"You on the road, heading straight at them"-Pete forced a smile-"it just might spook them."

"And suppose those Yankee cavalry are waiting?"

"You'll have a hundred or so mounted in front to feel out any traps. But I think they're played out. John Buford is dead."

"Damn," McLaws whispered. "I didn't know that"

"You marched past his body back at the bridge. We captured Gamble; looks like he'll lose an arm. The fight is out of them. They'll give back, falling into Westminster, and, General, I want you in there by dawn."

McLaws finally nodded in agreement

"Good. My headquarters will be here until General Lee comes up. I'll try and come up to you in the morning. Take the town; block the roads coming down from the north."

"The north?"

"That road that heads north, goes straight through the village of Harney and then on to Gettysburg. Apparently a fair part of the Union army moved up it yesterday. They just might turn around and come straight back down. If so, Hood will have to block it until the rest of the army comes in and can be passed along to you. So until that happens, you, sir, will be the lead on the right, while Hood holds the center here.

"Sooner or later Meade will wake up. And when he does, General, I want you on there, dug in and ready."

McLaws saluted and started to turn.

"They just might be on the edge of a panic," Longstreet said. "If so, fuel it, get them running. Get them running."

He let his horse gulp down water for a minute, dismounting with Warren, kneeling down into the cool stream to splash his face with water, then taking a canteen, filling it, and half draining it.

Even as he did so, Henry looked around warily. It was the same place he had stopped only the day before, riding north to Gettysburg. He knew that for certain because the dead trooper, who had been in the back of the ambulance when he had stopped here on the way to Gettysburg, was lying by the side of the stream. He tried, not to notice him, though the scent of his body hung heavy in the evening air.

They had begun to pass cavalrymen from Buford's command a half hour ago, small scattered detachments from half a dozen regiments, the men moving slowly, dejected, talking of a terrible fight along the road half a dozen miles away. He had let most of them go, telling them to stay the hell off the road and let the infantry, pass. A dozen or so, who still seemed game, he had drafted as an escort. The men were on the far side of the creek, obviously nervous, carbines unsheathed.

A broken unit always made a minor setback sound like a defeat and a defeat a disastrous rout. These men were talking about thousands of Rebs. Whether it was true or not, he sensed they'd know in a few more minutes, and his gut instinct was to be ready.

Standing up, he pulled out his revolver, half-cocked it, checked the spin, making sure percussion caps were in place, then gently let the hammer back down. He mounted, looking over at Warren, who was already mounted and waiting.

He followed Warren's lead, splashing up the opposite bank. The waiting troopers, led by a grim-faced lieutenant with a cheek laid open by a shell fragment or bullet, spread out as they went down the road. They were very good, moving cautiously, a couple of men on the road, the rest filtering into the trees, meadows, and cornfields to either side of the lane. Several of them would move forward a hundred yards, pause, look around, then motion the rest up, who would leapfrog forward. And then the ritual would be repeated again.

Twilight was setting in, the western sky a dull, shimmering red, a dark, haze-shrouded sun slipping below the horizon; flashes of heat lightning, or was it gunfire, sparkled to the east

They reached a broad, open plateau. Henry remembered it. Taneytown was just a mile or so off. The lead trooper out ahead stopped, leaned forward slightly, then held his hand up.

Henry nudged his mount the poor beast breathing hard as it slowly went up to a trot Warren by his side. They came up to the trooper's side. The lieutenant already had his field glasses out Henry looked over at him in the twilight The glasses were high quality, beautiful brass trim work, the man dressed in what was obviously a tailored uniform. Dandy or not he at least was here rather than safely back home in some countinghouse or law office in New York, angry about the retreat glad to have fallen in with someone from headquarters who wanted to find out what the hell was going on.

"There, sir," the lieutenant whispered, and he pointed, even as he passed over his field glasses.

There was no need for them though. Clouds of dust were boiling up from a road, most likely the main pike between Taneytown and Emmitsburg. In the fields north of town hundreds of campfires sparkled, troops swarming around them.

Far closer though, not a quarter mile away, a skirmish line of Reb infantry was deployed, advancing toward them.

A flash of gunfire, the report of the rifle echoing even as a bullet hummed overhead.

"Infantry, lots of it" Warren announced.

"As we told you," the lieutenant replied, a bit of a sarcastic edge to his voice.

"Son, we had to see it for ourselves," Warren replied soothingly. "Those were Meade's orders. I never doubted you."

A couple of the troopers escorting them dismounted. Drawing his Sharps carbine, one of the troopers levered up his rear sight, squatted down in the middle of the road, and took careful aim.

‘Not yet," Henry said.

Annoyed, the man looked up at him.

It was getting dark, but the field glasses revealed a lot Troops were marching through the town, visible through side alleys and where the road they were on finally intersected with the main road in the middle of the village. He caught a glimpse of what looked to be a field piece crossing the intersection.

Another bullet snicked past and then another, this one kicking up a plume of dust in the middle of the road, Warren's horse snorting and backing up.

"Damn it sir, they're getting close," the lieutenant announced.

"Open up on them," Henry, replied.

The trooper sitting in the middle of the road fired first followed a few seconds later by several more, one of the men catching Henry's eye, silhouetted by the western twilight, poised in the saddle, horse absolutely still as the man took careful aim, a bright flash of light erupting as he squeezed the trigger. He watched for several seconds, cursed under his breath, and then levered the breech open, reaching into his cartridge box for another round.

"A division at least," Warren said, "and looks like they're continuing east toward Westminster."

"Can't see their colors though," Henry replied. He looked back to the lieutenant.

"You said you were fighting Hood?"

"Yes, sir. We caught a couple of them before we got flanked. It was Hood's division."

"Wonder if that's them in the town?" Warren muttered.

"You want me to go down and ask?" the lieutenant interjected.

Henry looked over at him. The youth wasn't being sarcastic; he was trying to make a joke, and Henry nodded.

"It's more than Hood" Henry offered "The battle with you at the river was mid-afternoon. Take a couple of hours to get everyone reorganized and on the road What's down there now is the next division, pushed through, continuing on. Hood will come up later. Or maybe the next division has already moved on, and that's Hood coming in to occupy Taneytown."

"We're being flanked," Warren interjected. "By God, he's done it to us again. Longstreet's corps, and I'm willing to bet Hill is right behind him. Back at Gettysburg Ewell is just demonstrating to keep our attention. As soon as it gets dark, he'll pull out as well."