By “branch” he meant a brook, and Dick went with him gladly. They found a fine, clear stream, several feet broad and a foot deep, flowing swiftly between the slopes, and probably emptying miles further on into Bull Run. Already it was lined by hundreds of soldiers, mostly boys, who were bathing freely in its cool waters. Dick and the sergeant joined them and with the sparkle of the current fresh life and vigor flowed into their veins.

An officer took command, and when they had bathed their faces, necks, and arms abundantly they were allowed to take off their shoes and socks and put their bruised and aching feet in the stream.

“It seems to me, sergeant, that this is pretty near to Heaven,” said Dick as he sat on the bank and let the water swish around his ankles.

“It’s mighty good. There’s no denyin’ it, but we’ll move still a step nearer to Heaven, when we get our share of that beef an’ coffee, which I now smell most appetizin’. Hard work gives a fellow a ragin’ appetite, an’ I reckon fightin’ is the hardest of all work. When I was a lumberman in Wisconsin I thought nothin’ could beat that, but I admit now that a big battle is more exhaustin’.”

“You’ve worked in the timber then?”

“From the time I was twelve years old ‘til three or four years ago. If I do say it myself, there wasn’t a man in all Wisconsin, or Michigan either, who could swing an axe harder or longer than I could. I guess you’ve noticed these hands of mine.”

He held them up, and they impressed Dick more than ever. They were great masses of bone and muscle fit for a giant.

“Paws, the boys used to call ‘em,” resumed Whitley with a pleased laugh. “I inherited big hands. Father had em an’ mother had ‘em, too. So mine were wonders when I was a boy, an’ when you add to that years an’ years with the axe, an’ with liftin’ an’ rollin’ big logs I’ve got what I reckon is the strongest pair of hands in the United States. I can pull a horseshoe apart any time. Mighty useful they are, too, as I’m likely to show you often.”

The chance came very soon. A frightened horse, probably with the memory of the battle still lodged somewhere in his animal brain, broke his tether and came charging among the troops. Whitley made one leap, seized him by the bit in his mighty grasp and hurled him back on his haunches, where he held him until fear was gone from him.

“It was partly strength and partly sleight of hand, a trick that I learned in the cavalry,” he said to Dick as they put on their shoes. “I got tired of lumberin’ an’ I wandered out west, where I served three years on horseback in the regular army, fightin’ the Indians. Good fighters they are, too. Mighty hard to put your hand on ‘em. Now they’re there an’ now they ain’t. Now you see ‘em before you, an’ then they’re behind you aimin’ a tomahawk at your head. They taught us a big lot that I guess we can use in this war. Come on, Dick, I guess them banquet halls are spread, an’ I know we’re ready.”

Not much order was preserved in the beaten brigade, which had become separated from the rest of the retreating army, but the spirits of all were rising and that, so Sergeant Whitley told Dick, was better just now than technical discipline. The Northern army had gone to Bull Run with ample supplies, and now they lacked for nothing. They ate long and well, and drank great quantities of coffee. Then they put out the fires and resumed the march toward Washington.

They stopped again an hour or two after midnight and slept until morning. Dick lay on the bare ground under the boughs of a great oak tree. It was a quarter of an hour before sleep came, because his nervous system had received a tremendous wrench that day. He closed his eyes and the battle passed again before them. He remembered, too, a lightning glimpse of a face, that of his cousin, Harry Kenton, seen but an instant and then gone. He tried to decide whether it was fancy or reality, and, while he was trying, he fell asleep and slept as one dead.

Dick was awakened early in the morning by Sergeant Whitley, who was now watching over him like an elder brother. The sun already rode high and there was a great stir and movement, as the brigade was forming for its continued retreat on the capital. The boy’s body was at first stiff and sore, but the elasticity of youth returned fast, and after a brief breakfast he was fully restored.

Another hot day had dawned, but Dick reflected grimly that however hot it might be it could not be as hot as the day before had been. Scouts in the night had brought back reports that the Southern troops were on the northern side of Bull Run, but not in great force, and a second battle was no longer feared. The flight could be continued without interruption over the hot Virginia fields.

Much of Dick’s depression returned as they advanced under the blazing sun, but Whitley, who seemed insensible to either fatigue or gloom, soon cheered him up again.

“They talk about the Southerners comin’ on an’ takin’ Washington,” he said, “but don’t you believe it. They haven’t got the forces, an’ while they won the victory I guess they’re about as tired as we are. Our boys talk about a hundred thousand rebels jumpin’ on ‘em, an’ some felt as if they was a million, but they weren’t any more than we was, maybe not as many, an’ when they are all stove up themselves how can they attack Washington in its fortifications! Don’t be so troubled, boy. The Union ain’t smashed up yet. Just recollect whenever it’s dark that light’s bound to come later on. What do you say to that, Long Legs?”

He spoke to a very tall and very thin youth who marched about a half dozen feet away from them. The boy, who seemed to be about eighteen years of age, turned to them a face which was pale despite the Virginia sun. But it was the pallor of indoor life, not of fear, as the countenance was good and strong, long, narrow, the chin pointed, the nose large and bridged like that of an old Roman, the eyes full blue and slightly nearsighted. But there was a faint twinkle in those same nearsighted eyes as he replied in precise tones:

“According to all the experience of centuries and all the mathematical formulae that can be deduced therefrom night is bound to be followed by day. We have been whipped by the rebels, but it follows with arithmetical certainty that if we keep on fighting long enough we will whip them in time. Let x equal time and y equal opportunity. Then when x and y come together we shall have x plus y which will equal success. Does my logic seem cogent to you, Mr. Big Shoulders and Big Hands?”

Whitley stared at him in amazement and admiration.

“I haven’t heard so many big words in a long time,” he said, “an’ then, too, you bring ‘em out so nice an’ smooth, marchin’ in place as regular as a drilled troop.”

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