"My horse!" he cried, and as his charger was brought out, he gave a leap into the saddle, and was off like a whirlwind, down the road past houses and farms, and then over hedges, ditches, and fields, straight for Cedar Creek. Those who saw him pass gave him a cheer, but he never paid attention and probably did not hear them. On and on, and still on, he swept, until his noble horse was covered with foam and breathing clouds of steam. The steed seemed to know what was wanted of him, for he was a war charger, and his eyes glared wildly, as if in defiance of anything which might rise to bar his progress. The cannonading continued, and now he could hear the rattle of musketry and see the distant soldiers, some moving in one direction and some in another. Then he came out into a road and found himself face to face with a handful of the men who had fought under him so often.
"It's Sheridan!" cried some, and then one added: "General, the day is lost. The rebels surprised us before daylight and are down on us fifty thousand strong."
"The day isn't lost yet," was the answer.
