Pope, florid and full-faced, was in a fine humor. He complimented the
officers on their valor, spoke as if they had won a victory--which would
have been a fact had others done their duty--and talked slightingly of
Jackson. The men of the west would show this man his match in the art of
war.
Dick listened to it all with bitterness in his heart. He had no doubt
that Pope was brave, and he could see that he was confident. Yet it took
something more than confidence to defeat an able enemy. What had become
of those gray horsemen in the bush? They had appeared once and they
could appear again. He had believed that Jackson himself was at hand,
and he still believed it. His eyes shifted from Pope to the dark woods,
which, with their thick foliage, turned back the moonlight.
"George," he whispered to Warner, "do you think you can see anything
among those trees?"
"I can make out dimly one or two figures, which no doubt are our scouts.
Ah-h!"
The long "Ah-h!" was drawn by a flash and the report of a rifle. A
second and a third report came, and then the crash of a heavy fire.
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