uld advance on Gettysburg, and he had chosen the place for a battle.
He had with him four thousand two hundred mounted men, and he posted
them in the strong positions that were so numerous. He had waited there
all night, and already his scouts had informed him that Pettigrew and
Heth were advancing.

"Are we to lose our shoes?" whispered Harry.

"I don't think so," replied Dalton in an undertone. "We're in strong
force, and I don't see any signs that our generals intend to turn back.
Harry, your glasses are much stronger than mine. What do you see?"

"I see a lot. The Yankees must be four or five thousand, and they are
posted strongly. They are thick in the railroad cut and hundreds of
horses are held by men in the rear. It must be almost wholly a cavalry
force."

"Do you see any people in the town?"

"There is not a soul in the streets, and as far as I can make out all
the doors are closed and the windows shuttered."

"Then it's a heavy force waiting for us. The people know it, and
expecting a battle, they have gone away."

"Your reasoning is good, and there's the bugle to confirm it. Our lines
are already advancing!"

It was still early in the morning, and the strong Southern force which
had come for shoes, but which found rifles and bayonets awaiting them
instead, advanced boldly. They, the victors of Fredericksburg and
Chancellorsville, had no thought of retreating before a foe who invited
them to combat.

Harry and Dalton found their hearts beating hard at this their first
battle on Northern soil, and Harry's eyes once more swept the great
panorama of the valley, the silent town, the lofty stone hills, and far
beyond the long blue wall of South Mountain, with the mists and vapors
still floating about its crest.

Heth was up now, and he took full command, sending two brigades in
advance, the brigades themselves preceded by a great swarm of
skirmishers. Harry and Dalton rode with one of the brigades, and they
closely followed those who went down the right bank of the stream called
Willoughby Run, opening a rapid fire as they advanced upon a vigilant
enemy who had been posted the night before in protected positions.

Buford's men met the attack with courage and vigor. Four thousand
dismounted cavalry, all armed with carbines, sent tremendous volleys
from the shelter of ridges and earthworks. The fire was so heavy that
the Southern skirmishers could not stand before it, and they, too,
began to