would hold fast, when he heard in front
a tremendous cry of: "On, my boys!" As the smoke lifted a little he saw
that it was Colonel Kenton leading his own trained and veteran regiment.
Colonel Winchester and Colonel Kenton, in fact, had met face to face,
but the Southern regiment was the more numerous and the stronger.
Winchester's men were gradually borne back and the colonel gasped to
Dick:

"Didn't I see your uncle leading on his regiment?"

"Yes, it was he. It was his regiment that struck us, but he's hidden now
by the smoke."

The Southern rush did not cease. McCook's whole division, between the
shallow creeks was driven back, sustaining frightful losses, and it
would have been destroyed, but the artillery of Sheridan on the flank
suddenly opened upon the Southern victors. The Southerners whirled and
charged Sheridan, but his defense was so strong, and so powerful was his
artillery that they were compelled to recoil every time with shattered
ranks.

The decimated Ohio regiments beyond the creek were gathering themselves
anew for the battle, and so were the men of Colonel Winchester, now
reduced to half their numbers again. Then a great shout arose. A fresh
brigade had come up to their relief, and aided by these new men they
made good the ground upon which they stood.

Another shout arose, telling that Buell was coming, and, two hours after
the combat had opened, he arrived with more troops. But night was now at
hand, and the sun set over a draw like that at Antietam. Forty thousand
men had fought a battle only about three hours long, and eight thousand
of them lay dead or wounded upon the sanguinary field. One half the
Union army never reached the field in time to fight.

As both sides drew off in the darkness, Dick shouted in triumph,
thinking they had won a victory. A bullet fired by some retiring
Southern skirmisher glanced along his head. There was a sudden flash of
fire before him and then darkness. His body fell on a little slope and
rolled among some bushes.

The close hot night came down upon the field, and the battle, the most
sanguinary ever fought on Kentucky soil, had closed. Like so many other
terrible struggles of the Civil War, it had been doubtful, or almost,
so far as the fighting was concerned. The Northern left wing had been
driven back, but the Northern right wing had held firm against every
attack of the enemy.

Pennington, when he lay panting on the ground with the remnant of the