It was late in the afternoon when the last Northern rider crossed the
Rappahannock, and Harry looked upon a field strewn with the fallen,
both men and horses. Then he turned to Sherburne and bound up his
wounded shoulder for him. The hurt was not serious, but Sherburne,
although they had driven off the Northern horse, was far from sanguine.

"It's a Pyrrhic victory," he said. "We had the superior numbers,
and it was all we could do to beat them back. Besides, they surprised
us, when we thought we had a patent on that sort of business."

"It's so," said Harry, his somber glance passing again over the field.

Their feeling was communicated, too, to the advancing masses of
infantry. The soldiers, when they saw the stricken field and began
to hear details from their brethren of the horse, shook their heads.
There was no joy of victory in the Southern army that night. The enemy,
when he was least expected, had struck hard and was away.

Harry rode to General Lee and gave him as many details as he could
of the cavalry battle, to all of which the general listened without
comment. He had reports from others also, and soon he dismissed Harry,
who took up his usual night quarters with his blankets under a green
tree. Here he found Dalton, who was eager to hear more.

"They say that the Yankees, although inferior in numbers, pushed us hard,
Harry; is it so?" he asked.

"It is, and they caught us napping, too. George, I'm beginning to
wonder what's waiting for us there in the North."