ment. But he stopped a moment to ask one
question.

"Did you really beat 'em off?" he asked as he looked up with shining
eye.

"We certainly did," replied Dick.

"I'll send it faster than I ever sent anything before," said the boy.
"To think of me, Jim Johnson, sending a dispatch to Abraham Lincoln,
telling of a victory!"

"I reckon you're right, Jim, it's your chance," said Red Blaze.

Jim bent over the instrument which now began to click steadily and fast.

"You're to wait for answers," said Dick.

The boy nodded, but his shining eyes remained bent over the instrument.
Dick went to the door, brushed off the snow, came back and sat down by
the stove. Sergeant Whitley, who had tied the horses to hitching posts,
came in, pulled up an empty box and sat down by him. Red Blaze slipped
away unnoticed. But he came back very soon, and men and women came with
him, bringing food and smoking coffee. There was enough for twenty.

Red Blaze had spread among the villagers, every one of whom he knew, the
news that the Union arms had won a victory. Nor had it suffered anything
in the telling. Colonel Newcomb's regiment, by the most desperate feats
of gallantry, had beaten off at least ten thousand Southerners, and the
boy and the man in uniform, who were resting by the fire in the station,
had been the greatest two heroes of a battle waged for a whole night.

Curious eyes gazed at Dick and the sergeant as they sat there by the
stove. Dick himself, warm, relaxed, and the needs of his body satisfied,
felt like going to sleep. But he watched the boy operator, who presently
finished his two dispatches and then lifted his head for the first time.

"They've gone straight into Washington," he said. "We ought to get an
answer soon."

"We'll wait here for it," said Dick.

The three messengers were now thoroughly warmed at the stove, they
had eaten heartily of the best the village could furnish, and a great
feeling of comfort pervaded them. While they were waiting for the reply
that they hoped would come from Washington, Dick Mason and Sergeant
Whitley went outside. No snow was falling in the valley, but off on the
mountain crest they still saw the white veil, blown by the wind.

Red Blaze joined them and was everywhere their guide and herald. He
ascribed to them such deeds of skill and valor that they were compelled
to call him the best romancer they had met in a long time.

"I suppose that if Mr. Warner were here," said the se