"
"Then let the North give up at once," snapped Colonel Talbot.
"But in the trumpeter's opinion that means we should be apart forever."
"Then let him play on to ears that will not heed."
But the bugler was riding away. The music came faintly, and then died in
one last sighing note. It left Harry grave and troubled, and he began
to ask himself new questions. If the South succeeded in forcing a
separation, what then? But the talk of his comrades drove the thought
from his mind. Colonel Talbot sent St. Clair, Langdon and a small party
of horsemen forward to see what the close approach of the daring bugler
meant. Harry went with them.
Scouts in the brushwood quickly told them that a troop of Union cavalry
had appeared in a meadow some distance ahead of them, and that it was one
of their number who had played the song on the bugle. Should they stalk
the detachment and open fire? St. Clair, who was in command, shook his
head.
"It would mean nothing now," he said, and rode on with his men, knowing
that the watchful Southern sharpshooters were on their flanks. It was
night now, and a bright moon was coming out, enabling them to use their
glasses with effect.
"There they are!" exclaimed Harry, pointing to the strip of forest on the
far side of the opening, "and there is the bugler, too.
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