“Show me the enemy,” said Pennington fiercely, “and as soon as I finish this cup of coffee, I'll go over and give him the thrashing he needs.”
“He's just across those ridges, sir, and on the banks of the far creek,” said Sergeant Whitley.
“How do you know?”
“I made a call on him last night.”
“You did? And what did he say?”
“I didn't send in my card. I just took a look at his front door and came away. He's at home, waiting and willing to give us a fight.”
“Well, it's a fine day for a battle anyway. Look what a splendid sun is rising! And you can see the soft haze of fall over the hills and woods.”
“It's not as fine a fall as usual in Kentucky,” said Dick, in an apologetic tone to Warner and Pennington. “It's been so dry that the leaves are falling too early, and the reds, the yellows and the browns are not so bright.”
“Never mind, Dickie, boy,” said Warner consolingly. “We'll see it in a better year, because Pennington and I are both coming back to spend six months with you when this war is over. I've already accepted the invitation. So get ready for us, Dick.”
“It's an understood thing now,” said Dick sincerely. “There go the trumpets, and they mean for us to get in line.”