by side, and Crowfoot's gray easily kept the
pace. My horse was in plain distress, but Bader's was nearly done.

"Take the paper, Adam," he said; "my roan won't go much further.
Good-bye, youngster. Away you go!" and I drew now quickly ahead.

Still Bader rode on behind me. In a few minutes he was considerably
behind. Perhaps the sense of being alone increased my feeling of
weakness. Was I going to reel out of the saddle? Had I lost so much
blood as that? Still I could hear Bader riding on. I turned to look at
him. Already he was scarcely visible. Soon he dropped out of sight;
but still I heard the laborious pounding of his desperate horse.

My bay was gasping horribly. How far was that faintly yellow sky
ahead? It might be two, it might be five miles. Were Union or Southern
soldiers beneath it? Could it be conceived that no troops of the enemy
were between me and it?

Never mind; my orders were clear. I rode straight on, and I was still
riding straight on, marking no increase in the distress of my bay,
when he stopped as if shot, staggered, fell on his knees, tried to
rise, rolled to his side, groaned and lay.

I was so weak I could not clear myself. I remember my right spur
catching in my saddle-cloth as I tried to free my foot; then I pitched
forward and fell. Not yet senseless, I clutched at my breast for the
despatch, meaning to tear it to pieces; but there my brain failed, and
in full view of the goal of the night I lay unconscious.

When I came to, I rose on my left elbow, and looked around. Near my
feet my poor bay lay, stone dead. Crowfoot's gray!--where was
Crowfoot's gray? It flashed on me that I might mount the fresh horse
and ride on. But where was the gray? As I peered round I heard faintly
the sound of a galloper. Was he coming my way? No; faintly and more
faintly I heard the hoofs.

Had the gray gone on then, without the despatch? I clutched at my
breast. My coat was unbuttoned--the paper was gone!

Well, sir, I cheered. My God! but it was comforting to hear those
far-away hoofs, and know that Bader must have come up, taken the
papers, and mounted Crowfoot's gray, still good for a ten-mile ride!
The despatch was gone forward; we had not all fallen in vain; maybe
the brigades would be saved!

How purely the stars shone! When I stifled my groaning they seemed to
tell me of a great peace to come. How still was the night! and I
thought of the silence of the multitudes who had died for the Union.