“So he will,” agreed Colonel Talbot.  “There was some heavy and extremely accurate artillery fire from his ranks this afternoon.  The way the guns were handled and the remarkable rapidity and precision with which the discharges came convinces me that John Carrington is here in the valley, ready to concentrate all the fire of the Union batteries upon us.  It is bad, very bad for us that the greatest artilleryman in the world should come with Sheridan, and yet we shall have the pleasure of seeing how he achieves wonders with the guns.  It was in him, even in the old days at West Point, when we were but lads together, and he has shown more than once in this war how the flower that was budding then has come into full bloom.”

As if in answer to his words the deep boom of a cannon rolled over the hills, and a shell burst near the earthwork.

“That, I think, was John talking to us,” said Colonel Talbot.  “He was saying to us:  ’Beware of me, old friends.  I’m coming tomorrow, not with one gun but with many!’ Well, be it so.  We shall give John and Sheridan a warm welcome, and we shall try to make it so very warm that it will prove too hot for them.  Now, my lads, there is no immediate duty for you, and if you can sleep, do so.  Good-night.”

They rose and saluted again as the two colonels went back to their own particular place.

“I hope those two will be spared,” said St. Clair.  “I want them to finish their chess game, and I’d like, too, to see their meeting after the war with their old friend, John Carrington.”

“It will all come to pass,” said Harry.  “If Arthur is a poet as he seems to be, then I’m a prophet, as I know I am.”

“At least you’re an optimist,” said Dalton.

“Go to sleep, all of you, as the colonel told you to do,” said Harry.  “If you don’t stop talking you’ll keep the enemy awake all night.”

But Harry himself was the last of them to sleep.  He could not keep from rising at times, and, in the starlight, looking at the fires of the foe and the dark slopes of the mountains.  His glasses passed more than once over the forests along Cedar Creek, but no prevision, no voice out of the dark, told him that Dick was there, one of a formidable force that was lying hidden, ready to strike the fatal blow.  His last dim sight, as he fell asleep, was a spectacle evoked from the past, a vision of Old Jack riding at the head of his phantom legions to victory.

* * * *

At dawn all of Crook’s forces marched out of the woods along Cedar Creek, the Winchester men, Shepard at their head, leading, but they still kept to the shelter of the forest and wide ravines along the lower slopes of the mountain.  The sun was not clear of the eastern hills before the heavy thudding of the great guns and the angry buzz of the rifles came from the direction of Fisher’s Hill.

The demonstration had begun and it was a big one, big enough to make the defenders think it was reality and not a sham.  Before Early’s earthworks a great cloud of smoke was gathering.  Dick looked over his shoulder at it.  It gave him a curious feeling to be marching past, while all that crash of battle was going on in the valley.  It almost looked as if they were deserting their general.