sinister light over the trampled wheat field, the slopes and the woods
torn by cannon balls. The dead and the wounded lay in thousands, and
Banks, brave and tenacious, but with bitter despair in his heart, was
seeking to drag the remains of his army from that merciless vise which
continued to close down harder and harder.

Dick's excitement and tension seemed to abate. He had been keyed to so
high a pitch that his pulses grew gentler through very lack of force,
and with the relaxation came a clearer view. He saw the sinking red
sun through the banks of smoke, and in fancy he already felt the cool
darkness upon his face after the hot and terrible August day. He knew
that night might save them, and he prayed deeply and fervently for its
swift coming.

He and the sergeant came suddenly to Colonel Winchester, whose hat had
been shot from his head, but who was otherwise unharmed. Warner and
Pennington were near, Warner slightly wounded but apparently unaware of
the fact. The colonel, by shout and by gesture, was gathering around him
the remains of his regiment. Other regiments on either side were trying
to do the same, and eventually they formed a compact mass which, driving
with all its force back toward its old position, reached the hills and
the woods just as the jaws of Stonewall Jackson's vise shut down, but not
upon the main body.

Victory, won for a little while, had been lost. Night protected their
retreat, and they fought with a valor that made Jackson and all his
generals cautious. But this knowledge was little compensation to the
Northern troops. They knew that behind them was a great army, that Pope
might have been present with fifty thousand men, sufficient to overwhelm
Jackson. Instead of the odds being more than two to one in their favor,