As they rode in the shadow of the Massanuttons Harry continued to wonder. The whole campaign in the valley had become to him an interminable maze. Stonewall Jackson might know what he intended to do, but he was not telling. Meanwhile they marched back and forth. There was incessant skirmishing between cavalry and pickets, but it did not seem to signify anything. Banks, sure of his overwhelming numbers, pressed forward, but always cautiously and slowly. He did not march into any trap. And Harry surmised that Jackson, much too weak to attack, was playing for time. Sherburne and his troop paused at the very base of the Massanuttons and Harry, who happened to be with them, looked up again at the lofty summits standing out so boldly and majestically in the middle of the valley. The oaks and maples along their slopes were now blossoming into a green that matched the tint of the pines, but far up on the crests there was still a line of snow, and white mists beyond. “Why not climb the highest summit?” he said to Sherburne. “You have powerful glasses and we could get a good view of what is going on up the valley.” “Most of those slopes are not slopes at all. They're perpendicular like the side of a house. The horses could never get up.” “But they can certainly go part of the way, and some of us can climb the rest on foot.” Sherburne's eyes sparkled. The spirit of adventure was strong within him. Moreover the task, if done, was worth while. “Good for you, Harry,” he exclaimed. “We'll try it! What do you say, St. Clair, you and Langdon?” “I follow where you lead, and I hope that you lead to the top of the mountain,” replied St. Clair. “Likely it's cold up there,” said Langdon, “but there are higher and colder mountains and I choose this one.” They had learned promptness and decision from Stonewall Jackson, and Sherburne at once gave the order to ascend. Several men in his troop were natives of that part of the valley, and they knew the Massanuttons well. They led and the whole troop composed of youths followed eagerly. Bye and bye they dismounted and led their horses over the trails which grew slippery with wet and snow as they rose higher. When they paused at times to rest they would all look northward over the great valley, where a magnificent panorama had gradually risen into view. They saw a vast stretch of fields turning green, neat villages, dark belts of forest, the gleam of brooks and creeks, and now and then, the glitter from a Northern bayonet. At length the chief guide, a youth named Wallace, announced that the horses could go no farther. Even in summer when the snow was all gone and the earth was dry they could not find a footing. Now it was certain death for them to try the icy steeps.