Chapter 10

AN UNBEATEN FOE

Dick's belief that he would not be allowed to sleep long was justified. In three or four hours the whole Winchester regiment was up, mounted and away again. Early and his army left the great valley pike, and took a road leading toward the Blue Ridge, where he eventually entered a gap, and fortified to await supplies and fresh men from Richmond, leaving all the great Valley of Virginia, where in former years the Northern armies had suffered so many humiliations, in the possession of Sheridan. It was the greatest and most solid triumph that the Union had yet achieved and Dick and the youths with him rejoiced.

After many days of marching and fighting they lay once more in the shadow of the mountains, within a great grove of oak and beech, hickory and maple. The men and then the horses had drunk at a large brook flowing near by, and both were content. The North, as always, sent forward food in abundance to its troops, and now, just as the twilight was coming, the fires were lighted and the pleasant aromas of supper were rising. Colonel Winchester and his young staff sat by one of the fires near the edge of the creek. They had not taken off their clothes in almost a week, and they felt as if they had been living like cave-men. Nevertheless the satisfaction that comes from deeds well done pervaded them, and as they lay upon the leaves and awaited their food and coffee they showed great good humor.

"Have you any objection, sir, to my taking a census?" said Warner to Colonel Winchester.

"No, Warner, but what kind of a census do you mean?"

"I want to count our wounds, separately and individually and then make up the grand total."

"All right, George, go ahead," said Colonel Winchester, laughing.

"Dick," said Warner, "what hurts have you sustained in the past week?"

"A bullet scratch on the shoulder, another on the side, a slight cut from a saber on my left arm, about healed now, a spent bullet that hit me on the head, raising a lump and ache for the time being, and a kick from one of our own horses that made me walk lame for a day."

"The kick from a horse, as it was one of our horses, doesn't go."

"I didn't put it forward seriously. I withdraw my claim on its account."

"That allows you four wounds. Now, Pennington, how about you?"

"First I had a terrible wound in the foot," replied the Nebraskan. "A bullet went right through my left shoe and cut the skin off the top of my little toe."

"Leave out the 'terrible.' That's no dreadful wound."

"No, but it burned like the sting of a wasp and bled in a most disgraceful manner all over my sock. Then my belt buckle was shot away."

"That doesn't count either. A wound's a wound only when you're