Chapter III. The Telegraph Station

The Guns of Shiloh

by Joseph A. Altsheler

The darkness to the north was suddenly split apart by a solid
sheet of flame. Dick by the light saw many men on horseback and
others on foot, bridle rein over arm. It was well for the seven
hundred boys that they had pressed themselves against the solid
earth. A sheet of bullets swept toward them. Most passed over
their heads, but many struck upon bones and flesh, and cries of pain
rose from the lines of men lying along the railroad track.

The seven hundred pulled trigger and fired at the flash. They
fired so well that Dick could hear Southern horses neighing with
pain, and struggling in the darkness. He felt sure that many men,
too, had been hit. At least no charge came. The seven hundred
shouted with exultation and, leaping to their feet, prepared to fire
a second volley. But the swift command of their officers quickly put
them down again.

"Don't forget the other Confederate column to the south of
us," whispered Whitley. "They did not fire at first for fear their
bullets would pass over our heads and strike their own comrades.
For the same reason they must have dropped back a little in order to
avoid the fire of their friends. Their volley will come from an
angle about midway between our left and rear."

Just as he spoke the last words the rifles flashed at the
surmised angle and again the bullets beat among the young troops or
swept over their heads. A soldier was killed only a few feet from
Dick. The boy picked up his rifle and ammunition and began to fire
whenever be saw the flash of an opposing weapon. But the fire of
both Confederate columns ceased in a minute or two, and not a shot
nor the sound of a single order came out of the darkness. But Dick
with his ear to the soft earth, could hear the crush of hoofs in the
mud, and with a peculiar ability to discern whence sound came he
knew that the force on the left and rear was crossing the railroad
track in order to join their comrades on the north. He whispered
his knowledge to Whitley, who whispered back:

"It's the natural thing for them to do. They could not afford
to fight on in the darkness with two separate forces. The two
columns would soon be firing into each other."

Colonel Newcomb now gave an order for the men to rise and
follow the railroad track, but also to fire at the flash of the
rifles whenever a volley was poured upon them. He must not only
beat off the Southern attack, but also continue the journey to those
points in the west where they were needed so sorely. Some of his
men had been killed, and he was compelled to leave their bodies
where they had fallen. Others were wounded, but without exception
they were helped along by their comrades.

Warner also had secured a rifle, with which he fired
occasionally, but he and Dick, despite the darkness, kept near to
Colonel Newcomb in order that they might deliver any orders that he
should choose to give. Sergeant Whitley was close to them. Dick
presently heard the rush of water.

"What is that?" he exclaimed.

"It's the little river that runs down the valley," replied
Warner. "There's a slope here and it comes like a torrent. A bridge
or rather trestle is only a little further, and we've got to walk
the ties, if we reach the other side. They'll make their heaviest
rush there, I suppose, as beyond a doubt they are thoroughly
acquainted with the ground."

The Northern troops left the track which here ran along an
embankment several feet high, and took shelter on its southern side.
They now had an advantage for a while, as they fired from a
breastwork upon their foes, who were in the open. But the darkness,
lit only by the flashes of the rifles, kept the fire of both sides
from being very destructive, the bullets being sent mainly at
random.

Dick dimly saw the trestle work ahead of them, and the roaring
of the little river increased. He did not know how deep the water
was, but he was sure that it could not be above his waist as it was
a small stream. An idea occurred to him and he promptly communicated
it to Colonel Newcomb.

"Suppose, sir," he said, "that we ford the river just below
the trestle. It will deceive them and we'll be half way across
before they suspect the change."

"A good plan, Mr. Mason," said Colonel Newcomb. "We'll try
it."

Word was quickly passed along the line that they should turn
to the left as they approached the trestle, march swiftly down the
slope, and dash into the stream. As fast as they reached the other
side of the ford the men should form upon the bank there, and with
their rifles cover the passage of their comrades.

The skeleton work of the trestle now rose more clearly into
view. The rain had almost ceased and faint rays of moonlight showed
through the rifts where the clouds had broken apart. The boys
distinctly heard the gurgling rush of waters, and they also saw the
clear, bluish surface of the mountain stream. The same quickening
of light disclosed the Southern force on their right flank and rear,
only four or five hundred yards away. Dick's hasty glance backward
lingered for a moment on a powerful man on a white horse just in
advance of the Southern column. He saw this man raise his hand and
then command the men to fire. He and twenty others under the impulse
of excitement shouted to the regiment to drop down, and the Northern
lads did so.

Most of the volley passed over their heads. Rising they sent
back a return discharge, and then the head of the columns rushed
into the stream. Dick felt swift water whirling about him and
tugging at his body, but it rose no higher than his waist, although
foam and spray were dashed into his face. He heard all around him
the splashing of his comrades, and their murmurs of satisfaction.
They realized now that they were not only able to retreat before a
much superior force, but this same stream, when crossed, would form
a barrier behind which they could fight two to one.

The Confederate leader, whoever he might be, and Dick had no
doubt that he was the redoubtable Turner Ashby, also appreciated the
full facts and he drove his whole force straight at the regiment.
It was well for the young troops that part of them were already
across, and, under the skillful leadership of Colonel Newcomb, Major
Hertford, and three or four old, regular army sergeants, of whom the
best was Whitley, were already forming in line of battle.

"Kneel," shouted the colonel, "and fire over the heads of your
comrades at the enemy!"

The light was still growing brighter. The rain came only in
slight flurries. The clouds were trooping off toward the northeast,
and the moon was out. Dick clearly saw the black mass of the
Southern horsemen wheeling down upon them. At least three hundred
of the regiment were now upon the bank, and, with fairly steady aim,
they poured a heavy volley into the massed ranks of their foe. Dick
saw horses fall while others dashed away riderless. But the
Southern line wavered only for a moment and then came on again with
many shouts. There were also dismounted men on either flank who
knelt and maintained a heavy fire upon the defenders.

The lads in blue were suffering many wounds, but a line of
trees and underbrush on the western shore helped them. Lying there
partly protected they loaded and pulled trigger as fast as they
could, while the rest of their comrades emerged dripping from the
stream to join them. The Confederates, brave as they were, had no
choice but to give ground against such strong defense, and the miner
colonel, despite his reserve and his middle years, gave vent to his
exultation.

"We can hold this line forever!" he exclaimed to his aides.
"It's one thing to charge us in the open, but it's quite another to
get at us across a deep and rushing stream. Major Hertford, take
part of the men to the other side of the railroad track and drive
back any attempt at a crossing there. Lieutenant Mason, you and
Lieutenant Warner go ahead and see what has become of the train.
You can get back here in plenty time for more fighting."

Dick and Warner hurried forward, following the line of the
railroad. Their blood was up and they did not like to leave the
defense of the river, but orders must be obeyed. As they ran down
the railroad track a man came forward swinging a lantern, and they
saw the tall gaunt figure of Canby, the chief engineer. Behind him
the train stretched away in the darkness.

"I guess that our men have forded the river and are holding
the bank," said Canby. "Do they need the train crew back there to
help?"

He spoke with husky eagerness. Dick knew that he was longing
to be in the middle of the fight, but that his duty kept him with
the train.

"No," he replied. "The river bank, and the road along its
shore give us a great position for defense, and I know we can hold
it. Colonel Newcomb did not say so, but perhaps you'd better bring
the train back nearer us. It's not our object to stay in this
valley and fight, but to go into the west. Is all clear ahead?"

"No enemy is there. Some of the brakemen have gone on a mile
or two and they say the track hasn't been touched. You tell Colonel
Newcomb that I'm bringing the train right down to the battle
line."

Dick and Warner returned quickly to Colonel Newcomb, who
appreciated Canby's courage and presence of mind. As the train
approached the four cannon were unloaded from the trucks, and swept
the further shore with shell and shrapnel. After a scattered fire
the Southern force withdrew some distance, where it halted,
apparently undecided. The clouds rolled up again, the feeble moon
disappeared, and the river sank into the dark.

"May I make a suggestion, Colonel Newcomb?" said Major
Hertford.

"Certainly."

"The enemy will probably seek an undefended ford much higher
up, cross under cover of the new darkness and attack us in heavy
force on the flank. Suppose we get aboard the train at once, cannon
and all, and leave them far behind."

"Excellent. If the darkness covers their movements it also
covers ours. Load the train as fast as possible and see that no
wounded are left behind."

He gave rapid orders to all his officers and aides, and in
fifteen minutes the troops were aboard the train again, the cannon
were lifted upon the trucks, Canby and his assistants had all steam
up, and the train with its usual rattle and roar resumed its flight
into the west.

Dick and Warner were in the first coach near Colonel Newcomb,
ready for any commands that he might give. Both had come through
the defense of the ford without injury, although a bullet had gone
through Dick's coat without touching the skin. Sergeant Whitley,
too, was unharmed, but the regiment had suffered. More than twenty
dead were left in the valley for the enemy to bury.

Despite all the commands and efforts of the officers there was
much excited talk in the train. Boys were binding up wounds of
other boys and were condoling with them. But on the whole they were
exultant. Youth did not realize the loss of those who had been with
them so little. Scattered exclamations came to Dick:

"We beat 'em off that time, an' we can do it again."

"Lucky though we had that little river before us. Guess
they'd have rode us right down with their horses if it hadn't been
for the stream an' its banks."

"Ouch, don't draw that bandage so tight on my arm. It ain't
nothin' but a flesh wound."

"I hate a battle in the dark. Give me the good sunshine,
where you can see what's goin' on. My God, that you Bill! I'm
tremendous glad to see you! I thought you was lyin' still, back
there in the grass!"

Dick said nothing. He was in a seat next to the window, and
his face was pressed against the rain-marked pane. The rifle that
he had picked up and used so well was still clutched, grimed with
smoke, in his hands. The train had not yet got up speed. He caught
glimpses of the river behind which they had fought, and which had
served them so well as a barrier. In fact, he knew that it had
saved them. But they had beaten off the enemy! The pulses in his
temples still throbbed from exertion and excitement, but his heart
beat exultantly. The bitterness of Bull Run was deep and it had
lasted long, but here they were the victors.

The speed of the train increased and Dick knew that they were
safe from further attack. They were still running among mountains,
clad heavily in forest, but a meeting with a second Southern force
was beyond probability. The first had made a quick raid on
information supplied by spies in Washington, but it had failed and
the way was now clear.

Ample food was served somewhat late to the whole regiment, the
last wounds were bound up, and Dick, having put aside the rifle,
fell asleep at last. His head lay against the window and he slept
heavily all through the night. Warner in the next seat slept in the
same way. But the wise old sergeant just across the aisle remained
awake much longer. He was summing up and he concluded that the
seven hundred lads had done well. They were raw, but they were
being whipped into shape.

He smiled a little grimly as the unspoken words, "whipped into
shape," rose to his lips. The veteran of many an Indian battle
foresaw something vastly greater than anything that had occurred on
the plains. "Whipped into shape!" Why, in the mighty war that was
gathering along a front of two thousand miles no soldier could
escape being whipped into shape, or being whipped out of it.

But the sergeant's own eyes closed after a while, and he, too,
slept the sleep of utter mental and physical exhaustion. The train
rumbled on, the faithful Canby in the first engine aware of his
great responsibility and equal to it. Not a wink of sleep for him
that night. The darkness had lightened somewhat more. The black of
the skies had turned to a dusky blue, and the bolder stars were out.
He could always see the shining rails three or four hundred yards
ahead, and he sent his train steadily forward at full speed, winding
among the gorges and rattling over the trestles. The silent
mountains gave back every sound in dying echoes, but Canby paid no
heed to them. His eyes were always on the track ahead, and he, too,
was exultant. He had brought the regiment through, and while it was
on the train his responsibility was not inferior to that of Colonel
Newcomb.

When Dick awoke, bright light was pouring in at the car
windows, but the car was cold and his body was stiff and sore. His
military overcoat had been thrown over him in the night and Warner
had been covered in the same way. They did not know that Sergeant
Whitley had done that thoughtful act.

Dick stretched himself and drew deep breaths. Warm youth soon
sent the blood flowing in a full tide through his veins, and the
stiffness and soreness departed. He saw through the window that
they were still running among the mountains, but they did not seem
to be so high here as they were at the river by which they had
fought in the night. He knew from his geography and his calculation
of time that they must be far into that part of Virginia which is
now West Virginia.

There was no rain now, at least where the train was running,
but the sun had risen on a cold world. Far up on the higher peaks
he saw a fine white mist which he believed to be falling snow.
Obviously it was winter here and putting on the big military coat he
drew it tightly about him. Others in the coach were waking up and
some of them, grown feverish with their wounds, were moving
restlessly on their seats, where they lay protected by the blankets
of their fellows.

Dick now and then saw a cabin nestling in the lee of a hill,
with the blue smoke rising from its chimney into the clear, wintry
air, and small and poor as they were they gave him a singular sense
of peace and comfort. His mind felt for a few moments a strong
reaction from war and its terrors, but the impulse and the strong
purpose that bore him on soon came back.

The train rushed through a pass and entered a sheltered valley
a mile or two wide and eight or ten miles long. A large creek ran
through it, and the train stopped at a village on its banks. The
whole population of the village and all the farmers of the valley
were there to meet them. It was a Union valley and by some system
of mountain telegraphy, although there were no telegraph wires, news
of the battle at the ford had preceded the train.

"Come, lads," said Colonel Newcomb to his staff. "Out with
you! We're among friends here!"

Dick and Warner were glad enough to leave the train. The air,
cold as it was, was like the breath of heaven on their faces, and
the cheers of the people were like the trump of fame in their ears.
Pretty girls with their faces in red hoods or red comforters were
there with food and smoking coffee. Medicines for the wounded, as
much as the village could supply, had been brought to the train, and
places were already made for those hurt too badly to go on with the
expedition.

The whole cheerful scene, with its life and movement, the
sight of new faces and the sound of many voices, had a wonderful
effect upon young Dick Mason. He had a marvellously sensitive
temperament, a direct inheritance from his famous border ancestor,
Paul Cotter. Things were always vivid to him. Either they glowed
with color, or they were hueless and dead. This morning the long
strain of the night and its battle was relaxed completely. The
grass in the valley was brown with frost, and the trees were shorn
of their leaves by the winter winds, but to Dick it was the finest
village that he had ever seen, and these were the friendliest people
in the world.

He drank a cup of hot coffee handed to him by the stalwart
wife of a farmer, and then, when she insisted, drank another.

"You're young to be fightin'," she said sympathetically.

"We all are," said Dick with a glance at the regiment, "but
however we may fight you'll never find anybody attacking a breakfast
with more valor and spirit than we do."

She looked at the long line of lads, drinking coffee and
eating ham, bacon, eggs, and hot biscuits, and smiled.

"I reckon you tell the truth, young feller," she said, "but
it's good to see 'em go at it."

She passed on to help others, and Dick, summoned by Colonel
Newcomb, went into a little railroad and telegraph station. The
telegraph wires had been cut behind them, but ten miles across the
mountains the spur of another railroad touched a valley. The second
railroad looped toward the north, and it was absolutely sure that it
was beyond the reach of Southern raiders. Colonel Newcomb wished to
send a message to the Secretary of War and the President, telling of
the night's events and his triumphant passage through the ordeal.
These circumstances might make them wish to change his orders, and
at any rate the commander of the regiment wished to be sure of what
he was doing.

"You're a Kentuckian and a good horseman," said Colonel
Newcomb to Dick. "The villagers have sent me a trusty man, one Bill
Petty, as a guide. Take Sergeant Whitley and you three go to the
station. I've already written my dispatches, and I put them in your
care. Have them sent at once, and if necessary wait four hours for
an answer. If it comes, ride back as fast as you can. The horses
are ready and I rely upon you."

"Thank you, sir, I'll do my best," said Dick, who deeply
appreciated the colonel's confidence. He wasted no time in words,
but went at once to Sergeant Whitley, who was ready in five minutes.
Warner, who heard of the mission, was disappointed because he was
not going too. But he was philosophical.

"I've made a close calculation," he said, "and I have
demonstrated to my own satisfaction that our opportunities are sixty
per cent energy and ability, twenty per cent manners, and twenty per
cent chance. In this case chance, which made the Colonel better
acquainted with you than with me, was in your favor. We won't
discuss the other eighty per cent, because this twenty is enough.
Besides it looks pretty cold on the mountains, and its fine here in
the village. But luck with you, Dick."

He gave his comrade's hand a strong grasp and walked away
toward the little square of the village, where the troops were
encamped for the present. Dick sprang upon a horse which Bill Petty
was holding for him. Whitley was already up, and the three rode
swiftly toward a blue line which marked a cleft between two ridges.
Dick first observed their guide. Bill Petty was a short but very
stout man, clad in a suit of home-made blue jeans, the trousers of
which were thrust into high boots with red tops. A heavy shawl of
dark red was wrapped around his shoulders, and beneath his
broad-brimmed hat a red woolen comforter covered his ears, cheeks,
and chin. His thick hair and a thick beard clothing his entire face
were a flaming red. The whole effect of the man was somewhat
startling, but when he saw Dick looking at him in curiosity his
mouth opened wide in a grin of extreme good nature.

"I guess you think I'm right red," he said. "Well, I am, an'
as you see I always dress to suit my complexion. Guess I'll warm up
the road some on a winter day like this."

"Would you mind my callin' you Red Blaze?" asked Sergeant
Whitley gravely.

"Not-a-tall! Not-a-tall! I'd like it. I guess it's sorter
pictorial an' 'maginative like them knights of old who had fancy
names 'cordin' to their qualities. People 'round here are pretty
plain, an' they've never called me nothin' but Bill. Red Blaze she
is."

"An' Blaze for short. Well, then, Blaze, what kind of a road
is that we're goin' to ride on?"

"Depends on the kind of weather in which you ask the question.
As it's the fust edge of winter here in the mountains, though it
ain't quite come in the lowlands, an' as it's rained a lot in the
last week, I reckon you'll find it bad. Mebbe our hosses will go
down in the road to thar knees, but I guess they won't sink up to
thar bodies. They may stumble an' throw us, but as we'll hit in
soft mud it ain't likely to hurt us. It may rain hard, 'cause I see
clouds heapin' up thar in the west. An' if it rains the cold may
then freeze a skim of ice over the road, on which we could slip an'
break our necks, hosses an' all. Then thar are some cliffs close to
the road. If we was to slip on that thar skim of ice which we've
reckoned might come, then mebbe we'd go over one of them cliffs and
drop down a hundred feet or so right swift. If it was soft mud down
below we might not get hurt mortal. But it ain't soft mud. We'd
hit right in the middle of sharp, hard rocks. An' if a gang of rebel
sharpshooters has wandered up here they may see us an' chase us 'way
off into the mountains, where we'd break our necks fallin' off the
ridges or freeze to death or starve to death."

Whitley stared at him.

"Blaze," he exclaimed, "what kind of a man are you anyway?"

"Me? I'm the happiest man in the valley. When people are low
down they come an' talk to me to get cheered up. I always lay the
worst before you first an' then shove it out of the way. None of
them things that I was conjurin' up is goin' to happen. I was just
tellin' you of the things you was goin' to escape, and now you'll
feel good, knowin' what dangers you have passed before they
happened."

Dick laughed. He liked this intensely red man with his round
face and twinkling eyes. He saw, too, that the mountaineer was a
fine horseman, and as he carried a long slender-barreled rifle over
his shoulder, while a double-barreled pistol was thrust in his belt,
it was likely that he would prove a formidable enemy to any who
sought to stop him.

"Perhaps your way is wise," said the boy. "You begin with the
bad and end with the good. What is the name of this place to which
we are going?"

"Hubbard. There was a pioneer who fit the Injuns in here in
early times. I never heard that he got much, 'cept a town named
after him. But Hubbard is a right peart little place, with a bank,
two stores, three churches, an' nigh on to two hundred people. Are
you wrapped up well, Mr. Mason, 'cause it's goin' to be cold on the
mountains?"

Dick wore heavy boots, and a long, heavy military coat which
fell below his knees and which also had a high collar protecting his
ears. He was provided also with heavy buckskin gloves. The
sergeant was clad similarly.

"I think I'm clothed against any amount of cold," he
replied.

"Well, you need to be," said Petty, "'cause the pass through
which we're goin' is at least fifteen hundred feet above
Townsville--that's our village--an' I reckon it's just 'bout as high
over Hubbard. Them fifteen hundred feet make a pow'ful difference
in climate, as you'll soon find out. It's not only colder thar, but
the winds are always blowin' hard through the pass. Jest look back
at Townsville. Ain't she fine an' neat down thar in the valley,
beside that clear creek which higher up in the mountains is full of
the juiciest an' sweetest trout that man ever stuck a tooth
into."

Dick saw that Petty was talkative, but he did not mind. In
fact, both he and Whitley liked the man's joyous and unbroken run of
chatter. He turned in his saddle and looked back, following the
stout man's pointing finger. Townsville, though but a little
mountain town built mainly of logs, was indeed a jewel, softened and
with a silver sheen thrown over it by the mountain air which was
misty that morning. He dimly saw the long black line of the train
standing on the track, and here and there warm rings of smoke rose
from the chimneys and floated up into the heavens, where they were
lost.

He thought he could detect little figures moving beside the
train and he knew that they must be those of his comrades. He felt
for a moment a sense of loneliness. He had not known these lads
long, but the battle had bound them firmly together. They had been
comrades in danger and that made them comrades as long as they
lived.

"Greatest town in the world," said Petty, waving toward it a
huge hand, encased in a thick yarn glove. "I've traveled from it as
much as fifty miles in every direction, north, south, east, an'
west, an' I ain't never seed its match. I reckon I'm somethin' of a
traveler, but every time I come back to Townsville, I think all the
more of it, seein' how much better it is than anything else."

Dick glanced at the mountaineer, and saw that there could be
no doubt of his sincerity.

"You're a lucky man, Mr. Petty," he said, "to live in the
finest place in the world."

"Yes, if I don't get drug off to the war. I'm not hankerin'
for fightin' an' I don't know much what the war's about though I'm
for the Union, fust to last, an' that's the way most of the people
'bout here feel. Turn your heads ag'in, friends, an' take another
look at Townsville."

Dick and Whitley glanced back and saw only the blank gray wall
of the mountain. Petty laughed. He was the finest laugher that
Dick had ever heard. The laugh did not merely come from the mouth,
it was also exuded, pouring out through every pore. It was rolling,
unctuous, and so strong that Petty not only shook with it, but his
horse seemed to shake also. It was mellow, too, with an organ note
that comes of a mighty lung and throat, and of pure air breathed all
the year around.

"Thought I'd git the joke on you," he said, when he stopped
laughing. "The road's been slantin' into the mountains, without you
knowin' it, and Townsville is cut off by the cliffs. You'll find it
gettin' wilder now 'till we start down the slope on the other side.
Lucky our hosses are strong, 'cause the mud is deeper than I thought
it would be."

It was not really a road that they were following, merely a
path, and the going was painful. Under Petty's instructions they
stopped their mounts now and then for a rest, and a mile further on
they began to feel a rising wind.

"It's the wind that I told you of," said Petty. "It's sucked
through six or seven miles of pass, an' it will blow straight in our
faces all the way. As we'll be goin' up for a long distance you'll
find it growin' colder, too. But you've got to remember that after
you pass them cold winds an' go down the slope you'll strike another
warm little valley, the one in which Hubbard is layin' so neat an'
so snug."

Dick had already noticed the increasing coldness and so had
the sergeant. Whitley, from his long experience on the plains, had
the keenest kind of an eye for climatic changes. He noticed with
some apprehension that the higher peaks were clothed in thick, cold
fog, but he said nothing to the brave boy whom he had grown to love
like a son. But both he and Dick drew their heavy coats closer and
were thankful for the buckskin gloves, without which their hands
would have stiffened on the reins.

Now they rode in silence with their heads bent well forward,
because the wind was becoming fiercer and fiercer. Over the peaks
the fogs were growing thicker and darker and after a while the sharp
edge of the wind was wet with rain. It stung their faces, and they
drew their hat brims lower and their coat collars higher to protect
themselves from such a cutting blast.

"Told you we might have trouble," called Petty, cheerfully,
"but if you ride right on through trouble you'll leave trouble
behind. Nor this ain't nothin' either to what we kin expect before
we git to the top of the pass. Cur'us what a pow'ful lot human
bein's kin stand when they make up their minds to it."

"Are the horses well shod?" asked Whitley.

"Best shod in the world, 'cause I done it myself. That's my
trade, blacksmith, an' I'm a good one if I do say it. I heard
before we started that you had been a soldier in the west. I s'pose
that you had to look mighty close to your hosses then. A man
couldn't afford to be ridin' a hoss made lame by bad shoein' when
ten thousand yellin' Sioux or Blackfeet was after him."

"No, you couldn't," replied the sergeant. "Out there you had
to watch every detail. That's one of the things that fightin'
Indians taught. You had to be watchin' all the time an' I reckon the
trainin' will be of value in this war. Are we mighty near to the
top of the pass, Mr. Petty?"

"Got two or three miles yet. The slope is steeper on the
other side. We rise a lot more before we hit the top."

The wind grew stronger with every rod they ascended, and the
horses began to pant with their severe exertions. At Petty's
suggestion the three riders dismounted and walked for a while,
leading their horses. The rain turned to a fine hail and stung their
faces. Had it not been for his two good comrades Dick would have
found his situation inexpressibly lonely and dreary. The heavy fog
now enveloped all the peaks and ridges and filled every valley and
chasm. He could see only fifteen or twenty yards ahead along the
muddy path, and the fine hail which gave every promise of becoming a
storm of sleet stung continually. The wind confined in the narrow
gorge also uttered a hideous shrieking and moaning.

"Tests your nerve!" shouted Petty to Dick. "There are hard
things besides battles to stand, an' this is goin' to be one of the
hard ones, but if you go through it all right you kin go through any
number of the same kind all right, too. Likely the sleet will be so
thick that it will make a sheet of slippery ice for us comin' back.
Now, hosses that ain't got calks on thar shoes are pretty shore to
slip an' fall, breakin' a leg or two, an' mebbe breakin' the necks
of thar riders."

Dick looked at him with some amazement. Despite his
announcement of dire disaster the man's eyes twinkled merrily and
the round, red outline of his bushy head in the scarlet comforter
made a cheerful blaze.

"It's jest as I told you," said Petty, meeting the boy's look.
"Without calks on thar shoes our hosses are pretty shore to slip on
the ice and break theirselves up, or fall down a cliff an' break
themselves up more."

"Then why in thunder, Blaze," exclaimed Whitley, "did we start
without calks on the shoes of our horses?"

Red Blaze broke into a deep mellow laugh, starting from the
bottom of his diaphragm, swelling as it passed through his chest,
swelling again as it passed through throat and mouth, and bursting
upon the open air in a mighty diapason that rose cheerfully above
the shrieking and moaning of the wind.

"We didn't start without em," he replied. "The twelve feet of
these three hosses have on 'em the finest calked shoes in all these
mountains. I put 'em on myself, beginnin' the job this mornin'
before you was awake, your colonel, on the advice of the people of
Townsville who know me as one of its leadin' an' trusted citizens,
havin' selected me as the guide of this trip. I was jest tellin'
you what would happen to you if I didn't justify the confidence of
the people of Townsville."

"I allow, Red Blaze," said the sergeant with confidence, "that
you ain't no fool, an' that you're lookin' out for our best
interests. Lead on."

Red Blaze's mellow and pleased laugh rose once more above the
whistling of the wind.

"You kin ride ag'in now, boys," he said. "The hosses are
pretty well rested."

They resumed the saddle gladly and now mounted toward the
crest of the pass. The sleet turned to snow, which was a relief to
their faces, and Dick, with the constant beating of wind and snow,
began to feel a certain physical exhilaration. He realized the
truth of Red Blaze's assertion that if you stiffen your back and
push your way through troubles you leave troubles behind.

They rode now in silence for quite a while, and then Red Blaze
suddenly announced:

"We're at the top, boys."