The same thought was often in the mind of Harry Kenton, as he rode near
the rear of the column, whence he had been sent by Lee to observe and
then to report. It was far after midnight now, and the last of the
Southern army could not leave Seminary Ridge before morning. But Harry
could detect no sign of pursuit. Now and then, a distant gun boomed,
and the thunder muttered on the horizon, as if in answer. But there
was nothing to indicate that the Army of the Potomac was moving from
Gettysburg in pursuit, although the President in Washington, his heart
filled with bitterness, was vainly asking why his army would not reap the
fruits of a victory won so hardly. Fifty thousand men had fallen on the
hills and in the valleys about Gettysburg, and it seemed, for the time,
that nothing would come of such a slaughter. But the Northern army had
suffered immense losses, and Lee and his men were ready to fight again
if attacked. Perhaps it was wiser to remain content upon the field with
their sanguinary success. At least, Meade and his generals thought so.

Harry, toward morning came upon St. Clair and Langdon riding together.
Both had been wounded slightly, but their hurts had not kept them from
the saddle, and they were in cheerful mood.

"You've been further back than we, Harry," said St. Clair. "Is Meade hot
upon our track? We hear the throb of a cannon now and then."

"It doesn't mean anything. Meade hasn't moved. While we didn't win we
struck the Yankees such a mighty blow that they'll have to rest, and
breathe a while before they follow."

"And I guess we need a little resting and breathing ourselves," said
Langdon frankly. "There were times when I thought the whole world had
just turned itself into a volcano of fire."