"We exchanged shots in the Manassas campaign," said Dick. "We were
sheltered and we didn't know each other until several bullets had passed."

"Three more horsemen have joined him," said the sergeant.

"Those are his friends," said Dick, who had put the glasses back to his
eyes. "Look how they stand out against the sun!"

The four horsemen in a row, at equal distances from one another, were
enlarged against a brilliant background of red and gold. Their attitude
was impressive, as they sat there, unmoving, like statues cut in stone.
They were in truth Harry and Dalton, St. Clair and Happy Tom, and farther
on the Invincibles were marching, the two colonels at their head, to the
Valley of Virginia to reinforce Early, and to make headway, if possible,
against Sheridan.

Harry was deeply moved. Kinship and the long comradeship of youth count
for much. Perhaps for more in the South than anywhere else. Stirred by
a sudden emotion he took off his cap and waved it as a signal of hail and
farewell. The four removed their own caps and waved them also. Then
they turned their horses in unison, rode over the hill and were gone from
Dick's sight.

Sergeant Whitley was not educated, but his experience was vast, he knew
men and he had the gift of sympathy. He understood Dick's feelings.

"All civil wars are cruel," he said. "The killing of one's own people is
worst of all."