But if emergency demanded that he renew his secret service he would do so instantly and without hesitation.
Colonel Winchester looked back with pride at his column.

Like most of the regiments at that period of the war it was small, three hundred sinewy well-mounted young men, who had endured every kind of hardship and who could endure the like again.

All of them were wrapped in heavy overcoats over their uniforms, and they rode the best of horses, animals that Colonel Winchester had been allowed to choose.
The colonel felt so good that he took out his little silver whistle, and blew upon it a mellow hunting call.

The column broke into a trot and the snow flew behind the beating hoofs in a long white trail.
Spontaneously the men burst into a cheer, and the cold wind blowing past them merely whipped their blood into high exaltation.
But as they rode across the valley Dick could not help feeling some depression over its ruined and desolate appearance, worse now in winter than in summer.

No friendly smoke rose from any chimney, there were no horses nor cattle in the fields, the rails of the fences had gone long since to make fires for the soldiers and the roads rutted deep by the rains had been untouched.