“A good cove, truly,” said Pennington, “and we sha’n’t forget it.”

When they reached the main pass they found it also deep in mud and melting snow, and their progress was slow and painful.  But before noon they met Shepard and the sergeant returning with news that they had carried an account of the victory to General Sheridan, but that nothing had happened in the main valley save a few raids by Mosby.  Shepard, who acted as spokesman, was too tactful to say much, but he indicated very clearly that the commander-in-chief was highly pleased with the destruction of the Slade and Skelly band, the maraudings of which had become a great annoyance and danger.  Dick was eager to hear more, and, when the opportunity presented itself, he questioned the sergeant privately.

“What do we hear from Petersburg?” he asked.  “Is the deadlock there broken?”

“Not yet, sir,” replied the sergeant.  “The winter being so very severe the troops are not able to do much.  General Lee still holds his lines.”

“I suppose that General Grant doesn’t care to risk another Cold Harbor, but what has been done here in the Valley of Virginia should enable him to turn Lee’s flank in the spring.”

“I take it that you’re right, sir.  General Lee is a hard nut to crack, as we all know, but his army is wearing away.  In the spring the shell of the nut will be so thin that we’ll smash it.”

The column, after its exploit, reported to Sheridan at Winchester, the little city around which and through which the war rolled for four long years, and where two great commanders, one of the gray and the other of the blue, had their headquarters at times.  But Colonel Winchester and his young staff officers rode through streets that were faced by closed shutters and windows.  Nowhere was the hostility to the Northern troops more bitter and intense than in Winchester, the beloved city of the great Stonewall which had seen with its own eyes so many of his triumphs.

Dick and his comrades had learned long since not to speak to the women and girls for fear of their sharp tongues, and in his heart he could not blame them.  Youth did not keep him from having a philosophical and discerning mind, and he knew that in the strongest of people the emotions often triumph over logic and reason.  Warner’s little algebra was all right, when the question was algebraic, but sentiment and passion had a great deal to do with the affairs of the world, and, where they were concerned, the book was of no value at all.

Dick’s new rank of captain was conferred upon him by General Sheridan himself, and it was accompanied by a compliment which though true made him blush in his modesty.  A few days later Warner received the same rank for his achievement in driving away Slade, and it was conferred upon Pennington too for general excellence.  The three were supremely happy and longed for more enemies to conquer, but a long period of comparative idleness ensued.