He wondered
why the rain and wind did not die down. It was not usual for a storm so
furious to last so long, but he could not see any abatement of either.
He became conscious after a while of a growing weakness, but he had
recalled all the powers of his will and it was triumphant over his body.
He trudged on on feet that were unconscious of sensation, and his face
as if the flesh were paralyzed no longer felt the beat of the rain.
A mile or two further and in the swish of the storm he heard hoofbeats
again. Looking forth from the bushes he saw another line of horsemen,
but now they were going in the direction of Pope's army. Dick recognized
these figures. Shapeless as he might appear on his horse that was
Colonel Winchester, and there were the broad shoulders of Sergeant
Whitley and the figures of the others.
He rushed through the dripping forest and shouted in a tone that could be
heard above the shriek of wind and rain. Colonel Winchester recognized
the voice, but the light was so dim that he did not recognize him from
whom it came. Certainly the figure that emerged from the forest did not
look human.
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