.  The more he
saw of Sheridan the more he was impressed by him.  He might prove to be
the Stonewall Jackson of the North.  Young, eager, brave, he never fell
into the fault some of the other Union commanders had of overestimating
the enemy.  He always had a cheery word for his young officers, and
when he was not poring over the maps with his lieutenant of engineers,
Meigs, he was inspecting his troops, and seeing that their equipment
and discipline were carried to the highest pitch.  He was the very
essence of activity and the army, although not yet moving, felt at all
times the tonic of his presence.

Cavalry detachments were sent out on a wider circle.  Slade and his men
had no opportunity to come so close again, but Shepard informed Dick
that he was in the mountains hemming in the valley on the west, and
that the statement of his having formed a junction with a band under
Skelly from the Alleghanies was true.  He had seen the big man and the
little man together and they had several hundred followers.

Shepard in these days showed an almost superhuman activity.  He would
leave the camp, disguised as a civilian, and after covering a great
distance and risking his life a dozen times he would return with
precious information.  A few hours of rest and he was gone again on a
like errand. He seemed to be burning with an inward fire, not a fire
that consumed him, but a fire of triumph.  Dick, who had formed a great
friendship with him and who saw him often, had never known him to speak
more sanguine words. Always cautious and reserved in his opinions, he
talked now of the certainty of victory.  He told them that the South
was not only failing in men, having none to fill up its shattered
ranks, but that food also was failing.  The time would come, with the
steel belt of the Northern navy about it and the Northern armies
pressing in on every side, when the South would face starvation.

But a day arrived when there were signs of impending movements in the
great Northern camp.  Long columns of wagons were made ready and orders
were issued for the vanguard of cavalry to start at an appointed time.
Then, to the intense disappointment of the valiant young troops, the
orders were countermanded and the whole army settled back into its
quarters.  Dick, who persistently refused to be a grumbler, knew that a
cause must exist for such an action, but before he could wonder about
it long Colonel Winchester told him, Warner and Pennington to have
their horses saddled, and be ready to ride at a moment's notice.

"We're to be a part of General Sheridan's escort," he said, "and we're
to go to a little place called Charlestown."

The three were delighted.  They were eager to move, and above all in
the train of Sheridan.  The mission must be of great importance or the
commander himself would not ride upon it.  Hence they saddled up in
five minutes, hoping that the call would come in the next five.

"Did Colonel Winchester tell you why we were going to ride?" asked
Warner of Dick.

"No."

"Then perhaps we're going to receive the surrender of Early and all his
men."

Dick laughed.

"I've heard that old Jube Early is one of the hardest swearers in the
Southern army," he said, "and I've heard, too, that he's just as hard a
fighter.  I don't think he'll be handing us his surrender on a silver
platter at Charlestown or anywhere else."

"I know it," said Warner.  "I was only joking, but I'm wondering why we
go."

In ten minutes an orderly came with a message for them and they were in
the saddle as quickly as if they intended to ride to a charge.
Sheridan himself and his staff and escort were as swift as they, and
the whole troop swept away with a thunder of hoofs and the blood
leaping in their veins.  It was now almost the middle of September, and
the wind that blew down from the crest of the mountains had a cool
breath.  It fanned Dick's face and the great pulse in his throat
leaped.  He felt that this ride must portend some important movement.
Sheridan would not gallop away from his main camp, except on a vital
issue.

It was not a long distance to Charlestown, and when they arrived there
they dismounted and waited.  Dick saw Colonel Winchester's face express
great expectancy and he must know why they waited, but the youth did
not ask him any questions, although his own curiosity increased.

An hour passed, and then a short, thickset, bearded man, accompanied by
a small staff, appeared.  Dick drew a deep breath.  It was General
Grant, Commander-in-Chief of all the armies of the Union, and Sheridan
hastened forward to meet him.  Then the two, with several of the senior
officers, went into a house, while the younger men remained outside,
and on guard.

"I knew that we were waiting for somebody of importance," said Warner,
"but I didn't dream that it was the biggest man we've got in the field."

"Didn't your algebra give you any hint of it?" asked Dick.

"No.  An algebra reasons.  It doesn't talk and waste its time in idle
chatter."

The young officers with their horses walked back and forth a long time,
while Grant and Sheridan talked.  Dick, surprised that Grant had left
the trenches before Petersburg and had come so far to meet his
lieutenant, felt that the meeting must be momentous.  But it was even
more crowded with the beginnings of great events than he thought.
Grant, as he wrote long afterward, had come prepared with a plan of
campaign for Sheridan, but, as he wrote, "seeing that he was so clear
and so positive in his views I said nothing about this and did not take
it out of my pocket." It was a quality of Grant's greatness, like that
of Lee, to listen to a lieutenant, and when he thought his plan was
better than his own to adopt the lieutenant's and put his own away.

In that memorable interview, from which such stirring campaigns dated,
Grant was impressed more and more by the earnestness and clearness of
the famous Little Phil, and, when they parted, he gave him a free rein
and an open road.  Sheridan, when they rode away from the conference,
was sober and thoughtful.  He was to carry out his own plan, but the
full weight of the responsibility would be his, and it was very great
for a young man who was not much more than thirty.

But Dick and his comrades felt exultation, and did not try to hide it.
Now that Grant himself had come to see Sheridan the army was bound to
move.  Pennington looked toward the South and waved his hand.

"You've been waiting for us a long time, old Jube," he said, "but we're
coming.  And you'll see and hear our resistless tread."

"But don't forget, Frank," said Warner soberly, "that we'll have a big
bill of lives to pay.  We don't ride unhurt over the Johnnies."

"Don't I know it?" said Pennington.  "Haven't I been learning it every
day for three years?"

Action was prompt as the young officers had hoped.  The very next day
after the meeting with his superior, Sheridan prepared to march, and
the hopes of Dick and his friends rose very high.  They did not know
that daring Southern spies had learned of the meeting of Grant and
Sheridan, and Early, judging that it portended a great movement against
him, was already consolidating his forces and preparing to meet it.
And Jubal Early was an able and valiant general.

Dick did not sleep that night.  All had received orders to hold
themselves in readiness for an instant march, and his blood tingled
with expectancy.  At midnight the Winchester regiment rode off to the
left to join the cavalry under Wilson which was to lead the advance,
moving along a pike road and then crossing the little river Opequan.

Dick rode close behind Colonel Winchester and Warner and Pennington
were on either side of him.  Not far away from them was Sergeant
Whitley, ready for use as a scout.  Shepard had disappeared already in
the darkness.  They joined Wilson's command and waited in silence.  At
three o'clock in the morning the word to advance was given and the
whole division marched forward in the starlight.

They had not gone far before Shepard rode back telling them that the
crossing of the Opequan was guarded by Confederate troops.  The cavalry
increased their speed.  After the long period of inaction they were
anxious to come to grips with their foe.  Dick still rode knee to knee
with Warner and Pennington, as they went on at a rapid pace in the
starlight, the fields and strips of forest gliding past.  Men on
horseback talk less at night than in the day and moreover these had
little to say.  Their part was action, and they were waiting to see
what the little Opequan would disclose to them.

"Do you think they'll have a big force at the river?" asked Pennington.

"No," replied Dick.  "I fancy from what we've heard of Early's army
that he won't have the men to spare."

"But we can look for a brush there," said Warner.

The night began to darken as a premonition of the coming dawn, a veil
of vapor was drawn before the stars, trees blended together and the air
became chill.  Then the vapor was pierced in the east by a lance of
light.  The rift widened, and the pale light of the first dawn appeared
over the hills.  Dick, using his glasses, saw a flash which he knew was
the Opequan.  And with that silvery gleam of water came other flashes
of red and rapid crackling reports.  The Southern sharpshooters along
the stream were already opening fire.

A great shout went up from the cavalry.  All the forces restrained so
long in these young men burst forth.  The dawn was now deepening
rapidly, its pallor turning to silver, and the river, for a long
length, lay clear to view before them.  Trumpets to right and left and
in the center sounded the charge, the mellow notes coming back in many
echoes.

The horsemen firing their own carbines and swinging aloft their sabers,
galloped forward in a mighty rush.  The beat of hundreds of hoofs made
a steady sound, insistent and threatening.  The yellow light of the
sun, replacing the silver of the first dawn, gilded them with gold,
glittering on the upraised blades and tense faces.  The bullets of the
Southern sharpshooters, in the bushes and trees along the Opequan,
crashed among them, and horses and men went down, but the mighty sweep
of the mass was not delayed for an instant.

Dick was flourishing the cavalry saber that he now carried and was
shouting with the rest.  Nearer and nearer came the belt of clear
water, and the fire of the Southern skirmishers increased in volume and
accuracy.  No great Southern force was there, but the men were full of
courage and activity.  Their rifle fire emptied many of the Northern
saddles.  A bullet went through the sleeve of Dick's tunic and grazed
the skin, but he only felt a slight burning touch and then soon forgot
it.

Then the whole column started together, as they swept into the Opequan,
driving before them through sheer weight of mass the skirmishers and
sharpshooters, who were hidden among the trees and thickets.  The water
itself proved but little obstacle.  It was churned to foam by hundreds
of trampling hoofs, and Dick felt it falling upon him like rain, but
the drops were cool and refreshing.

Still at a gallop, they emerged from the river, wet and dripping, so
much water had been dashed up by the beating hoofs, and charged
straight on, driving the scattered Southern riflemen before them.
Dick's exultation swelled, and so did that of Warner and Pennington.
The young Nebraskan was compelled to give voice to his.

"Hurrah!" he shouted.  "We'll gallop the whole length of the valley!
Nothing can stop us!"

But Warner, naturally cautious, despite his rejoicings, would not go so
far.

"Not the whole length of the valley, Frank!" he exclaimed.  "Only half
of it!"

"All or nothing!" shouted Pennington, carried away by his enthusiasm.
"Hurrah!  Hurrah!"

Before them now lay a small earthwork, from which field pieces began to
send ugly gusts of fire, but so great was the sweep of the cavalry that
they charged directly upon it.  The defenders, too few to hold it,
withdrew and retreated in haste, and in a few minutes the Northern
cavalry were in possession.

"Didn't I tell you," exclaimed Pennington, "that we were going to
gallop the whole length of the valley!  We've taken a fort with
horsemen!"

"Yes," said Warner, "but we'll stop here a while.  Listen to the
trumpets sounding the halt, and yonder you can see the main lines of
the Johnnies."

It was obvious that it was unwise to go farther until the whole army
came up, as they heard other trumpets calling now, and they were not
their own but those of their enemies.  Early had not been caught
napping.  The dark lines of his infantry were advancing to retake the
little fort.  The cavalry was reduced in an instant from the offensive
to the defensive, and dismounting and sending their horses to the rear,
where they were held by every tenth man, they waited with carbines
ready, the masses of men in gray bearing down upon them.  Dick wondered
if the Invincibles were there before him.  Second thought told him that
it was unlikely, as the advancing troops were infantry, and he knew
that the Invincibles were now mounted.

"Now, lads," said Colonel Winchester, going down the ranks, "ready with
your rifles!"

The Southern infantry came on to the steady beating of a drum
somewhere, but as they drew near the fort a sheet of bullets poured
upon them, and drove them back, leaving the ground sprinkled with the
fallen. Again and again they reformed and returned to the charge always
to meet the same fate.

"Brave fellows!" exclaimed Warner, "but they can't retake this fort
from us!"

After the last repulse Colonel Winchester drew out his men, mounted
them, and charging the infantry in flank sent them far down the road
toward Winchester, where heavy columns came to their support.  But the
Winchester men had time to breathe, and also to exult, as they had
suffered but little loss.  While they remained at the captured fort,
awaiting further orders, they watched the battle elsewhere, flaring in
a long irregular line across the valley.

The rifle fire was heavy and the big guns of Early were sweeping the
roads with shell and grapeshot.  As well as Dick could see through his
glasses, the only success yet achieved was that of the cavalry at the
fort.  Sheridan himself had not yet appeared, and the hopes of the
three sank a little.  They had seen so many triumphs nearly achieved
and then lost that they could believe in nothing until it was done.

But the morning was yet very young.  While the east had long been full
of light, the golden glow was just enveloping the west.  The rifles
crashed incessantly and the heavy thunder of the cannon gave the steady
sound a deeper note.  The fire of the defending Southern force made a
red stream across the hills and fields.

"It's too early to have a battle," said Warner, looking at the sun,
which was not yet far above the horizon.

"Too early for us or too early for the Johnnies?" said Pennington. "I
think, Dick, I see those rebel friends of yours.  Turn your glasses to
the right, and look at that regiment of horses by the edge of the
grove. I see at the head of it two men with longish hair.  Apparently
they are elderly, and they must be Colonel Talbot and Lieutenant
Colonel St. Hilaire."

Dick turned his glasses eagerly and the officers of the Invincibles
were at once recognizable to his more familiar eye.  He could not
mistake Colonel Leonidas Talbot and Lieutenant Colonel Hector St.
Hilaire, both of whom were watching the progress of the battle through
glasses, and he knew that the four young men who sat their horses just
behind them were Harry, St. Clair, Dalton and Langdon.

As no further attack was made on the fort, and Colonel Winchester's
troop remained stationary for the time, Dick kept his glasses bearing
continually upon the Invincibles.  The glasses were powerful and they
told him much.  He inferred from the manner in which the men were drawn
up that they would charge soon.  Near them a battery of four
Confederate guns was planted on a hill, and it was firing rapidly and
effectively, sending shell and shrapnel into advancing lines of blue
infantry.

A singular feeling took hold of him, one of which he was not then
conscious.  He knew six of the officers who sat in the front of the
Invincibles, and one of them was his own cousin, almost his brother. He
did not know a soul in the blue columns advancing upon them, and his
hopes and fears centered suddenly around that little group of six.

The wood was filled with Southern infantry, as it was now spouting
flame, and the battery continued to thunder as fast as the men could
reload and fire.  The Invincibles who carried short rifles, much like
the carbines of the North, raised them and pulled the triggers.  Many
in the blue column fell, but the others went on without faltering.

Dick knew from long experience what would follow, and he watched it
alike with the eye and the mind that divines.  Either his eye or his
fancy saw the Invincibles lean forward a little, fasten their rifles,
shake loose the reins with one hand, and drop the other hand to the
hilt of the saber.  It was certain that in the next minute they would
charge.

He saw a trumpeter raise a trumpet to his lips and blow, loud and
shrill. Then the column of the Invincibles leaped forward, the necks of
the horses outstretched, the men raising their sabers and flashing them
above their heads.  Dick drew deep breaths and his pulses beat
painfully. Had he realized what his wishes were then he would have
considered himself a traitor.  In those swift moments his heart was
with the Invincibles and not with the blue columns that stood up
against them.

He saw the gray horsemen sweep forward into a cloud of fire and smoke,
in which he caught the occasional flash of a saber.  The combat behind
the veil lasted only a minute or two, though it seemed an hour to Dick,
and then he saw the blue infantry reeling back, their advance checked
by the charge of the Invincibles.  A cheer rose in Dick's throat, but
he checked it, and then, remembering, he trembled in a brief chill, as
if shaken by the knowledge that for a few moments at least he had not
been true to the cause for which he fought.

"A gallant charge those Johnnies made," said Warner, "and it's been
effective, too.  Our men are falling back, while the Johnnies are
returning to their place near the wood."

Dick was straining his eyes through the glasses to see whether any one
of the five whom he knew had fallen, but as the Invincibles returned
from their victorious charge in a close mass it was impossible for him
to tell.  A number of saddles had been emptied, as riderless horses
were galloping wildly over the plain.  He sighed a little and replaced
his glasses in their case.

"Here come more of our cavalry!" said Warner.

They heard the heavy beat of many hoofs and in an instant many horsemen
swarmed about them.  It was Sheridan himself who led them, his face
flushed and eager and his eyes blazing.  He was a little man, but he
was electric in his energy, and his very presence seemed to communicate
more spirit and fire to the troops.  The officers crowded about him,
and, while he swept the field with his glasses, he also gave a rapid
command.

The Southern resistance, despite inferior numbers, was valiant and
enduring.  Their heavy guns were pouring a deadly fire upon the
Northern center.  Beyond the taking of the fort by the cavalry the Army
of the Shenandoah had made no progress, and the Southern troops were
rapidly concentrating at every critical point.  Old Jube Early, mighty
swearer, was proving himself a master of men.

Dick could not watch Sheridan long, as the cavalry were quickly sent
off to the left to clear away skirmishers, and let the infantry and
artillery get up on that front.  There were many groups of trees, and
from every one of these the Southern riflemen sent swarms of bullets.
It seemed to Dick that he was preserved miraculously.  Many a bullet
coming straight for his head must have turned aside at the last moment
to seek a target elsewhere.  To him at least these bullets were
merciful that morning.

But they cleared the ground, though some of their own saddles were
emptied, and the infantry and the artillery came up behind them.  The
big guns were planted and began to reply to those of the South.  Yet
the Confederate lines still held fast.  Clouds of smoke floated over
the field, but whenever they lifted sufficiently Dick saw the gray army
maintaining all its positions.  He looked for the Invincibles again but
could not find them.  Doubtless they were hid from his view by the
hills.

"It's anybody's fight," said Warner, surveying the field with his cool,
mathematical eye.  "We have the greater numbers but our infantry are
coming up slowly and, besides, the enemy has the advantage of interior
lines."

"And the morning wanes," said Dick.  "I thought we'd make a grand rush
and sweep over 'em!"

"Oh, these Johnnies are tough.  They have to be.  There's not much
marching over the other by either side in this war."

A heavy battle of cannon and rifles, with no advantage to either side,
went on for a long time.  Dick saw Sheridan galloping here and there,
and urging on his troops, but the reserves were slow in coming and he
was not yet able to hurl his full strength upon his enemy.  Noon came,
the battle already having lasted four or five hours, and Sheridan had
no triumph to show, save the little fort that the cavalry had seized
early in the morning.

"Do you think we'll have to draw off?" asked Pennington.

"Maybe we'll have to, but we won't," replied Dick.  "Sheridan refuses
to recognize necessities when they're not in his favor.  You'll now see
the difference between a man and men."

Colonel Winchester's regiment was sent off further to the left to
prevent any flanking movement, but they could still see most of the
field. For the moment they were not engaged, and they watched the
thrilling and terrific panorama as it passed before them.

Colonel Winchester himself suddenly broke from his calm and pointed to
the rear of the Union lines.

"Look!" he exclaimed.  "All our reserves of artillery and infantry are
coming up!  The whole army will now advance!"

They saw very clearly the deepening of the lines in the center.
Sheridan was there massing the new troops for the attack, and soon the
trumpets sounded the charge along the whole front.  The Northern
batteries redoubled their fire, and the South, knowing that a heavier
shock of battle was coming, replied in kind.

"Here we go again!" cried Pennington, and the horsemen rode straight at
their enemy.  It seemed to Dick that the Southern regiments came
forward to meet them and a battle long, fierce and wavering in its
fortunes ensued.  The wing to which the Winchesters belonged pressed
forward, driving their enemy before them, only to be caught when they
went too far by a savage flanking fire of artillery.  Early had brought
in his reserve guns, and so powerful was their attack that at this
point the Northern line was almost severed, and a Southern wedge was
driven into the gap.

But Sheridan did not despair.  He had a keen eye and a collected mind,
infused with a fiery spirit.  Where his line had been weakened he sent
new troops.  With charge after charge he drove the Confederates out of
the gap and closed it up.  A whole division was then hurled with its
full weight against the Southern line and broke it, although the
gallant general who led the column fell shot through the heart.

But Early formed new lines.  It was only a temporary success for
Sheridan.  An important division of cavalry sent on a wide flanking
movement had not yet arrived, and he wondered why.  Perhaps the thought
came into his own dauntless heart that he might not succeed at all,
but, if so, he hid it, and called up fresh resources of strength and
courage. It was now far into the afternoon but he resolved nevertheless
to win victory before the day was over.  Everywhere the call for a new
charge was sounded.

The Winchesters had a good trumpeter, a deep-chested young fellow who
loved to blow forth mellow notes, and now as his brazen instrument sang
the song that summoned men to death the young men unconsciously
tightened the grip of the knee on their horses, and leaned a little
forward, as if they would see the enemy more closely.  To the right the
fire grew heavier and heavier, and most of the field was hidden by a
thick veil of smoke.

Dick saw other cavalry massing on either side of the Winchester
regiment, and he knew their charge was to be one of great weight and
importance.

"I feel that we're going to win or lose here," he said to Warner.

"Looks like it," replied the Vermonter, "but I think you can put your
money on the cavalry today.  It's Sheridan's great striking arm."

"It'll have to strike with all its might, that's sure," said Dick.

He did not know that the force in front of him was commanded by a
general from his own state, Breckinridge, once Vice-President of the
United States and also high in the councils of the Confederacy.
Breckinridge was inspiring his command with the utmost vigor and
already his heavy guns were sweeping the front of the Union cavalry,
while the riflemen stood ready for the charge.

The great mass of Northern horsemen were eager and impatient.  A thrill
of anticipation seemed to run through them, as if through one body, and
when the final command was given they swept forward in a mighty,
irresistible line.  In Dick's mind then anticipation became knowledge.
He was as sure as he was of his own name that they were going to win.

Again he was knee to knee with Warner and Pennington, and with these
good comrades on his right and left he rode into the Southern fire,
among the shell and shrapnel and grapeshot and bullets that had swept
so often around him.  In spite of the most desperate courage, the
Southern troops gave way before the terrific onset--they had to give
ground or they would have been trampled under the feet of the horses.
Cannon and many rifles were taken, and the whole Confederate division
was driven in disorder down the road.

Warner's stern calm was broken, and he shouted in delight "We win! We
win!"  Then Dick and Pennington shouted with him: "We win!  We win!"
and as the smoke of their own battle lifted they saw that the Union
army elsewhere was triumphant also.  Sheridan along his whole line was
forcing the enemy back toward Winchester, raking him with his heavy
guns, and sending charge after charge of cavalry against him.  Unable
to withstand the weight hurled upon them the Southern troops gave
ground at an increased rate.

Yet Early and his veterans never showed greater courage than on that
day. His brave officers were everywhere, checking the fugitives and,
his best division turning a front of steel to the enemy, covered the
retreat. Neither infantry nor cavalry could break it, although every
man in the Southern command knew that the battle was lost.  Yet they
were resolved that it should not become a rout, and though many were
falling before the Union force they never shrank for a moment from
their terrible task.

The Invincibles were in the division that covered the retreat, and they
were exposed at all times to the full measure of the Union attack.
Dalton had joined them that morning, but the bullets and shells seemed
resolved to spare the four youths and the two colonels, or at least not
to doom them to death.  Nearly every one of them bore slight wounds,
and often men had been killed only a few feet away, but the valiant
band, led by its daring officers, fought with undimmed courage and
resolution.

"I fear that we have been defeated, Hector," said Colonel Leonidas
Talbot.

"Don't call it a defeat, Leonidas.  It's merely a masterly retreat
before superior numbers, after having inflicted great loss upon the
enemy. As you see, we are protecting our withdrawal.  Every attack of
the enemy upon our division has been beaten back, and we will continue
to beat him back as long as he comes."

"True, true, Hector, and the Invincibles are bearing a great part in
this glorious feat of arms!  But the Yankee general, Sheridan, is not
like the other Yankee generals who operated in the valley earlier in
the war. We're bound to admit that."

"We do admit it, Leonidas, and alas! we have now no Stonewall Jackson
to meet him, brave and capable as General Early is!"

The two colonels looked at the setting sun, and hoped that it would go
down with a rush.  The division could not hold forever against the
tremendous pressure upon it that never ceased, but darkness would put
an end to the battle.  The first gray of twilight was already showing
on the eastern hills, and Early's men still held the broad turnpike
leading into the South.  Here, fighting with all the desperation of
imminent need, they beat off every effort of the Northern cavalry to
gain their ground, and when night came they still held it, withdrawing
slowly and in good order, while Sheridan's men, exhausted by tremendous
marches and heavy losses, were unable to pursue.  Yet the North had
gained a great and important victory.

          *          *          *          *

Darkness closed over a weary but exultant army.  It had not destroyed
the forces of Early, and it had been able to pursue only three miles.
It had lost five thousand men in killed and wounded, but the results,
nevertheless, were great and the soldiers knew it.  The spell of
Southern invincibility in the famous valley, where Jackson had won so
often, was broken, and the star of Sheridan had flashed out with
brilliancy, to last until the war's close.  They knew, too, that they
now held all of the valley north of Winchester, and they were soon to
know that they would continue to hold it.  They commanded also a great
railway and a great canal, and the South was cut off from Maryland and
Pennsylvania, neither of which it could ever invade again.

Although a far smaller battle than a dozen that had been fought, it was
one of the greatest and most complete victories the North had yet won.
After a long and seemingly endless deadlock a terrible blow had been
struck at the flank of Lee, and the news of the triumph filled the
North with joy.  It was also given on this occasion to those who had
fought in the battle itself to know what they had done.  They were not
blinded by the dust and shouting of the arena.

Dick with his two young comrades sat beneath an oak and ate the warm
food and drank the hot coffee the camp cook brought to them.  They had
escaped without hurt, and they were very happy over the achievement of
the day. The night was crisp, filled with starshine, and the cooking
fires had been built along a long line, stretching away like a series
of triumphant bonfires.

"I felt this morning that we would win," said Dick.

"I've felt several times that we would win, when we didn't," said
Pennington.

"But this time I felt it right.  They say that Stonewall Jackson always
communicated electricity to his men, and I think our Little Phil has
the same quality.  Since we first came to him here I haven't doubted
that we would win, and when I saw him and Grant talking I knew that
we'd be up and doing."

"It's the spirit that Grant showed at Vicksburg," said Warner,
seriously. "Little Phil--I intend to call him that when I'm not in his
presence, because it's really a term of admiration--is another Grant,
only younger and on horseback."

"It's fire that does it," said Dick.  "No, Frank, I don't mean this
material fire burning before us, but the fire that makes him see
obstacles little, and advantages big, the fire that makes him rush over
everything to get at the enemy and destroy him."

"Well spoken, Dick," said Warner.  "A bit rhetorical, perhaps, but that
can be attributed to your youth and the region from which you come."

"It's a great pity, George, about my youth and the region from which I
come.  If so many youths in blue didn't come from that same region the
whole Mississippi Valley might now be in the hands of the Johnnies."

"Didn't I tell you, Dick, not to argue with him?" said Pennington.
"What's the use?  New England has the writers and when this war is
ended victoriously they'll give the credit of all the fighting to New
England. And after a while, through the printed word, they'll make
other people believe it, too."

"Then you Nebraskans and Kentuckians should learn to read and write.
Why blame me?" said Warner with dignity.

Colonel Winchester joined them at that moment, having returned from a
brief council with Sheridan and his officers.  Dick, without a word,
passed him a plate of hot ham and a tin cup of sizzling coffee.  The
colonel, who looked worn to the bone but triumphant, ate and drank.
Then he settled himself into an easy place before one of the fires and
said:

"A messenger has gone to General Grant with the news of our victory,
and it will certainly be a most welcome message.  The news will also be
sent to the nearest telegraph station, and then it will travel on
hundreds of wires to every part of the North, but while it's flashing
through space we'll be riding forward to new battle."

"I expected it, sir," said Dick.  "I suppose we advance again at dawn."

"And maybe a little sooner.  Now you boys must rest.  You've had
eighteen hours of marching and fighting.  I've been very proud of my
regiment today, and fortunately we have escaped without large losses."

"And you sleep, too, sir, do you not?" said Warner, respectfully. "If
we've been marching and fighting for eighteen hours so have you."

"I shall do so a little later, but that's no reason why the rest of you
should delay.  How that coffee and ham refreshed me!  I didn't know I
was so nearly dead."

"Here's more, Colonel!"

"Thank you, Dick.  I believe I will.  But as I say, go to sleep.  I
want all my regiment to sleep.  We don't know what is before us
tomorrow, but whatever it is it won't be easy.  Now you boys have had
enough to eat and drink.  Into the blankets with you!"

He did not wait to see his order obeyed, but strode away on another
hasty errand.  But it was obeyed and that, too, without delay.  The
young warriors rolled themselves in their blankets and hunted a soft
place for their heads.  But their nerves were not yet quiet, and sleep
did not come for a little while.  The long lines of fires still glowed,
and the sounds of an army came to them.  Dick looked up into the
starshine.  He was still rejoicing in the victory, not because the
other side had lost, but because, in his opinion, it brought peace much
nearer.  He realized as he lay there gazing into the skies that the
South could never win as long as the North held fast.  And the North
was holding fast.  The stars as they winked at him seemed to say so.

He propped himself upon his elbow and said:

"George, does your little algebra tell you anything about the meaning
of this victory?"

Warner tapped his breast.

"That noble book is here in the inside pocket of my tunic," he replied.
"It's not necessary for me to take it out, but tucked away on the 118th
page is a neat little problem which just fits this case.  Let x equal
the Army of Northern Virginia, let y equal the army of Early here in
the valley, and let x plus y equal a possibly successful defense by the
South.  But when y is swept away it's quite certain that x standing
alone cannot do so.  My algebra tells you on the 118th page, tucked
away neatly in a paragraph, that this is the beginning of the end."

"It sounds more like a formula than a problem, George, but still I'm
putting my faith in your little algebra book."

"George's algebra is all right," said Pennington, "but it doesn't
always go before, it often comes after.  It doesn't show us how to do a
thing, but proves how we've done it.  As for me, I'm pinning my faith
to Little Phil.  He won a great victory today, when all our other
leaders for years have been beaten in the Valley of Virginia, and
sometimes beaten disgracefully too."

"Your argument is unanswerable, Frank," said Dick.  "I didn't expect
such logic from you."

"Oh, I think I'm real bright at times."

"Despite popular belief," said Warner.

"I don't advertise my talents," said Pennington.

"But you ought to.  They need it."

Dick laughed.

"Frank," he said, "I give you your own advice to me.  Don't argue with
him.  With him the best proof that he's always right is because he
thinks he is."

"I think clearly and directly, which can be said of very few of my
friends," rejoined Warner.

Then all three of them laughed and lay down again, resting their heads
on soft lumps of turf.

They were under the boughs of a fine oak, on which the leaves were yet
thick.  Birds, hidden among the leaves, began to sing, and the three,
astonished, raised themselves up again.  It was a chorus, beautiful and
startling, and many other soldiers listened to the sound, so unlike
that which they had been hearing all day.

"Strange, isn't it?" said Pennington.

"But fine to hear," said Warner.

"Likely they were in the tree this morning when the battle began," said
Dick, "and the cannon and the rifles frightened 'em so much that they
stayed close within the leaves.  Now they're singing with joy, because
it's all over."

"A good guess, I think, Dick," said Warner, "but isn't it beautiful at
such a time and such a place?  How these little fellows must be
swelling their throats!  I don't believe they ever sang so well before."

"I didn't think today that I'd be sung to sleep tonight," said Dick,
"but it's going to happen."

When his eyes closed and he floated away to slumberland it was to the
thrilling song of a bird on a bough above his head.

CHAPTER VIII

THE MESSENGER FROM RICHMOND

It seemed that Dick and his comrades were to see an activity in the
valley under Sheridan much like that which Harry and his friends had
experienced under Stonewall Jackson earlier in the war.  All of the men
before they went to sleep that night had felt confirmed in the belief
that a strong hand was over them, and that a powerful and clear mind
was directing them.  There would be no more prodigal waste of men and
supplies.  No more would a Southern general have an opportunity to beat
scattered forces in detail.  The Union had given Sheridan a splendid
army and a splendid equipment, and he would make the most of both.

Their belief in Sheridan's activity and energy was justified fully,
perhaps to their own discomfort, as the trumpets sounded before dawn,
and they ate a hasty breakfast, while the valley was yet dark.  Then
they were ordered to saddle and ride at once.

"What, so early?" exclaimed Pennington.  "Why, it's not daylight yet.
Isn't this new general of ours overdoing it?"

"We wanted a general who would lead," said Warner, "and we've got him."

"But a battle a day!  Isn't that too large an allowance?"

"No.  We've a certain number of battles to fight, and the sooner we
fight them the sooner the war will be over."

"Here comes the dawn," said Dick, "and the bugles are singing to us to
march.  It's the cavalry that are to show the way."

The long line of horsemen rode on southward, leaving behind them
Winchester, the little city that had been beloved of Jackson, and
approached the Massanuttons, the bold range that for a while divided
the valley into two parts.  The valley was twenty miles wide before
they came to the Massanuttons, but after the division the western
extension for some distance was not more than four miles across, and it
was here that they were going.  At the narrower part, on Fisher's Hill,
Early had strong fortifications, defended by his finest infantry, and
Colonel Winchester did not deem it likely that Sheridan would make a
frontal attack upon a position so well defended.

It was about noon when the cavalry arrived before the Southern works.
Dick, through his glasses, clearly saw the guns and columns of
infantry, and also a body of Southern horse, drawn up on one flank of
the hill. He fancied that the Invincibles were among them, but at the
distance he could not pick them from the rest.

The regiment remained stationary, awaiting the orders of Sheridan, and
Dick still used his glasses.  He swept them again and again across the
Confederate lines, and then he turned his attention to the mountains
which here hemmed in the valley to such a straitened width.  He saw a
signal station of the enemy on a culminating ridge called Three Top
Mountain, and as the flags there were waving industriously he knew that
every movement of the Union army would be communicated to Early's
troops below.

Yet the whole scene despite the fact that it was war, red war, appealed
to Dick's sense of the romantic and beautiful.  The fertile valley
looked picturesque with its woods and fields, and on either side rose
the ranges as if to protect it.  Mountains like trees always appealed
to him, and the steep slopes were wooded densely.  Lower down they were
brown, with touches of green that yet lingered, but higher up the
glowing reds and golds of autumn were beginning to appear.  The wind
that blew down from the crests was full of life.

Sheridan arrived and, riding before the center of his army, looked long
and well at the Southern defenses.  Then he called his generals, and
some of the colonels, including Winchester, and held a brief council.

"It means," said Warner, while the colonel was yet away at the meeting,
"that we won't fight any this afternoon, but that we'll do a lot of
riding tonight.  That position is too strong to be attacked.  It would
cost us too many men to take it straight away, but having seen a
specimen of Little Phil's quality we know that he'll try something
else."

"You mean get on their flank," said Dick.  "Maybe we can make a passage
along the slopes of the mountains."

"As the idea has occurred to me I take it that it will occur to Little
Phil also," said Warner.

"Are you sure that he hasn't thought of it first?"

"My politeness forbids an answer.  I am but a lieutenant and he is our
commander."

The rest of the day was spent in massing the troops across the valley,
the Winchester regiment being sent further west until it was against
the base of the Massanuttons.  Here Shepard came in the twilight and
conferred with Colonel Winchester, who called Dick.

"Dick," he said, "Mr. Shepard thinks he can obtain information of value
on the mountain.  He has an idea that some fighting may occur, and so
it's better for a small detachment to go with him.  I've selected you
to lead the party, because you're at home in the woods."

"May I take Lieutenant Warner and Lieutenant Pennington with me?  It
would hurt their feelings to be left behind."

"Yes.  Under no circumstances must the feelings of those two young men
be hurt," laughed Colonel Winchester.

"And Sergeant Whitley, too?  He's probably the best scout in our army.
He can follow a trail where there is no trail.  He can see in the
pitchy dark, and he can hear the leaves falling."

"High recommendations, but they're almost true.  Take the sergeant by
all means.  I fancy you'll need him."

The whole party numbered about a dozen, and Shepard was the guide. It
was dismounted, of course, as the first slope they intended to carry
was too steep for a horse to climb.  They were also heavily armed, it
being absolutely certain that Southern riflemen were on Massanutton
Mountain.

Dick and Shepard were in the lead, and, climbing up at a sharp angle,
they quickly disappeared from the view of those below.  It was as if
night and the wilderness had blotted them out, but every member of the
little party felt relief and actual pleasure in the expedition.
Something mysterious and unknown lay before them, and they were anxious
to find out what it was.

Shepard whispered to Dick of the care that they must take against their
foes, and Warner whispered to Pennington that the mountain was really
fine, although finer ridges could be found in Vermont.

Two hundred yards up, and Shepard, touching Dick's shoulder, pointed to
the valley.  The whole party stopped and looked back.  Although
themselves buried in brown foliage they saw the floor of the valley all
the way to the mountains on the other side, and it was a wonderful
sight, with its two opposing lines of camp fires that shot up redly and
glowed across the fields.  Now and then they saw figures of men moving
against a crimson background, but no sound of the armies came to them.
Peace and silence were yet supreme on the mountain.

"It makes you feel that you're not only above it in the body, but that
you are not a part of it at all," said Shepard.

Dick was not surprised at his words.  He had learned long since that
the spy was an uncommon man, much above most of those who followed his
calling.

"It gives me a similar feeling of detachment," he said, "but we know
just the same that they're going to fight again tomorrow, and that
we'll probably be in the thick of it.  I hope, Mr. Shepard, that our
victory yesterday marks the beginning of the end."

"I think it does, Mr. Mason.  If we clean up the valley, and we'll do
it, Lee's flank and Richmond will be exposed.  He'll have to come out
of his trenches then, and that will give Grant a chance to attack him
with an overwhelming force.  The Confederacy is as good as finished,
but I've never doubted the result for a moment."

"I've worried a little at times.  It seemed to me now and then that all
those big defeats in Virginia might make our people too weary to go on.
Why is that light flaring so high on Fisher's Hill?"

"It may be a signal.  Possibly the Southerners are replying to it with
another fiery signal on this mountain.  We can't see the crest of
Massanutton from this slope."

"You seem to know every inch of the ground in this region.  How did you
manage to learn it so thoroughly?"

"I was born in the valley not far from here.  I've climbed over
Massanutton many a time.  Not far above us is a grove of splendid nut
trees, and along the edge of it runs a ravine.  I mean to lead the way
up the ravine, Mr. Mason.  It will give us shelter from the scouts and
spies of the enemy."

"Shelter is what we want.  I've no taste for being shot obscurely here
on the side of the mountain."

"Then keep close behind me, all of you," said Shepard.  "We're above
the steepest part now, and I know a little path that leads to the
ravine. Don't stumble if you can help it."

The path was nothing more than a trace, but it sufficed to give them a
surer footing, and in eight or ten minutes they reached the ravine
which ran in a diagonal line across the face of the mountain, gradually
ascending to the summit.  The ravine itself was not more than three or
four feet deep, but as its banks were thickly lined with dwarfed cedar
they were completely hidden unless they should chance to meet the
Southern riflemen, coming down the mountain by the same way.

The ravine at one point led out on a bare shoulder of the slope, and
looking over the little pines they clearly saw a fire blazing on the
crest and waving flags silhouetted before its glow.  Far below, at
Fisher's Hill, flags were waving also.

"Quite a lively talk," whispered Shepard.  "I suppose the lookouts are
telling a lot about our army."

"But it won't make much difference," said Dick.  "By the time they've
spelled out from the flags what Sheridan is doing he'll be doing
something else."

They resumed their climb and the ravine led again into dense forest.
Sergeant Whitley had moved up by the side of Shepard, as they were now
near the enemy, and his great scouting abilities were needed.  It was a
wise precaution, as presently he held up his hand, and then, at a
signal from him, the whole party climbed softly out of the ravine, and
crouched among the little cedars.

Now Dick himself heard what the sergeant had heard perhaps a half
minute earlier, that is, the footsteps of two men coming swiftly down
the ravine.  In another minute they came in sight, Confederate
troopers, obviously scouting.  Luckily, the ravine being stony and the
light bad, they did not see any trail, left by Shepard's troop, and
they went on down the ravine.

"Shall we go on?" asked Dick.

"Not yet, sir," replied Shepard.  "They don't suspect that we're up
here, and it's likely they're trying for a good view of our army.  But
I fancy they'll be returning in a few minutes.  We'd best be very
quiet, sir."

Dick cautioned the men, and they lay as still as wild animals in their
coverts.  In about ten minutes the two riflemen came back up the
ravine, and the hidden troopers could hear them talking.

"We'll try some other part of the slope, Jack," said one.

"Yes, that was a bad view," rejoined the other.  "We couldn't tell a
thing about the Yankee movements from down there.  We can leave the
ravine higher up, and I know a path that leads toward the north."

"There's not much good in finding out about 'em anyway.  That fellow
Sheridan is going to press us hard, and they have everything, numbers,
arms, food, while we have next to nothing."

"But we'll fight 'em anyhow.  Still, I wish old Stonewall was here."

"But he ain't here, and we'll have to do the best we can without him."

Their voices were lost, as they passed up the ravine and disappeared.
Then Dick and his little party came out cautiously, and followed.

"I gather from what those two said that Early's men are depressed,"
said Dick.

"They've a right to be," replied Shepard.  "Their army is in bad shape,
besides being small, and now that we have a real leader we are, I
think, sure to clean up the valley."

"But there'll be plenty of hard fighting."

"Yes.  We'll have to win what we get."

The ravine widened and deepened a little, and they stopped.  Sergeant
Whitley in his capacity of chief scout and trailer climbed up the rocky
side and looked about a little, while the others waited.  He returned
in two or three minutes, and Dick saw, by the moonlight, that his face
expressed surprise.

"What is it, sergeant?" asked Dick.

"A woman is on the mountain.  She passed by the ravine not long since,
perhaps not a half hour ago."

"A woman at such a time?  Why, sergeant, it's impossible!"

"No, sir, it isn't.  See here!"

He opened his left hand.  Within the palm lay a tiny bit of thin gray
cloth.

"There may not be more than a dozen threads here," he said, "but I
found 'em sticking to a thorn bush not twenty yards away.  A half hour
ago they were a part of a woman's dress.  A thorn bush grows among the
cedars above.  She was in a hurry, and when her dress caught in it she
jerked it loose."

"But how do you know it was only a half hour or less ago?" asked Dick.

"Because she broke two 'or three of the thorns when she jerked, and it
was so late that their wounds are still bleeding, that is, a faint bit
of sap is oozing out at the fractures."

"That sounds conclusive," said Dick, "but likely it was a mountain
woman who lives somewhere along the slope."

The sergeant shook his head.

"No, sir, it was no mountain woman," he said.  "When I found the cloth
on the thorns I knelt and looked for a trail.  It's hard ground mostly,
but I thought I might find the trace of a footstep somewhere.  I found
several, and not one of them was made by the flat, broad shoe that
mountain women wear.  I found small rounded heel prints which the shoes
worn by city women make."

"If any city woman is on this mountain she's a long way from home,"
said Warner.

"But I'm quite sure of what I say, sir," said the sergeant.

"And so am I," said Shepard, who had been listening with the keenest
attention.  "Will you mind letting me lead the way for a little while,
sir?"

"Go ahead, of course," said Dick.  "In such work as this we rely upon
the sergeant and you."

"Then I'd like to take a look at those heel prints also."

Dick thought he detected a quiver of excitement or emotion in the voice
of Shepard, always so calm and steady hitherto, and he wondered.
Nevertheless he asked no questions as he led the way out of the ravine.

The sergeant showed the heel prints to Shepard, and beyond question
they had been made by a woman.  By careful scrutiny they found a half
dozen more leading in a diagonal direction up the side of the mountain,
but beyond that the ground was so hard and rocky that they could
discover no further traces.

"You agree with me that the tracks have just been made?" said the
sergeant to Shepard.

"I do," replied the spy, his voice showing growing excitement, "and I
think I know who made them.  I didn't believe it at first.  It seemed
incredible.  I want to try a little experiment.  Will all of you remain
perfectly still?"

"Of course," said Dick.

He took a small whistle from his pocket and blew upon it.  The sound
was not shrill like that of Slade's whistle, but was very low, soft and
musical.  He blew only a few notes.  Then he took the whistle from his
lips and waited.  Dick saw that his excitement was growing.  It showed
clearly in the spy's eyes, and he felt his own excitement increasing,
too.  He divined that something extraordinary was going to happen.

Out of the cedars to their right and a little higher up the slope came
the notes of a whistle, exactly similar, low, soft and musical.

"Ah, I knew it!" breathed Shepard.  He waited perhaps half a minute and
then blew again, notes similar and just the same in number.  In a few
moments came the reply, a precise duplicate.

"We'll wait," said Shepard.  "She'll be here in a minute or two."

Dick and his comrades looked eagerly toward the point from which the
sound of the second whistle had come.  This was something amazing,
something beyond their experience, but the excitement of Shepard seemed
to have passed.  His face had become a mask once more, and he was
waiting with certainty.

Dick's sharp ear caught the sound of a light footstep approaching them,
evidently coming straight and with confidence.  He realized that until
now he had not really believed, despite the footprints, despite
everything, that a woman was on the mountain.  But he knew at last. He
even heard the swish of her skirts once or twice against the bushes.
Then she came through the dwarfed cedars, stepping boldly, and stood
before them.

The stranger stood full in the moonlight, and Dick saw her very
clearly. She was thin, small and elderly, clothed in a gray riding
suit, and with a sort of small gray turban on her head.  But despite
her smallness and thinness and years there was nothing insignificant in
her appearance. As she stood there looking at them, she showed a pair
of the brightest and most intelligent eyes that Dick had ever seen.
Her small, pointed chin had the firmness of steel, and figure, manner
and appearance alike betokened courage and resolution in the highest
degree.

All these impressions were made upon Dick in a single instant, as if in
a flash of light, and he also noticed in her face a resemblance to some
one, although he could not recall, for a moment, who it was.  But the
silence that endured for a half minute, while the men regarded the
woman and the woman regarded the men, was broken by Shepard, who
uttered a low cry and strode forward.

"Henrietta," he exclaimed, "you here at such a time!"

He put his arms around her and kissed her.

She returned his kiss, laughed a little, and the two turned toward the
others.  Then Dick saw whom she resembled.  As they stood side by side
the likeness was marked, the same eyes, the same nose, the same mouth,
the same chin, only hers were in miniature, in comparison with his, and
in addition she was eight or ten years older.

"Mr. Mason," said Shepard, addressing himself directly to their nominal
leader.  "This is my sister.  She also serves as I do, and for her,
hardships and dangers are not less than mine for me.  She works chiefly
in Richmond itself.  But as you see, she has now come alone into the
mountains, and also into the very fringe of the armies."

"Then," said Dick, "she must come on a mission of great importance and
it is for us to honor so brave a messenger."

He and all the others took off their caps in silence.  They might have
cheered, but every one knew that the foe was not far away in the
thickets.  There was sufficient light for him to see a little flush of
pride appear for a moment on the face of the woman.  Strange as her
position was, she seemed easy and confident, lightly swinging in her
hand a small riding whip.

"I'll not ask you for the present, Henrietta, how you come to be here,"
said Shepard, "but I'll ask instead what you've brought.  These young
men are Lieutenant Mason, Lieutenant Warner and Lieutenant Pennington.
As I've indicated already, Lieutenant Mason leads us."

"I bring information," she replied, "information that you will be glad
to carry to General Sheridan.  As a woman I could go where men could
not, and you remember, Brother William, that I know the country."

"Almost as well as I do," said Shepard.  "As a girl you rode like a man
and were afraid of nothing.  Nor do you fear anything today."

"Tell General Sheridan," she said, turning to Dick, "that the
Confederate numbers are even less than he thinks, that a large area at
the base of Little North Mountain is wholly unoccupied."

"And if we get there," exclaimed Dick, eagerly, "we can crash in on the
flank of Early."

"I'm not a soldier," she said, "but that plan was in my mind.  A large
division could be hidden in the heavy timber along Cedar Creek, and
then, if the proper secrecy were observed, reach the Confederate flank
tomorrow night, unseen."

"And that's on the other side of the valley," said Dick.

"But at this point it's only four or five miles across."

"I wasn't making difficulties, I was merely locating the places as you
tell them."

"I've drawn a map of the Confederate position.  It's in pencil, but it
ought to help."

"It will be beyond price!" exclaimed Dick.  "You will give it to me?"

"Of course!  But you must wait a minute!  Until I heard my brother's
whistle I didn't know whether it was North or South that I was going to
meet on the mountain."

She disappeared in the bushes, and Dick heard a light rustling, but in
a few moments she returned and held out a broad sheet of heavy paper,
upon which a map had been drawn with care and skill.  He had divined
already its great value, and now his opinion was confirmed.

"I can't thank you," he said, as he took it, "but General Sheridan and
General Grant can.  And I've no doubt they'll do it when the time
comes."

Again the light flush appeared in her cheeks and she looked actually
handsome.

"Since my present task is finished," she said, "I'd better go."

"Where did you leave your horse?" asked Shepard.

"He's tethered in the bushes about a hundred yards farther down the
side of the mountain.  I'll mount and ride back in the direction of
Richmond. I know all the roads."

Sergeant Whitley, who had gone a little higher up and who was watching
while they talked, whistled softly.  Yet the whistle, low as it was,
was undoubtedly a signal of alarm.

"Go at once, Henrietta," whispered Shepard, urgently.  "It's important
that you shouldn't be held here, that you be left with a free hand."

"It's so," she said.

He stooped and kissed her on the brow, and, without another word, she
vanished among the cedars on the lower slope.  Dick thought he heard a
moment later the distant beat of hoofs and he felt sure she was riding
fast and far.  Then he turned his attention to the danger confronting
them, because a danger it certainly was, and that, too, of the most
formidable kind.  But, first, he gave the map to Shepard to carry.

Sergeant Whitley came down the slope and joined them.

"I think we'd better lie down, all of us," he said.

Now the real leadership passed to the sergeant, scout, trailer and
skilled Indian fighter.  It passed to him, because all of them knew
that the conditions made him most fit for the place.  They knelt or lay
but held their weapons ready.  The sergeant knelt by Dick's side and
the youth saw that he was tense and expectant.

"Is it a band of the Johnnies?" he whispered.

"I merely heard 'em.  I didn't see 'em," replied the sergeant, "but I'm
thinkin' from the way they come creepin' through the woods that it's
Slade and his gang."

"If that's so we'd better look out.  Those fellows are woodsmen and
they'll be sure to see signs that we're here."

"Right you are, Mr. Mason.  It's well the lady left so soon, and that
we're between them and her."

"It looks as if this fellow Slade had set out to be our evil genius.
We're always meeting him."

"Yes, sir, but we can take care of him.  I don't specially mind this
kind of fighting, Mr. Mason.  We had to do a lot of it in the heavy
timber on the slopes of some of them mountains out West, the names of
which I don't know, and generally we had to go up against the Sioux and
Northern Cheyennes, and them two tribes are king fighters, I can tell
you. Man for man they're a match for anybody."

"Slade's men don't appear to be moving," said Shepard, who was on the
other side of the sergeant.

"Not so's you could hear 'em," said Sergeant Whitley.  "They heard us
and they're creeping now so's to see what we are and then fall on us by
surprise.  Guess them that's kneeling had better bend down a little
lower."

Warner, who had been crouched on his knees, lay down almost flat. He
did not understand forests and darkness as Dick did, nor did he have
the strong hereditary familiarity with them, and he felt uncomfortable
and apprehensive.

"I don't like it," he said to Pennington.  "I'd rather fight in the
open."

"So would I," said Pennington.  "It's awful to lie here and feel
yourself being surrounded by dangers you can't see.  I guess a man in
the African wilderness stalked at night by a dozen hungry lions would
feel just about as I do."

"I'm going to creep a little distance up the slope again," said the
sergeant, "and try to spy 'em out."

"A good idea, but be very careful."

"I certainly will, Mr. Mason.  I want to live."

He slid among the bushes so quietly that Dick did not hear the noise of
him passing, nor was there any sound until he came back a few minutes
later.

"I saw 'em," he whispered.  "They're lying among the bushes, and
they're not moving now, 'cause they're not certain what's become of us.
It's Slade sure.  I saw him sitting under a tree, wearing that big
flap-brimmed hat, and sitting beside him was a great, black-haired,
red-faced man, a most evil-looking fellow, too."

"Skelly!  Bill Skelly, beyond a doubt!" said Dick.

"That's him!  From what you said Skelly started out by being for the
Union.  Now, as we believed before, he's joined hands with Slade who's
for the South."

"They're just guerrillas, sergeant.  They're for themselves and nobody
else."

"I reckon that's true, and they're expecting to get some plunder from
us. But if you'll listen to me, Mr. Mason, we'll burn their faces while
they're about it."

"You're our leader now, sergeant.  Tell us what to do."

"Just to our right is a shallow gully, running through the cedars. We
can take shelter in it, crawl up it, and open fire on 'em.  They don't
know our numbers, and if we take 'em by surprise maybe we can scatter
'em for the time."

"I suppose we'll have to.  I'd like to get away with this map at once,
but they'd certainly follow and force us to a fight."

"That's true.  We must deal with 'em, now.  I'll have to ask all of you
to be very careful.  Don't slip, and look out for the dead wood lying
about.  If a piece of it cracks under you Slade and Skelly will be sure
to notice it, and it'll be all up with our surprise."

"You hear," whispered Dick to the others.  "If you don't do as the
sergeant says, very likely you'll get shot by Slade's men."

With life as the price it was not necessary to say anything more about
the need of silence, and nobody slipped and no stick broke as they
crept into the gully after the sergeant.  The cedars and thickets
almost met over the narrow depression, shutting out the moonlight, but
every one was able to discern the man before him creeping forward like
a wild animal. It was easy enough for Dick to imagine himself that
famous great grandfather of his, Paul Cotter reincarnated, and that the
days of the wilderness and the Indian war bands had come back again.
He even felt exultation as he adapted himself so readily to the
situation, and became equal to it.  But Warner was grieved and
exasperated.  It hurt his dignity to prowl on his knees through the
dark.

They advanced about two hundred yards in a diagonal course along the
side of the mountain until they came to a point where the cedars
thinned out a little.  Then the sergeant whispered to the others to
stop, rose from his knees, and Dick rose beside him.

"See!" he said, nodding his head in the direction in which he wished
Dick to look.

Dick saw a number of dark figures standing among the trees.  Two were
in close conference, evidently trying to decide upon a plan.  One, a
giant in size, was Skelly, and the other, little, weazened and wearing
an enormous flap-brimmed hat, could be none but Slade.

"A pretty pair," said Dick, "but I don't like to fire on 'em from
ambush."

"Nor do I," said the sergeant, "but we've got to do it, or we won't get
the surprise we need so bad."

But they were saved from firing the first shot as some one in the
gully--they never knew or asked his name--stumbled at last.  Slade and
Skelly instantly sprang for the trees and Slade blew sharply upon his
whistle. Twenty shots were fired in the direction of the gully, but
they whistled harmlessly over the heads of its occupants.

It was Dick who gave the command for the return volley, and with a
mighty shouting they swept the woods with their breech-loading rifles.
They were not sure whether they hit anything, but as the gully blazed
with fire they presented all the appearance of a formidable force that
might soon charge.

"Cease firing!" said Dick, presently.

A cloud of smoke rose from the gully, and, as it lifted, they could see
nothing in the woods beyond, but the sergeant announced that for an
instant or two he heard the sound of running feet.

"It means they've gone," said Dick, "and that being the case we'll be
off, too.  I fancy we've a great prize in this map.  Your sister, Mr.
Shepard, must be a woman of extraordinary daring and ability."

"She's all that," replied the spy earnestly.  "I think sometimes that
God gave to me the size and physical strength of the family, but to her
the mind.  Think of her life there in Richmond, surrounded by dangers!
She has done great service to our cause tonight, and she has done other
services, equally as great, before."

Shepard was silent for a little while and then he began to chuckle to
himself, almost under his breath, but Dick heard.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I was thinking of my sister," Shepard replied.  "Your cousin, Harry
Kenton, if you should ever meet him again--and I know that you
will--could tell you a story of a dark night in Richmond, or at least a
part of it, and he could also tell an interesting story, or a part of
it, of another map, almost as valuable as this, which disappeared
mysteriously from the house of a rich man in Richmond where he and
other Southern officers were being entertained.  It vanished almost
from under their hands."

"Tell me now," said Dick, feeling great curiosity.

"I think I'd better wait, if you'll pardon me, sir," said Shepard.

"I'll have to wait anyhow," said Dick, "because I hear the tread of men
coming toward us."

"But they're our own," said Sergeant Whitley, who was a little ahead,
peering between the cedars.

"I suppose they heard the shots and are hurrying to our relief," said
Dick.  "But we routed the enemy, we did not lose a man, and we've
brought away the prize."

The two forces joined and they were shortly back with Colonel
Winchester, who fully appreciated the great value of the information
obtained by such a remarkable coordination of effort.

"Dick," he said, "you and Mr. Shepard shall ride at once with me and
this map to General Sheridan."

CHAPTER IX

AT GRIPS WITH EARLY

Dick felt great excitement and elation as he rode before dawn with
Colonel Winchester and the spy to see Sheridan.  They found him sitting
by a small fire receiving or sending reports, and talking with a
half-dozen of his generals.  It was not yet day, but the flames lighted
up the commander's thin, eager face, and made him look more boyish than
ever.

Dick felt as he had felt before that he was in the presence of a man.
He had had the same impression when he stood near Grant and Thomas. Did
strong men send off electric currents of will and power which were
communicated to other men, by which they could know them, or was it the
effect of deeds achieved?  He could not decide the question for
himself, but he knew that he believed implicitly in their leader.

Colonel Winchester paused near Sheridan, but the general's keen eye
caught him at once.

"Good morning, Colonel Winchester!" he exclaimed.  "You bring news of
value.  I can tell it by your face!"

"I do, sir," replied the colonel, "but it was Mr. Shepard here, whom
you know, and Lieutenant Mason who obtained it.  Mr. Shepard, show
General Sheridan the map."

It was characteristic of Colonel Winchester, a man of the finest
feelings, that he should have Shepard instead of himself carry the map
to General Sheridan.  He wanted the spy to have the full measure of
credit, including the outward show, for the triumph he had achieved
with the aid of his sister.  And Shepard's swift glance of thanks
showed that he appreciated it.  He drew the map from his pocket and
handed it to the general.

Sheridan held it down, where the full glow of the flames fell upon it,
and he seemed to comprehend at once the meaning of the lines.  A great
light sprang up in his eyes.

"Ah!" he exclaimed.  "The location of the Confederate forces and the
openings between them and the mountains!  This is important!  Splendid!
Did you make it yourself, Mr. Shepard?"

"No, sir.  It was made by my sister who came from Richmond.  We met her
on the mountain."

Sheridan looked at Shepard and the eyes of general and spy met in
complete understanding.

"I know of her," the general murmured.  "A noble woman!  There are many
such as she who have done great service to our cause that can never be
repaid!  But this is a stroke of fortune!"

"Look, Merritt, Averill and all of you," he said aloud.  "Here lies our
path!  Mr. Shepard, you will go over the details of this with us and,
Colonel Winchester, you and your aide remain also to help."

Dick felt complimented, and so did Colonel Winchester.  Sheridan knew
how to handle men.  While the sentinels, rifle on shoulder, walked up
and down a little distance away, a dozen eager faces were soon poring
over the map, Shepard filling in details as to the last little hill or
brook.

"Since we know where they are and how many they are," said Sheridan,
"we'll make a big demonstration in front of Fisher's Hill, where
Early's works are too strong to be carried, and while we keep him
occupied there we'll turn his left flank with a powerful force,
marching it just here into the open space that Mr. Shepard's map shows.
Tomorrow--or rather today, for I see the dawn comes--will be a day of
great noise and of much burning of powder.  But behind the curtain of
smoke we'll make our movements.  Merritt with his cavalry shall go to
the right and Averill will go with him.  Crook shall take his two
divisions and hold the north bank of Cedar Creek, and later on Crook
shall be the first to strike. Gentlemen, we've won one victory, and I
know that all of you appreciate the value of a second and a third.  The
opportunity of the war lies here before us.  We can uncover the entire
left flank of the Confederacy here in Virginia, and who knows what will
follow!"

He looked up, his eyes glowing and his confidence was communicated to
them all.  They were mostly young men and they responded in kind to his
burning words.  Sheridan knew that he could command from them the
utmost fidelity and energy, and he uttered a little exclamation of
confidence.

"I shall consider the victory already won," he said.

The generals left for their commands, and Sheridan again thanked
Colonel Winchester, Dick and Shepard.

"I recommend that all three of you take some rest," he said, "you won't
have much to do this morning."

They saluted, mounted and rode back.  "You take his advice, Dick, and
roll yourself in your blanket," said Colonel Winchester, when they were
on the way.

"I will, sir," said Dick, "although I know that great history is being
made now."

"I feel that way, too," said the colonel.  "Look, the sun is coming up,
and you can see the Confederate outposts."

The thin, clear air of September was brilliant with morning light, and
through glasses the Confederate outposts and works around Fisher's Hill
were quite clear and distinct.  Some of the Northern and Southern
sentinels were already exchanging compliments with one another, and
they heard the faint popping of rifles.  But Dick well knew from
Sheridan's words that this early firing meant nothing.  It would grow
much heavier bye and bye and it would yet be but the cover for
something else.

He found Warner and Pennington already sound asleep, and wrapping
himself in his blanket he lay down under a tree and fell asleep to the
distant crackle of rifles and the occasional thud of great guns.  He
slept on through the morning while the fire increased, and great
volumes of smoke rolled, as the wind shifted up or down the valley.
But it did not disturb him, nor did he dream.  His slumbers were as
sound as if he lay in his distant bed in Pendleton.

While Dick and his comrades slept Sheridan was moving the men on his
chess board.  Young in years, but great in experience, he was never
more eager and never more clear of mind than on this, one of the most
eventful days of his life.  He saw the opportunity, and he was resolved
that it should not escape him.  Two great reputations were made in the
valley by men very unlike, Stonewall Jackson and Little Phil Sheridan.
In the earlier years of the war the Union armies had suffered many
disasters there at the hands of the leader under the old slouch hat,
and now Sheridan was resolved to retrieve everything, not with one
victory alone, but with many.

There was firing in the valley all day long, the crackling of the
rifles, the thudding of the great guns, and the occasional charge of
horsemen. The curtain of smoke hung nearly always.  Sometimes it grew
thicker, and sometimes it became thinner, but Sheridan's mind was not
upon these things, they were merely the veil before him, while behind
it, as a screen, he arranged the men on his chess board.  When night
came his whole line was pushed forward.  His vanguard held the northern
part of the little town of Strasburg, while Early's held the southern
part, only a few hundred yards away.  In the night the large force
under Crook was moved into the thick forest along Cedar Creek, where it
was to lie silent and hidden until it received the word of command.

All the next day the movements were continued, while Crook's force,
intended to be the striking arm, was still concealed in the timber. Yet
before dark there was a heavy combat, in which the Southern troops were
driven out of Strasburg, enabling the Northern batteries to advance to
strong positions.  That night Crook's whole strength was brought across
Cedar Creek, but was hidden again in heavy timber.  To the great
pleasure of its colonel and other officers the Winchester regiment was
sent to join it as a cavalry support.

It was quite dark when they rode their horses across the creek and
Shepard was again with them as guide.  Although he concealed it, the
spy felt a great exultation.  The map that he had brought from his
sister had proved invaluable.  Sheridan was using it every hour, and
Shepard was giving further assistance through his thorough knowledge of
the ground. Dick was glad to ride beside him and whisper with him, now
and then.

"I haven't known things to go so well before," Dick said, when they
were across the creek.

"They're going well, Mr. Mason," said Shepard, "because everything is
arranged.  There is provision against every unlucky chance.  It's
leadership.  The difference between a good general and a bad general is
about fifty thousand men."

The entire division moved forward in the dusk at a fair pace, but so
many troops with cavalry and guns could not keep from making some
noise. Dick with Shepard and the sergeant rode off in the woods towards
the open valley to see if the enemy were observing them.  Dick's chief
apprehensions were in regard to Slade and Skelly, but they found no
trace of the guerrillas, nor of any other foes.

The night was fairly bright, and from the edge of the wood they saw far
over hills and fields, dotted with two opposing lines of camp fires. A
dark outline was Fisher's Hill, and lights burned there too.  From a
point in front of it a gun boomed now and then, and there was still an
intermittent fire of skirmishers and sharpshooters.

"That hill will be ours inside of twenty-four hours," said Shepard.
"We'll fall upon Early from three sides and he'll have to retreat to
save himself.  He hasn't numbers enough to stand against an army driven
forward by a hand like that of General Sheridan."

          *          *          *          *

While Dick, the sergeant and the spy looked from the woods upon the
lights of Fisher's Hill the Invincibles lay in an earthwork before it
facing their enemy.  Harry Kenton sat with St. Clair, Langdon and
Dalton. The two colonels were not far away.  For almost the first time,
Harry's heart failed him.  He did not wish to depreciate Early, but he
felt that he was not the great Jackson or anything approaching him.  He
knew that the troops felt the same way.  They missed the mighty spirit