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Updated: June 25, 2025
As she passed the table where Whitley and the men were eating, the two drummers looked at her in such a way that the color rushed to her pale cheeks in a crimson flame. Later, at the depot, she saw them again, and was sure, from Whitley's manner, that he had been drinking. Once more aboard the train, the girl gave herself up to troubled thought.
That afternoon, the landlady came to her room, and placing a letter in her hand, asked, "Will you please be kind enough to explain that?" Amy read the note, which informed the lady of the house that her boarder was a woman of questionable character, and that the man who was paying her bills was not her brother. With a sinking heart, Amy saw that the writing was Jim Whitley's.
But though Whitley's sturdy faith in me came to do its part, it was another and much longer leap of memory that made me hesitate and draw back; a flash carrying me back to my school-days in Glendale . . . to a certain afternoon when a plain-faced little girl, the daughter of our physics and chemistry teacher, had told me, with her brown eyes ablaze, what she thought of dishonesty in general, and in particular of the dishonesty of a boy in her class who was lying and stealing his way past his examinations.
Lying in their covert, Whitley's men reloaded their breech-loading rifles and again sent in a deadly fire. The main Northern force redoubled its efforts at the same time. The men in blue sent in swarms of whistling bullets and Dick saw the front line of the South retreating.
Presently we struck an old elk trail, and following that for a while, came to a point where R.C. and I recognized a tree and a glade where we had been before and not far from camp a welcome discovery. Next day we broke camp and started across country for new territory near Whitley's Peak. We rode east up the mountain.
He lay down upon the brown grass, and despite all the noise, despite all the excitement of past hours, fell fast asleep in a few minutes. He slept an hour, but it seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes, when the trumpets were calling boots and saddles again. Yet he felt refreshed and stronger when he sprang up, and Sergeant Whitley's advice, as always, had proved good.
"What if I refuse to tell?" Dick laid a pair of handcuffs upon the table. A cunning gleam crept into Whitley's eyes. "You'll put them on yourself at the same time. The evidence is just as strong against you." "If it were not, I would have turned you over to the law long ago." "But you fool, they'll hang you." "That won't save you, and you'll answer to God for another murder."
The afternoon of the day following his adventure in the little valley, Whitley sat on the porch of the post office and store kept by his host, telling his experience to a group of loafers, when the long mountaineer called Jake, rode up to the blacksmith shop across the street. Leaving his mule to be shod, the native joined the circle just in time to hear the latter part of Whitley's story.
The second brigade, under Major Woodburn, consisting of the 25th, 21st, and 12th Regiments, under Captains Jackson, Stevens, and Fisher respectively, bore down into action with excellent coolness. They were strongly sustained by the fire of Captain Whitley's battery.
Henderson," said the sergeant politely, "I want to introduce my friends, Lieutenant Mason, Lieutenant Warner and Lieutenant Pennington." "Movin' in mighty good comp'ny, though young, Dan," said Brayton, who was about Whitley's age and build. "They're officers, an' they're young, as you say," said Whitley, "but they're good ones."
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