Dick had seldom heard before, although he greatly admired its situation.
The country about it was bold and romantic. It stood in a sharp curve
of the great river, the Tennessee. Not far away was the lofty uplift of
Lookout Mountain, a half-mile high, and there were long ridges between
which creeks or little rivers flowed down to the Tennessee.

One of these streams was the Chickamauga, which in the language of the
Cherokee Indians who had once owned this region means "the river of
death." Why they called it so no one knew, but the name was soon to have
a terrible fitness. Chattanooga itself meant in the Cherokee tongue "the
hawk's nest," and anybody could see the aptness of the term.

While Lookout Mountain was the loftiest summit, some of the other ridges
rose almost as high, through the gaps of which the Northern army must
pass if it continued the pursuit of Bragg.

September had now come and the winds were growing crisper in the high
country. The feel of autumn was in the air, and the coolness made the
marching brisker. The division to which Dick belonged was advancing
slowly. He often saw Thomas, and his admiration for the grave, silent
man grew. It was said that Thomas was slow, but that he never made
mistakes. Now the rumor was spreading that he had warned Rosecrans to be
cautious, that Bragg had a powerful army and when he reached favorable
positions, would certainly turn and fight.

Not many were impressed by these reports. They merely said it was "Pap"
Thomas' way of looking at the dark side of things first. Hadn't they
driven Bragg through the Cumberland Mountains and out of Chattanooga,
and now they would soon be on his heels deep down in Georgia. But Dick,
noticing Colonel Winchester's serious face, surmised that he at least