Dick heard a deep “Ah!” run along the line of young troops, and he knew now that they understood as much as he or any of the officers did.  He now knew, too, that they would not pass out of the valley without a combat.  The Southern forces, beyond a doubt, would try to shut them in at the western mouth of the valley, and a battle in the night and rain was sure to follow.

The train continued to move slowly forward.  Had Colonel Newcomb dared he would have ordered Canby to increase his speed in order that he might reach the western mouth of the valley before the Southern force had a chance to tear up the rails, but there was no use for the train without the troops and they were already marching as fast as they could.

The gorge was now not more than a quarter of a mile away.  Dick was able to discern it, because the darkness there was not quite so dark as that which lay against the mountains on either side.  He was hopeful that they might yet reach it before the Southern force could close down upon them, but before they went many yards further he heard the beat of horses’ feet both to right and left and knew that the enemy was at hand.

“Take the train on through the pass, Canby!” shouted Colonel Newcomb.  “We’ll cover its retreat, and join you later—­if we can.”

The train began to rattle and roar, and its speed increased.  Showers of sparks shot from the funnels of the two engines, and gleamed for an instant in the darkness.  The beat of horses’ feet grew to thunder.  Colonel Newcomb with great presence of mind drew the two parallel lines of his men close together, and ordered them to lie down on either side of the railroad track and face outward with cocked rifles.  Dick, the Vermonter, and Sergeant Whitley lay close together, and the three faced the north.

“See the torches!” said Whitley.

Dick saw eight or ten torches wavering and flickering at a height of seven or eight feet above the ground, and he knew that they were carried by horsemen, but he could not see either men or horses beneath.  Then the rapid beat of hoofs ceased abruptly at a distance that Dick thought must be about two hundred yards.

“Lie flat!” cried Whitley.  “They’re about to fire!”

CHAPTER III

THE TELEGRAPH STATION

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.