But despair was never for long my comrade, and I had learned how determination opens doors to the courageous—it is ever he who tries that enters in. It took me ten minutes, possibly, creeping much of the way like a wild animal over the rocks, but at the end of that time I had attained a position well within the dense thicket, and could observe clearly the ground before me and some of the obstacles to be overcome.
As I supposed, it was a cavalry outpost; I could distinguish the crossed sabres on the caps of the men, although it was some time before I was able to determine positively where their horses were picketed. There must have been all of twenty in the party, and I could distinguish the lieutenant in command, a middle-aged man with light-colored chin beard, seated by himself against the wall of a small shanty of logs, a pipe in his mouth and an open book upon his knee. His men were gathered close about the blazing fire, for the night air was decidedly chill as it swept down the valley; a number were sleeping, a few at cards, while a little group, sitting with their backs toward me, yet almost within reach of my hand, were idly smoking and discussing the floating rumors of the camp. I managed to make out dimly the figure of a man on horseback beyond the range of flame, and apparently upon the very bank of the stream, when some words spoken by an old gray-bearded sergeant interested me.
“Bob,” he said to the soldier lounging next him, “whut wus it thet staff officer sed ter ther leftenant? I didn't just git ther straight of it.”
The man, a debonair young fellow, stroked his little black moustache reflectively.
“Ther cove sed as how Cole's division wud be along here afore daylight, an' thet our fellers wud likely be sent out ahead of 'em.”
“Whar be they agoin'?”
“The leftenant asked him, an' the cove sed as it wus a gineral advance to meet ol' Hancock at Minersville.”
“Thet's good 'nough, lads,” chimed in the sergeant, slapping his knee. “It means a dance down the valley after Early. I'm a guessin' we'll have a bang-up ol' fight 'fore three days more.”
“Pervidin' allers thet ther Johnnies don't skedaddle fust,” commented another, tartly. “Whut in thunder is ther matter with them hosses?” he asked suddenly, rising and peering over into the bushes beyond the hut, where a noise of squealing and kicking had arisen.
“Oh, the bay filly is probably over the rope agin,” returned the sergeant, lazily. “Sit down, Sims, an' be easy; you're not on hoss guard ternight.”