"I think," he said, "that we're likely to stay here a day or two."

"Which means," said Dick, his alert mind interpreting at once, "that
our generals don't know what to do. Why is it that they always seem
paralyzed when they get in front of Stonewall Jackson? He's only a man
like the rest of them!"

He spoke with perfect freedom in the presence of Sergeant Whitley,
knowing that he would repeat nothing.

"A man, yes," said Warner, in his precise manner, "but not exactly like
the others. He seems to have more of the lightning flash about him.
What a pity such a leader should be on the wrong side! Perhaps we'll
have his equal in time."

"Is Jackson's army just sitting still?" asked Dick.

"So far as scouts can gather, an' I've been one of them," replied
Sergeant Whitley, "it seems to be just campin'. But I wish I knew which
way it was goin' to jump. I don't trust Jackson when he seems to be
nappin'."

But the good sergeant's doubts were to remain for two days at least.
The two armies sat still, only two miles apart, and sentinels, as was
common throughout the great war, became friendly with one another.
Often they met in the woods and exchanged news and abundant criticism of
generals. At last there was a truce to bury the dead who still lay upon
the sanguinary field of Cedar Run.

Dick was in charge of one of these burial parties, and toward the close