and the four men rode
forward. Dick saw to both left and right other pickets, all in the gray
uniform of the South, and his heart grew cold within him. The hair on
his head prickled again at its roots, and it was a dreadful sensation.
What did it mean? Why these Southern pickets within cannon shot of the
Northern lines?

The men rode slowly on. They were in the deep forest, but the young
prisoner began to see many things under the leafy canopy. On his right
the dim, shadowy forms of hundreds of men lay sleeping on the grass. On
his left was a massed battery of great guns, eight in number.

Further and further they went, and there were soldiers and cannon
everywhere, but not a fire. There was no bed of coals, not a single
torch gleamed anywhere. Not all the soldiers were sleeping, but those
who were awake never spoke. Silence and darkness brooded over a great
army in gray. It was as if they marched among forty thousand phantoms,
row on row.

The whole appalling truth burst in an instant upon the boy. The Southern
army, which they had supposed was at Corinth, lay in the deep woods
within cannon shot of its foe, and not a soul in all Grant's thousands
knew of its presence there! And Buell was still far away! It seemed to
Dick that for a little space his heart stopped beating. He foresaw it
all, the terrible hammer-stroke at dawn, the rush of the fiery South
upon her unsuspecting foe, and the cutting down of brigades, before
sleep was gone from their eyes.

Not in vain had the South boasted that Johnston was a great general. He
had not been daunted by Donelson. While his foe rested on his victory
and took his ease, he was here with a new army, ready to strike the
unwary. Dick shivered suddenly, and, with a violent impulse, clutched
the waist of the man in front of him. It may have been some sort of
physical telepathy, but Robertson understood. He turned his head and
said in a whisper:

"You're right. The whole Southern army is here in the woods, an' we'd
rather lose a brigade tonight than let you escape."

Dick felt a thrill of the most acute agony. If he could only escape!
There must be some way! If he could but find one! His single word would
save the lives of thousands and prevent irreparable defeat! Again he
clutched the waist of the man in front of him and again the man divined.

"It ain't no use," he said, although his tone was gentle, and in a way
sympathetic. "After all, it's your own fault. You blundered r