“I've heard,” said Harry, “that the force under Banks and Saxton in front of Jackson was ten thousand also.”
“I'm sorry, boys, to break up this continuity,” said Sherburne with a troubled laugh, “but it's fifteen thousand that I've got to report. Fremont is coming from the west with that number. We've seen 'em. I've no doubt that at this moment there are nearly fifty thousand Yankees in the valley, with more coming, and all but ten thousand of them are in General Jackson's rear.”
It seemed that Sherburne, daring cavalryman, had lost his courage for the moment, but the faith of the stern Presbyterian youth, Dalton, never faltered.
“As I told Harry a little while ago, we have at least fifty thousand men,” he said.
“What do you mean?” asked Sherburne.
“I count Stonewall Jackson as forty thousand, and the rest will bring the number well over fifty thousand.”
Sherburne struck his gauntleted hand smartly on his thigh.
“You talk sense, Dalton!” he exclaimed. “I was foolish to despair! I forgot how much there was under Stonewall Jackson's hat! They haven't caught the old fox yet!”
They galloped on anew, and now they were riding on the road, over which they had pursued so hotly the defeated army of Banks. They would soon be in Jackson's camp, and as they approached their hearts grew lighter. They would cast off their responsibilities and trust all to the leader who appeared so great to them.
“I see pickets now,” said Aubrey. “Only five more minutes, boys, but as soon as I give my news I'll have to drop. The excitement has kept me up, but I can't last any longer.”