f dozed awhile, and slept awhile, and, when he roused himself from
his last nap, the dawn was breaking over the brown hills and the column
was halting for food and a little rest.

It was August, the time of great heat in Virginia, but they were already
building fires to cook the breakfast and make coffee, and most of the
men had dismounted. Dick sprang down also and turned his horse loose to
graze with the others. Then he joined Warner and Pennington and fell
hungrily to work. When he thought of it afterward he could scarcely
remember a time in the whole war when he was not hungry.

The sense of unreality disappeared with the brilliant dawn, though the
night itself with the battle in the moonlight seemed to be almost a
dream. Yet the combat had been fought, and he had met Harry Kenton and
his friends. The empty saddles proved it.

"I see a great country opening out before us," said Warner. "I suppose
it's this Valley of Virginia, of which we've all heard and seen so much,
and in which once upon a time Stonewall Jackson thumped us so often."

"It's a branch of it," said Pennington, "but Stonewall Jackson is gone,
God rest his soul--I say that from the heart, even if he was against us--
and I've an idea that instead of getting thumped we're going to do the
thumping. There's something about this man Sheridan that appeals to me.
We've seen him in action with artillery, but now he's a cavalry
commander. They say he rides fast and far and strikes hard. People are
beginning to talk about Little Phil. Well, I approve of Little Phil."

"He'll be glad to hear of it," said Dick. "It will brace him up a lot."

"He may be lucky to get it," replied Pennington calmly. "There are many
generals in this war, and two or three of them have been commander-in-
chief, of whom I don't approve at all. I think you'll find, too, that
history will have a habit of agreeing with me."

"But don't make predictions," said Dick. "There have been no genuine,
dyed-in-the-wool prophets since those ancient Hebrews were gathered to
their fathers, and that was a mighty long time ago."

"There you're wrong, Dick," said Warner, earnestly. "It's all a matter
of mathematics, the scientific application of a romantic and imaginative
science to facts. Get all your premises right, arrange them correctly,
and the result follows as a matter of course."

The trumpet sounded boots and saddles, and cut him short. In a few more
minutes they were al