im.
Jackson, the famous, the redoubtable, the unbeatable, was at hand with
his army. Would he remain unbeaten? Dick said to himself, in unspoken
words, over and over again, "No! No! No! No!" He and his comrades had
been victors in the west. They must not fail here.

Colonel Winchester now called to them, and mounting their horses they
gathered around him to await his orders. These officers, though mere
boys, learned fast. Dick knew enough already of war to see that they
were in a strong position. Before them flowed the creek. On their flank
and partly in their front was a great field of Indian corn. A quarter
of a mile away was a lofty ridge on which were posted Union guns with
gunners who knew so well how to use them. To right and left ran the long
files of infantry, their faces white but resolute.

"I think," said Dick to Warner, "that if Jackson passes over this place
he will at least know that we've been here."

"Yes, he'll know it, and besides he'll make quite a halt before passing.
At least, that's my way of thinking."

There was a sudden dying of the rifle fire. The Union skirmishers
were driven in, and they fell back on the main body which was silent,
awaiting the attack. Dick was no longer compelled to use the glasses.
He saw with unaided eye the great Southern columns marching forward with
the utmost confidence, heavy batteries advancing between the regiments,
ready at command to sweep the Northern ranks with shot and shell.

Dick shivered a little. He could not help it. They were face to face
with Jackson, and he was all that the heralds of fame had promised.
He had eye enough to see that the Southern force was much greater than
their own, and, led by such a man, how could they fail to win another
triumph? He looked around upon the army in blue, but he did not see
any sign of fear. Both the beaten and the unbeaten were ready for a new
battle.

There was a mighty crash from the hill and the Northern batteries poured
a stream of metal into the advancing ranks of their foe.

The Confederate advance staggered, but, recovering itself, came on
again. A tremendous cheer burst from the ranks of the lads in blue.
Stonewall Jackson with all his skill and fame was before them, but they
meant to stop him. Numbers were against them, and Banks, their leader,
had been defeated already by Jackson, but they meant to stop him,
nevertheless.

The Southern guns replied. Posted along the slopes of Slaughter
Mountain, si