“And so do I!” exclaimed Colonel Winchester, now all life and activity. “The sounds are made by a large body of men advancing upon us! Seize that bugle, Dick, and blow the alarm with all your might!”
Dick snatched up the bugle and blew upon it a long shrill blast that pierced far into the forest. He blew and blew again, and every man in the little force sprang to his feet in alarm. Nor were they a moment too soon. From the woods to the east came the answering notes of a bugle and then a great voice cried:
“Forward men an’ wipe ’em off the face of the earth!”
It seemed to Dick that he had heard that voice before, but he had no time to think about it, as the next instant came the rush of the wild horsemen, a thousand strong, leaning low over their saddles, their faces dark with the passion of anger and revenge, pistols, rifles, and carbines flashing as they pulled the trigger, giving way when empty to sabres, which gleamed in the moonlight as they were swung by powerful hands.
Colonel Winchester’s whole force would have been ridden down in the twinkling of an eye if it had not been for the minute’s warning. His men, leaping to their feet, snatched up their own rifles and fired a volley at short range. It did more execution among the horses than among the horsemen, and the Southern rough riders were compelled to waver for a moment. Many of their horses went down, others uttered the terrible shrieking neigh of the wounded, and, despite the efforts of those who rode them, strove to turn and flee from those flaming muzzles. It was only a moment, but it gave the Union troop, save those who were already slain, time to spring upon their horses and draw back, at the colonel’s shouted command, to the cover of the wood. But they were driven hard. The Confederate cavalry came on again, impetuous and fierce as ever, and urged continually by the great partisan leader, Forrest, now in the very dawn of his fame.
“It was no phantom you saw, that girl on the horse!” shouted Warner in Dick’s ear, and Dick nodded in return. They had no time for other words, as Forrest’s horsemen, far outnumbering them, now pressed them harder than ever. A continuous fire came from their ranks and at close range they rode in with the sabre.
Dick experienced the full terror and surprise of a night battle. The opposing forces were so close together that it was often difficult to tell friend from enemy. But Forrest’s men had every advantage of surprise, superior numbers and perfect knowledge of the country. Dick groaned aloud as he saw that the best they could do was to save as many as possible. Why had he not taken a shot at the horse of that flying girl?
“We must keep together, Dick!” shouted Warner. “Here are Pennington and Sergeant Whitley, and there’s Colonel Winchester. I fancy that if we can get off with a part of our men we’ll be doing well.”
Pennington’s horse, shot through the head, dropped like a stone to the ground, but the deft youth, used to riding the wild mustangs of the prairie, leaped clear, seized another which was galloping about riderless, and at one bound sprang into the saddle.
“Good boy!” shouted Dick with admiration, but the next moment the horsemen of Forrest were rushing upon them anew. More men were killed, many were taken, and Colonel Winchester, seeing the futility of further resistance, gathered together those who were left and took flight through the forest.
Tears of mortification came to Dick’s eyes, but Sergeant Whitley, who rode on his right hand, said:
“It’s the only thing to do. Remember that however bad your position may be it can always be worse. It’s better for some of us to escape than for all of us to be down or be taken.”
Dick knew that his logic was good, but the mortification nevertheless remained a long time. There was some consolation, however, in the fact that his own particular friends had neither fallen nor been taken.