his world's a sickenin' place for men like
me. So I've got to rejoin. Ef there's ever anything I kin do for you,
major--"

At the head of the dividing arm of the creek they heard behind them a
horseman, and waited for a courier to come up. "You are going on to the
65th?"

"Yes, sir. I belong there. I was kept by General Winder for some special
duty, and I'm just through it--"

"I have an order," said Stafford, "from General Winder to Colonel
Cleave. There are others to carry and time presses. I'll entrust it to
you. Listen now, and get it straight."

He gave an order. The courier listened, nodded energetically, repeated
it after him, and gathered up the reins. "I am powerfully glad to carry
that order, sir! It means 'Cross,' doesn't it?"

He rode off, southward to the stream, in which direction Steve had
already shambled. Stafford returned, through wood and swamp, to the road
by the bridge. Above and around the deep inner jungle his intellect
worked. He knew that he had done a villainy; knew it and did not repent.
A nature, fine enough in many ways, lay bound hand and foot, deep in
miasmas and primal heat, captive to a master and consuming passion. To
create a solitude where he alone might reach one woman's figure, he
would have set a world afire. He rode back now, through the woods, to a
general commanding who never forgave nor listened overmuch to
explanations, and he rode with quietude, the very picture of a gallant
soldier.

Back on the edge of White Oak Swamp, Richard Cleave considered the order
he had received. He found an ambiguity in the wording, a choice of
constructions. He half turned to send the courier again to Winder, to
make absolutely sure that the construction which he strongly preferred
was correct. As he did so, though he could not see the brigade beyond
the belt of trees, he heard it in motion, _coming down through the woods
to cross the stream in the rear of the 65th_. He looked at the ford and
the silent woods beyond. From Frayser's Farm, so short a distance away,
came a deeper roll of thunder. It had a solemn and a pleading sound,
_How long are we to wait for any help?_ Cleave knit his brows; then,
with a decisive gesture of his hand, he dismissed the doubt and stepped
in front of his colour company. _Attention! Into column. Forward!_

On the road leading down to the bridge Stafford met his own division
general, riding Rifle back to his command. "Hello, Major Stafford!" said
Old Dick. "I