Eight thousand men had, to-day, found their temper on edge. It was not
surprising that between these two a flame leaped. "Member of Garnett's
Brigade and member of General Jackson's military family to the
contrary," said Stafford, "these are Russian steppes, and this is a
march from Moscow, and the general in command is no Napoleon, but a fool
and a pedant--"

"I give you warning!"

"A crazy Barebones masquerading as a Cromwell--"

The other's two hands on the shoulders of General Loring's aide had
undoubtedly--the weight of the body being thrown forward--the appearance
of an assault. Stafford's foot slipped upon the freezing snow. Down he
came to the earth, Cleave upon him. A voice behind them spoke with a
kind of steely curtness, "Stand up, and let me see who you are!"

The two arose and faced Stonewall Jackson. He had come upon them
silently, out from the screen of blackening cedars. Now he blocked their
path, his lips iron, his eyes a mere gleaming line. "Two squabblers
rolling in the snow--two staff officers brawling before a disheartened
army! What have you to say for yourselves? Nothing!"

Stafford broke the silence. "Major Cleave has my leave to explain his
action, sir."

Jackson's eyes drew to a yet narrower line. "Your leave is not
necessary, sir. What was this brawl about, Major Cleave?"

"We quarrelled, sir," said Cleave slowly. "Major Stafford gave
utterance to certain sentiments with which I did not agree, and ... we
quarrelled."

"What sentiments? Yes, sir, I order you to answer."

"Major Stafford made certain statements as to the army and the
campaign--statements which I begged to contradict. I can say no more,
sir."

"You will tell me what statements, major."

"It is impossible for me to do that, sir."

"My orders are always possible of execution, sir. You will answer me."

Cleave kept silence. The twilight settled closer; the dark wall of the
cedars seemed to advance; a hollow wind blew through the forest. "Why, I
will tell you, sir!" said Stafford impatiently. "I said--"

Jackson cut him short. "Be silent, sir! I have not asked you for your
report. Major Cleave, I am waiting."

Cleave made a slight gesture, sullen, weary, and determined. "I am very
sorry, sir. Major Stafford made certain comments which I resented. Hence
the action of a moment. That is all that I can say, sir."

Stafford spoke with curt rapidity. "I said that these were Russian
steppes and that this was a march from