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“That’s good advice,” said Dick. “Help me up with him.”

“Take him on your back. That’s the best way to carry a sick man.”

He set down his lantern, took up Warner bodily and put him on Dick’s back.

“I guess you can carry him all right,” he said. “I’d light you with the lantern a piece of the way, but I’ve been out here long enough. Marse Bob an’ old Stonewall will get tired waitin’ fur me to tell ‘em how to end this war in a month.”

Dick, holding Warner in place with one hand, held out the other, and said:

“You’re a white man, through and through, Johnny Reb. Shake!”

“So are you, Yank. There’s nothin’ wrong with you ‘cept that you happened to get on the wrong side, an’ I don’t hold that ag’in you. I guess it was an innercent mistake.”

“Good-bye.”

“Good-bye. Keep straight ahead an’ you’ll strike that camp of yourn that we’re goin’ to take in the mornin’. Gosh, how it rains!”

Dick retained his idea of direction, and he walked straight through the darkness toward the Northern camp. George was a heavy load, but he did not struggle. His head sank down against his comrade’s and Dick felt that it was burning with fever.

“Good old George,” he murmured to himself rather than to his comrade, “I’ll save you.”

Excitement and resolve had given him a strength twice the normal, a strength that would last the fifteen or twenty minutes needed until this task was finished. Despite the darkness and the driving rain, he could now see the lights in his own camp, and bending forward a little to support the dead weight on his back, he walked in a straight course toward them.

“Halt! Who are you?”

The form of a sentinel, rifle raised, rose up before him in the darkness and the rain.

“Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester’s regiment, bringing in Lieutenant George Warner of the same regiment, who is badly wounded.”

The sentinel lowered his rifle and looked at them sympathetically.

“Hangs like he’s dead, but he ain’t,” he said. “You’ll find a sort of hospital over thar in the big tents among them trees.”

Dick found the improvised hospital, and put George down on a rude cot, within the shelter of one of the tents.

“He’s my friend,” he said to a young doctor, “and I wish you’d save him.”

“There are hundreds of others who have friends also, but I’ll do my best. Shot just under the right shoulder, but the bullet, luckily, has turned and gone out. It’s loss of blood that hurt him most. You soldiers kill more men than we doctors can save. I’m bound to say that. But your friend won’t die. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you,” said Dick. He saw that the doctor was kind-hearted, and a marvel of endurance and industry. He could not ask for more at such a time, and he went out of the tent, leaving George to his care.

It was still raining, but the soldiers managed to keep many fires going, despite it, and Dick passed between them as he sought Colonel Winchester, and the fragments of his regiment. He found the colonel wrapped in a greatcoat, leaning against a tree under a few feet of canvas supported on sticks. Pennington, sound asleep, sat on a root of the same tree, also under the canvas, but with the rain beating on his left arm and shoulder.

Colonel Winchester looked inquiringly at Dick, but said nothing.

“I’ve been away without leave, sir,” said Dick, “but I think I have sufficient excuse.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve brought in Warner.”

“Ah! Is he dead?”

“No, sir. He’s had a bullet through him and he’s feverish and unconscious, but the doctor says that with care he’ll get well.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Over there by the edge of the wood, sir, within what is now the Confederate lines.”

“A credit to your courage and to your heart. Sit down here. There’s a little more shelter under the canvas, and go to sleep. You’re too much hardened now to be hurt seriously by wet clothes.”

Dick sat down with his back against the tree, and, despite his soaked condition, slept as soundly as Pennington. When he awoke in the morning the hot sun was shining again, and his clothes soon dried on him. He felt a little stiffness and awkwardness at first, but in a few minutes it passed away. Then breakfast restored his strength, and he looked curiously about him.

Around him was the Northern army, and before him was the vast battlefield, now occupied by the foe. He heard sounds of distant rifle shots, indicating that the skirmishers were still restless, but it was no more now than the buzzing of flies. Pennington, coming back from the hospital, hailed him.

“George has come to,” he said. “Great deed of yours last night, Dick. Wish I’d done it myself. They let old George talk just a little, but he’s his real old Vermont self again. Says chances were ninety-nine and a half per cent that he would die there on the battlefield, but that the half per cent, which was yourself, won. Fancy being only half of one per cent, and doing a thing like that. No, you can’t see him. Only one visitor was allowed, and that’s me. His fever is leaving him, and he swallowed a little soup. Now, he’s going to sleep.”

Dick felt very grateful. Pennington had been up some time, and as they sat down in the sun he gave Dick the news.

“It was a bad night,” he said. “After you staggered in with George, the rebels, in spite of the rain, harassed us. I was waked up after midnight, and the colonel began to believe that we would have to fight again before morning, though the need didn’t come, so far as we were concerned. But we were terribly worried on the flanks. They say it was Stuart and his cavalry who were bothering us.”

“What’s the outlook for to-day?”

“I don’t know. I hear that General Pope has sent a dispatch saying that the enemy is badly whipped, and that we’ll hold our own here. But between you and me, Dick, I don’t believe it. We’ve been driven out of all our positions, so we can hardly call it a victory for our side.”

“But we may hold on where we are and win a victory yet. McClellan and the Army of the Potomac may come. Anyway, we can get big reinforcements.”

Pennington clasped his arms over his knees and sang:

 
“The race is not to him that’s got
The longest legs to run,
Nor the battle to those people
That shoot the biggest gun.”
 

“Where did you get that song?” asked Dick. “I’ll allow, under the circumstances, that there seems to be some sense in it.”

“A Texan that we captured last night sang it to us. He was a funny kind of fellow. Didn’t seem to be worried a bit because he was taken. Said if his own people didn’t retake him that he’d escape in a week, anyhow. Likely enough he will, too. But he was good company, and he sang us that song. Impudent, wasn’t he?”

“But true so far, at least in the east. I fancy from what you say, Frank, that we’ll be here a day longer anyhow. I hope so, I want to rest.”

“So do I. I won’t fight to-day, unless I’m ordered to do it. But I’m thinking with you, Dick, that we’ll retreat. We were outmaneuvered by Lee and Jackson. That circuit of Jackson’s through Thoroughfare Gap and the attack from the rear undid us. It comes of being kept in the dark by the enemy, instead of your keeping him in the dark. We never knew where the blow was going to fall, and when it fell a lot of us weren’t there. But, Dick, old boy, we’re going to win, in the end, aren’t we, in spite of Lee, in spite of Jackson, and in spite of everybody and everything?”

“As surely as the rising and setting of the sun, Frank.”

Although Dick had little to do that day, events were occurring. It was in the minds of Lee and Jackson that they might yet destroy the army which they had already defeated, and heavy divisions of the Southern army were moving. Dick heard about night that Jackson had marched ten miles, through fields deep in mud, and meant to fall on Pope’s flank or rear again. Stuart and his unresting cavalry were also on their right flank and in the rear, doing damage everywhere. Longstreet had sent a brigade across Bull Run, and at many points the enemy was pressing closer.

The next morning, Pope, alarmed by all the sinister movements on his flanks and in his rear, gathered up his army and retreated. It was full time or the vise would have shut down on him again. Late that day the division under Kearney came into contact with Jackson’s flanking force in the forest. A short but fierce battle ensued, fought in the night and amid new torrents of driving rain. General Kearney was killed by a skirmisher, but the night and the rain grew so dense, and they were in such a tangle of thickets and forests that both sides drew off, and Pope’s army passed on.

Dick was not in this battle, but he heard it’s crash and roar above the sweep of the storm. He and the balance of the regiment were helping to guard the long train of the wounded. Now and then, he leaned from his horse and looked at Warner who lay in one of the covered wagons.

“I’m getting along all right, Dick, old man,” said Warner. “What’s all that firing off toward the woods?”

“A battle, but it won’t stop us. We retreated in time.”

“And we’ve been defeated. Well, we can stand it. It takes a good nation to stand big defeats. You know I taught school once, Dick, and I learned that the biggest nation the world has ever known was the one that suffered the biggest defeats. Look at the terrible knocks the Romans got! Why the Gauls nearly ate ‘em alive two or three times, and for years Hannibal whipped ‘em every time he could get at ‘em. But they ended by whipping everybody who had whipped them. They whipped the whole world, and they kept it whipped until they played out from old age.”

Dick laughed cheerily.

“Now, you shut up, George,” he said. “You’ve talked too much. What’s the use of going back as far as the old Romans for comfort. We can win without having to copy a lot of old timers.”

He dropped the flap of canvas and rode on listening to the sounds of the combat. A powerful figure stepped out of the bushes and stood beside his horse. It was Sergeant Whitley, who had passed through the battle without a scratch.

“What has happened, Sergeant?” asked Dick, as he sat in the rain and listened to the dying fire.

“There has been a fight, and both are quitting because they can’t see enough to carry it on any longer. But General Kearney has been killed.”

The retreat continued until they reached the Potomac and were in the great fortifications before Washington. Then Pope resigned, and the star of McClellan rose again. The command of the armies about Washington was entrusted to him, and the North gathered itself anew for the mighty struggle.

CHAPTER VII. ORDERS NO. 191

When the Union army, defeated at the Second Manassas fell back on Washington, Dick was detached for a few days from the regiment by Colonel Winchester, partly that he might have a day or two of leave, and partly that he might watch over Warner, who was making good progress.

Warner was in a wagon that contained half a dozen other wounded men, or rather boys, and they were all silent like stoics as they passed over the bridge to a hospital in Washington. His side and shoulder pained him, and he had recurrent periods of fever, but he was making fine progress.

Dick found his comrade on a small cot among dozens of others in a great room. But George’s cot was near a window and the pleasant sunshine poured in. It was now the opening of September, and the hot days were passing. There was a new sparkle and crispness in the air, and Warner, wounded as he was, felt it.

“We’re back in the capital to enjoy ourselves a while,” he said lightly to Dick, “and I’m glad to see that the weather will be fine for sight-seeing.”

“Yes, here we are,” said Dick. “The Johnnies beat us this time. They didn’t outfight us, but they had the best generals. As soon as you’re well, George, we’ll start out again and lick ‘em.”

“I’m glad you told ‘em to wait for me, Dick. That’s what you ought to do. I hear that McClellan is at the head of things again.”

“Yes, the Army of the Potomac is to the front once more, and it’s taken over the Army of Virginia. We hear that Pope is going out to the northwest to fight Indians.”

“McClellan is not likely to be trapped as Pope was, but he’s so tremendously cautious that he’ll never trap anything himself. Now, which kind of a general would you choose, Dick?”

“As between those two I’ll take McClellan. The soldiers at least like him and believe in him. And George, our man in the east hasn’t come yet. The generals we’ve had don’t hammer. They don’t concentrate, rush right in and rain blows on the enemy.”

“Do you think you know the right man, Dick?”

“I’m making a guess. It’s Grant. We saw him at Donelson and Shiloh. Surprised at both places, he won anyhow. He wouldn’t be beat. That’s the kind of man we want here in the east.”

“You may be right, Dick, but the politicians in this part of the country all run him down. Halleck has been transferred to Washington as a sort of general commander and adviser to the President, and they say he doesn’t like Grant.”

Further talk was cut short by a young army surgeon, and Dick left George, saying that he would come back the next day. The streets of Washington were full of sunshine, but not of hope and cheerfulness. The most terrible suspense reigned there. Never before or since was Washington in such alarm. A hostile and victorious army was within a day’s march. Pope almost to the last had talked of victory. Then came a telegram, asking if the capital could be defended in case his army was destroyed. Next came the army preceded by thousands of stragglers and heralds of disaster.

The people were dropped from the golden clouds of hope to the hard earth of despair. They strained their eyes toward Manassas, where the flag of the Union had twice gone down in disaster. It was said, and there was ample cause for the saying of it, that Lee and Jackson with their victorious veterans would appear any moment before the capital. There were rumors that the government was packing up in order to flee northward to Philadelphia or even New York.

But Dick believed none of these rumors. In fact, he was not greatly alarmed by any of them. He was sure that McClellan, although without genius, would restore the stamina of the troops, if indeed it were ever lost, which he doubted very much. He had seen how splendidly they fought at the Second Manassas, and he knew that there was no panic among them. Moreover, the North was an inexhaustible storehouse of men and material, and whenever one soldier fell two grew in his place.

So he strode through the crowded streets, calm of face and manner, and took his way once more to the hotel, where he had sat and listened to the talk before the Second Manassas. The lobby was packed with men, and there was but one topic, the military situation. Would Lee and Jackson advance, hot upon the heels of their victory? Would Washington fall? Would McClellan be able to save them? Why weren’t the generals of the North as good as those of the South?

Dick listened to the talk which was for all who might choose to hear. He did not assume any superior frame of mind, merely because he had fought in many battles and these men had fought in none. He retained the natural modesty of youth, and knowing that one who looked on might sometimes be a better judge of what was happening than the one who took part, he weighed carefully what they said.

He was in a comfortable chair by the wall, and while he sat there a heavy man of middle age, whom he remembered well, approached and stood before him, regarding him with a keen and measuring eye.

“Good morning, Mr. Watson,” said Dick politely.

“Ah, it is you, Lieutenant Mason!” said the contractor. “I thought so, but I was not sure, as you are thinner than you were when I last saw you. I’ll just take this seat beside you.”

A man in the next chair had moved and the contractor dropped into it. Then he crossed his legs, and smoothed the upper knee with a strong, fat hand.

“You’ve had quite a trip since I last saw you, Mr. Mason,” he said.

“We didn’t go so terribly far.”

“It’s not length that makes a trip. It’s what you see and what happens.”

“I saw a lot, and a hundred times more than what I saw happened.”

The contractor took two fine cigars from his vest pocket and handed one to Dick.

“No, thank you,” said the boy, “I’ve never learned to smoke.”

“I suppose that’s because you come from Kentucky, where they raise so much tobacco. When you see a thing so thick around you, you don’t care for it. Well, we’ll talk while I light mine and puff it. And so, young man, you ran against Lee and Jackson!”

“We did, or they ran against us, which comes to the same thing.”

“And got well thrashed. There’s no denying it.”

“I’m not trying to do so.”

“That’s right. I thought from the first that you were a young man of sense. I’m glad to see that you didn’t get yourself killed.”

“A great many good men did.”

“That’s so, and a great many more will go the same way. You just listen to me. I don’t wear any uniform, but I’ve got eyes to see and ears to hear. I suppose that more monumental foolishness has been hidden under cocked hats and gold lace than under anything else, since the world began. Easy now, I don’t say that fools are not more numerous outside armies than in them—there are more people outside—but the mistakes of generals are more costly.”

“I suppose our generals are doing the best they can. You will let me speak plainly, will you, Mr. Watson?”

“Of course, young man. Go ahead.”

“Perhaps you feel badly over a disaster of your own. I saw the smoking fires at Bristoe Station. The rebels burned there several million dollars worth of stores belonging to us. Maybe a large part of them were your own goods.”

The contractor rubbed his huge knee with one hand, took his cigar out of his mouth with the other hand, blew several rings of fine blue smoke from his nose, and watched them break against the ceiling.

“Young man,” he said, “you’re a good guesser, but you don’t guess all. More than a million dollars worth of material that I supplied was burned or looted at Bristoe Station. But it had all been paid for by a perfectly solvent Union government. So, if I were to consider it from the purely material standpoint, which you imagine to be the only one I have, I should rejoice over the raids of the rebels because they make trade for contractors. I’m a patriot, even if I do not fight at the front. Besides my feelings have been hurt.”

“In what way?”

The contractor drew from his pocket a coarse brown envelope, and he took from the envelope a letter, written on paper equally coarse and brown.

“I received this letter last night,” he said. “It was addressed simply ‘John Watson, Washington, D. C.,’ and the post office people gave it to me at once. It came from somebody within the Confederate lines. You know how the Northern and Southern pickets exchange tobacco, newspapers and such things, when they’re not fighting. I suppose the letter was passed on to me in that way. Listen.”

“John Watson, Washington, D. C.

“My dear sir: I have never met you, but certain circumstances have made me acquainted with your name. Believing therefore that you are a man of judgment and fairness I feel justified in making to you a complaint which I am sure you will agree with me is well-founded. At a little place called Bristoe Station I recently obtained a fine, blue uniform, the tint of which wind and rain will soon turn to our own excellent Confederate gray. I found your own name as maker stamped upon the neck band of both coat and vest.

“I ought to say however that after I had worn the coat only twice the seams ripped across both shoulders, I admit that the fit was a little tight, but work well done would not yield so quickly. I also picked out a pair of beautiful shoes, bearing your name stamped upon them. The leather cracked after the first day’s use, and good leather will never crack so soon.

“Now, my dear Mr. Watson, I feel that you have treated me unfairly. I will not use any harsher word. We do not expect you to supply us with goods of this quality, and we certainly look for something better from you next time.

 
“Your obedient servant,
ARTHUR ST. CLAIR,
Lieutenant ‘The Invincibles,’
C. S. A.”
 

“Now, did you ever hear of another piece of impudence like that?” said Watson. “It has its humorous side, I admit, and you’re justified in laughing, but it’s impudence all the same.”

“Yes, it is impudence, and do you know, Mr. Watson, I’ve met the writer of that letter. He is a South Carolinian, and from his standpoint he has a real grievance. I never knew anybody else as particular about his clothes, and it seems that the uniform and shoes you furnished him are not all right. He’s a gentleman and he wouldn’t lie. I met him at Cedar Run, when the burying parties were going over the field. He was introduced to me by my cousin, Harry Kenton, who is on the other side. Harry wouldn’t associate with any fellow who isn’t all right.”

“All the same, if I ever catch that young jackanapes of a St. Clair—it’s an easy name to remember—I’ll strip my uniform off him and turn him loose for his own comrades to laugh at.”

“But we won’t catch either him or his comrades for a long time.”

“That’s so, but in the end we’ll catch ‘em. Now, Mr. Mason, you don’t agree with me about many things, but you’re only a boy and you’ll know better later on. Anyway, I like you, and if you need help at any time and can reach me, come.”

“I’ll do so, and I thank you now,” said Dick, who saw that the contractor’s tone was sincere.

“That’s right, good-bye. I see a senator whom I need.”

They shook hands and Watson hurried away with great lightness and agility for so large a man.

Dick stayed two days longer in Washington, visiting Warner twice a day and seeing with gladness his rapid improvement. When he was with him the last time, and told him he was going to join the Army of the Potomac, Warner said:

“Dick, old man, I haven’t spoken before of the way you brought me in from that last battlefield. Pennington has told me about it—but if I didn’t it was not because I wasn’t grateful. Up in Vermont we’re not much on words—our training I suppose, though I don’t say it is the best training. It’s quite sure that I’d have died if you hadn’t found me.”

“Why, George, I looked for you as a matter of course. You’d have done exactly the same for me.”

“That’s just it, but I didn’t get the chance. Now, Dick, there’s going to be another big battle before long, and I shall be up in time for it. You’ll be there, too. Couldn’t you get yourself shot late in the afternoon, lie on the ground, feverish and delirious until far in the night, when I’d come for you. Then I could pay you back.”

Dick laughed. He knew that at the bottom of Warner’s jest lay a resolve to match the score, whenever the chance should come.

“Good-bye, George,” he said. “I’ll look for you in two weeks.”

“Make it only ten days. McClellan will need me by that time.”

But it seemed to Dick that McClellan would need him and every other man at once. Lee was marching. Passing by the capital he had advanced into Maryland, a Southern state, but one that had never seceded. The Southerners expected to find many reinforcements here among their kindred. The regiments in gray, flushed with victory, advanced singing:

 
“The despot’s heel is on thy shore,
Maryland!
His torch is at thy temple door,
Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That flecked the streets of Baltimore
And be the battle queen of yore,
Maryland, my Maryland!”
 

Dick knew that the South expected much of Maryland. Her people were Southerners. Their valor in the Revolution was unsurpassed. People still talked of the Maryland line and its great deeds. Many of the Marylanders had already come to Lee and Jackson, and now that the Southern army, led by its famous leaders and crowned with victories, was on their soil, it was expected that they would pour forward in thousands, relieved from the fear of Northern armies.

Alarm, deep and intense, spread all through the North. McClellan, as usual, doubled Lee’s numbers but he organized with all speed to meet him. Dick heard that Lee was already at Frederick, giving his troops a few days’ repose before meeting any enemy who might come. The utmost confidence reigned in the South.

McClellan marched, but he advanced slowly. The old mystery and uncertainty about the Southern army returned. It suddenly disappeared from Frederick, and McClellan became extremely cautious. He had nearly a hundred thousand men, veterans now, but he believed that Lee had two hundred thousand.

Colonel Winchester again complained bitterly to Dick, who was a comrade as well as an aide.

“What we need,” he said, “is a general who doesn’t see double, and we haven’t got him yet. We must spend less time counting the rebels and more hammering them.”

“A civilian in Washington told me that,” said Dick. “I believed then that he was right, and I believe it yet. If General Grant were here he’d attack instead of waiting to be attacked.”

But the Army of the Potomac continued to march forward in a slow and hesitating fashion. Dick, despite his impatience, appreciated the position of General McClellan. No one in the Union army or in the North knew the plans of Lee and Jackson. Lee had not even consulted the President of the Confederacy but had merely notified him that he was going into Maryland.

Now Lee and Jackson had melted away again in the mist that so often overhung their movements. McClellan could not be absolutely sure they intended an important invasion of Maryland. They might be planning to fall upon the capital from another direction. The Union commander must protect Washington and at the same time look for his enemy.

The army marched near the Potomac, and Dick, as he rode with his regiment, saw McClellan several times. It had not been many months since he took his great army by sea for what seemed to be the certain capture of Richmond, but McClellan, although a very young man for so high a position, had already changed much. His face was thinner, and it seemed to Dick that he had lost something of his confident look. The awful Seven Days and his bitter disappointment had left their imprint. Nevertheless he was trim, neat and upright, and always wore a splendid uniform. An unfailing favorite with the soldiers, they cheered him as he passed, and he would raise his hat, a flush of pride showing through the tan of his cheeks.

“If a general, after being defeated, can still retain the confidence of his army he must have great qualities of some kind,” said Dick to Colonel Winchester.

“That’s true, Dick. McClellan lost at the Seven Days, and he has just taken over an army that was trapped and beaten under Pope, but behold the spirits of the men, although the Second Manassas is only a few days away. McClellan looks after the private soldier, and if he could only look after an army in the way that he organizes it this war would soon be over.”

Dick noticed that the colonel put emphasis on the “if” and his heart sank a little. But it soon rose again. The Army of the Potomac was now a veteran body. It had been tested in the fire of defeat, and it had emerged stronger and braver than ever.

But Dick did not like the mystery about Lee and Jackson. They had an extraordinary ability to drop out of sight, to draw a veil before them so completely that no Union scout or skirmisher could penetrate it. And these disappearances were always full of sinister omens, portending a terrible attack from an unknown quarter. But when Dick looked upon the great and brave Army of the Potomac, nearly a hundred thousand strong, his apprehensions disappeared. The Army of the Potomac could not be beaten, and since Lee and Jackson were venturing so far from their base, they might be destroyed. He confided his faith to Pennington who rode beside him.

“I tell you, Frank, old man,” he said, “the Southern army may never get back into Virginia.”

“Not if we light a prairie fire behind it and set another in front. Then we’ll have ‘em trapped same as they trapped us at Manassas. Wouldn’t it be funny if we’d turn their own trick on ‘em, and end the war right away?”

“It would be more than funny. It would be grand, superb, splendid, magnificent. But I wish old George was here. Why did he want to get in the way of that bullet? I hate to think of ending the war without him.”

“Maybe he’ll get up in time yet, Dick. I saw him a few hours before we started. The doctors said that youth, clean blood and clean living counted for a lot—I guess George would put it at ninety per cent, and that his wound, the bullet having gone through, would heal at a record rate.”

“Then we’ll see him soon. When he’s strong enough to ride a horse, nothing can hold him back.”

“That’s so. I see houses ahead. What place is it, Dick?”

“It must be Frederick. We had reports that the Johnnies were about here, but they must have vanished, since no bullets meet us. The colonel is looking through his glasses, and, as he does not check his horse, it is evident that the enemy is not there.”

“But maybe he has been there, and if he has we’ll just take his place. I like the looks of these Maryland towns, Frank, and they’re not so hostile to us.”

Colonel Winchester’s skeleton regiment, now not amounting to more than three hundred men, was in the vanguard and it rode forward rapidly. The people received them without either enthusiasm or marked hostility. Yet the Union vanguard obtained news. Lee had been there with his army, but he had gone away! Where! They could not say. The Southern officers had been silent and the soldiers had not known. None of the people of Frederick had been allowed to follow. A cloud of cavalry covered the Southern movements.

“Not so definite after all,” said Dick. “We know that the Southern army has been here, but we don’t know where it has gone.”

“At any rate,” said Pennington, “we’re on the trail, and we’re bound to find it sooner or later. I learned from the hunters in Nebraska that when you strike the trail of a buffalo herd, all you had to do was to keep on and you’d strike the herd itself.”

It was not yet noon and McClellan’s army began to go into camp at Frederick. Dick and Pennington got a chance to stroll about a little, and they picked up much gossip. Young women, with strong Southern proclivities, looked with frowning eyes upon their blue uniforms, but the frank and pleasant smiles of the two lads disarmed them. Older women of the same proclivities did not melt so easily, but continued to regard them with a hard and burning gaze.