l had obtained but a brief glimpse of their
home town, before they were on their way again with a purpose which had
little to do with such peaceful things as home.

Dick saw with dismay that the concentric march of the armies was
bringing them toward the very region into which his mother had fled for
refuge. She was at Danville, which is in the county of Boyle, and he
heard now that the Confederate army, or at least a large division of
it, was gathering at a group of splendid springs near a village called
Perryville in the same county. But second thought told him that she
would be safe yet in Danville, as he began to feel sure now that the
meeting of the armies would be at Perryville.

Dick's certainty grew out of the fact that the great springs were about
Perryville. The extraordinary drouth and the remarkable phenomenon of
brooks drying up in Kentucky had continued. Water, cool and fresh for
many thousands of men, was wanted or typhoid would come.

This need of vast quantities of water fresh and cool from the earth, was
obvious to everybody, and the men marched gladly toward the springs.
The march would serve two purposes: it would quench their thirst, and it
would bring on the battle they wanted to clear Kentucky of the enemy.

"Fine country, this of yours, Dick," said Warner as they rode side
by side. "I don't think I ever saw dust of a higher quality. It sifts
through everything, fills your eyes, nose and mouth and then goes down
under your collar and gives you a neat and continuous dust bath."

"You mustn't judge us by this phenomenon," said Dick. "It has not
happened before since the white man came, and it won't happen again in a
hundred years."

"You may speak with certainty of the past, Dickie, my lad, but I don't
think we can tell much about the next century. I'll grant the fact,
however, that fifty or a hundred thousand men marching through a dry
country anywhere are likely to raise a lot of dust. Still, Dickie, my
boy, I don't mean to hurt your feelings, but if I live through this, as
I mean to do, I intend to call it the Dusty Campaign."

"Call it what you like if in the end you call it victory."

"The dust doesn't hurt me," said Pennington. "I've seen it as dry as
a bone on the plains with great clouds of it rolling away behind the
buffalo herds. There's nothing the matter with dust. Country dust is one
of the cleanest things in the world."

"That's so," said Warner, "but it tickles and makes you