the South
aflame with a red exultation.

All around us our lines wavered, turned and fled. But to some, who knew
the danger of the country back of us, it seemed safer to stay than to
run. To that fact I owe my life, and at least a little satisfaction that
some of us Virginians held our line for a time, even against those other
Virginians who came on at us.

We were scattered in a thin line in cover of heavy timber, and when the
pursuit came over us we killed a score of their men after they had
passed. Such was the confusion and the madness of the pursuit, that they
rolled beyond our broken line like a wave, scarce knowing we were there.
Why I escaped I do not know, for I was now easily visible, mounted on a
horse which I had caught as it came through the wood riderless. I was
passing along our little front, up and down, as best I could in the
tangle.

The pursuit went through us strung out, scattered, as disorganized as
our own flight. They were practically over us and gone when, as I rode
to the right flank of the remaining splinter of my little company, I
saw, riding down upon us, a splendid soldier, almost alone, and
apparently endeavoring to reach his command after some delay at the
rear. He was mounted on a fine horse--a great black animal. His tall
figure was clad in the gray uniform of the Confederates, with a black
hat sweeping back from his forehead. He wore cavalry boots and deep
gauntleted gloves, and in all made a gallant martial figure as he rode.
A few of our men, half witless with their terror, crossed his path. I
saw him half rise, once, twice, four times, standing in the stirrups to
enforce his saber cuts, each one of which dropped a man. He and his
horse moved together, a splendid engine of ruthless, butchery.

"Look out, Cap!" I heard a squeaking voice behind me call, and looking
down, I saw one of my men, his left arm hanging loose, resting his gun
across a log with his right. "Git out 'o the way," he repeated. "I'm
goin' to kill him." It was that new-made warrior, Andrew Jackson
McGovern, who had drifted back into our valley from some place, and
joined my company soon after its organization. I ordered the boy now to
drop his gun. "Leave him alone!" I cried. "He belongs to me."

It was Gordon Orme. At last, fate had relented for me. My enemy was at
hand. No man but Orme could thus ride my old horse, Satan. Now I saw
where the horse had gone, and who it was that owned him, and why Orme
was here