Warner studied his algebra and two other books of mathematics which he was lucky enough to find on board. Pennington slept a great deal of the time.
“I learned it on the plains from the Indians,” he said. “When they don't have anything to do they sleep and gather strength for the hour of need. I think the time is coming soon when they won't let me sleep at all, and then I can draw on the great supply I have in stock.”
“Likely enough it's near,” said Dick dreamily. “They say Bragg has a great army now, and you know that, while Rosecrans is slow he's pretty sure. Thomas and McCook and the others are with him, too. I expect to see 'Pap' Thomas again. He's a general to my liking.”
“And to mine, too,” said Pennington, “but we can talk about him later on, because I'm going to sleep again inside of a minute.”
Dick was not averse to silence, as he, too, was half asleep; that is, he was in a dreamy stage, and he was at peace with the world and his fellow men. From under drooping eyelids he was vaguely watching the low shores of the Mississippi, and the great mass of yellow waters moving onward from the far vague forests of the North in their journey of four thousand miles to the gulf.
Like all boys of the great valley, Dick always felt the romance and spell of the Mississippi. It was to him and them one of the greatest facts in the natural world, the grave of De Soto, the stream on which their fathers and forefathers had explored and traded and fought since their beginnings. Now it was fulfilling its titanic role again, and the Union fleets upon its bosom were splitting the Confederacy asunder.
He, too, fell asleep before long. Warner glanced at his comrades who slept so well on a hard bench, and his look was rather envious. He returned his beloved algebra to his pocket, leaned back on the bench also, and, although he had not believed it possible, slept also inside of five minutes. Colonel Winchester passing smiled sympathetically, but his glance lingered longest on Dick.
After days on the water the regiment disembarked, marched more days across the country, joining other regiments on the way, and reached the rear guard of the army of Rosecrans, which was already marching southward in the direction of Chattanooga to meet that of Bragg. They advanced now over the Cumberland mountains through a country wild and thinly inhabited. The summer was waning, but it was cool on the mountains and in the passes, nor was it so dry as the year before, when they fought that terrible battle at Perryville in Kentucky.
Dick was glad to be again in the high country, the land of firm soil and of many clear, rushing streams. Heart and lungs expanded, when he looked upon the long ridges, clothed in deep forest, and breathed the pure air that blew down from their summits. Yet his dream of peace was over. As they advanced through the forests and passes they were harassed incessantly by sharpshooters on the slopes, who melted away before them, but who returned on the very heels of the vain pursuit to vex them again with bullets.
They heard soon that the most daring of these bands was led by a man named Slade, and Dick's pulse took a jump. He felt in a curious sort of way that this man Slade was still following him. It seemed more than a decree of chance that their fates should be intertwined. He hoped that Slade would never hear how he had been hidden in that hole in the ravine with the Woodvilles. Trouble could come of it for gallant young Victor Woodville, and even for his uncle. He was sure that Victor was now with Bragg and they might meet face to face again.