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Updated: May 31, 2025
In equal ability of brute and rider to endure fatigue, the Union cavalryman under Sheridan was a veritable centaur. While the great army lay waiting and expectant at Brandy Station, it was significant to Carleton when the swift-riding orderlies suddenly left headquarters carrying sealed packages to the corps commanders. First began the tramping of the cavalry.
On clattered the horses, and a few shots from the carbines of the swift-riding horsemen whistled through the air. Six feet at a jump, with thumping hearts and bulging eyes, the fugitives almost flew over the ground, throwing quick glances at their pursuers, and then ahead, in the hope of catching a glimpse of succor.
He himself was following the swift-riding Johnson with blazing eyes, and suddenly he exploded in vindictive anger. "Put a hole in him!" he cried, hoarsely. "Shoot him! Shoot him, Jim! I I can't!" But neither could Jim. It was not his nature. Yet there was one thing he could do. And this he did. He took fresh hold on the reins, and, grim and deliberate and vengeful, swung about after Johnson.
Springing to the gate at the sergeant's summons, he first directed his gaze to the distant peak, recognized instantly the nature of the smoke puffs there rising, then turned for explanation to the swift-riding courier, whose horse's heels were making the dust fly from the sun-dried soil. One or two ranch hands, with anxious faces, came hastening over from the corral.
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