was active and watchful. The division barely crept along.

Dick and his comrades were mounted again, and they kept close to Colonel
Winchester, who, however, had few orders to send. The command of the
corps rested with General McCook, and it behooved him as any private
could see, to exercise the utmost caution. They were strangers in the
land and the Confederates were not.

Dick had thought that morning that they would get into touch with heavy
forces of the enemy before night, but the fog and the mud rendered their
advance so slow that at sunset they went into camp in a vast forest of
red cedar, still a good distance from Stone River. The fog had lifted
somewhat, but the night was heavy, damp and dark. There was an abundance
of fallen wood, and the veterans soon built long rows of fires which
contributed wonderfully to their cheerfulness.

"There's nothing like a fine fire on a cold, dark night," said Sergeant
Whitley, holding his hands over the flames. "Out on the plains when
there was only a hundred or so of us, an' nothin' on any side five
hundred miles away 'xcept hostile Indians, an' a blizzard whistlin' an'
roarin', with the mercury thirty degrees below zero, it was glorious to
have a big fire lighted in a hollow or a dip an' bend over the coals,
until the warmth went right through you."

"It was the power of contrast," said Warner sagely. "The real comfort
from the fire was fifty per cent and the howling of the icy gale, in
which you might have frozen to death, but didn't, was fifty per cent
more. That's why I'm feeling so good now, although I'd say that those
red cedars and their dark background are none too cheerful."