He sighed, gaze still fixed back toward Gettysburg.

"Keep a sharp eye on things here, Walter. Ewell is in command on this front I know that rankles Stuart, him being senior in rank, but he needs to be reined in a bit

"If anything stirs, if the enemy starts to move on Ewell, send for me at once. If not and once Ewell starts to pull out after dark, catch up to me; I will reach Taneytown tonight and make headquarters there."

"Sir, that's a long ride for you."

Lee fixed his adjutant with a cool gaze. 'I'm not that old, Walter," Lee said softly.

Walter shifted uncomfortably. Ever since the "incident" back during the winter, which one doctor called trouble with the heart, Walter had increasingly taken on the role of monitoring how much rest Lee got and how long he spent in the saddle. There wasn't time for that now, even though Lee's stomach had been troublesome throughout the day.

"It's a wicked hot day, sir," Walter finally offered. "At least try and find a cool spot by a creek to take a few minutes."

"Walter."

"Sir?"

Lee sighed and then smiled. "Just keep an eye on things here. Make sure Ewell and Stuart keep fighting the enemy and not each other."

As if to add emphasis to Lee's words, the sound of artillery fire increased off beyond Gettysburg, Union guns along the brow of Cemetery Hill opening up, replying to the harassing fire from Stuart. What sounded like the rattle of musketry was added in as well.

Walter smiled and men offered a salute.

Lee, followed by the rest of his staff, edged down to the side of the road; and gently nudging Traveler to a trot, Lee started south, toward Emmitsburg, leaving Gettysburg behind.

6:00 PM, JULY 2,1863 TANEYTOWN

Numb with exhaustion, Pete Longstreet, legs trembling, swung down from the saddle. He leaned against his mount for a moment, waiting for feeling to return to his feet and calves. He'd been in the saddle for nearly fourteen hours, ridden over twenty-five miles, fought a battle, and been in the forefront of the pursuit of Buford's broken division. Several hundred prisoners had been rounded up on the road to Taneytown, men with blown horses that couldn't move another step.

The village was in utter chaos; dead horses littered the streets; skirmishing continued along the road to the east Anderson's men, pushed far beyond the limit were literally collapsing along the sidewalks. Behind them, the head of McLaws's division was coming into view. They had not been in the fight for the river crossing; but like everyone else, they had been on the road since before dawn, a long day's march in the July heat

He finally stepped away from his horse, holding the reins, and walked slowly, grimacing as he stretched, shoulders and back aching. A staff officer came up, saluted, and said he had found a house they could use as headquarters. Pete nodded and followed the man down a bend in the road to a splendid-looking, two-story, Federalist-style mansion on the south side of town.

The lawn was torn up, bits of paper and horse droppings littering it indicating that only a day ago a large number of troops had been here.

" 'The Antrim' locals call it" the staff officer announced. "Nice place."

Pete nodded.

"Fine. Put someone on the main road so they can direct couriers. Send a dispatch back to General Lee telling him I am establishing headquarters here for the night."

"Then we're stopping here?" the officer asked.

Pete slowed, looking up at the captain. Hell of a day. We actually got around them. Buford's dead. Damn, John was a good man. His men, most of them, got out though, riding in every damn direction.

He sighed, coming to a stop, leaning against his horse for support

Meade must know by now. That fight started around the bridge early in the afternoon. He must be sending something down here by now, perhaps a full corps. And to the east Prisoners were saying there were a hell of a lot supplies already stockpiled at Westminster, but that was still another ten miles away.

We stop tonight Meade could pull out start moving down that road, maybe even get troops into Westminster by dawn.

Everything was so damn confusing. He was exhausted, needed food, needed to just relieve himself, to then sit and think.

"Get into that house; see if you can rustle up some food, a place to sit down; get the maps out I want McLaws and Hood in here, and see if one of our boys can find a few locals who are on our side.

The captain looked at him, confused.

"Well?"

"Which do you want me to do first sir?" "Let's start with the food." Pete sighed. "Now get moving.

The captain nodded and turned, trotting off, heading to the mansion still a hundred yards away, Pete walking stiffly, leading his exhausted mount

He heard another rider coming up and, looking back, saw that it was McLaws, trailing a few staff officers, all of them covered m the white chalky dust kicked up from the crushed limestone paving of the road.

"My God, what a march," McLaws announced, taking off his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow.

Pete nodded, saying nothing.

"We camping here, sir? My boys are beat"

Pete stopped, lowering his head. That's what I should do, he realized. We're into their rear, a good march, in spite of the incident back at the bridge. But there's still Westminster. Meade might even be moving toward it now. If he gets there first he can slip around our right and fall back to Washington without a fight… then what?

McLaws looked at him expectantly.

"Behind you? What's going on?"

"Hood's boys are blown, still forming up back at the bridge. A rider just came up reporting that the head of Hill's corps is just coming into Emmitsburg.''

"Our corps artillery?"

"Between Emmitsburg and the bridge."

Pete looked back up at McLaws. "My men did over twenty-five miles, general. Even Old Jack would be proud of what we did today."

That rankled him slightly. Always it was Old Jack.

He exhaled noisily, looking back down at the ground, kicking at the dust "One hour here. Get your men fed, get water. Then I want you back on the road."

"Sir?"

"On the road. It'll cool off a bit at dusk. On the road by dusk. You should have good moonlight. I want you to push to Westminster."

"Sir, that's kinda risky to my way of thinking."

"Goon."

"Hood here. Me heading off to God knows where? Sir, I'll bet at least ten percent of my men are dropped somewhere between here and Emmitsburg. You push us through the night and I won't have a thousand left standing under their colors come dawn."

"I don't push you now, and we have to attack there tomorrow, you won't have a thousand left come sunset" Pete whispered. "It's the good ground. It's always about the good ground. Who gets it first holds it and makes the other man attack. I'd rather have your men half-dead from exhaustion, than dead forever up here in Maryland."

McLaws lowered his head. "What about the road north of here, the one going straight to Gettysburg."

"There's nothing on it yet. As Hood comes up, I'll have him cover that approach."

'Three hours, at least give 'em that chance to cook up a decent meal, find clean water, sleep a little bit"

Pete shook his head. "Give 'em three hours, and they'll stiffen up and be useless. An hour, then march. I want you on the road by dusk."

"Why then?"

"I want those retreating Yankee cavalry to see you. I don't know what they have in Westminster, but I'm willing to bet it will be like Second Manassas, maybe a couple of good regiments, but the rest of 'em units assigned to guard detail because their commanders feel they can spare them. Hell, we do the same thing. We pick the unit we feel is used up or can't be relied on anymore to guard the wagon trains. It'll be a scratch command down there, and it will fall apart the moment you push it