But the men were very cheerful.  The little band of skirmishers or sharpshooters under Slade had been brushed aside easily, and now that they were in the valley they did not foresee any further attempt to stop their march to Sheridan.  The three colonels shared in the view, and when the men had finished breakfast and dried themselves at their fires they remounted and rode away gaily.  High spirits rose again in youthful veins, and some lad of a mellow voice began to sing.  By and by all joined and a thousand voices thundered out: 

    “Oh, share my cottage, gentle maid,
      It only waits for thee
     To give a sweetness to its shade
      And happiness to me.

    “Here from the splendid, gay parade
      Of noise and folly free
     No sorrows can my peace invade
      If only blessed with thee.

    “Then share my cottage, gentle maid,
      It only waits for thee
     To give a sweetness to its shade
      And happiness to me.”

Colonel Hertford made no attempt to check them as they rode across the fields, yet green here, despite the summer’s heat.

“They’re bravest when they sing,” he said to Colonel Winchester.

“It encourages them,” said Colonel Winchester, “and I like to hear it myself.  It’s a wonderful effect, a thousand or more strong lads singing, as they sweep over the valley toward battle.”

Dick, Pennington and Warner had joined in the song, but the youth some distance ahead of them was leader.  They finished “Gentle Maid” and then, with the same lad leading them, swung into a song that made Dick start and that for a moment made other mountains and another valley stand out before him, sharp and clear.

 “Soft o’er the fountain, ling’ring falls the Southern moon
  Far o’er the mountain, breaks the day too soon. 
  In thy dark eyes’ splendor, where the warm light loves to dwell,
  Weary looks, yet tender, speak their fond farewell. 
  Nita!  Juanita!  Ask thy soul if we should part,
  Nita!  Juanita!  Lean thou on my heart.

 “When in thy dreaming moons like these shall shine again,
  And daylight beaming prove thy dreams are vain,
  Wilt thou not, relenting, for thy absent lover sigh? 
  In thy heart consenting to a prayer gone by! 
  Nita!  Juanita!  Let me linger by thy side. 
  Nita!  Juanita!  Be my own fair bride.”

They put tremendous heart and energy into the haunting old song as they sang, and Dick still saw Sam Jarvis, the singer of the hills, and his valley, where the paths of Harry Kenton and himself had crossed, though at times far apart.

“Now!” shouted the young leader, “The last verse again!” and with increased heart and energy they thundered out: 

 “When in thy dreaming moons like these shall shine again,
  And daylight beaming prove thy dreams are vain,
  Wilt thou not, relenting, for thy absent lover sigh? 
  In thy heart consenting to a prayer gone by! 
  Nita!  Juanita!  Let me linger by thy side. 
  Nita!  Juanita!  Be my own fair bride.”