The Guns of Shiloh: A Story of the Great Western Campaign

by Joseph A. Altsheler

  CHAPTER II. THE MOUNTAIN LIGHTS

  When Dick left the balloon it was nearly night. Hundreds of campfireslighted up the hills about him, but beyond their circle the darknessenclosed everything. He still felt the sensations of one who had been ata great height and who had seen afar. That rim of Southern campfires wasyet in his mind, and he wondered why the Northern commander allowedthem to remain week after week so near the capital. He was fully aware,because it was common talk, that the army of the Union had now reachedgreat numbers, with a magnificent equipment, and, with four to one,should be able to drive the Southern force away. Yet McClellan delayed.

  Dick obtained a short leave of absence, and walked to a campfire, wherehe knew he would find his friend, George Warner. Sergeant Whitley wasthere, too, showing some young recruits how to cook without waste, andthe two gave the boy a welcome that was both inquisitive and hearty.

  "You've been up in the balloon," said Warner. "It was a rare chance."

  "Yes," replied Dick with a laugh, "I left the world, and it is the onlyway in which I wish to leave it for the next sixty or seventy years. Itwas a wonderful sight, George, and not the least wonderful thing in itwas the campfires of the Southern army, burning down there towards BullRun."

  "Burnin' where they ought not to be," said Whitley--no gulf was yetestablished between commissioned and non-commissioned officers in eitherarmy. "Little Mac may be a great organizer, as they say, but you cankeep on organizin' an' organizin', until it's too late to do what youwant to do."

  "It's a sound principle that you lay down, Mr. Whitley," said Warnerin his precise tones. "In fact, it may be reduced to a mathematicalformula. Delay is always a minus quantity which may be represented byy. Achievement is represented by x, and, consequently, when you haveachievement hampered by delay you have x minus y, which is an extremelydoubtful quantity, often amounting to failure."

  "I travel another road in my reckonin's," said Whitley, "I don't knowanything about x and y, but I guess you an' me, George, come to the sameplace. It's been a full six weeks since Bull Run, an' we haven't done athing."

  Whitley, despite their difference in rank, could not yet keep fromaddressing the boys by their first names. But they took it as a matterof course, in view of the fact that he was so much older than they andvastly their superior in military knowledge.

  "Dick," continued the sergeant, "what was it you was sayin' about acousin of yours from the same town in Kentucky bein' out there in theSouthern army?"

  "He's certainly there," replied Dick, "if he wasn't killed in thebattle, which I feel couldn't have happened to a fellow like Harry.We're from the same little town in Kentucky, Pendleton. He's descendedstraight from one of the greatest Indian fighters, borderers and heroesthe country down there ever knew, Henry Ware, who afterwards became oneof the early governors of the State. And I'm descended from Henry Ware'sfamous friend, Paul Cotter, who, in his time, was the greatest scholarin all the West. Henry Ware and Paul Cotter were like the old Greekfriends, Damon and Pythias. Harry and I are proud to have their blood inour veins. Besides being cousins, there are other things to make Harryand me think a lot of each other. Oh, he's a grand fellow, even if he ison the wrong side!"

  Dick's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke of the cousin andcomrade of his childhood.

  "The chances of war bring about strange situations, or at least I haveheard so," said Warner. "Now, Dick, if you were to meet your cousin faceto face on the battlefield with a loaded gun in your hand what would youdo?"

  "I'd raise that gun, take deliberate aim at a square foot of air aboutthirty feet over his head and pull the trigger."

  "But your duty to your country tells you to do otherwise. Before you isa foe trying to destroy the Union. You have come out armed to save thatUnion, consequently you must fire straight at him and not at the air, inorder to reduce the number of our enemies."

  "One enemy where there are so many would not count for anything in thetotal. Your arithmetic will show you that Harry's percentage in theSouthern army is so small that it reaches the vanishing point. If I canborrow from you, George, x equals Harry's percentage, which is nothing,y equals the value of my hypothetical opportunity, which is nothing,then x plus y equals nothing, which represents the whole affair, whichis nothing, that is, worth nothing to the Union. Hence I have no moreobligation to shoot Harry if I meet him than he has to shoot me."

  "Well spoken, Dick," said Sergeant Whitley. "Some people, I reckon,can take duty too hard. If you have one duty an' another an' bigger onecomes along right to the same place you ought to 'tend to the biggerone. I'd never shoot anybody that was a heap to me just because he wasone of three or four hundred thousand who was on the other side. I'venever thought much of that old Roman father--I forget his name--who hadhis son executed just because he wasn't doin' exactly right. Therewas never a rule that oughtn't to have exceptions under extraordinarycircumstances."

  "If you can establish the principle of exceptions," replied the youngVermonter very gravely, "I will allow Dick to shoot in the air when hemeets his cousin in the height of battle, but it is a difficult task toestablish it, and if it fails Dick, according to all rules of logic andduty, must shoot straight at his cousin's heart."

  The other two looked at Warner and saw his left eyelid droop slightly. Afaint twinkle appeared in either eye and then they laughed.

  "I reckon that Dick shoots high in the air," said the sergeant.

  Dick, after a pleasant hour with his friends, went back to ColonelNewcomb's quarters, where he spent the entire evening writing despatchesat dictation. He was hopeful that all this writing portended something,but more days passed, and despite the impatience of both army andpublic, there was no movement. Stories of confused and uncertainfighting still came out of the west, but between Washington and Bull Runthere was perfect peace.

  The summer passed. Autumn came and deepened. The air was crisp andsparkling. The leaves, turned into glowing reds and yellows and browns,began to fall from the trees. The advancing autumn contained the promiseof winter soon to come. The leaves fell faster and sharp winds blew,bringing with them chill rains. Little Mac, or the Young Napoleon, asmany of his friends loved to call him, continued his preparations, anddespite all the urgings of President and Congress, would not move. Hisfatal defect now showed in all its destructiveness. To him the enemyalways appeared threefold his natural size.

  Reliable scouts brought back the news that the Southern troops atManassas, a full two months after their victory there, numbered onlyforty thousand. The Northern commander issued statements that the enemywas before him with one hundred and fifty thousand soldiers. He demandedthat his own forces should be raised to nearly a quarter of a millionmen and nearly five hundred cannon before he could move.

  The veteran, Scott, full of triumphs and honors, but feeling himself outof place in his old age, went into retirement. McClellan, now in solecommand, still lingered and delayed, while the South, making good use ofprecious months, gathered all her forces to meet him or whomsoever cameagainst her.

  Youth chafed most against the long waiting. It seemed to Dick and hismathematical Vermont friend that time was fairly wasting away undertheir feet, and the wise sergeant agreed with them.

  The weather had grown so cold now that they built fires for warmth aswell as cooking, and the two youths sat with Sergeant Whitley one coldevening in late October before a big blaze. Both were tanned deeply bywind, sun and rain, and they had grown uncommonly hardy, but the windthat night came out of the northwest, and it had such a sharp edge toit that they were glad to draw their blankets over their backs andshoulders.

  Dick was re-reading a letter from his mother, a widow who lived on theoutskirts of Pendleton. It had come that morning, and it was the onlyone that had reached him since his departure from Kentucky. But she hadreceived another that he had written to her directly after the Battle ofBull Run.

  She wrote of her gratitude because Providence had watched over him inthat dreadful conflict, all the more dre
adful because it was friendagainst friend, brother against brother. The state, she said, was all inconfusion. Everybody suspected everybody else. The Southerners were fullof victory, the Northerners were hopeful of victory yet to come. ColonelKenton was with the Southern force under General Buckner, gathered atBowling Green in that state, but his son, her nephew Harry, was still inthe east with Beauregard. She had heard that the troops of the west andnorthwest were coming down the Ohio and Mississippi in great numbers,and people expected hard fighting to occur very soon in western andsouthern Kentucky. It was all very dreadful, and a madness seemed tohave come over the land, but she hoped that Providence would continue towatch over her dear son.

  Warner and the sergeant knew that the letter was from Dick's mother,but they had too much delicacy to ask him questions. The boy folded thesheets carefully and returned them to their place in the inside pocketof his coat. Then he looked for a while thoughtfully into the blaze andthe great bed of coals that had formed beneath. As far as one could seeto right and left like fires burned, but the night remained dark withpromise of rain, and the chill wind out of the northwest increased invigor. The words just read for the fifth time had sunk deep in his mind,and he was feeling the call of the west.

  "My mother writes," he said to his comrades, "that the Confederategeneral, Buckner, whom I know, is gathering a large force around BowlingGreen in the southern part of our state, and that fighting is sure tooccur soon between that town and the Mississippi. An officer named Granthas come down from Illinois, and he is said to be pushing the Uniontroops forward with a lot of vigor. Sergeant, you are up on armyaffairs. Do you know this man Grant?"

  Sergeant Whitley shook his head.

  "Never heard of him," he replied. "Like as not he's one of the officerswho resigned from the army after the Mexican War. There was so little todo then, and so little chance of promotion, that a lot of them quit togo into business. I suppose they'll all be coming back now."

  "I want to go out there," said Dick. "It's my country, and thewesterners at least are acting. But look at our army here! Bull Run wasfought the middle of summer. Now it's nearly winter, and nothing hasbeen done. We don't get out of sight of Washington. If I can get myselfsent west I'm going."

  "And I'm going with you," said Warner.

  "Me, too," said the sergeant.

  "I know that Colonel Newcomb's eyes are turning in that direction,"continued Dick. "He's a war-horse, he is, and he'd like to get into thethick of it."

  "You're his favorite aide," said the calculating young Vermonter. "Can'tyou sow those western seeds in his mind and keep on sowing them? Thefact that you are from this western battle ground will give more weightto what you say. You do this, and I'll wager that within a week theColonel will induce the President to send the whole regiment to theMississippi."

  "Can you reduce your prediction to a mathematical certainty?" askedDick, a twinkle appearing in his eye.

  "No, I can't do that," replied Warner, with an answering twinkle,"but you're the very fellow to influence Colonel Newcomb's mind. I'ma mathematician and I work with facts, but you have the glowingimagination that conduces to the creation of facts."

  "Big words! Grand words!" said the sergeant.

  "Never let Colonel Newcomb forget the west," continued Warner, notnoticing the interruption. "Keep it before him all the time. Hintthat there can be no success along the Mississippi without him and hisregiment."

  "I'll do what I can," promised Dick faithfully, and he did much. ColonelNewcomb had already formed a strong attachment for this zealous andvaluable young aide, and he did not forget the words that Dick said onevery convenient occasion about the west. He made urgent representationsthat he and his regiment be sent to the relief of the strugglingNorthern forces there, and he contrived also that these petitions shouldreach the President. One day the order came to go, but not to St. Louis,where Halleck, now in command, was. Instead they were to enter themountains of West Virginia and Kentucky, and help the mountaineers whowere loyal to the Union. If they accomplished that task with success,they were to proceed to the greater theatre in Western Kentucky andTennessee. It was not all they wished, but they thought it far betterthan remaining at Washington, where it seemed that the army would remainindefinitely.

  Colonel Newcomb, who was sitting in his tent bending over maps with hisstaff, summoned Dick.

  "You are a Kentuckian, my lad," he said, "and I thought you might knowsomething about this region into which we are going."

  "Not much, sir," replied Dick. "My home is much further west in acountry very different both in its own character and that of its people.But I have been in the mountains two or three times, and I may be ofsome help as a guide."

  "I am sure you will do your best," said Colonel Newcomb. "By the way,that young Vermont friend of yours, Warner, is to be on my staff also,and it is very likely that you and he will go on many errands together."

  "Can't we take Sergeant Whitley with us sometimes?" asked Dick boldly.

  "So you can," replied the colonel, laughing a little. "I've noticed thatman, and I've a faint suspicion that he knows more about war than any ofus civilian officers."

  "It's our task to learn as much as we can from these old regulars,"said a Major Hertford, a man of much intelligence and good humor, who,previous to the war, had been a lawyer in a small town. Alan Hertfordwas about twenty-five and of fine manner and appearance.

  "Well spoken, Major Hertford," said the thoughtful miner, ColonelNewcomb. "Now, Dick, you can go, and remember that we are to start forWashington early in the morning and take a train there for the north. Itwill be the duty of Lieutenant Warner and yourself, as well as others,to see that our men are ready to the last shoe for the journey."

  Dick and Warner were so much elated that they worked all that night,and they did not hesitate to go to Sergeant Whitley for advice orinstruction. At the first spear of dawn the regiment marched away insplendid order from Arlington to Washington, where the train that was tobear them to new fields and unknown fortunes was ready.

  It was a long train of many coaches, as the regiment numbered sevenhundred men, and it also carried with it four guns, mounted on trucks.The coaches were all of primitive pattern. The soldiers were to sleep onthe seats, and their arms and supplies were heaped in the aisles. It wasa cold, drizzling day of closing autumn, and the capital looked soddenand gloomy. Cameron, the Secretary of War, came to see them off andto make the customary prediction concerning their valor and victory tocome. But he was a cold man, and he was repellent to Dick, used to morewarmth of temperament.

  Then, with a ringing of bells, a heave of the engine, a great puffing ofsmoke, and a mighty rattling of wheels, the train drew out of Washingtonand made its noisy way toward Baltimore. Dick and Warner were on thesame seat. It was only forty miles to Baltimore, but their slow trainwould be perhaps three hours in arriving. So they had ample opportunityto see the country, which they examined with the curious eyes of youth.But there was little to see. The last leaves were falling from the treesunder the early winter rain. Bare boughs and brown grass went past theirwindows and the fields were deserted. The landscape looked chill andsullen.

  Warner was less depressed than Dick. He had an even temperament basedsolidly upon mathematical calculations. He knew that while it mightbe raining today, the chances were several to one against its rainingtomorrow.

  "I've good cause to remember Baltimore," he said. "I was with the NewEngland troops when they had the fight there on the way down to thecapital. Although we hold it, it's really a Southern city, Dick. Mostall the border cities are Southern in sympathy, and they're swarmingwith people who will send to the Southern leaders news of every movementwe make. I state, and moreover I assert it in the face of all theworld, that the knowledge of our departure from Washington is alreadyin Southern hands. By close mathematical calculation the chances are atleast ninety-five per cent in favor of my statement."

  "Very likely," said Dick, "and we'll have that sort of thing to face allthe time
when we invade the South. We've got to win this war, George,by hard fighting, and then more hard fighting, and then more and more ofthe same."

  "Guess you're right. Arithmetic shows at least one hundred per cent ofprobability in favor of your suggestion."

  Dick looked up and down the long coach packed with young troops. Besidesthe commissioned officers and the sergeants, there was not one in thecoach who was twenty-five. Most of them were nineteen or twenty, andit was the same in the other coaches. After the first depression theirspirits rose. The temper of youth showed strongly. They were eager tosee Baltimore, but the train stopped there only a few minutes, and theywere not allowed to leave the coaches.

  Then the train turned towards the west. The drizzle of rain had nowbecome a pour, and it drove so heavily that they could see but littleoutside. Food was served at noon and afterward many slept in the crampedseats. Dick, despite his stiff position, fell asleep too. By the middleof the afternoon everybody in their coach was slumbering soundly exceptSergeant Whitley, who sat by the door leading to the next car.

  All that afternoon and into the night the train rattled and moved intothe west. The beautiful rolling country was left behind, and they werenow among the mountains, whirling around precipices so sharply thatoften the sleeping boys were thrown from the seats of the coaches. Butthey were growing used to hardships. They merely climbed back again uponthe seats, and were asleep once more in half a minute.

  The rain still fell and the wind blew fiercely among the sombermountains. A second engine had been added to the train, and the speedof the train was slackened. The engineer in front stared at the slipperyrails, but he could see only a few yards. The pitchy darkness closed inahead, hiding everything, even the peaks and ridges. The heart ofthat engineer, and he was a brave man, as brave as any soldier on thebattlefield, had sunk very low. Railroads were little past their infancythen and this was the first to cross the mountains. He was by no meanscertain of his track, and, moreover, the rocks and forest might shelteran ambush.

  The Alleghanies and their outlying ridges and spurs are not loftymountains, but to this day they are wild and almost inaccessible inmany places. Nature has made them a formidable barrier, and in thegreat Civil War those who trod there had to look with all their eyes andlisten with all their ears. The engineer was not alone in his anxietythis night. Colonel Newcomb rose from an uneasy doze and he went withMajor Hertford into the engineer's cab. They were now going at the rateof not more than five or six miles an hour, the long train winding likea snake around the edges of precipices and feeling its way gingerly overthe trestles that spanned the deep valleys. All trains made a great roarand rattle then, and the long ravines gave it back in a rumbling andmenacing echo. Gusts of rain were swept now and then into the faces ofthe engineer, the firemen and the officers.

  "Do you see anything ahead, Canby?" said Colonel Newcomb to theengineer.

  "Nothing. That's the trouble, sir. If it were a clear night I shouldn'tbe worried. Then we wouldn't be likely to steam into danger with oureyes shut. This is a wild country. The mountaineers in the main are forus, but we are not far north of the Southern line, and if they know weare crossing they may undertake to raid in here."

  "And they may know it," said the colonel. "Washington is full ofSouthern sympathizers. Stop the train, Canby, when we come to the firstopen and level space, and we'll do some scouting ahead."

  The engineer felt great relief. He was devoutly glad that the colonelwas going to take such a precaution. At that moment he, more thanColonel Newcomb, was responsible for the lives of the seven hundredhuman beings aboard the train, and his patriotism and sense ofresponsibility were both strong.

  The train, with much jolting and clanging, stopped fifteen minuteslater. Both Dick and Warner, awakened by the shock, sat up and rubbedtheir eyes. Then they left the train at once to join Colonel Newcomb,who might want them immediately. Wary Sergeant Whitley followed them insilence.

  The boys found Colonel Newcomb and the remaining members of his staffstanding near, and seeking anxiously to discover the nature of thecountry about them. The colonel nodded when they arrived, and gave theman approving glance. The two stood by, awaiting the colonel's orders,but they did not neglect to use their eyes.

  Dick saw by the engineer's lantern that they were in a valley, and helearned from his words that this valley was about three miles long witha width of perhaps half a mile. A little mountain river rushed down itscenter, and the train would cross the stream about a mile further on.It was still raining and the cold wind whistled down from the mountains.Dick could see the somber ridges showing dimly through the loom ofdarkness and rain. He was instantly aware, too, of a tense and uneasyfeeling among the officers. All of them carried glasses, but in thedarkness they could not use them. Lights began to appear in the trainand many heads were thrust out at the windows.

  "Go through the coaches, Mr. Mason and Mr. Warner," said ColonelNewcomb, "and have every light put out immediately. Tell them, too, thatmy orders are for absolute silence."

  Dick and the Vermonter did their work rapidly, receiving many curiousinquiries, as they went from coach to coach, all of which they werehonestly unable to answer. They knew no more than the other boys aboutthe situation. But when they left the last coach and returned to theofficers near the engine, the train was in total darkness, and no soundcame from it. Colonel Newcomb again gave them an approving nod. Dicknoticed that the fires in the engine were now well covered, and that nosparks came from the smoke-stack. Standing by it he could see the longshape of the train running back in the darkness, but it would have beeninvisible to any one a hundred yards away.

  "You think we're thoroughly hidden now, Canby?" said the colonel.

  "Yes, sir. Unless they've located us precisely on advance information.I don't see how they could find us among the mountains in all thisdarkness and rain."

  "But they've had the advance information! Look there!" exclaimed MajorHertford, pointing toward the high ridge that lay on their right.

  A beam of light had appeared on the loftiest spur, standing out at firstlike a red star in the darkness, then growing intensely brighter, andburning with a steady, vivid light. The effect was weird and powerful.The mountain beneath it was invisible, and it seemed to burn there likea real eye, wrathful and menacing. The older men, as well as the boys,were held as if by a spell. It was something monstrous and eastern, likethe appearance of a genie out of the Arabian Nights.

  The light, after remaining fixed for at least a minute, began to moveslowly from side to side and then faster.

  "A signal!" exclaimed Colonel Newcomb. "Beyond a doubt it is theSoutherners. Whatever they're saying they're saying it to somebody. Looktoward the south!"

  "Ah, there they are answering!" exclaimed Major Hertford.

  All had wheeled simultaneously, and on another high spur a mile to thesouth a second red light as vivid and intense as the first was flashingback and forth. It, too, the mountain below invisible, seemed to swingin the heavens. Dick, standing there in the darkness and rain, andknowing that imminent and mortal danger was on either side, felt afrightful chill creeping slowly down his spine. It is a terriblething to feel through some superior sense that an invisible foe isapproaching, and not be able to know by any kind of striving whence hecame.

  The lights flashed alternately, and presently both dropped from the sky,seeming to Dick to leave blacker spots on the darkness in their place.Then only the heavy night and the rain encompassed them.

  "What do you think it is?" asked Colonel Newcomb of Major Hertford.

  "Southern troops beyond a doubt. It is equally certain that they werewarned in some manner from Washington of our departure."

  "I think so, too. It is probable that they saw the light and have beensignalling their knowledge to each other. It seems likely to me thatthey will wait at the far end of the valley to cut us off. What force doyou think it is?"

  "Perhaps a cavalry detachment that has ridden hurriedly to intercept us.I would say at a guess
that it is Turner Ashby and his men. A skillfuland dangerous foe, as you know."

  Already the fame of this daring Confederate horseman was spreading overVirginia and Maryland.

  "If we are right in our guess," said Major Hertford, "they willdismount, lead their horses along the mountain side, and shut down thetrap upon us. Doubtless they are in superior force, and know the countrymuch better than we do. If they get ahead of us and have a little timeto do it in they will certainly tear up the tracks."

  "I think you are right in all respects," said Colonel Newcomb. "But itis obvious that we must not give them time to destroy the road ahead ofus. As for the rest, I wonder."

  He pulled uneasily at his short beard, and then he caught sight ofSergeant Whitley standing silently, arms folded, by the side of theengine. Newcomb, the miner colonel, was a man of big and open mind.A successful business man, he had the qualities which made him a goodgeneral by the time the war was in its third year. He knew Whitley andhe knew, too, that he was an old army regular, bristling with experienceand shrewdness.

  "Sergeant Whitley," he said, "in this emergency what would you do, ifyou were in my place?"

  The sergeant saluted respectfully.

  "If I were in your place, sir, which I never will be," he replied,"I would have all the troops leave the train. Then I would have theengineers take the train forward slowly, while the troops marched oneither side of it, but at a sufficient distance to be hidden in thedarkness. Then, sir, our men could not be caught in a wreck, but withtheir feet on solid earth they would be ready, if need be, for a fight,which is our business."

  "Well spoken, Sergeant Whitley," said Colonel Newcomb, while the otherofficers also nodded approval. "Your plan is excellent and we will adoptit. Get the troops out of the train quickly but in silence and do you,Canby, be ready with the engine."

  Dick and Warner with the older officers turned to the task. The youngsoldiers were out of the train in two minutes and were forming in lineson either side, arms ready. There were many whisperings among theseboys, but none loud enough to be heard twenty yards away. All feltintense relief when they left the train and stood upon the solid, thoughdecidedly damp earth.

  But the cold rain sweeping upon their faces was a tonic, both mental andphysical, after the close heat of the train. They did not know why theyhad disembarked, but they surmised with good reason that an attack wasthreatened and they were eager to meet it.

  Dick and Warner were near the head of the line on the right of thetracks, and Sergeant Whitley was with them. The train began to puffheavily, and in spite of every precaution some sparks flew from thesmoke-stack. Dick knew that it was bound to rumble and rattle when itstarted, but he was surprised at the enormous amount of noise it made,when the wheels really began to turn. It seemed to him that in thesilence of the night it could be heard three or four miles. Then herealized that it was merely his own excitement and extreme tension ofboth mind and body. Canby was taking the train forward so gently thatits sounds were drowned two hundred yards away in the swirl of wind andrain.

  The men marched, each line keeping abreast of the train, but fifty yardsor more to one side. The young troops were forbidden to speak and theirfootsteps made no noise in the wet grass and low bushes. Dick and Warnerkept their eyes on the mountains, turning them alternately from north tosouth. Nothing appeared on either ridge, and no sound came to tell of anenemy near.

  Dick began to believe that they would pass through the valley and out ofthe trap without a combat. But while a train may go two or three milesin a few minutes it takes troops marching in the darkness over uncertainground a long time to cover the same distance. They marched a full halfhour and then Dick suppressed a cry. The light, burning as intenselyred as before, appeared again on the mountain to the right, but furthertoward the west, seeming to have moved parallel to the Northern troops.As Dick looked it began to flash swiftly from side to side and thatchill and weird feeling again ran down his spine. He looked toward thesouth and there was the second signal, red and intense, replying to thefirst.

  Dick heard a deep "Ah!" run along the line of young troops, and he knewnow that they understood as much as he or any of the officers did. Henow knew, too, that they would not pass out of the valley without acombat. The Southern forces, beyond a doubt, would try to shut them inat the western mouth of the valley, and a battle in the night and rainwas sure to follow.

  The train continued to move slowly forward. Had Colonel Newcomb daredhe would have ordered Canby to increase his speed in order that he mightreach the western mouth of the valley before the Southern force had achance to tear up the rails, but there was no use for the train withoutthe troops and they were already marching as fast as they could.

  The gorge was now not more than a quarter of a mile away. Dick was ableto discern it, because the darkness there was not quite so dark as thatwhich lay against the mountains on either side. He was hopeful that theymight yet reach it before the Southern force could close down upon them,but before they went many yards further he heard the beat of horses'feet both to right and left and knew that the enemy was at hand.

  "Take the train on through the pass, Canby!" shouted Colonel Newcomb."We'll cover its retreat, and join you later--if we can."

  The train began to rattle and roar, and its speed increased. Showersof sparks shot from the funnels of the two engines, and gleamed foran instant in the darkness. The beat of horses' feet grew to thunder.Colonel Newcomb with great presence of mind drew the two parallel linesof his men close together, and ordered them to lie down on either sideof the railroad track and face outward with cocked rifles. Dick, theVermonter, and Sergeant Whitley lay close together, and the three facedthe north.

  "See the torches!" said Whitley.

  Dick saw eight or ten torches wavering and flickering at a height ofseven or eight feet above the ground, and he knew that they were carriedby horsemen, but he could not see either men or horses beneath. Then therapid beat of hoofs ceased abruptly at a distance that Dick thought mustbe about two hundred yards.

  "Lie flat!" cried Whitley. "They're about to fire!"