“I hope it won't be a big rain,” said Colonel Winchester, “because if it is it will surely delay our attack. Our supply of cartridges is small, and we can't risk wetting them.”
Pennington persisted that a storm was at hand. His father had taught him, he said, always to observe the weather signs on the great Nebraska plains. They were nearly always hoping for rain there, and he had learned to smell it before it came. He could smell it now in the same way here in Mississippi.
His opinion did not waver, when the clouds floated away for a while, disclosing a faint moon and a few stars. They were now on the banks of a brook, flowing through the wood, and Colonel Winchester thought he saw a movement in the forest beyond it. It was altogether likely that so skillful a leader as Joe Johnston would have out bodies of scouts, and he stopped, bidding his men to take cover.
Dick sat on his horse by the colonel's side under the thick boughs of a great tree, and studied the thickets before them. He, too, had noticed a movement, and he was confident that the Southern sharpshooters were there. At the command of the colonel all of the officers dismounted, and orderlies took the horses to the rear. On foot they continued their examination of the thickets, and the colonel sent for Sergeant Whitley, who confirmed his opinion that the enemy was before them. At his suggestion the Union force was spread out, lest it be flanked and annihilated in the thickets.
Just as the movement was completed rifles began to crack in front and on both flanks, and the piercing yell of the South arose.
It was impossible to tell the size of the force that assailed them, but the Winchester men were veterans now, and they were not afraid. Standing among the bushes or sheltered by the trees they held their fire until they saw dusky figures in the thickets.
It had all the aspects of an old Indian battle in the depths of the great forest. Darkness, the ambush and the caution of sharpshooters were there. Dick carried a rifle, but he did not use it. He merely watched the pink beads of flame among the bushes, while he stayed by the side of his colonel and observed the combat.
It soon became apparent to him that it would have no definite result. Each side was merely feeling out its foe that night, and would not force the issue. Yet the Southern line approached and some bullets whistled near him. He moved a little to one side, and watched for an enemy. It was annoying to have bullets come so close, and since they were shooting at him he might as well shoot at them.