The troopers rapidly dug shallow graves with their bayonets in the soft soil, and the dead were laid away.  The feeling of friendship and also of curiosity among these stern fighters grew.  They were anxious to see and talk a little with men who had fought one another so hard more than three years.  Nearly all of them had lost blood at one time or another, and the venom of hate had gone out with it.

Dick found Harry dismounted and standing with a group of officers, among whom were St. Clair and Langdon.  The two cousins shook hands with the greatest warmth.

“Well, Dick,” said Harry, “we didn’t think to meet again in this way, did we?”

“No, but both of us at least have come out of it alive, and unwounded.  I’m sorry to see that your friend there is hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” said Langdon, whose left arm was in a hasty bandage.  “A scratch only.  I’ll be able to use my arm as well as ever three days from now.”

“Your force,” said St. Clair, “was marching to reinforce General Sheridan in the Valley of Virginia.  I’m not asking for information, which of course you wouldn’t give.  I’m merely stating the fact.”

“And yours,” said Dick, “was marching to reinforce General Early in the same valley.  I, like you, am just making a statement.”

“We’ve met, but you haven’t been able to stop us.”

“Nor have you been able to stop us.”

“And so it’s checkmate.”

“Checkmate it is.”

“Why don’t you fellows give up and go home?” exclaimed Dick, moved by an irresistible impulse.  “You know that your armies are wearing out, while ours are growing stronger!”

“We couldn’t think of such a thing,” replied St. Clair, in a tone of cool assurance.  “My friend Langdon here, has taken an oath to sleep in the White House.  We also intend to make a triumphal march through Philadelphia, and then down Broadway in New York.  You would not have us break our oaths or change our purposes.”

“It’s true, Dick,” said Harry, “we can’t do either.  We’d like to oblige you Yankees, but we must make those triumphal parades through Philadelphia and New York.”

“I should have known that I couldn’t reason with you Johnny Rebs,” said Dick, smiling, “but I hope that none of you will get killed, and here and now I make you a promise.”

“What is it, Dick?” asked Harry.

“When you suffer your final defeat, and all of you become my prisoners, I’ll treat you well.  I’ll turn you loose in a Blue-grass pasture, and you can roam as you please within its limits.”

“Thank you,” said Happy Tom, “but I’m no Nebuchadnezzar.  I can’t live on grass.  If I become a prisoner at any time I demand the very best of food, especially as you Yankees already have more than your share.”

“There go the trumpets recalling us,” said St. Clair.  “The men have finished the gruesome task.  I want you to know, Mr. Mason, that we bear you no animosity, and we’re quite sure that you bear us none.”