of size.

Fremont, resolved that the North should win a battle in the open field,
and rejoiced that he had at last brought his enemy to bay, never ceased
to hurry his troops to the combat. Formidable lines of the western
riflemen rushed on either flank, and before their deadly rifles Ashby's
cavalry wavered. Harry saw with consternation that they were about to
give way, but Ashby galloped up to the unbroken lines of infantry and
ordered them to charge.

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when his horse, shot through,
fell to the ground. Ashby fell with him, but he sprang instantly to his
feet, and shouted in a loud voice:

"Charge men, for God's sake! Charge! Charge!" With a rush and roar, the
Invincibles and their comrades swept forward, but at the same instant
Harry saw Ashby fall again. With a cry of horror he leaped from his
horse and ran to him, lifting him in his arms. But he quickly laid him
back on the grass. Ashby had been shot through the heart and killed
instantly.

Harry gazed around him, struck with grief and dismay, but he saw only
the resistless rush of the infantry. The Invincibles and their comrades
were avenging the death of Turner Ashby. Tired of retreating and hot
for action they struck the Northern division with a mighty impact,
shattering it and driving it back rapidly. The Southern cavalry,
recovering also, struck it on the flank, and the defeat was complete.
Fremont's wish was denied him. After so much hard marching and such a
gallant and tenacious pursuit, he had gone the way of the other Northern
generals who opposed Jackson, and was beaten.

Although they had driven back the vanguard, winning a smart little
victory, and telling to Fremont and Shields that the pursuit of Jackson
had now become dangerous, there was gloom in the Southern army. The
horsemen did not know until they trotted back and saw Harry kneeling
beside his dead body, that the great Ashby was gone. For a while they
could not believe it. Their brilliant and daring leader, who had led
Jackson's vanguard in victory, and who had hung like a covering curtain
in retreat, could not have fallen. It seemed impossible that the man who
had led for days and days through continuous showers of bullets could
have been slain at last by some stray shot.

But they lifted him up finally and carried him away to a house in the
little neighboring village of Port Republic, Sherburne and the other
captains, hot from battle, riding with u