“Well, then, ef that's the way you feel about it--come on!” their leader bade them; and they rushed for the door, sweeping the circuit clerk aside. “No; wait jest a minute!” He singled out the jostled Mr. Milam. “Lishy, you've got the youngest, spriest legs of anybody here. Run on ahead--won't you?--and find Father Minor. He'll be at the priest house back of his church. Tell him to jine up with us as quick as ever the Lord'll let him. We'll head down Harrison Street.” Mr. Milam vanished. With a wave of his arm, the judge comprehended those who remained. “Nearly everybody here served one time or another under old Nathan Bedford Forrest. The rest would 'a' liked to. I reckin this here is goin' to be the last raid and the last charge that Forrest's Cavalry, mounted or dismounted, ever will make! Let's do it regular--open up that there wardrobe-chist yonder, some of you, and git what's inside!” Hurried old hands fumbled at the catches of a weather-beaten oaken cabinet on the platform and plucked forth the treasured possessions of the Camp--the dented bugle; the drum; the slender, shiny, little fife; the silken flag, on its short polished staff. “Fall in--by twos!” commanded Judge Priest. “_Forward--march!_” Half a minute later the gasjets that lighted Kamleiter's Hall lighted only emptiness--an empty chest in a corner; empty chairs, some overturned on their sides, some upright on their legs; an empty hall doorway opening on an empty patch of darkness; and one of Judge Priest's flannel-lined galoshes, gaping emptily where it had been forgotten. From the street below rose a measured thud of feet on the hard-packed snow. Forrest's Cavalry was on the march! With bent backs straightening to the call of a high, strong impulse; with gimpy, gnarled legs rising and falling in brisk unison; with heads held high and chests puffed out; with their leader in front of them and their flag going before them--Forrest's Cavalry went forward. Once and once only the double line stopped as it traversed the town, lying snug and for the most part still under its blanketing, of snow. As the little column of old men swung round the first corner below Kamleiter's Hall, the lights coming through the windows of Tony Palassi's fruit shop made bright yellow patches on the white path they trod. “Halt!” ordered Judge Priest suddenly; and he quit his place in the lead and made for the doorway. “If you're looking for Tony to go along and translate you're wasting time, Judge,” sang' out Mr. Crump. “He's out-of town.” “Is he?” said Judge Priest. “Well, that's too bad!”