hey beheld a wonderful sight.

To the south along Mill Creek lay Jackson's army. To the west massed
in the wider valley was the army of Fremont, which had followed them so
tenaciously, and to the east, but just separated from it by the base of
the Massanuttons, were the masses of Shields advancing slowly.

Harry through his powerful glasses could see the horsemen in front
scouting carefully in advance of either army, and once more he
appreciated to the full Jackson's skill in utilizing the mountains and
rivers to keep his enemies apart. But what would he do now that they
were passing the Massanuttons, and there was no longer anything to
separate Shields and Fremont. He dismissed the thought. There was an
intellect under the old slouch hat of the man who rode Little Sorrel
that could rescue them from anything.

"Quite a spectacle," said Sherburne. "A man can't often sit at ease on
a mountaintop and look at three armies. Now, Barron, you are to signal
from here to General Jackson every movement of our enemies, but just
before either Shields or Fremont reaches the base of the mountain,
you're to slip down and join us."

"We'll do it, sir," said Barron, the chief signal officer. "We're not
likely to go to sleep up here with armies on three sides of us."

Sherburne, Harry and two other men who were not to stay slowly descended
the mountain. Harry enjoyed the breathing space. On the mountainside he
was lifted, for a while, above the fierce passions of war. He saw things
from afar and they were softened by distance. He drew deep breaths of
the air, crisp and cool, on the heights, and Sherburne, who saw the glow
on his face, understood. The same glow was on his own face.

"It's a grand panorama, Harry," he said, "and we'll take our fill of it
for a few moments." They stood on a great projection of rock and looked
once more and for a little while into the valley and its divisions. The
two Northern armies were nearer now, and they were still moving. Harry
saw the sun flashing over thousands of bayonets. He almost fancied he
could hear the crack of the teamsters' whips as the long lines of wagons
in the rear creaked along.

They descended rapidly, remounted their horses and galloped back to
Jackson.

They buried Ashby that day, all the leading Southern officers following
him to his grave, and throughout the afternoon the silence was
continued. But the signals on the mountain worked and worked, and the
signalmen with Jacks