“Then will you kindly whistle?”
The sentinel looked again at the quiet man on the horse, put his fingers to his lips and blew loudly. An officer emerged from the woods and said:
“What is it, Felton?”
Then he glanced at the man on the horse and started violently.
“General Jackson!” he exclaimed.
The sentinel turned pale, but said nothing.
“Yes, I'm General Jackson,” said the general, “and I ride with this lieutenant of my staff on an errand. But both of you must swear to me that you have not seen me.”
Then he turned to the sentinel.
“You did right to stop us,” he said. “I wish that all our sentinels were as faithful as you.”
Then while the man glowed with gratitude, he and Harry rode on. Jackson was in deep thought and did not speak. Harry, a little awed by this strange ride, looked up at the trees and the dusky heavens. He heard the far hoot of an owl, and he shivered a little. What if a troop of Northern cavalry should suddenly burst upon them. But no troop of the Northern horse, nor horse of any kind, appeared. Instead, Jackson's own horse began to pant and stumble. Soon he gave out entirely.