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Updated: June 7, 2025
The country supports a fairly numerous population, but it hasn't a single kind or informing word for us. Is Stonewall Jackson going to drop from the sky, which rumor says is his favorite method of approach?" "He's usin' the solid ground this time, anyway," said Sergeant Daniel Whitley.
"Maybe some of our men at New Orleans have laid us open to such a stab," he said. Then he added whimsically: "We'll go to Vicksburg with Grant, Dick, and get that silver yet." "The writing's fresh," said Sergeant Whitley, who also looked at the notification. "The paper hasn't begun to twist and curl yet. It's not been posted up there many hours."
Whitley was dazed. He looked around the room as though in a dream; then slowly he realized his situation and a desperate resolve crept into his heart. Carefully his hand moved beneath his coat until he felt the handle of a long knife, while he edged closer to his companion. The other seemed not to notice, and continued, as though talking to himself: "Little Dickie Falkner.
Dick and his comrades from the west began to share in the awe that the name of Stonewall Jackson inspired. "He comes up to his advertisements. There ain't no doubt of it," said Sergeant Whitley. "I never saw anybody fight better than our men did, an' that charge of the little troop of cavalry was never beat anywhere in the world.
Crossing the room, he seated himself in the chair indicated, which placed him in the full glare of the light. Dick took the other chair facing him, with the long table between them. Placing his weapon beside the other, within easy reach of his hand, he rested his elbows on the table and looked long and steadily at the man before him. Whitley was uneasy.
I'm a broken man, Whitley; what I have gone through in the past few months has smashed my nerve. You can't understand that I don't expect you to. But if I should meet those two old men when I leave this house, I should probably run away from them and try to hide." "But what will you do?" he queried. "What can I do, more than I've been doing?" Again a silence intervened.
"You would not dare." "I am innocent; you are the coward." Then Whitley gave up and told how he had met Amy in Jonesville, and had taken her east to Buffalo, New York, where he had left her just before returning to Boyd City. "Did you marry her?" asked Dick. Whitley shrugged his shoulders. "I am not looking for a wife," he said. "But was there no form of a ceremony?" persisted Dick.
Absolutely nothing was stirring along Cedar Creek, but Sergeant Daniel Whitley was still dissatisfied. "It's always where nothin' is stirrin' that most is doin', sir," he said to Dick. "You're epigrammatic, sergeant." "I'm what, sir? I was never called that before." "It doesn't depreciate you. It's a flattering adjective, but you've set my own nerves to tingling and I don't feel like sleeping."
But even if I stand alone, I will not allow myself, because I cannot get the full measure of my demand, to be drawn to reject the proffered hand of friendship held out to us. In my opinion we should be political fools if we did not endeavour to cement an alliance with these men." As concerned the Labour men, Mr. Whitley, who had always been a Unionist, had declared willingness to agree.
"I do, too!" exclaimed Warner, "and it's the most beautiful water that ever flowed!" But they stopped in their rush and dropped down in the thickets. Sergeant Whitley had given the warning shout, and fortunately most of a volley from a point about a hundred yards beyond the stream swept over their heads. A few men were wounded, and they not badly. Dick crawled to the head of the column.
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