As Dan crossed the meadow he drew near to a knot of men from a Kentucky
regiment, gathered in the light of a small wood fire, and recognizing one
of them, he stopped to inquire for news of his missing friends.
"Oh, you wouldn't know your sweetheart on a night like this," replied the
man he knew--a big handsome fellow, with a peculiar richness of voice.
"Find a hole, Montjoy, and go to sleep in it, that's my advice. Were you
much cut up?"
"I don't know," answered Dan, uneasily. "I'm trying to make sure that we
were not. I lost the others somewhere on the road--a horse knocked me
down."
"Well, if this is to be the last battle, I shouldn't mind a scratch
myself," put in a voice from the darkness, "even if it's nothing more than
a bruise from a horse's hoof. By the bye, Montjoy, did you see the way
Stuart rode down the Zouaves? I declare the slope looked like a field of
poppies in full bloom. Your cousin was in that charge, I believe, and he
came out whole. I saw him afterwards."
"Oh, the cavalry gets the best of everything," said Dan, with a sigh, and
he was passing on, when Jack Powell, coming out of the darkness, stumbled
against him, and broke into a delighted laugh.
"Why, bless my soul, Beau, I thought you'd run after the fleshpots of
Washington!" His face was flushed with excitement and the soft curls upon
his forehead were wet and dark. Around his mouth there was a black stain
from bitten cartridges.
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