essenger at once to General Buell with
your news. Messengers shall also go to Crittenden, Rousseau, and the
other generals. But you recognize, of course, that General Buell is
the commander-in-chief, and that it is for him to make the final
arrangements."

"I do, sir," said the colonel, as he saluted and retired. He went back
to the point where his own little regiment lay. He knew every man and
boy in it, and he had known them all in the beginning, when they were
many times more. But few of the splendid regiment with which he had
started south a year and a half before remained. He looked at Dick and
Warner and Pennington and the sergeant and wondered if they would be
present to answer to the roll the next night, or if he himself would be
there?

The colonel cherished no illusions. He was not sanguine that the whole
Union army would come up, and even if it came, and if victory should be
won it would be dark and bloody. He knew how the Southerners fought, and
here more so than anywhere else, it would be brother against brother.
This state was divided more than any other, and, however the battle
went, kindred would meet kindred. Colonel Kenton, Dick's uncle, a man
whom he liked and admired, was undoubtedly across those ridges, and they
might meet face to face in the coming battle.

It was far into the morning now and the colonel did not sleep again. He
saw the messengers leaving the tent of General McCook, and he knew that
the commander of the division was active. Just what success he would
have would remain for the morrow to say. The colonel saw the dawn come.
The dry fields and forests reddened with the rising sun, and then the
army rose up from its sleep. The cooks had already prepared coffee and
food.

"Show me the enemy," said Pennington fiercely, "and as soon as I finish
this cup of coffee, I'll go over and give him the thrashing he needs."

"He's just across those ridges, sir, and on the banks of the far creek,"
said Sergeant Whitley.

"How do you know?"

"I made a call on him last night."

"You did? And what did he say?"

"I didn't send in my card. I just took a look at his front door and came
away. He's at home, waiting and willing to give us a fight."

"Well, it's a fine day for a battle anyway. Look what a splendid sun is
rising! And you can see the soft haze of fall over the hills and woods."

"It's not as fine a fall as usual in Kentucky," said Dick, in an
apologetic tone to Warner and Pennington