Shepard in these days showed an almost superhuman activity.  He would leave the camp, disguised as a civilian, and after covering a great distance and risking his life a dozen times he would return with precious information.  A few hours of rest and he was gone again on a like errand.  He seemed to be burning with an inward fire, not a fire that consumed him, but a fire of triumph.  Dick, who had formed a great friendship with him and who saw him often, had never known him to speak more sanguine words.  Always cautious and reserved in his opinions, he talked now of the certainty of victory.  He told them that the South was not only failing in men, having none to fill up its shattered ranks, but that food also was failing.  The time would come, with the steel belt of the Northern navy about it and the Northern armies pressing in on every side, when the South would face starvation.

But a day arrived when there were signs of impending movements in the great Northern camp.  Long columns of wagons were made ready and orders were issued for the vanguard of cavalry to start at an appointed time.  Then, to the intense disappointment of the valiant young troops, the orders were countermanded and the whole army settled back into its quarters.  Dick, who persistently refused to be a grumbler, knew that a cause must exist for such an action, but before he could wonder about it long Colonel Winchester told him, Warner and Pennington to have their horses saddled, and be ready to ride at a moment’s notice.

“We’re to be a part of General Sheridan’s escort,” he said, “and we’re to go to a little place called Charlestown.”

The three were delighted.  They were eager to move, and above all in the train of Sheridan.  The mission must be of great importance or the commander himself would not ride upon it.  Hence they saddled up in five minutes, hoping that the call would come in the next five.

“Did Colonel Winchester tell you why we were going to ride?” asked Warner of Dick.

“No.”

“Then perhaps we’re going to receive the surrender of Early and all his men.”

Dick laughed.

“I’ve heard that old Jube Early is one of the hardest swearers in the Southern army,” he said, “and I’ve heard, too, that he’s just as hard a fighter.  I don’t think he’ll be handing us his surrender on a silver platter at Charlestown or anywhere else.”

“I know it,” said Warner.  “I was only joking, but I’m wondering why we go.”

In ten minutes an orderly came with a message for them and they were in the saddle as quickly as if they intended to ride to a charge.  Sheridan himself and his staff and escort were as swift as they, and the whole troop swept away with a thunder of hoofs and the blood leaping in their veins.  It was now almost the middle of September, and the wind that blew down from the crest of the mountains had a cool breath.  It fanned Dick’s face and the great pulse in his throat leaped.  He felt that this ride must portend some important movement.  Sheridan would not gallop away from his main camp, except on a vital issue.