ose. He believed that he could
see their tanned faces, one by one, and their vengeful eyes, but it was
only fancy.

The next instant the signal was given, and the regiment fired as one.
There was a long flash of fire, a tremendous roaring in Dick's ears,
then for an instant or two a vast cloud of smoke hid the advancing gray
mass. When it was lifted a moment later the men in gray were advancing
no longer. Their ranks were shattered and broken, the ground was covered
with the fallen and the others were reeling back.

"We win! We win!" shouted Pennington, wild with enthusiasm.

"For the present, at least," said Warner, a deep flush blazing in either
cheek.

There was no return fire just then from that point, and the smoke lifted
a little more. Above the crash of the battle which raged fiercely on
either flank, they heard the notes of a trumpet rising, loud, clear, and
distinct from all other sounds. Dick knew that it was a rallying call,
and then he heard Pennington utter a wild shout.

"I see him! I see him!" he cried. "It's old Stonewall himself! There on
the hillock, on the little horse!"

The vision was but for an instant. Dick gazed with all his eyes, and he
saw several hundred yards away a thickset man on a sorrel horse. He was
bearded and he stooped a little, seeming to bend an intense gaze upon
the Northern lines.

There was no time for anyone to fire, because in a few seconds the
smoke came back, a huge, impenetrable curtain, and hid the man and the
hillock. But Dick had not the slightest doubt that it was the great
Southern leader, and he was right. It was Stonewall Jackson on the
hillock, rallying his men, and Dick's own cousin, Harry Kenton, rode by
his side.

They reloaded, but a staff officer galloped up and delivered a written
order to Colonel Winchester. The whole regiment left the line, another
less seasoned taking its place, and they marched off to one flank, where
a field of wheat lately cut, and a wood on the extreme end, lay before
them. Behind them they heard the battle swelling anew, but Dick knew
that a new force of the foe was coming here, and he felt proud that his
own regiment had been moved to meet an attack which would certainly be
made with the greatest violence.

"Who are those men down in the wheat-field?" asked Pennington.

"Our own skirmishers," replied Warner. "See them running forward, hiding
behind the shocks of straw and firing!"

The riflemen were busy. They fired from