was on scout duty. Although an officer on the staff of Colonel
Talbot, commander of the Invincibles, originally a South Carolina
regiment, he had developed so much skill in forest and field, he had
such acuteness of eye and ear, that he was sent often to seek the camps
of the enemy or to discover his plans. His friends said that these
forest powers were inherited, that they came from some far-away ancestor
who had spent his life in the wilderness, and Harry knew that what they
said was true.

Despite the peaceful aspect of the forest and the lack of human presence
save his own, he rode now on an errand that was full of danger. The
Union camp must lie on the other side of that little river, not many
miles farther on, and he might meet, at any moment, the pickets of the
foe. He meant to take the uttermost risk, but he had no notion of being
captured. He would suffer anything, any chance, rather than that. He had
lately come into contact with a man who had breathed into him the fire
and spirit belonging to legendary heroes. To this man, short of words
and plain of dress, nothing was impossible, and Harry caught from him
not merely the belief, but the conviction also.

Late in the autumn the Invincibles, who had suffered severely at Bull
Run and afterward had been cut down greatly in several small actions in
the mountains, had been transferred to the command of Stonewall Jackson
in the Shenandoah Valley. Disease and the hospital had reduced the
regiment to less than three hundred, but their spirits were as high as
ever. Their ranks were renewed partly with Virginians. Colonel Talbot
and Lieutenant-Colonel St. Hilaire had recovered from small wounds, and
St. Clair and Langdon were whole and as hard as iron. After a period of
waiting they were now longing for action.

There was some complaint among the Invincibles when they were detached
from the main army to the service of Jackson, but Harry did not share
in it. When he heard of the order he remembered that dread afternoon at
Bull Run, when all seemed lost, and the most vivid of his memories was
the calm figure riding back and forth just beyond the pines among which
he stood, and gathering for a fresh charge the stern ranks of his men
who were to turn almost sure defeat into absolutely sure victory. The
picture of the man in the heart of that red glare among the showers of
bullets had been burned so deeply into Harry's memory that he could call
it up, almost as vivid as li