hat unfortunate
bridge. Jackson regarded him with a grey-blue eye unreconciled, but
finally made his peculiar gesture of dismissal. The Thunder Run man
saluted and stumbled from the roadside into the field, the dead Tiger's
musket in the hollow of his arm, his face turned toward Company A. Back
in the road Jackson turned his eyes on Cleave. "Major, in half an hour
you will advance with your skirmishers. Do as well as you have done
heretofore and you will do well--very well. The effect of Colonel
Brooke's wound is graver than was thought. He has asked to be retired.
After Winchester you will have your promotion."

With his staff he rode away--a leaf brown figure, looming large in the
misty half light, against the red guidons of the east. Stafford went
with him. Randolph, his cannoneers and drivers dropped beside the pieces
and were immediately asleep--half an hour now was all they had. The
horses cropped the pearled wayside grass. Far away the cocks were
crowing. In the east the red bannerols widened. There came a faint
blowing of bugles. Cleave stooped and took up his cloak.

Steve, stumbling back over the wet field, between the ranks of sleeping
men, found Company A--that portion of it not with the skirmishers. Every
soul was asleep. The men lay heavily, some drawn into a knot, others
with arms flung wide, others on their faces. They lay in the dank and
chilly dawn as though death had reaped the field. Steve lay down beside
them. "Gawd! when will this war be over?"

He dreamed that he was back at Thunder Run, crouching behind a certain
boulder at a turn of the road that wound up from the Valley. He had an
old flintlock, but in his dream he did not like it, and it changed to
one of the beautiful modern rifles they were beginning to take from the
Yankees. There were no Yankees on Thunder Run. Steve felt assured of
that in his dream; very secure and comfortable. Richard Cleave came
riding up the road on Dundee. Steve lifted the rifle to his shoulder and
sighted very carefully. It seemed that he was not alone behind the
boulder. A shadowy figure with a sword, and a star on his collar, said,
"Aim at the heart." In the dream he fired, but before the smoke could
clear so that he might know his luck the sound of the shot changed to
clear trumpets, long and wailing. Steve turned on his side. "Reveille! O
Gawd!"

The men arose, the ranks were formed. _No breakfast?_--Hairston
Breckinridge explained the situation. "We're goin