excess of zeal having vanished in
the distance along the railroad. "Send out a man after him," said the
sergeant. All the squad offered to go; Corder was a little the slowest,
being leg-weary, but who do you think was first? David! So he was
despatched, and went very eagerly, while we turned our backs and went
south.

When the company had joined the battalion there was much rearranging of
disjointed commands, squads continually coming in from detail duty, so
that it was plain that between us we had pretty well investigated the
whole landscape. David and Reardon were missing still, even after we had
rested for some time. We started south again, and it was not till after
another march that the lost men rejoined us, David triumphant, but
Reardon very hot and weary. Said the poor fellow, "I have thought before
now that I was pretty tired, but this beats everything."

There was no rest for him, however. We turned north again, having J
company in front, and after a mile heard the familiar firing. The captain
sent us headlong into the field on the right, where soon we were part of
a skirmish line, and for a minute were blazing away at a fence in front
of us, behind which I glimpsed a single white hat-band. But Kirby was not
to be caught as the cavalry had allowed themselves to be. Squad 8 was
sent off at the double to the end of the line, and there at wide
intervals we made a flank guard extending to the rear, where poor Reardon
was allowed to rest at last, as we waited hidden behind what cover we
could find, gazing across some pasture land with scattered bushes at a
belt of pine in front.

As we waited we heard the voice of an umpire; I snatched a glimpse of him
as he stood behind us watching. "Any enemy you see represents twenty-five
men." A cool statement that made our task perplexing, for while with one
bullet I might slay so many men, conversely if one shot at us first he
could wipe out the squad. But though we lay very low and watched very
keenly, while the battalion banged away at our left, no one appeared in
front of us. To my left was Reardon, and to my right David, very intent
on spotting the first foe. It is a pleasure to see how seriously he takes
the work. Pickle, beyond him, was constantly chewing gum and whispering
slang, the sort of city clerk one reads about in Civil War memoirs, tough
physically and mentally.

(I have thrown my chewing gum away. Too much swallowing of saliva makes
you (me!) hungry. Me fo