"Yes," he said, studying his face. "You look just as he did when we
courted and camped and fought together." The tone of his voice moved
Crittenden deeply. "And you are going to the war--good--good! Your
father would be with me right now if he were alive. Come to see me right
away. I may go to Tampa any day." And, as he rode away, he stopped
again.

"Of course you have a commission in the Legion."

"No, sir. I didn't ask for one. I was afraid the Legion might not get to
Cuba." The General smiled.

"Well, come to see me"--he smiled again--"we'll see--we'll see!" and he
rode on with his hands still folded on the pommel of his saddle and his
eyes still lifted, dreamily, upward.

It was guard-mount and sunset when Crittenden, with a leaping heart,
reached Rivers's camp. The band was just marching out with a corps of
trumpeters, when a crash of martial music came across the hollow from
the camp on the next low hill, followed by cheers, which ran along the
road and were swollen into a mighty shouting when taken up by the camp
at the foot of the hill. Through the smoke and faint haze of the early
evening, moved a column of infantry into sight, headed by a band.

"Tramp, tramp, tramp,
The boys are marching!"

Along the brow of the hill, and but faintly seen through the smoky haze,
came the pendulum-like swing of rank after rank of sturdy legs, with
guidons fluttering along the columns and big, ghostly army wagons