Banks, whose own force was cut down by heavy drafts to the eastward, was half incredulous. It was impossible that Jackson could be at Front Royal. He was fifty or sixty miles away, and the attack must be some cavalry raid which would soon be beaten off. He sent a regiment and two guns to see what was the matter. He telegraphed later to the Secretary of War at Washington that a force of several thousand rebels gathered in the mountains was pushing Kenly hard. Meanwhile the victorious Southerners were spending a few moments in enjoying their triumph. They captured great quantities of food and clothing which Kenly had not found time to destroy, and which they joyously divided among themselves. Harry found the two colonels and all the rest of the Invincibles lying upon the ground in the fields. Some of them were wounded, but most were unhurt. They were merely panting from exhaustion. Colonel Leonidas Talbot sat up when he saw Harry, and Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire also sat up. “Good afternoon, Harry,” said Colonel Talbot, politely. “It's been a warm day.” “But a victorious one, sir.” “Victorious, yes; but it is not finished. I fancy that in spite of everything we have not yet learned the full capabilities of General Jackson, eh, Hector?” “No, sir, we haven't,” replied Lieutenant-Colonel Hector St. Hilaire, emphatically. “I never saw such an appetite for battle. In Mexico General Winfield Scott would press the enemy hard, but he was not anxious to march twenty miles and fight a battle every day.” Harry found St. Clair and Langdon not far away from their chief officers. St. Clair had brushed the dust off his clothing, but he was regarding ruefully two bullet holes in the sleeve of his fine gray tunic. “He has neither needle nor thread with which to sew up those holes,” said Langdon, with wicked glee, “and he must go into battle again with a tunic more holy than righteous. It's been a bad day for clothes.” “A man doesn't fight any worse because he's particular about his uniform, does he?” asked St. Clair. “You don't. That's certain, old fellow,” said Langdon, clapping him on the back. “And just think how much worse it might have been. Those bullets, instead of merely going through your coat sleeve, might have gone through your arm also, shattering every bone in it. Now, Harry, you ride with Old Jack. Tell us what he means to do. Are we going to rest on our rich and numerous laurels, or is it up and after the Yanks hot-foot?” “He's not telling me anything,” replied Harry, “but I think it's safe to predict that we won't take any long and luxurious rest. Nor will we ever take any long and luxurious rest while we're led by Stonewall Jackson.”