The troopers of the center column were not yet mounted; the companies in column of fours bided the time when the light from the east should be stronger.
Ned, beside his horse, quivered with cold and excitement mingled. All before was grim and silent; the ridge, snowy and blotched with brush, lay against the sky-line to the south; beyond the ridge was the fated village. Not even a dog barked.
Suddenly through the columns of fours ran a murmur. Into the velvet black sky over the ridge soared slowly and stately a fire signal, of yellow glow. Instantly through Ned’s mind surged the thought that the village was alarmed, Major Elliot or Colonel Thompson had been detected, and this was a flaming arrow to spread the news adown the valley. Next would come the volleys, the shouts, and the shrieks.
“A rocket! A signal rocket!” ejaculated somebody.
“How long it hangs fire! Why doesn’t it burst?” wondered Adjutant Moylan, impatient.
Up, and up, and up, in course majestic, it floated higher, changing from yellow to red, and from red to blue, and from blue to lemon. The columns watched, breathless, eye and ear set for the downward curve or the explosion. The general spoke, in tone glad.
“It’s a star.”
“Oh!” sighed officer and men, relaxed, as passed the word.
For a star it was, now flashing white across the white and black; a morning star beautiful beyond description, in this pure, still air. It seemed like an omen of peace, but it brooded over a scene of war.
The light in the east had widened. From mouth to mouth the order to advance was given; without bugle note the columns mounted and now with creak of snow began to climb the ridge. Down from the crest came the Osage and the two officers. The village still slept, unsuspicious.