Colonel Winchester was as much shaken as he, and the two, the man and the boy, walked toward the picket line, drawn by a sort of hideous fascination, as they looked upon the area of conflict.
The dead lay in windrows between the two armies which were waiting to fight on the dawn.

Dick and the colonel walked toward the field where the corn had been waving high that morning, and where it was now mown by cannon and rifles to the last stalk.

In the edge of the wood the boy paused and grasping the man suddenly by the arm pulled him back.
"Look! Look!" he exclaimed in a sharp whisper.

"The Confederate skirmishers! The woods are full of them! They are making ready for a night attack!" Both he and Colonel Winchester sprang back behind a big tree, sheltering themselves from a possible shot.

But no sound came, not even that of men creeping forward through the undergrowth.