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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ride Proud, Rebel!, by Andre Alice Norton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ride Proud, Rebel!
+
+Author: Andre Alice Norton
+
+Release Date: November 26, 2007 [EBook #23624]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDE PROUD, REBEL! ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            RIDE PROUD, REBEL!
+
+                               ANDRE NORTON
+
+[Transcriber Note: This is a rule 6 clearance. Extensive research did
+not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
+renewed.]
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
+CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK
+
+_Published by_ The World Publishing Company
+2231 West 110th Street, Cleveland 2, Ohio
+
+_Published simultaneously in Canada by_
+Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd.
+
+Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 61-6657
+_First Edition_
+
+HC361
+Copyright © 1961 by Andre Norton
+
+Printed in the United States of America.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+To those Reconstructed Rebels ERNESTINE and WILLIAM DONALDY _with no
+apologies from a damnyankee_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The author wishes to express appreciation to Mrs. Gertrude Morton
+Parsley, Reference Librarian, Tennessee State Library and Archives, for
+her aid in obtaining use of the unpublished memoirs of trooper John
+Johnson, concerning the escape of the Morgan company after Cynthiana.
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+1. Ride with Morgan
+
+2. Guns in the Night
+
+3. On the Run--
+
+4. The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry
+
+5. Bardstown Surrenders
+
+6. Horse Trade
+
+7. A Mule for a River
+
+8. Happy Birthday, Soldier!
+
+9. One More River To Cross
+
+10. "Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"
+
+11. The Road to Nashville
+
+12. Guerrillas
+
+13. Disaster
+
+14. Hell in Tennessee
+
+15. Independent Scout
+
+16. Missing in Action
+
+17. Poor Rebel Soldier....
+
+18. Texas Spurs
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM GENERAL N. BEDFORD FORREST'S FAREWELL TO HIS COMMAND, MAY 9, 1865,
+GAINESVILLE, ALABAMA.
+
+_The cause for which you have so long and so manfully struggled, and for
+which you have braved dangers, endured privations and sufferings, and
+made so many sacrifices, is today hopeless...._
+
+_Civil war, such as you have passed through naturally engenders feelings
+of animosity, hatred and revenge. It is our duty to divest ourselves of
+all such feelings; and, as far as in our power to do so, to cultivate
+friendly feelings toward those with whom we have so long contended, and
+heretofore so widely, but honestly, differed...._
+
+_... In bidding you farewell, rest assured that you carry with you my
+best wishes for your future welfare and happiness. Without, in any way,
+referring to the merits of the cause in which we have been engaged, your
+courage and determination, as exhibited on many hard-fought fields, have
+elicited the respect and admiration of friend and foe. And I now
+cheerfully and gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to the officers
+and men of my command, whose zeal, fidelity and unflinching bravery have
+been the great source of my success in arms._
+
+_I have never, on the field of battle, sent you where I was unwilling to
+go myself; nor would I now advise you to a course which I felt myself
+unwilling to pursue. You have been good soldiers; you can be good
+citizens. Obey the laws, preserve your honor, and the Government to
+which you have surrendered can afford to be, and will be, magnanimous._
+
+N. B. FORREST, _Lieutenant General_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+1
+
+_Ride with Morgan_
+
+
+The stocky roan switched tail angrily against a persistent fly and
+lipped water, dripping big drops back to the surface of the brook. His
+rider moved swiftly, with an economy of action, to unsaddle, wipe the
+besweated back with a wisp of last year's dried grass, and wash down
+each mud-spattered leg with stream water. Always care for the mount
+first--when a man's life, as well as the safety of his mission, depended
+on four subordinate legs more than on his own two.
+
+Though he had little claim to a thoroughbred's points, the roan was as
+much a veteran of the forces as his groom, with all a veteran's ability
+to accept and enjoy small favors of the immediate present without
+speculating too much concerning the future. He blew gustily in pleasure
+under the attention and began to sample a convenient stand of spring
+green.
+
+His mount cared for, Drew Rennie swung up saddle, blanket, and the
+meager possessions which he had brought out of Virginia two weeks ago,
+to the platform in a crooked tree overhanging the brook. He settled
+beside them on the well-seasoned timbers of the old tree house to
+rummage through his saddlebags.
+
+The platform had been there a long time--before Chickamauga and the Ohio
+Raid, before the first roll of drums in '61. Drew pulled a creased shirt
+out of the bags and sat with it draped over one knee, remembering....
+
+Sheldon Barrett and he--they had built it together one hot week in
+summer--had named it Boone's Fort. And it was the only thing at Red
+Springs Drew had really ever owned. His dark eyes were fixed now on
+something more than the branches about him, and his mouth tightened
+until his face was not quite sullen, only shuttered.
+
+Five years ago--only five years? Yes, five years next month! But the
+past two years of his own personal freedom--and war--those seemed to
+equal ten. Now there was no one left to remember the fort's existence,
+which made it perfect for his present purpose.
+
+The warmth of the sun, beating down through yet young leaves, made Drew
+brush his battered slouch hat to the flooring and luxuriate in the heat.
+Sometimes he didn't think he'd ever get the bite of last winter's cold
+out of his bones. The light pointed up every angle of jaw and cheekbone,
+making it clear that experience--hard experience--and not years had
+melted away boyish roundness of chin line, narrowed the watchful eyes
+ever alert to his surroundings. A cavalry scout was wary, or he ceased
+to be a scout, or maybe even alive.
+
+Shirt in hand, Drew dropped lightly to the ground and with the same
+dispatch as he had cared for his horse, made his own toilet, scrubbing
+his too-thin body with a sigh of content as heartfelt as that the roan
+had earlier voiced.
+
+The fresh shirt was a dark brown-gray, but the patched breeches were
+Yankee blue, and the boots he pulled on when he had bathed were also
+the enemy's gift, good stout leather he'd been lucky enough to find in a
+supply wagon they had captured a month ago. Butternut shirt, Union pants
+and boots--the unofficial standard uniform of most any trooper of the
+Army of the Tennessee in this month of May, 1864. And he had garments
+which were practically intact. What was one patch on the seat nowadays?
+
+For the first time Drew grinned at his reflection in the small mirror he
+had been using, when he scraped a half week's accumulation of soft beard
+from his face. Sure, he was all spruced up now, ready to make a polite
+courtesy call at the big house. The grin did not fade, but was gone in a
+flash, leaving no hint of softness now about his gaunt features, no
+light in the intent, measuring depths of his dark gray eyes.
+
+A call at Red Springs was certainly the last thing in the world for him
+to consider seriously. His last interview within its walls could still
+make him wince when he recalled it, word by scalding word. No, there was
+no place for a Rennie--and a Rebel Rennie to make matters blacker--under
+the righteous roof of Alexander Mattock!
+
+Hatred could be a red-hot burning to choke a man's throat, leaving him
+speechless and hurting inside. Since he had ridden out of Red Springs he
+had often been cold, very often hungry--and under orders willingly,
+which would have surprised his grandfather--but in another way he had
+been free as never before in all his life. In the army, the past did not
+matter at all if one did one's job well. And in the army, the civilian
+world was as far away as if it were conducted in the cold chasms of the
+moon.
+
+Drew leaned back against the tree trunk, wanting to yield to the soft
+wind and the swinging privacy of the embowered tree house, wanting to
+forget everything and just lie there for a while in the only part of the
+past he remembered happily.
+
+But he had his orders--horses for General Morgan, horses and information
+to feed back to that long column of men riding or trudging westward on
+booted, footsore feet up the trail through the Virginia mountains on the
+way home to Kentucky. These were men who carried memories of the Ohio
+defeat last year which they were determined to wipe out this season,
+just as a lot of them had to flush with gunsmoke the stench of a
+Northern prison barracks from their nostrils.
+
+And there were horses at Red Springs. To mount Morgan's men on Alexander
+Mattock's best stock was a prospect which had its appeal. Drew tossed
+his haversack back to the platform and added his carbine to it. The army
+Colts in his belt holsters would not be much hindrance while crawling
+through cover, but the larger weapon might be.
+
+He thumped a measure of dust from his hat, settled it over hair as black
+as that felt had once been, and crossed the brook with a running leap.
+The roan lifted his head to watch Drew go and then settled back to
+grazing. This, too, followed a pattern both man and horse had practiced
+for a long time.
+
+Drew could almost imagine that he was again hunting Sheldon as a
+"Shawnee" on the warpath while he dodged from one bush to the next. Only
+Chickamauga stood between the past and now--and Sheldon Barrett would
+never again range ahead, in play or earnest.
+
+The scout came out on a small rise where the rails of the fence were
+cloaked on his side by brush. Drew lay flat, his chin propped upon his
+crooked arm to look down the gradual incline of the pasture to the
+training paddock. Beyond that stood the big house, its native brick
+settling back slowly into the same earth from which it had been molded
+in 1795.
+
+In the pasture were the brood mares, five of them, each with an
+attendant foal, all long legs and broom tail, still young enough to be
+bewildered by so large and new a world. In the paddock.... Drew's head
+raised an inch or so, and he pressed forward until his hat was pushed
+back by the rail. The two-year-old being schooled in the paddock was
+enough to excite any horseman.
+
+Red Springs' stock right enough, of the Gray Eagle-Ariel breed, which
+was Alexander Mattock's pride. Born almost black, this colt had shed his
+baby fur two seasons ago for a dark iron-gray hide which would grow
+lighter with the years. He had Eclipse's heritage, but he was more than
+a racing machine. He was--Drew's forehead rasped against the weathered
+wood of the rail--he was the kind of horse a man could dream about all
+his days and perhaps find once in a lifetime, if he were lucky! Give
+that colt three or four more years and there wouldn't be any horse that
+could touch him. Not in Kentucky, or anywhere else!
+
+He was circling on a leading strap now, throwing his feet in a steady,
+rhythmic pattern around the hub of a Negro groom who was holding the
+strap and admiring the action. Mounted on another gray--a mare with a
+dainty, high-held head--was a woman, her figure trim in a habit almost
+the same shade of green as the fields.
+
+Drew pulled back. Then he smiled wryly at his instinctive retreat. His
+aunt, Marianna Forbes, had abilities to be respected, but he very much
+doubted if she could either sense his presence or see through the leafy
+wall of his present spy hole. Yet caution dictated that he get about his
+real business and inspect the fields where the horses he sought should
+be grazing.
+
+He halted several times during his perimeter march to survey the
+countryside. And the bits of activity he spied upon began to puzzle him.
+Aunt Marianna's supervision of the colt's schooling had been the
+beginning. And he had seen her later, riding out with Rafe, the
+overseer, to make the daily rounds, a duty which had never been
+undertaken at Red Springs by any one other than his grandfather.
+
+Aunt Marianna had every right to be at Red Springs. She had been born
+under its roof, having left it only as a bride to live in Lexington. The
+war had brought her back when her husband became an officer in the
+Second Kentucky Cavalry--Union. But now--riding with Rafe, watching in
+the paddock--where was Alexander Mattock?
+
+Red Springs was his grandfather. Drew found it impossible to think of
+the house and the estate without the man, though in the past two years
+he had discovered very few things could be dismissed as impossible.
+Curiosity made him want to investigate the present mystery. But the
+memory of his last exit from that house curbed such a desire.
+
+Drew had never been welcome there from the day of his birth within those
+walls. And the motive for his final flight from there had only provided
+an added aggravation for his grandfather. A staunch Union supporter
+wanted no part of a stubborn-willed and defiant grandson who rode with
+John Hunt Morgan. Drew clung to his somewhat black thoughts as he made
+his way to the pasture. The escape he had found in the army was no
+longer so complete when he skulked through these familiar fields.
+
+But there were only two horses grazing peacefully in the field dedicated
+by custom to the four- and five-year-olds, and neither was of the best
+stock. One could imagine that Red Springs had already contributed to the
+service.
+
+Of course, Morgan's men were not the only riders aiming to sweep good
+horseflesh out of Kentucky blue grass this season, and here the Union
+cavalry would be favored.
+
+There was a slim chance that a few horses might be in the stables. He
+debated the chance of that against the risk of discovery and continued
+debating it as he started back to the tree house.
+
+Drew had known short rations and slim foraging for a long time, but the
+present pinch in his middle sharpened when he sighted the big house,
+with its attendant summer kitchen showing a trail of chimney smoke.
+
+Alexander Mattock might have considered his grandson an interloper at
+Red Springs; certainly the old man never concealed the state of his
+feelings on that subject. But neither had he, in any way, slighted what
+he deemed to be his duty toward Drew.
+
+There had been plenty of good clothing--the right sort for a Mattock
+grandson--and the usual bounteous table set by hospitable Kentucky
+standards. Just as there had been education, sometimes enforced by the
+use of a switch when the tutor--imported from Lexington--thought it
+necessary to impress learning on a rebellious young mind by a painful
+application in another portion of the body. Education, as well as a
+blooded horse in the stables, and all the other prerequisites of a young
+blue-grass grandee. But never any understanding, affection, or sympathy.
+
+That cold behavior--the cutting, weighing, and judgment of every act of
+childish mischief and boyish recklessness--might have crushed some into
+a colorless obedience. But it had made of Drew a rebel long before he
+tugged on the short gray shell jacket of a Confederate cavalryman.
+
+Drew had forgotten the feel of linen next to his now seldom clean skin,
+the set of broadcloth across the shoulders. And he depended upon the
+roan's services with appreciation which had nothing to do with boasted
+bloodlines, having discovered in the army that a cold-blooded horse
+could keep going on rough forage when a finer bred hunter broke down.
+But today the famed dinner table at Red Springs was a painful memory to
+one facing only cold hoecake and stone-hard dried beef.
+
+He had circled back to the brush screening the brook and the tree house.
+Now he stood very still, his hand sliding one of the heavy Colts out of
+its holster. The roan was still grazing, paying no attention to a figure
+who was kneeling on the limb-supported platform and turning over the
+gear Drew had left piled there.
+
+The scout flitted about a bush, choosing a path which would bring him
+out at the stranger's back. That same warm sun, now striking from a
+different angle into the tree house, was bright on a thick tangle of
+yellow hair, curly enough to provide its owner with a combing problem.
+
+Drew straightened to his full height. The sense of the past which had
+dogged him all day now struck like a blow. He couldn't help calling
+aloud that name, even though the soberer part of his brain knew there
+could be no answer.
+
+"Shelly!"
+
+The blond head turned, and blue eyes looked at him, startled, across a
+bowed shoulder. Drew's puzzlement was complete. Not Sheldon, of course,
+but who? The other's open surprise changed to wide-eyed recognition
+first.
+
+"Drew!" The hail came in the cracked voice of an adolescent as the other
+jumped down to face the scout. They stood at almost eye-to-eye level,
+but the stranger was still all boy, awkwardly unsure of strength or
+muscle control.
+
+"You must be Boyd--" Drew blinked, something in him still clinging to
+the memory of Sheldon, Sheldon who had helped to build the tree house.
+Why, Boyd was only a small boy, usually tagging his impatient elders,
+not this tall, almost exact copy of his dead brother.
+
+"Sure, I'm Boyd. And it's true then, ain't it, Drew? General Morgan's
+coming back here? Where?" He glanced over his shoulder once more as if
+expecting to see a troop prance up through the bushes along the stream.
+
+Drew holstered the revolver. "Rumors of that around?" he asked casually.
+
+"Some," Boyd answered. "The Yankee-lovers called out the Home Guard
+yesterday. What sort of a chance do they think they'll have against
+_General Morgan_?"
+
+Drew moved toward the roan's picket rope. As his fingers closed on that
+he thought fast. Just as the Mattocks and the Forbeses were Union, the
+Barretts were, or had been, Southern in sympathy. Most of Kentucky was
+divided that way now. But what might have been true two years ago was
+not necessarily a fact today. One took no chances.
+
+"You come back to see your grandfather, Drew?"
+
+"Any reason why I should?" The whole countryside must know very well
+the state of affairs between Alexander Mattock and Drew Rennie.
+
+"Well, he's been sick for so long.... Didn't you know about that?" Boyd
+must have read Drew's answer in his face, for he spilled out the news
+quickly. "He had some kind of a fit when he heard Murray was killed----"
+
+Drew dropped the picket rope. "Uncle Murray ... dead?"
+
+Boyd nodded. "Killed at Murfreesboro in sixty-two, but the news didn't
+come till about a week after the battle. Mr. Mattock was in town when
+Judge Hagerstorm told him ... just turned red in the face and fell down
+in the middle of the street. They brought him home, and sometimes he
+sits outdoors. But he can't walk too good and he talks thick; you can
+hardly understand him."
+
+"So that's why Aunt Marianna's in charge." Drew thought of Uncle Murray
+swept away by time and the chances of war as so many others--and no
+emotion stirred within him. Murray Mattock had firmly agreed with his
+father concerning the child who was the result of a runaway match
+between his sister Melanie and a despised Texan. But Uncle Murray's
+death must indeed have been a paralyzing blow for the old man at Red
+Springs, with all his pride and his plans for his only son.
+
+"Yes, Cousin Marianna runs Red Springs," Boyd assented, "she and Rafe.
+They sell horses to the army--the blue bellies." He used the term with
+the concentration of one determined to say the right thing at the right
+time.
+
+Drew laughed. And with that spontaneous outburst, years fell away from
+his somber face. "I take it that you do not approve of blue bellies,
+Boyd?"
+
+"'Course not! Me, I'm goin' to join General Morgan now. Ain't nobody
+goin' to keep me from doin' that!" Again his voice scaled up out of
+control, and he flushed.
+
+"You're rather young----" Drew began, when the other interrupted him
+with something close to desperation in his voice.
+
+"No, I ain't too young! That's all I ever hear--too young to do this,
+too young to be thinkin' about things like that! Well, I ain't much
+younger than you were, Drew Rennie, when you joined up with Captain
+Castleman and rode south to join General Morgan--you and Shelly. And you
+know that, too! I'll be sixteen on the fifteenth of this July. And this
+time I'm goin'! Where's the General now, Drew?"
+
+The scout shrugged. "Movin' fast. Your rumors probably know as much as I
+do. They plant him half a dozen places at once. He might be in any one
+of them or fifty miles away; that's how Morgan rides."
+
+"But you're goin' to join him, and you'll take me with you, won't you,
+Drew?"
+
+The lightness was gone from the older boy's eyes, his mouth set in
+controlled anger. "I am not goin' to do anything of the kind, Boyd
+Barrett." He spoke the words slowly, in an even tone, with a fraction of
+pause between each. Men of the command had once or twice heard young
+Rennie speak that way. Although difficult to know well, he had the
+general reputation of being easy to get along with. But a few times he
+had erupted into action as might a spring uncoiling from tight pressure,
+and that action was usually preceded by just such quiet statements as
+the one he had just made to Boyd.
+
+Boyd, however, was never one to be defeated in a first skirmish of
+wills. "Why not?" he demanded now.
+
+"Because," Drew offered the first argument he could think of which might
+be acceptable to the other, "I'm on scout in enemy-held territory. If
+I'm taken, it's not good. I have to ride light and fast, and this is
+duty I've been trained to do. So I can't afford to be hampered by a
+green kid----"
+
+"I can ride just as fast and hard as you can, Drew Rennie, and I have
+Whirlaway for my own now. He's certainly better than that nag!" With an
+arrogant lift of the chin, Boyd indicated the roan, who had raised his
+head and was chewing rather noisily, regarding the two by the tree house
+with mild interest.
+
+"Don't underrate Shawnee." For an instant Drew rose to the roan's
+defense and then found himself irritated at being so drawn from the main
+argument. "And I wouldn't care if you had Gray Eagle, himself, under
+you, boy--I'm not taking you with me. Let us be snapped up by the
+Yankees, and you'd be in bigger trouble than I would." He gestured to
+his shirt and breeches. "I'm in uniform; you ain't."
+
+"No blue bellies could drop on us," Boyd pushed. "I know where all the
+garrisons are round here--all about their patrols. I could get us
+through quicker'n you can, yourself. I ain't no green kid!"
+
+Drew slapped the blanket down on Shawnee's back, smoothed it flat with a
+palm stroke, and jerked his saddle from the platform. He could not stay
+right here now that Boyd had smoked him out--maybe nowhere in the
+neighborhood with this excitable boy dogging him.
+
+The scout was driven to his second line of defense. "What about Cousin
+Merry?" he asked as he tightened the cinch. "Have you talked this over
+with her--enlistin', I mean?"
+
+Boyd's lower lip protruded in a child's pout. His eyes shifted away from
+Drew's direct gaze.
+
+"She never said No----"
+
+"Did you ask her?" Drew challenged.
+
+"Did you ask your grandfather when you left?" Boyd tried a
+counterattack.
+
+This time Drew's laughter was harsh, without humor. "You know I didn't,
+and you also know why. But I didn't leave a mother!"
+
+He was being purposefully brutal now, for a good reason. Sheldon had
+ridden away before; Boyd must not go now. In Drew's childhood, his
+father's cousin, Meredith Barrett, had been the only one who had really
+cared about him. His only escape from the cold bleakness of Red Springs
+had been Barrett's Oak Hill. There was a big debt he owed Cousin Merry;
+he could not add to it the burden of taking away her second son.
+
+Sure, he had been only a few months older than this boy when he had run
+away to war, but he had not left anyone behind who would worry about
+him. And Alexander Mattock's cold discipline had tempered his grandson
+into someone far more able to take hard knocks than Boyd Barrett might
+be for years to come. Drew had met those knocks, thick and fast,
+enduring them as the price of his freedom.
+
+"You were mad at your grandfather, and you ran away. Well, I ain't mad
+at Mother, but I ain't goin' to sit at home with General Morgan comin'!
+He needs men. They've been recruitin' for him on the quiet; you know
+they have. And I've got to make up for Sheldon----"
+
+Drew swung around and caught Boyd's wrist in a grip tight enough to
+bring a reflex backward jerk from the boy. "That's no way to make up for
+Sheldon's death-runnin' away from home to fight. Don't give me any
+nonsense about goin' to kill Yankees because they killed him! When a man
+goes to war ... well, he takes his chances. Shelly did at Chickamauga.
+War ain't a private fight, just one man up against another--"
+
+But he was making no impression; he couldn't. At Boyd's age you could
+not imagine death as coming to you; nor were you able to visualize the
+horrors of an ill-equipped field hospital. Any more than you could
+picture all the rest of it--the filth, hunger, cold, and boredom with
+now and then a flash of whirling horses and men clashing on some road or
+field, or the crazy stampede of other men, yelling their throats raw as
+they charged into a hell of Minié balls and canister shot.
+
+"I'm goin' to ride with General Morgan, like Shelly did," Boyd repeated
+doggedly, with that stubbornness which seasons ago had kept him
+eternally tagging his impatient elders.
+
+"That's up to you." Suddenly Drew was tired, tired of trying to find
+words to pierce to Boyd's thinking brain--if one had a thinking brain at
+his age. Slinging his carbine, Drew mounted Shawnee. "But I do know one
+thing--you're not goin' with me."
+
+"Drew-Drew, just listen once...."
+
+Shawnee answered to the pressure of his rider's knees and leaped the
+brook. Drew bowed his head to escape the lash of a low branch. There was
+no going back ever, he thought bitterly, shutting his ears to Boyd's
+cry. He'd been a fool to ride this way at all.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+_Guns in the Night_
+
+
+There were sounds enough in the middle of the night to tell the
+initiated that a troop was on the march--creak of saddle leather, click
+of shod hoof, now and then the smothered exclamation of a man shaken out
+of a cavalryman's mounted doze. To Drew's trained ears all this was loud
+enough to send any Union picket calling out the guard. Yet there was no
+indication that the enemy ahead was alert.
+
+Near two o'clock he made it, and the advance were walking their horses
+into the fringe of Lexington--this was home-coming for a good many of
+the men sagging in the saddles. Morgan's old magic was working again.
+Escaping from the Ohio prison, he had managed to gather up the remnants
+of a badly shattered command, weld them together, and lead them up from
+Georgia to their old fighting fields--the country which they considered
+rightfully theirs and in which during other years they had piled one
+humiliating defeat for the blue coats on another. General Morgan could
+_not_ lose in Kentucky!
+
+And they already had one minor victory to taste sweet: Mount Sterling
+had fallen into their hold as easily as it had before. Now
+Lexington--with the horses they needed--friends and families waiting to
+greet them.
+
+Captain Tom Quirk's Irish brogue, unmistakable even in a half whisper,
+came out of the dark: "Pull up, boys!"
+
+Drew came to a halt with his flanking scout. There was a faint drum of
+hoofs from behind as three horsemen caught up with the first wave of
+Quirk's Scouts.
+
+"Taking the flag in ..." Drew caught a snatch of sentence passed between
+the leader of the newcomers and his own officer. He recognized the voice
+of John Castleman, his former company commander.
+
+"... worth a try ..." that was Quirk.
+
+But when the three had cantered on into the mouth of the street the
+scout captain turned his head to the waiting shadows. "Rennie, Bruce,
+Croxton ... give them cover!"
+
+Drew sent Shawnee on, his carbine resting ready across his saddle. The
+streets were quiet enough, too quiet. These dark houses showed no signs
+of life, but surely the Yankees were not so confident that they would
+not have any pickets posted. And Fort Clay had its garrison....
+
+Then that ominous silence was broken by Castleman's call: "Bearer of
+flag of truce!"
+
+"... Morgan's men?" A woman called from a window up ahead, her voice so
+low pitched Drew heard only a word or two. Castleman answered her before
+he gave the warning:
+
+"Battery down the street, boys. Take to the sidewalks!"
+
+A lantern bobbed along in their direction. Drew had a glimpse of a
+blue-uniformed arm above it. A moment later Castleman rode back. One of
+his companions swerved close-by, and Drew recognized Key Morgan, the
+General's brother.
+
+"They say, 'No surrender.'"
+
+Perhaps that was what they said. But the skirmishers were now drifting
+into town. Orders snapped from man to man through the dark. The crackle
+of small-arms fire came sporadically, to be followed by the heavier
+_boom-boom_ as cannon balls from Fort Clay ricocheted through the
+streets, the Yankees being forced back into the protection of that
+stronghold. Riders threaded through alleys and cross streets; lamps
+flared up in house windows. There was a pounding on doors, and shouted
+greetings. Fire made a splash of angry color at the depot, to be
+answered with similar blazes at the warehouses.
+
+"Spur up those crowbaits of yours, boys!" Quirk rounded up the scouts.
+"We're out for horses--only the best, remember that!"
+
+Out of the now aroused Lexington just as daylight was gray overhead,
+they were on the road to Ashland. If Red Springs might have proved poor
+picking, John Clay's stables did not. One sleek thoroughbred after
+another was led from the stalls while Quirk fairly purred.
+
+"Skedaddle! Would you believe it? Here's Skedaddle, himself, just aching
+to show heels to the blue bellies, ain't you?" He greeted the great
+racer. "Now that's the sort of stuff we need! Give us another chase
+across the Ohio clean up to Canada with a few like him under us. Sweep
+'em clean and get going! The General wants to see the catch before
+noon."
+
+Drew watched the mounts being led down the lane. Beautiful, yes, but to
+his mind not one of them was the equal of the gray colt he had seen at
+Red Springs. Now that was a horse! And he was not tempted now to strip
+his saddle off Shawnee and transfer to any one of the princes of equine
+blood passing him by. He knew the roan, and Shawnee knew his job. Knows
+more about the work than I do sometimes, Drew thought.
+
+"You, Rennie!"
+
+Drew swung Shawnee to the left as Quirk hailed him.
+
+"Take point out on the road. Just like some stubborn Yankee to try and
+cut away a nice little catch like this."
+
+"Yes, sir." Drew merely sketched a salute; discipline was always free
+and easy in the Scouts.
+
+The day was warm. He was glad he had managed to find a lightweight shirt
+back at the warehouse in town. If they didn't win Lexington to keep, at
+least all of the raiders were going to ride out well-mounted, with boots
+on their feet and whole clothing on their backs. The Union
+quartermasters did just fine by Morgan's boys, as always.
+
+Shawnee's ears went forward alertly, but Drew did not need that signal
+of someone's approaching. He backed into the shadow-shade of a tree and
+sat tense, with Colt in hand.
+
+A horse nickered. There was the whirr of wheels. Drew edged Shawnee out
+of cover and then quickly holstered his weapon, riding out to bring to a
+halt the carriage horse between the shafts of an English dogcart.
+
+He pulled off his dust-grayed hat. "Good mornin', Aunt Marianna."
+
+Such a polite greeting--the same words he would have used three years
+ago had they met in the hall of Red Springs on their way to breakfast.
+He wanted to laugh, or was it really laughter which lumped in his
+throat?
+
+Her momentary expression of outrage faded as she leaned forward to study
+his face, and she relaxed her first half-threatening grip on her whip.
+Though Aunt Marianna had never been a beauty, her present air of
+assurance and authority became her, just as the smart riding habit was
+better suited to her somewhat angular frame than the ruffles and bows of
+the drawing room.
+
+"Drew!" Her recognition of his identity had come more slowly than
+Boyd's, and it sounded almost wary.
+
+"At your service, ma'am." He found himself again using the graces of
+another way of life, far removed from his sweat-stained shirt and
+patched breeches. He shot a glance over his shoulder, making sure they
+were safely alone on that stretch of highway. After all, one horse among
+so many would be no great loss to his commander. "You'd better turn
+around. The boys'll have Lady Jane out of the shaft before you get into
+Lexington if you keep on. And the Yankees are still pepperin' the place
+with round shot." He wondered why she was driving without a groom, but
+did not quite dare to ask.
+
+"Drew, is Boyd here with you?"
+
+"Boyd?"
+
+"Don't be evasive with me, boy!" She rapped that out with an officer's
+snap. "He left a note for Merry--two words misspelled and a big
+blot--all foolishness about joining Morgan. Said you had been to Red
+Springs, and he was going along. Why did you do it, Drew? Cousin
+Merry ... after Sheldon, she can't lose Boyd, too! To put such a wild
+idea into that child's head!"
+
+Drew's lips thinned into a half grimace. He was still cast in the role
+of culprit, it seemed. "I didn't influence Boyd to do anything, Aunt
+Marianna. I told him I wouldn't take him with me, and I meant it. If he
+ran away, it was his own doin'."
+
+She was still measuring him with that intent look as if he were a
+slightly unsatisfactory colt being put through his paces in the training
+paddock.
+
+"Then you'll help me get him back home?" That was more a statement than
+a question, delivered in a voice which was all Mattock, enough to awaken
+by the mere sound all the old resistance in him.
+
+He nodded at the Lexington road. "There are several thousand men ahead
+there, ma'am. Hunting Boyd out if he wants to hide from me--and he
+will--is impossible. He's big enough to pass a recruiter; they ain't too
+particular about age these days. And he'll stay just as far from me as
+he can until he is sworn in. He already knows how I feel about his
+enlistin'."
+
+Her gloved hands tightened on the reins. "If I could see John Morgan
+himself--"
+
+"_If_ you could get to Lexington and find him--"
+
+"But Boyd's just a child. He hasn't the slightest idea of war except the
+stories he hears ... no idea of what could happen to him, or what this
+means to Merry. All this criminal nonsense about being a soldier--sabers
+and spurs, and dashing around behind a flag, the wrong flag, too--" She
+caught her breath in an unusual betrayal of emotion. And now she studied
+Drew with some deliberation, noting his thinness, itemizing his
+shabbiness.
+
+He smiled tiredly. "No, I ain't Boyd's idea of a returnin' hero, am I?"
+he agreed with her unspoken comment. "Also, we Rebs don't use sabers;
+they ain't worth much in a real skirmish."
+
+She flushed. "Drew, why did you go? Was it all because of Father? I know
+he made it hard for you."
+
+"You know--" Drew regarded a circling bird in the section of sky above
+her head--"some day I hope I'll discover just what kind of a no-account
+Hunt Rennie was, to make his son so unacceptable. Most of the Texans
+I've ridden with in the army haven't been so bad; some of them are
+downright respectable."
+
+"I don't know." Again she flushed. "It was a long time ago when it all
+happened. I was just a little girl. And Father, well, he has very strong
+prejudices. But, Drew, for you to go against everything you'd been
+taught, to turn Rebel--that added to his bitterness. And now Boyd is
+trying to go the same way. Isn't there something you can do? I can't
+stand to see that look in Merry's eyes. If we can just get Boyd home
+again----"
+
+"Don't hope too much." Drew was certain that nothing Marianna Forbes
+could do was going to lead Boyd Barrett back home again. On the other
+hand, if the boy had not formally enlisted, perhaps the rigors of one of
+the General's usual cross-country scrambles might be disillusioning.
+But, having tasted the quality of Boyd's stubbornness in the past, Drew
+doubted that. For long months he had been able to cut right out of his
+life Red Springs and all it stood for; now it was trying to put reins on
+him again. He shifted his weight in the saddle.
+
+"He's been restless all spring," his aunt continued. "We might have
+known that, given an opportunity like this, the boy would do something
+wild. Only the waste, the sinful waste! I can't go back and face Merry
+without trying something--anything! Can't you ... Drew?"
+
+"I don't know." He couldn't harden himself to tell her the truth. "I'll
+try," he promised vaguely.
+
+"Drew--" A change in tone brought his attention back to her. She looked
+disturbed, almost embarrassed. "Have you had a hard time? You look
+so ... so thin and tired. Is there anything you need?"
+
+He flinched from any such attack on the shell he had built against the
+intrusion of Red Springs, for a second or two feeling once more the rasp
+across raw nerves. "We don't get much time for sleep when the General's
+on the prod. Horse stealin' and such keeps us a mite busy, accordin' to
+your Yankee friends. And we have to pay our respects to them, just to
+keep them reminded that this is Morgan country. I'll warn you again,
+Aunt Marianna, keep Lady Jane out of Lexington today--if you want to
+keep _her_." He gathered up his reins. "Boyd told me about Grandfather,"
+he added in a rush. "I'm sorry." And he was, he told himself, sorry for
+Aunt Marianna, who had to stay at Red Springs now, and even a little in
+an impersonal way for the old man, who must find inactivity a worse
+prison than any stone-walled room. But it was being polite about a
+stranger. "Major Forbes ... he's all right?"
+
+"Yes. Only, Drew--" Again the urgency in her voice held him against his
+will, "Boyd...."
+
+He was saved further evasion by a carrying whistle from down the road,
+the signal to pull in pickets. Pursing his own lips, he answered.
+
+"I have to go. I'll do what I can." He set Shawnee pounding along the
+pike, and he did not look back.
+
+If he were ever to fulfill his promise to locate Boyd, that would have
+to come later. Quirk's horse catch delivered, the scouts were on the
+move again, on the Georgetown road, riding at a pace which suggested
+they must keep ahead of a boiling wasp's nest of Yankees. There was an
+embarrassment of blue-coat prisoners on the march between two lines of
+gray uniforms, and pockets of the enemy such as that at Fort Clay were
+left behind. The strike northward took on a feverish drive.
+
+Georgetown with its streets full of women and cheering males, too old or
+too young to be riding with the columns. Mid-afternoon, Friday, and the
+heat rising from the pavement as only June heat could. Then they reached
+the Frankfort road, and the main command halted. The scouts ate in the
+saddle as they fanned out along the Frankfort pike, pushing toward
+Cynthiana. Sam Croxton strode back from filling his canteen at a
+farmyard well and scowled at Drew, who had dismounted and loosened cinch
+to cool Shawnee's back.
+
+"Cynthiana, now. I'm beginnin' to wonder, Rennie, if we know just which
+way we are goin'."
+
+Drew shrugged. "Might be a warm reception waitin' us there. Drake
+figures about five hundred Yankees on the spot, and trains comin' in
+with more all the time."
+
+Sighing, Croxton rubbed his hand across his freckled face, smearing road
+dust and sweat into a gritty mask. "Me--I could do with four or five
+hours' sleep, right down here in the road. Always providin' no blue
+belly'd trot along to stir me up. Seems like I ain't had a ten minutes'
+straight nap since we joined up with the main column. Scoutin' ahead a
+couple weeks ago you could at least fill your belly and rest up at some
+farm. Them boys pushin' the prisoners back there sure has it tough. Bet
+some of 'em been eatin' dust most all day--"
+
+"Be glad you're not ridin' in one of the wagons nursin' a hole in your
+middle." Drew wet his handkerchief, or the sad gray rag which served
+that purpose, and carefully washed out Shawnee's nostrils, rubbing the
+horse gently down the nose and around his pricked ears.
+
+Croxton spat and a splotch of brown tobacco juice pocked the roadside
+gravel. "Now ain't you cheerful!" he observed. "No, I've no hole in my
+middle, or my top, or my bottom--and I don't want none, neither. All I
+want is about an hour's sleep without Quirk or Drake breathin' down my
+back wantin' to know why I'm playin' wagon dog. The which I ain't gonna
+have very soon by the looks of it. So...." He mounted, spat again with
+accuracy enough to stun a grasshopper off a nodding weed top, which feat
+seemed to restore a measure of his usual good nature. "Got him! You
+comin', Rennie?"
+
+The hours of Friday afternoon, evening, night, crawled by--leadenly, as
+far as the men in the straggling column were concerned. That dash which
+had carried them through from the Virginia border, through the old-time
+whirling attack on Mount Sterling only days earlier, and which had
+brought them into and beyond Lexington, was seeping from tired men who
+slept in the saddle or fell out, too drugged with fatigue to know that
+they slumped down along country fences, unconscious gifts for the enemy
+doggedly drawing in from three sides. There was the core of veterans who
+had seen this before, been a part of such punishing riding in Illinois,
+Ohio, and Kentucky. The signs could be read, and as Drew spurred along
+that faltering line of march late that night, carrying a message, he
+felt a creeping chill which was not born of the night wind nor a warning
+of swamp fever.
+
+Before daylight there was another halt. He had to let Shawnee pick his
+own careful path around and through groups of dismounted men sleeping
+with their weapons still belted on, their mounts, heads drooping,
+standing sentinel.
+
+Saturday's dawn, and the advance had plowed ahead to the forks of the
+road some three miles out of Cynthiana. One brigade moved directly
+toward the town; the second--with a detachment of scouts--headed down
+the right-hand road to cross the Licking River and move in upon the
+enemies' rear. From the hill they could sight a stone-fence barricade
+glistening with the metal of waiting musket barrels. Then, suddenly, the
+old miracle came. Men who had clung through the hours to their saddles
+by sheer will power alone, tightened their lines and were alertly alive.
+
+The ear-stinging, throat-scratching Yell screeched high over the pound
+of the artillery, the vicious spat of Minié balls. A whip length of
+dusty gray-brown lashed forward, flanking the stone barrier. Blue-coated
+men wavered, broke, ran for the bridge, heading into the streets of the
+town. The gray lash curled around a handful of laggards and swept them
+into captivity.
+
+Then the brigade thundered on, driving the enemy back before they could
+reform, until the Yankees holed up in the courthouse, the depot, a
+handful of houses. Before eight o'clock it was all over, and the
+confidence of the weary raiders was back. They had showed 'em!
+
+Drew had the usual mixture of sharp scenes to remember as his small
+portion of the engagement while he spurred Shawnee on past the blaze
+which was spreading through the center of the town, licking out for more
+buildings no one seemed to have the organization nor the will to save.
+He was riding with the advance of Giltner's brigade, double-quicking it
+downriver to Keller's Bridge. In town the Yankees were prisoners, but
+here a long line, with heavy reserves in wedges of blue behind, strung
+out across open fields.
+
+Once more the Yell arose in sharp ululating wails, and the ragged line
+swept from the road, tightening into a semblance of the saber blades
+Morgan's men disdained to use ... clashed.... Then, after what seemed
+like only a moment's jarring pause, it was on the move once more while
+before it crumpled motes of blue were carried down the slope to the
+riverbank, there to steady and stand fast.
+
+Drew's throat was aching and dry, but he was still croaking hoarsely,
+hardly feeling the slam of his Colts' recoils. They were up to that blue
+line, firing at deadly point-blank range. And part of him wondered how
+any men could still keep their feet and face back to such an assault
+with ready muskets. By his side a man skipped as might a marcher trying
+to catch step, then folded up, sliding limply to the trampled grass.
+
+Men were flinging up hands holding empty cartridge boxes along the
+attacking line--too many of them. Others reversed the empty carbines, to
+use them in clubbing duels back and forth. The Union troops fell back,
+firing still, making their way into the railroad cut. Now the river was
+a part defense for them. Bayonets caught the sunlight in angry flashing,
+and they bristled.
+
+"You ... Rennie...."
+
+Drew lurched back under the clutch of a frantic hand belonging to an
+officer he knew.
+
+"Get back to the horse lines! Bring up the holders' ammunition, on the
+double!"
+
+Drew ran, panting, his boots slipping and scraping on the grass as he
+dodged around prone men who still moved, or others who lay only too
+still. A horse reared, snorted, and was pulled down to four feet again.
+
+"Ammunition!" Drew got the word out as a squawk, grabbing at the boxes
+the waiting men were already tossing to him. Then, through the haze
+which had been riding his mind since the battle began, he caught a clear
+sight of the fifth man there.... And there was no disguising the blond
+hair of the boy so eagerly watching the struggle below. Drew had found
+Boyd--at a time he could do nothing about it. With his arms full, the
+scout turned to race down the slope again, only to sight the white flag
+waving from the railroad cut.
+
+More prisoners to be marched along, joining the other dispirited ranks.
+Drew heard one worried comment from an officer: they would soon have
+more prisoners than guards.
+
+He went back, trying to locate Boyd, but to no purpose. And the rest of
+the day was more confusion, heat, never-ending weariness, and always the
+sense of there being so little time. Rumors raced along the lines, five
+thousand, ten thousand blue bellies on the march, drawing in from every
+garrison in the blue grass. And those who had been hunted along the Ohio
+roads a year before were haunted by that old memory of disaster.
+
+Once more they made their way through the streets of Cynthiana, where
+the acrid smoke of burning caught at throats, adding to the torturous
+thirst which dried a man's mouth when he tore cartridge paper with his
+teeth. Drew and Croxton took sketchy orders from Captain Quirk, their
+eyes red-rimmed with fatigue above their powder-blackened lips and
+chins. Fan out, be eyes and ears for the column moving into the Paris
+pike.
+
+Croxton's grin had no humor in it as they turned aside into a field to
+make better time away from the cluttered highway.
+
+"Looks like the butter's spread a mite thin on the bread this time," he
+commented. "But the General's sure playin' it like he has all the aces
+in hand. Which way to sniff out a Yankee?"
+
+"I'd say any point of the compass now----"
+
+"Listen!" Sam's hand went up. "Those ain't any guns of ours."
+
+The rumble was distant, but Drew believed Croxton was right. Through the
+dark, guns were moving up. The wasps were closing in on the disturbers
+of their nest, and every one of them carried a healthy stinger. He
+thought of what he had seen today: too many empty cartridge boxes,
+Enfield rifles still carried by men who would not, in spite of orders,
+discard them for the Yankee guns with ammunition to spare. Empty guns,
+worn-out men, weary horses ... and Yankee guns moving confidently up
+through the night.
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+_On the Run----_
+
+
+"They're comin'! Looks like the whole country's sproutin' Yankees outta
+the ground."
+
+They were, a dull dark mass at first and then an arc of one ominous
+color advancing in a fast, purposeful drive, already overrunning the
+pickets with only a lone shot here and there in defiance. They rode up
+confidently, dismounted, and charged--to be thrown back once. But there
+were too many of them, and they moved with the precision of men who knew
+what was to be done and that they could do it. Confederates were trapped
+before they could reach their horses; there was a wild whirling scramble
+of a fight flowing backward toward the river.
+
+Men with empty guns turned those guns into clubs, fighting to hold the
+center. But the enemy had already cut them off from the Augusta road and
+the bridge, and the river was at their backs. Water boiled under a lead
+rain. Drew saw an opening between two Union troopers. Flattening himself
+as best he could on Shawnee's back, he gave the roan the spur. What good
+could be accomplished by the message he carried now--to bring up half
+the horse holders as reinforcements--was a question.
+
+However, he was never to deliver that message, for the horse lines had
+been stampeded by the first wave of flying men. Here and there a holder
+or two still tried to control at least one wild horse of the four he was
+responsible for, but there were no reserves for the fighting line.
+And--Drew glanced back--no battle to lead them into if there were.
+
+Men and horses were struggling, dying in the river. The bridge ... he
+gaped at the horror of that bridge ... horses down, kicking and dying,
+barring an escape route to their riders. And the blue coats everywhere.
+Like a stallion about to attack, Shawnee screamed suddenly and reared,
+his front hoofs beating the air. A spurting red stream fountained from
+his neck; an artery had been hit.
+
+Drew set teeth in lip, and plugged that bubbling hole with his thumb.
+Shawnee was dying, but he was still on his feet, and he could be headed
+away from the carnage in that water. Drew, his face sick and white,
+turned the horse toward the railroad tracks.
+
+"Drew!"
+
+Croxton? No, but somehow Drew was not surprised to see Boyd trying to
+keep his feet, being dragged along by two plunging horses, their eyes
+white-rimmed with terror. The only wonder was that the scout had heard
+that call through the din of screaming and shouting, the wild neighs of
+the horses, and the continual crackle of small arms' fire.
+
+"Mount! Mount and ride!" He mouthed the order, not daring to pull up
+Shawnee, already past Boyd and his horses. The roan's hoofs spurned
+gravel from the track line now. And Boyd drew level with him and mounted
+one of the horses, continuing to lead the other. There was a cattle
+guard ahead to afford some protection from the storm churning along the
+river.
+
+"Where?" Boyd called.
+
+Drew, his thumb still planted in the hole which was becoming Shawnee's
+death, nodded to the guard. They made it, and Drew kneed the roan closer
+to the extra horse Boyd led, slinging his saddlebags across to the other
+mount. Then he dismounted, releasing his hold on the roan's wound. For
+the second time Shawnee cried, but this time it was no warrior's protest
+against death; it was the nicker of a question. The answering shot from
+Drew's Colt was lost in the battle din. He was upon the other horse
+before Shawnee had stopped breathing.
+
+"Come on!" Drew's voice was strident as he spurred, herding Boyd before
+him. Two of them, then three, four, as they came out on the bank of a
+millpond. Across that stretch of water there was safety, or at least the
+illusion of safety.
+
+"Drew!" For the second time he was hailed. It was Sam Croxton, holding
+onto the saddle horn with both hands, a stream of red running from a
+patch of blood-soaked hair over one ear. He swayed, his eyes wide open
+as those of the frightened horses, but fastened now on Drew as if the
+other were the one stable thing in a mad world.
+
+"Can you stick on?" Drew leaned across to catch the reins the other had
+dropped.
+
+A small spark of understanding awoke in those wide eyes. "I'll stick,"
+the words came thickly. "I ain't gonna rot in that damned prison
+again--never!"
+
+"Boyd ... on his other side! We'll try gettin' him across together."
+
+"Yes, Drew." Boyd's voice sounded unsteady, but he did not hesitate to
+bring his own mount in on Croxton's right.
+
+"You'd best let me take that theah jump first, soldier." The stranger
+sent his horse in ahead of Drew's. "It don't necessarily foller that
+because that's water a man can jus' natcherly git hisself across in one
+piece. I'll give it a try quicker'n you can spit and holler Howdy."
+
+As if he were one with the raw-boned bay he bestrode, he jumped his
+mount into the waiting pond. Still threshing about in the welter of
+flying water, he glanced back and raised a hand in a come-ahead signal.
+
+"Bottom's a mite missin', but the drop ain't so much. Better make it
+'fore them fast-shootin' hombres back theah come a-takin' you."
+
+Though they did not move in the same reckless fashion as their guide,
+somehow they got across the pond and emerged dripping on the other side.
+The determination which had made Croxton try the escape, seemed to fade
+as they rode on. He continued to hold to the horn, but he slumped
+further over in a bundle of misery. Their pond guide took Boyd's station
+to the right, surveying the half-conscious man critically.
+
+"This hoorawin' around ain't gonna do that scalpin' job no good," he
+announced. "He can't ride far 'less he gits him a spell of rest an'
+maybe has a medicine man look at that knock--"
+
+Croxton roused. "I stick an' I ride!" He even got a measure of firmness
+into his tone. "I don't go to no Yankee prison...." He tried to reach
+for the reins, but Drew kept them firmly to hand.
+
+There was a shot behind them, three or four more fugitives plunged down
+to the millpond, and the last one in line fired back at some yet unseen
+pursuer.
+
+"Then we git!" But across Croxton's bowed shoulders the other shook his
+head warningly at Drew.
+
+He was young and as whipcord thin and tough as most of those over-weary
+men from the badgered and now broken command, but he was not tense,
+riding rather with the easy adjustment to the quickened pace of a man
+more at home in the saddle than on foot. His weather-browned face was
+seamed with a scar which ran from left temple to the corner of his
+mouth, and his hair was a ragged, unkempt mop of brown-red which tossed
+free as he rode, since he was hatless.
+
+With Croxton boxed between them, Drew and the stranger matched pace at
+what was a lope rather than a gallop as Boyd ranged ahead. Another
+flurry of shots sounded from behind, and they cut across a field, making
+for the doubtful cover of a hedge. There was no way, Drew decided after
+a quick survey, for them to get back into town and join the general
+retreat. The Yankees must be well between them and any of the force
+across the Licking.
+
+When they had pushed through the hedge they were faced by a lane running
+in the general northwest direction. It provided better footing, and it
+led away from the chaos at Cynthiana. With Croxton on their hands it was
+the best they could hope for, and without more than an exchange of
+glances they turned into it, the wounded man's horse still between them.
+
+The cover of the hedge wall provided some satisfaction and Drew dared to
+slow their pace. Under his tan Sam was greenish-white, his eyes half
+closed, and he rode with his hands clamped about the saddle horn as if
+his grip upon that meant the difference between life and death. But
+Drew knew he could not hope to keep on much longer.
+
+There might be Confederate sympathizers in the next farmhouse who would
+be willing to take in the wounded scout. On the other hand, the
+inhabitants could just as well be Union people. It was obvious that Sam
+could not keep going, and it was just as obvious to Drew that they--or
+at least he--could not just ride on and leave him untended by the side
+of the road.
+
+"Boyd!" So summoned, the youngster reined in to wait for them. "You ride
+on! You, too!" Drew addressed the stranger.
+
+Boyd shook his head, though he glanced at the winding road ahead. "I
+ain't leavin' you!" His lip was sticking out in that stubborn pout.
+
+At that moment Drew could have lashed out at him and enjoyed it, or at
+least found a satisfaction in passing on some of his own exasperation
+and frustration.
+
+"We got a far piece to travel," commented the stranger. "An' I guess
+I'll string along with you, 'less, of course, this heah is a closed game
+an' you ain't sellin' any chips 'cross the table. Me, I'm up from Texas
+way--Anson ... Anse Kirby, if you want a brand for the tally book. An'
+most all a Yankee's good for anyway is to be shucked of his boots." He
+freed one foot momentarily from the stirrup and surveyed a piece of very
+new and shiny footware with open admiration. It was provided with a
+highly ornate silver spur, not military issue but Mexican work, Drew
+guessed.
+
+"You from Gano's Company?" the scout asked.
+
+Kirby nodded. "Nowadays, but it was Terry's Rangers 'fore I stopped me a
+saber with this heah tough old head of mine an' was removed for a
+while. That Yankee almost fixed me so m' own folks wouldn't know me from
+a fresh-skinned buffala--not that I got me any folks any more." He
+grinned and that expression was a baring of teeth like a wolf's
+uninhibited snarl. "You one of Quirk's rough-string scout boys, ain't
+you? We sure raised hell an' put a chunk under it back theah. Them
+Yankees are gonna be as techy as teased rattlers. An' I don't see as how
+we can belly through the brush with this heah hombre. He's got him a
+middle full of guts to stick it this far. Long 'bout now he must have
+him a horse-size headache...."
+
+Croxton swayed and only Drew's crowding their horses together kept the
+now unconscious scout from falling into the road dust. Kirby steadied
+the limp body from the other side.
+
+"Keep pullin' him 'round this way, amigo, an' he'll be planted
+permanent, all neat an' pretty with a board up at his head."
+
+"There's a house--back there." Boyd pointed to the right, where a narrow
+lane angled away from their road, a small house to be seen at its end.
+
+Drew, Croxton's weight resting against his shoulder, studied the house.
+The distant crackle of carbine fire rippled across the fields and came
+as a rumble of warning. It was plain that Croxton could not ride on, not
+at the pace they would have to maintain in order to outdistance pursuit;
+nor could he be left to shift for himself. To visit the house might be
+putting them straight into some Yankee's pocket, but it was the only
+solution open now.
+
+"Hey, those mules!" Boyd had already ventured several horse lengths down
+the lane. Now he jerked a forefinger at two animals, heads up, ears
+pointed suspiciously forward, that were approaching the fence at a
+rocking canter. "Those are Jim Dandy's! You remember Jim Dandy, Drew?"
+
+"Jim Dandy--?" the other echoed. And then he did recall the little
+Englishman who had been a part of the Lexington horse country since long
+before the war. Jim Dandy had been one of the most skillful jockeys ever
+seen in the blue grass, until he took a bad spill back in '59 and
+thereafter set himself up as a consultant trainer-vet to the comfort of
+any stable with a hankering to win racing glory.
+
+To a man like Jim Dandy politics or war might not be all-important. And
+the fact that he had known the households of both Oak Hill and Red
+Springs could count for a better reception now. At least they could try.
+
+"No use you gettin' into anything," Drew told the Texan. "You and Boyd
+go on! I'll take Croxton in and see if they'll take care of him."
+
+Kirby looked back down the road. "Don't see no hostile sign heah
+'bouts," he drawled. "Guess we can spare us some time to bed him down
+proper on th' right range. Maybeso you'll find them in theah as leery of
+strangers as a rustler of the sheriff--"
+
+The Texan's references might be obscure, but he helped Drew transfer
+Croxton from the precarious balance in the wounded man's own saddle to
+Drew's hold, and then rode at a walking pace beside the scout while Boyd
+trailed with the led horse.
+
+There was a pounding of hoofs on the road behind. A half dozen riders
+went by the mouth of the land at a distance-eating gallop. In spite of
+the dust which layered them Drew saw they were not Union.
+
+"Them boys keep that gait up," Kirby remarked, "an' they ain't gonna
+make it far 'fore their tongues hang out 'bout three feet an' forty
+inches. That ain't no way to waste good hoss flesh."
+
+"Got a good hold on him?" he asked Drew a moment later. At the other's
+nod he rode forward into the yard at the end of the lane.
+
+"Hullo, the house!" he called.
+
+A man came out of the stable, walking with a kind of hop-skip step. His
+blond head was bare, silver fair in contrast to Boyd's corn yellow, and
+his features were thin and sharp. It was Jim Dandy, himself.
+
+"What's all this now?" he asked in that high voice Drew had last heard
+discussing the virtues of rival horse liniments at Red Springs. And he
+did not look particularly welcoming.
+
+"Mr. Dandy--" Drew walked his horse on, Croxton sagging in his hold, his
+weight a heavy pull on his bearer's tired arms--"do you remember me?
+Drew Rennie, of Red Springs." He added that quickly for what small
+guarantee of respectability the identification might give. Certainly in
+his present guise he did not look Alexander Mattock's grandson.
+
+Dandy rested his weight on his good leg and swung his shorter one a
+little ahead. And his hand went to the loose front of his white shirt.
+
+"Now that's a right unfriendly move, suh. I take it right unfriendly to
+show hardware 'fore you know the paint on our faces--"
+
+The smaller man's hand fell away from his concealed weapon, but Kirby
+did not reholster the Colt which had appeared through some feat of
+lightning movement in his grip.
+
+"You're not going to take _my_ horses!" Even if there was no gun in
+Dandy's hand, his voice stated a fact they could not doubt he meant.
+
+"Nobody's takin' hosses," the Texan answered. "This heah soldier's got
+him a mighty sore head, an' he needs some fixin'. We ain't too popular
+round heah right now, an' he can't ride. So--"
+
+Boyd pushed up. "Mr. Dandy, you know me--Boyd Barrett. And this _is_
+Drew Rennie. We have Yankees after us. And you never said you were
+Union--"
+
+Dandy shrugged. "No matter to me what you wear ... blue ... gray--you're
+all a bunch of horse thieves, like as not. You, Mr. Boyd, what you doing
+riding with these here Rebs? And what's the matter with that man? Got
+him a lick on the head, eh? Well--" he crossed with his lurching walk to
+stand by Drew, studying the now unconscious Croxton--"all right." His
+voice was angry, as if he were being pushed along a path he disliked.
+"Get him into the stable. I ain't yet took sides in this here bloody
+war, and I ain't going to now. But the man's hurt. Unload him and don't
+tell me what he's been doing back there to get him that knock. I don't
+want to know."
+
+He led the way into the stable, and moments later Croxton was as easy as
+they could make him on an improvised bed of straw and clean horse
+blankets. Dandy turned to them with Croxton's gun belt swinging free in
+his hand, still weighted down with two revolvers.
+
+"You want these?"
+
+Drew glanced at his two companions. His own carbine was gone; he had
+dropped it at the verge of the millpond when he had taken charge of
+Croxton. Boyd was without any weapons, and Kirby had only side arms.
+Drew started to reach for the belt and then shook his head. If Sam was
+able to ride soon, he would need those. And the rest of them could take
+their chances at getting more arms. Boyd opened his mouth as if to
+protest, but he did not say anything as Drew refused the Colts.
+
+"You keep 'em--for him."
+
+The ex-jockey nodded. "Better be riding on, Mr. Rennie. They'll come
+looking, and I don't fancy having any fight here. With luck we'll get
+your friend on his feet all right and tight, and he can slip south when
+the dust is down a bit. But you'd better keep ahead of what can come
+down the pike now."
+
+Kirby moved, the spurs jangling musically on his boots. "I've been
+thinkin' 'bout that theah road," he announced. "Any other trail outta
+heah we can take?"
+
+"Cross the pasture--" Dandy directed with a thumb--"then a cornfield,
+and you'll hit the pike again. Cuts off about a mile."
+
+"That sounds right invitin'." The Texan led the way back to the yard and
+their waiting mounts. "Obliged to you, suh. Now," he spoke to Drew, "I'd
+say it's time to raise some dust. Ain't far to sundown, an' we oughta
+git some countryside between us an' them rip-snortin' javalinas--"
+
+"Javalinas?" Drew heard Boyd repeat inquiringly.
+
+"Kid--" the Texan reined his bay--"there is some mean things in this
+heah world. Theah is Comanches an' Apaches, an' a longhorn cow with a
+calf hid out in a thicket, an' a rattler, what's feelin' lowdown in his
+mind. An' theah's javalinas, the wild boars of the Rio country. Then
+theah's men what have had to ride fast on a day as hot as this,
+swallerin' dust an' thinkin' what they're gonna do when they catch up to
+them as they're chasin'; an' those men're 'bout as mean as the boars--"
+
+Drew lifted his hand to Jim Dandy and followed the other two through the
+pasture gate. Now he grinned.
+
+"You sound like one speakin' from experience--of bein' chased, that is."
+
+Kirby chuckled. "I'm jus' a poor little Texas boy, suh. 'Course we do a
+bit of fast ridin'. Mostly though I've been on the other end, _doin'_
+the chasin'. An' I know how it feels to eat dust an' git a mite riled
+doin' it. I'd say we could maybe help ourselves a bit though."
+
+"How?" Boyd asked eagerly.
+
+"You"--Drew rounded on him--"can cut cross-country and get home!" There
+was nothing in Boyd's clothing or equipment to suggest that he had been
+a part of the now scattered raiders. "If the Yankees stop you," Drew
+continued, "you can spin them a tale about riding out to see the fight.
+And Major Forbes's name ought to help."
+
+Boyd's scowl was a black cloud on his grimy young face. "I'm one of
+General Morgan's men."
+
+"Only a fool," remarked Kirby, "stops to argue with a mule, a skunk, a
+cook, or a boy what's run away to join the army. You figgerin' to take
+this kid home personal?"
+
+"You'll have to tie me to a horse to do it!" Boyd flared up.
+
+"No thanks for your help." Drew frowned at Kirby, then turned to Boyd
+again. "No, I can't take you back now. But I'll see that you do go
+back!"
+
+Boyd laughed, high, with a reckless note. "I'm comin' along."
+
+"As I was sayin'," Kirby returned to his half suggestion of moments
+before, "we can see 'bout helpin' ourselves. Them Yankees are mighty
+particular 'bout their rigs; they carry 'nough to outfit a squad right
+on one trooper."
+
+Drew had already caught on. "Stage an ambush?"
+
+"Well, now, let's see." Kirby looked down at his own gear, then
+critically inspected Drew and Boyd in turn. "We could do with carbines.
+Them blue bellies had them some right pretty-lookin' hardware--leastways
+them back by the river did. An' I don't see no ration bags on them
+theah hosses you two are ridin'. Yes, we could do with grub, an'
+rifle-guns ... maybe some blue coats.... Say as how we was wearin' them
+we could ride up to some farm all polite an' nice an' maybe git asked in
+to rest a spell an' fill up on real fancy eats. I 'member back on the
+Ohio raid we came into this heah farm ... wasn't nobody round the place
+at all. We sashayed into the kitchen an' theah, jus' sittin' easylike an'
+waitin' right on the table, was two or three pies! Ain't had me a taste
+since as good as them theah pies. But maybe with a blue coat on us we
+could do as well heah 'bouts."
+
+There was merit in the Texan's suggestion. Drew, from past experience,
+knew that. His only hesitation was Boyd. The youngster was right. Short
+of subduing him physically and taking him back tied to his saddle
+through the spreading Union web, Drew had no chance of returning Boyd to
+Oak Hill. But to lead him into the chancy sort of deal Kirby had
+outlined was entirely too dangerous.
+
+"You mean--we hold up some Yankees and just take their uniforms an'
+carbines an' things?" It was already too late. Boyd had seized upon what
+must have seemed to him an idea right out of the dashing kind of war he
+had been imagining all these past weeks.
+
+"It has been done, kid," the Texan affirmed. "'Course we got to find us
+two or three poor little maverick blue bellies lost outta the herd like.
+Then we cut 'em away from the trail an' reason with 'em."
+
+"That ought to be easy." Boyd's enthusiasm was at the boiling point.
+"The Yankees are all cowards--"
+
+Kirby straightened in his saddle, the lazy good humor gone from his
+face.
+
+"Kid, don't git so lippy 'bout what you ain't rightly learned yet.
+Yankees can fight--they can fight good. You saw 'em do that today. And
+don't you ever forgit it!"
+
+Boyd was disconcerted, but he clung doggedly to his belief. "One of
+Morgan's men can take on five Yankees."
+
+Drew laughed dryly. "You saw _that_ happen just this mornin', Boyd. And
+what happened? We ran. They fight just as hard and as long, and most of
+them just as tough as we do. And don't ever think that the man facin'
+you across a gun is any less than you are; maybe he's a little better.
+Keep that in mind!"
+
+"Yes, you read the aces an' queens in your hand 'fore you spreads your
+money out recklesslike," Kirby agreed. "So, if we find the right setup,
+we move, but--"
+
+Drew swung up one hand in the horseman's signal of warning.
+"Something--or someone--_is_ on the move ... ahead there!" he warned.
+
+
+
+
+4
+
+_The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry_
+
+
+They had worked their way around the edge of the cornfield, and now they
+could look out on a hard-surfaced road which must be the pike. Riding
+along that in good order were a company of men--thirty, Drew counted.
+And four of those had extra horses on leading reins. He also saw ten
+carbines ... and the owners of those were alert.
+
+"Stand where you are!" The slight man leading that skeleton troop posted
+ahead. His shell jacket had the three yellow bars of a captain on its
+standing collar, and Drew saluted. This was the first group of fugitives
+he had seen who were more than frightened men running their horses and
+themselves into exhaustion.
+
+"Rennie, Private, Quirk's Scouts," Drew reported himself.
+
+Kirby's salute was delivered with less snap but as promptly. "Kirby,
+Private, Gano's."
+
+"Captain William Campbell," the officer identified himself crisply. "Any
+more of you?" He looked to Boyd and then at the cornfield beyond.
+
+"Barrett's a volunteer," Drew explained. This was no time to clarify
+Boyd's exact status. "There're just the three of us."
+
+"You headin' somewheah special, Cap'n?" the Texan asked. "Or jus'
+travelin' for your continued health?"
+
+Campbell laughed. "You might call it that, Kirby. But if we stick
+together, I think all of us may stay healthy."
+
+Kirby turned his horse into the pike. "Sounds like a good argument to
+me, suh. You have any idea wheah at we are, or wheah we could be
+headin'?"
+
+"Northwest is the best I can say. If we strike far enough to the west,
+we may be able to flank the troops spread out to keep us away from the
+river. Best plan for now, anyway. And the more men we can pick up, the
+better."
+
+"Scattered some, ain't we?" Kirby assented. "You give the orders, Cap'n,
+suh. We ain't licked complete yet."
+
+There was a low growl arising from the company on the pike as the
+Texan's comment reached them. They might have run and gone on running
+most of that long day, but they were no longer running; they were moving
+in reasonable order and to some purpose, with a direction in view and a
+form of organization, no matter how patched together they were. Campbell
+spoke directly to Drew: "You know anything about this section of the
+country?"
+
+"Some, but it's been almost three years since I was here. I know nothin'
+about any Union garrison--"
+
+"Those we'll have to worry about as they come. But you ride advance for
+us now. Send in any stragglers you come across. The night is almost
+here, and that's in our favor."
+
+So Drew and Kirby, with Boyd trailing, ranged ahead of the small troop.
+And pick up more stragglers they did--some twenty men in the last hour
+before twilight closed down.
+
+"I'm hungry," Boyd said, approaching Drew. "There're farms around. Why
+can't we get something to eat?"
+
+"Here." Drew fumbled in the saddlebags he had transferred from Shawnee
+to this new mount back by the river. He handed over a piece of hardtack,
+flinty-surfaced and about as appetizing as a stone. "That's the best
+you'll get for a while."
+
+Boyd stared at it in dismay. "You can't eat a thing like this! It's a
+piece of rock." Indignantly he hurled it away.
+
+"You get down and pick that up! Now!"
+
+Boyd, flushed and hot-eyed, gazed at Drew for a long moment. The flush
+faded and he moved uneasily in his saddle, but not out of the range of
+Drew's attention. At length, unhappily, he dismounted and went to pick
+the gray-white chunk out of a weed tangle. Holding it gingerly, he came
+back to his horse.
+
+"If you don't want it--give!" Drew held out his hand.
+
+Boyd, realizing the other meant just what he said, fingered the hardtack
+and finally dropped it into that waiting palm.
+
+"You eat hard and you sleep on the soft side of a board--if you're lucky
+enough to find a board. You ride till your seat is blistered and until
+you can sleep in the saddle. You drink mud green with scum if that's all
+you can find to drink, and you think it's mighty fine drinkin', too.
+This ain't--" Drew's thoughts flitted back to his meeting with Aunt
+Marianna on the Lexington road--"all saber wavin' and chargin' the enemy
+and playin' hero to the home folks; this is sweatin' and dirt on you and
+your clothes, goin' mighty hungry, and cold and wet--when it's the
+season for goin' cold and wet. It's takin' a lot of the bad, with not
+much good. And if you don't cut off home now, you'll ride our way,
+keepin' your mouth shut and doin' as you're told!"
+
+Boyd swallowed visibly. "All right." But there was a firmness in that
+short answer which surprised Drew. The other sounded as if he meant it,
+as if he were swearing the oath of allegiance to the regiment. But
+_could_ he take it? A few days on the run, and Boyd would probably quit.
+Maybe if they got into some town and the Yankees didn't smoke them out
+right away, Drew could send a telegram and Boyd would be collected. Drew
+tried to console himself with that thought all the time another part of
+him was certain that Boyd intended to prove he could stick through all
+the rigors Drew had just outlined for him.
+
+But in any event the boy's introduction to war was going to be as
+unromantic as anyone could want, short of being thrown cold and
+untrained into a major battle. They must be prepared for a bad time
+until they made it out of the Union lines and south again.
+
+The night closed down, dark and moonless, with a heaviness in the air
+which was oppressive. Campbell had to grant men and horses a breathing
+period. He put out pickets, leaving the rest of them to lie with their
+mounts saddled and to hand. Drew loosened the girth, stripped off saddle
+and blanket, and wiped down the sweaty back of his new mount. But he
+dared not leave the gelding free. So, against all good practice, he
+re-equipped the tired beast. No mount was going to be able to take that
+kind of treatment for long. They had a half dozen spare horses, and
+undoubtedly they could "trade" worn-out mounts for fresh ones along the
+way. But such ceaseless use was cruel punishment, and no man wanted to
+inflict it. War was harder on horses than men. At least the men could
+take their chances and had a fraction of free will in the matter.
+
+Drew awoke at a tug of his sleeve, flailed out his arm, and struck home.
+Kirby laughed in the gray dawn.
+
+"Now that theah, kid, is no way to go 'round wakin' up a soldier. He may
+take you for a blue belly as has come crawlin' into his dreams. It's all
+right, amigo--jus' time to git on the prowl again."
+
+Feeling as if he had been beaten, Drew slowly got to his feet. Men were
+moving, falling into line. And one was arguing with Captain Campbell.
+
+"It could work, Cap'n," the trooper urged. "Ain't a lot of the boys
+wearin' Yankee truck they took outta the warehouses? Them what ain't can
+act like prisoners. Jus' say we're the Eleventh Ohio--they's stationed
+near Bardstown and it would seem right, them ridin' down to take them
+some prisoners. The old man, he's got a rich farm and sets a powerful
+good table. Might even give us a right smart load of provisions into the
+bargain. It's worth a try, suh...."
+
+"Rennie!" So summoned, Drew reported to their new commander.
+
+"Know anything about a Thomas McKeever livin' in this section?"
+
+Drew's memory produced a picture of a round-faced, cheerful man who
+liked to play chess and admired Lucilla's pickled watermelon rind to the
+point of begging a crock of it every time he visited Red Springs.
+
+"Yes, suh. He's Union--got two sons with Colonel Wolford. Owns a big
+farm and raises prime mules--"
+
+"You know him personally?"
+
+"Yes, suh. He's a friend of my grandfather; they used to visit back and
+forth a lot."
+
+"Then he'd know you." Campbell's fingernails rasped through the stubble
+on his chin.
+
+"So Rennie heah could be one of our prisoners, suh. That theah might
+convince Mistuh McKeever we's what we say--" the trooper pressed his
+point.
+
+"Could be. It's gospel truth we ain't goin' to get far with our bellies
+flat on our backbones. And it might work. Now, all of you men,
+listen...." Campbell explained, gave orders, and put them through a
+small drill. A dozen men without any Union uniform loot to distinguish
+them were told to play the role of prisoners; the others exchanged and
+drew out of saddlebags pieces of blue clothing to make their appearance
+as the Eleventh Ohio.
+
+"They ain't gonna expect too much." The trooper who had first urged the
+plan was optimistic. "We can pass as close to militia----"
+
+"You hope!" Kirby was in the prisoner's section, and it was plain he did
+not relish a role which meant that he had to strip himself of weapons.
+"You--" he fixed his attention on the man to whom he must hand his Colts
+when the time came--"keep right 'longside, soldier. If I want to get
+those six-guns, I want 'em fast an' I want 'em sure--not 'bout ten yards
+away wheah I can't git my hands on 'em!"
+
+Their gnawing hunger drove them all into agreeing to the masquerade.
+Drew could not recall his last really full meal. Just thinking about
+food made a warm, sickish taste rise in his mouth. He brought out the
+hardtack which Boyd had so indignantly rejected the night before, and
+holding the chunk balanced on his saddle horn, rapped it smartly with
+the butt of a revolver. It broke raggedly across, and then he was able
+to crack it again between his fingers.
+
+"Here--" He held out a two-inch piece to Boyd, and this time there was
+no refusal. The younger boy's cheek showed a swollen puff as he sucked
+away at the fragment.
+
+Drew offered a bite to the Texan.
+
+"Right neighborly, amigo," Kirby observed. "'Bout this time, me, I'm
+ready to exercise m' teeth on a stewed moccasin, Comanche at that, were
+anybody to ask me to sit down an' reach for the pot."
+
+They rode on at a comfortable pace and for some reason met no other
+travelers on the pike. Drew found his new mount had no easy shuffle like
+Shawnee's. The gelding was a black with three white feet and a proudly
+held head--might even be Denmark stock--but for some reason he didn't
+relish moving in company. And, left without close enough supervision
+from his rider, he tended either to trot ahead or loiter until he was
+out of line. Drew was continually either reining him in or urging him
+on.
+
+"Kinda a raw one," Kirby commented critically. "He ain't no
+rockin'-chair hoss, that's for sure. If I was you, I'd look round for
+somethin' better to slap m' tree on--"
+
+Drew pulled rein for the tenth time, his exasperation growing. "I might
+do just that." Shawnee had been worth fifty of this temperamental
+blooded hunter.
+
+"You take Tejano heah. He's a rough-coated ol' snorter--nothin' to make
+an hombre's eyes bug out--but he takes you way over yonder, an' then he
+brings you back ... nothin' more you can ask."
+
+Drew agreed. "Lost my horse back at the river," he said briefly. "This
+was a pickup--"
+
+"Tough luck!" Kirby was sincerely sympathetic. "Funny about you Kaintuck
+boys ... mostly you want a high-steppin' pacer with a chief's feathers
+sproutin' outta his head. They has to have oats an' corn an' be treated
+like they was glass. I'd'ruther have me a range hoss. You can ride one
+of 'em from Hell to breakfast--an' maybe a mile or two beyond--an' he
+never knows the difference. Work him hard all day, an' maybe the next
+mornin' when you're set to fork leather again, he shows you a bellyfull
+of bedsprings an' you're unloaded for fair. A hoss like that has him
+wind an' power to burn--"
+
+"You raised horses before the war?"
+
+Kirby swallowed what must have been the last soggy crumb of hardtack.
+"Well, we had a mind to try that. M'pa, he started him a spread down
+Pecos way. He had him a good stud-quarter hoss--one of Steel Dust's git.
+Won two or three races, that stud did. Called him Kiowa. Pa made a deal
+with a Mex mustanger; he got some prime stuff he caught in the
+Panhandle. One mare, I 'member--she was a natcherel pacer. Yeah, you
+might say as how we was gittin' a start at a first-rate string. Me an'
+m' brothers, we was breakin' some right pretty colts..."
+
+His voice trailed into silence. Drew reined in the black again and asked
+another question:
+
+"What happened ... the war?"
+
+"What happened? Well, you might say as how Comanches happened. Me, I was
+trailin' 'long with this Mex mustanger to learn some of his tricks. When
+I came back, theah jus' warn't nothin'--nothin' a man wants to remember
+after. Someday I'm gonna hunt me Comanches. Gonna learn me some tricks
+in this heah war I can use in that business!" There was no change in
+his expression. If anything, his drawl was a little softer and lazier,
+but the deadly promise in it reached Drew as clearly as if the other had
+burst out with the Rebel Yell.
+
+"This is it!" Captain Campbell rode back along their line. It was a
+larger company; they had gathered in more fugitives this morning and had
+no stragglers. All they lacked was adequate arms to present a rather
+formidable source of trouble behind the Union lines. "We're goin' into
+the McKeever place. You men--remember, you're prisoners!"
+
+Very reluctantly those in that unhappy role unbuckled gun belts, passing
+their side arms over to their "captors." There was a graveled drive
+branching out of the pike to their right with a grove of trees arching
+over it, so they rode into a restful green twilight out of the punishing
+sun.
+
+Fields rippled lushly beyond that border of trees. There was a
+cleanness, a contentment, a satisfaction about this place which was no
+part of them or any men who passed so, armed, restless, tearing apart
+just such peace as enfolded them here. They rode out of urgency when the
+gravel of that well-raked drive shifted under the hoofs of their mounts.
+
+"I'm sayin' one thing loud an' clear," Kirby announced to those in his
+immediate vicinity as they neared a big brick house. "I may be playin'
+prisoner to you boys, but I ain't settlin' for no prisoner's rations. We
+all eat full plates in heah, let that be understood from the start."
+
+Campbell laughed. "Noted, Kirby. We'll see that you desperate Rebs get
+all that's comin' to you."
+
+"Now that, Cap'n, is jus' what I'm afraid of. We git all that's
+_comin'_--that sounds a right smart better!"
+
+"Company ahead, Cap'n!" The trooper who had suggested this action,
+indicated a man walking down the drive to meet their cavalcade.
+
+"That's Mr. McKeever." Drew identified their host for Campbell.
+
+But the captain was already moving ahead to meet the older man. He
+touched fingers to kepi--a neat blue kepi--in a smart salute.
+
+"Chivers, Captain, Eleventh Ohio, sir. We'd like to make our noon halt
+here if you'll grant permission."
+
+Thomas McKeever beamed. "No reason not, suh. Take your men over in the
+orchard, Captain. We can add a little something to your rations. Glad,
+always glad to entertain our boys." His attention wandered to the score
+of "prisoners" in the center of the troop.
+
+"Prisoners, Captain?"
+
+"Some of Morgan's horse thieves." Campbell glanced back at the shabby
+exhibit. "You've heard the news, of course, sir? We smashed 'em proper
+over at Cynthiana--"
+
+"You did? Now that's good hearin', Captain. It deserves a regular
+celebration; it surely does. Morgan smashed! Was he taken too? Next time
+I trust they'll put him in something stronger than that jail you Ohio
+boys had him in last time; he's a slippery one."
+
+"Haven't heard about that, sir. But his men are pretty well scattered.
+These aren't going to trouble any one for a while."
+
+McKeever nodded. "I've a stout barn you're welcome to use for a
+temporary lockup, Captain. Though I must say they don't display much
+spirit, do they? Look pretty well beat."
+
+Drew rubbed his hand across his face, hoping the grime there--a mixture
+of road dust, sweat, and powder blacking--was an effective disguise. No
+use recalling the old days for Mr. McKeever. Allowing his shoulders to
+slump dispiritedly as he was herded by his file guard, he rode sullenly
+on to the orchard.
+
+They stripped their saddles and allowed the horses freedom for the first
+time in hours, an act which was against prudence but which McKeever
+would expect of Union troops. Drew lay full length under the curving
+limbs of an apple tree, his head pillowed on saddlebags.
+
+"Now I wonder"--Kirby dropped down, to sit with his back against the
+tree trunk--"why they always say a fella is dog-tired. A dog, he ain't
+got him much to do 'cept chase around on his own business.
+Soldier-tired--now that's another matter. How 'bout it, kid? You ready
+to ride right outta heah an' chase General Grant clean back to Lake
+Erie?"
+
+Boyd had stretched out only a hand's length from Drew. There were dark
+smudges under his closed eyes, hardly to be told from the smears of dirt
+on his round cheeks, but there. He rolled his head on a hammock of grass
+and scowled at Kirby.
+
+"General Grant can--" he added a remark which surprised Drew into
+opening his eyes. Kirby shook his head reprovingly.
+
+"Now that ain't no way for a growin' boy to talk. An' it sits on your
+tongue as easy as a fly on a mule's ear, too. What kinda company you bin
+keepin', kid? Rennie, this heah colt ain't got no reason to cram grammar
+into a remark that way."
+
+Drew stretched, folded his arms under his head, and answered, in a voice
+he tried to make as blighting as possible: "Thinks it makes him sound
+like a man, probably. He's findin' out the army ain't quite what he
+expected."
+
+"You shut up--!" Boyd might have added something to that, but Drew had
+moved. He leaned over the youngster, his hand hard and heavy on Boyd's
+shoulder. And it was plain that, much as he wanted to, the other did not
+quite dare to move or shake off that grip.
+
+"I've had about enough," Drew said quietly. "The next town we hit you're
+goin' to stay there, until someone comes from back home to collect you.
+Nobody knows you're with us, and you can go back to Oak Hill without any
+trouble from Union troops."
+
+Boyd's eyes blazed. His mouth wasn't shaping a small boy's pout this
+time; it was an ugly line tight against his teeth.
+
+"I ain't goin' home! I said you can't make me, 'less you tie me on a
+horse and keep me tied all the way. And I don't think you can do that,
+Drew Rennie. I'd like to see you try it; I sure would!"
+
+"He's got you on a stand-off, I'd say," Kirby remarked. "My, ain't he
+the tough one though, horns sticking up an' haired all over!
+Gentlemen--" he had glanced over their shoulder and was watching
+whatever was there--"company comin'. Mind your manners!"
+
+Drew looked around. His hand clamped tighter on Boyd, keeping him pinned
+on his back. If he only had time ... but there was no way of disguising
+the younger boy. And Thomas McKeever, strolling with Captain Campbell,
+had already sighted them, stopped short, and now was moving swiftly in
+their direction.
+
+"Boyd Barrett!"
+
+Drew had to release his hold and Boyd sat up, brushing bits of grass
+from his shirt sleeves even as he returned Mr. McKeever's stare with
+composure.
+
+"Yes, suh?" Boyd was on his feet now, making his manners with the speed
+of one harboring a guilty conscience.
+
+"What are you doing with this gang of cutthroats and banditti?" Mr.
+McKeever had an excellent voice to deliver such an inquiry; it could
+rattle the unaware into confusion, and sometimes even into quick
+confession, as he undoubtedly knew.
+
+"I'm with General Morgan, Mr. McKeever." Boyd did not appear too
+ruffled.
+
+"I refuse to believe that even that unprincipled ruffian is robbing
+cradles to fill up his ranks, depleted as they may be--"
+
+Boyd reddened. "General Morgan ain't no ... no unprincipled ruffian!"
+
+"Yeah," Kirby drawled. As the other two, he had risen to his feet on the
+approach of the older man. "Them's pretty harsh words, suh. Cutthroat
+now--I ain't never slit me a throat in all my born days. What about you,
+Rennie? You done any fancy work with a bowie lately?"
+
+Mr. McKeever favored the Texan with a passing frown; then his attention
+settled on Drew. "Rennie," he repeated, and then said the name again
+with the emphasis of one making a court identification. "Drew Rennie!"
+
+"Yes, suh." As Boyd had done, Drew answered to the indictment of being
+where he was and who he was.
+
+"I am most unhappy to see Alexander Mattock's grandson and Meredith
+Barrett's son in such company. Surely"--he turned to Captain
+Campbell--"these boys are not your regular prisoners--"
+
+Campbell shook his head gravely. "Unfortunately, sir, they are indeed
+troopers with Morgan. And, as such, they are subject to the rules of war
+governing prisoners--"
+
+"That does not prevent my seeing what I can do for both of you," their
+host said quickly. "At least, Boyd, you are young enough to be released
+by the authorities. Be sure I shall do all I can to bring that about."
+
+As Boyd opened his mouth to protest, Drew spoke quickly:
+
+"Thank you, suh. I know Cousin Merry will appreciate that."
+
+With a last assurance of his intention to help them, Mr. McKeever left.
+Boyd grinned.
+
+"He did help me," he observed. "He knows now I'm with Morgan, and nobody
+can say that's not so!"
+
+Kirby laughed. "Reckon that's true, kid. You locked yourself right into
+the corral along with the rest of us bad men. Look's like you've been
+outfought this time, Rennie."
+
+Drew threw himself back under the tree. So Boyd had won this round--they
+were still in Kentucky and not too far from Oak Hill.
+
+
+
+
+5
+
+_Bardstown Surrenders_
+
+
+"Now that's what I call true hospitality, gentlemen, true hospitality."
+Kirby caressed his middle section gently with both hands, smiling
+dreamily into the lacing of apple boughs over his head. "I ain't had me
+a feed like that since we took that sutler's wagon back outside Mount
+Sterlin'. 'Mos' forgot theah was such vittles lyin' 'bout to be sampled.
+An' you got us most of the cream, too, 'cause you're poor little
+misguided boys a-runnin' 'way to be with us desperate characters. Git me
+a bowie knife, an' I'll show you how to cut throats--all free, too."
+
+Drew laughed, but Boyd did not appear amused. They had been favored with
+a short but pungent lecture from Mr. McKeever, served along with food,
+which to Drew made it worth the return of listening decorously to a
+listing of their sins.
+
+"I ain't goin' home," Boyd repeated stubbornly.
+
+"Well," Kirby pointed out, "if he rides up to the Yankee prison camp, he
+ain't gonna find you neither. So what's the difference? I think we
+oughta be movin' on, seein' as how we ain't really on speakin' terms
+with the law heah 'bouts."
+
+It would appear that Captain Campbell agreed with that. The order came
+to saddle up and move out. But they went with provision sacks slung from
+their saddles, a portion of McKeever's bounty stowed away against
+tomorrow. And once they were past the house, the word came down the line
+for Drew to quit his prisoner's role and join their commander.
+
+Campbell held a fragment of map as he let his mount's pace fall to a
+slow walk. "There are about a hundred Union infantry stationed at
+Bardstown, according to Mr. McKeever. Know anything about the town?"
+
+"I was there once. My cousin went to St. Joseph's for a term."
+
+"Remember enough to find your way around?"
+
+"I don't know, suh. But if there's a Union garrison--?" He ended the
+sentence with an implied question.
+
+"What are we going to do there?" The captain grinned. "We're going to
+collect some arms, I hope. Supposing you were a Yankee commander,
+Rennie, and a bold, bad raider like General Morgan was to ride clean up
+to your door with a regiment or two tailing him and say: 'Your guns,
+suh, or your life!' What would you do, especially if your troops were
+mostly militia and green men who hadn't ever been in a real fight?"
+
+Drew understood. "Probably, suh, I'd tell General Morgan that he could
+have his guns, providin' he kept his side of the bargain."
+
+"As far as the Yankees in Bardstown may know, General Morgan could be
+headed their way right now with a regiment. I don't think they've had
+time yet to learn just how badly we were scattered back there by the
+Licking River. You willing to take the flag in when we get there,
+Rennie? Pick a couple of outriders to go with you!"
+
+It was risky, but no more risky than bluffs he had seen work before. And
+they did need the weapons. Cutting westward now only kept them well
+inside Union territory. Somehow they would have to skulk or fight their
+way down through the southern part of Kentucky and then probably all the
+way across Tennessee--a tall order, but one which was just possible of
+accomplishment.
+
+"I'll do it, suh." Riding into Bardstown was no worse than riding over
+the rest of this countryside where any moment they might be swept up by
+the enemy.
+
+It was lucky they had brought rations with them from McKeever's, for
+they took no more chances of trying for such supplies again. Once more
+they altered their advance, riding the pikes at night, hiding out by
+day.
+
+Hills then, and among them Bardstown. Drew borrowed a carbine, stringing
+a dubiously white strip of shirt tail from its barrel, and flanked by
+Kirby and Driscoll, a trooper Campbell had appointed, rode slowly up the
+broad street opening from the pike. Great trees arched overhead, almost
+as they had across the drive of the McKeever place, and the houses were
+fine, equal to the best about Lexington.
+
+A carriage pulled to the side, its two feminine occupants leaning
+forward a little under the tilt of dainty parasols, eyes wide. While
+their coachman stared open-mouthed at the three dirty, tattered
+cavalrymen riding with an assumption of ease, though armed, down the
+middle of the avenue.
+
+"You, suh." It was the coachman who hailed Drew. "You soldier men?"
+
+Drew reined in the black, who this time obeyed without protest. The
+weary miles had taught the gelding submission if not perfect manners.
+Transferring his reins to the hand which also steadied the butt of his
+carbine against his thigh so that his "flag" was well in evidence, Drew
+swept off his dust-grayed hat and bowed to the ladies in the carriage.
+
+"General Morgan's compliments, ladies," he said, loud enough for his
+words to carry beyond the vehicle to the townspeople gathering on the
+walk. "Flag of truce comin' in, ma'am." He spoke directly to the elder
+of the two in the carriage. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to
+where I may find the Union commander?"
+
+"You're from John Hunt Morgan, young man?" She shut her parasol with a
+snap, held it as if she was considering its use as a weapon.
+
+"Yes, ma'am. General Morgan, Confederate Army--"
+
+She sniffed. "You'll find their captain at the inn, probably. Yankees
+and whiskey apparently have an affinity for one another. So John
+Morgan's coming to pay us a visit?"
+
+"Maybe, ma'am. And where may I find the inn?"
+
+"Straight ahead," the girl answered. "You really are Morgan's men?"
+
+Kirby did not have a hat to doff, but his bow in the saddle was as
+graceful as Drew's.
+
+"That's right, ma'am. My, did we know what we'd find in Bardstown now,
+we'd bin ridin' in right sooner!"
+
+"Suh! ... Louisa!" The elder lady's intimidating glare was divided, but
+Drew thought that Louisa got more than a half share of it.
+
+"No offense meant, ma'am. It's jus' that ridin' 'bout the way we do an'
+all, we don't git us a chance to say Howdy to ladies." The Texan's
+expression was properly contrite; his voice all diffidence.
+
+"The inn, young men, is on down the street. Drive on, Horace!" she
+ordered the coachman. But as the carriage started, she pointed her
+parasol at Drew as a teacher might point an admonishing ruler at a
+pupil. "I hope you'll find what you're looking for, young man. In the
+way of Yankees...."
+
+"We generally do, ma'am," Kirby commented. "For us Yankees jus' turn up
+bright an' sassy all over the place."
+
+Drew laughed. "Bright and sassy, then on the run!" For the success of
+his present mission and all those listening ears he ended that boast in
+as fervent a tone as he could summon.
+
+"See that you keep them that way!" She enforced that order with a snap
+of parasol being reopened as the carriage moved from the shade back into
+the patch of open sunlight.
+
+"That sure was a pretty girl," observed Driscoll as Drew and the Texan
+wheeled back into line with him. "Wish we could settle down heah for say
+two or three days. Git some of the dust outta our throats and have a
+chance to say Howdy to some friendly folks--"
+
+"You'd be more likely sayin' Howdy to a Yankee prison guard if you did
+that," Drew replied. "Let's find this inn and the garrison commander."
+
+"That's the proper way of layin' it out--the inn an' _then_ business.
+Yankees an' whiskey go together; that's what she said, ain't it? I maybe
+don't weah no blue coat regular, but whiskey sounds sorta refreshin',
+don't it, now?"
+
+"Just so you only think that, Anse, and don't try any tastin'," Drew
+warned. "We make our big talk to this captain, and then we move
+out--fast. You boys know the drill?"
+
+"Sure," Driscoll repeated. "We're the big raiders come to gobble up all
+the blue bellies, 'less they walk out all nice an' peaceful, leavin'
+their popguns behind 'em for better men to use. I'd say that theah was
+the inn, Rennie--"
+
+They saw their first Yankees, a blot of blue by the horse trough at the
+edge of the center square. And Drew, surveying the enemy with a critical
+and experienced eye, was sure that he was indeed meeting either green
+troops or militia. They were as wide-eyed in their return stare as the
+civilians on the streets around.
+
+Kirby chuckled. "Strut it up, roosters," he urged from the corner of his
+mouth. "Cutthroats, banditti, hoss thieves--jus' downright bad hombres,
+that's us. They expect us to be on the peck, all horns an' rattles.
+Don't disappoint 'em none! Their tails is half curled up already, an'
+they're ready to run if a horny toad yells Boo!"
+
+To the outward eye the three riding leisurely down the middle of the
+Bardstown street had no interest in the soldiers by the trough. Drew in
+the middle, the white rag dropping from the barrel of his carbine,
+brought the black a step or two in advance. Just so had Castleman ridden
+into Lexington earlier, and that had been at night with a far more wary
+and dangerous enemy to face. The scout's confidence rose as he watched,
+without making any show of his surveillance, the uneasy men ahead.
+
+One of them broke away from the group, and ran into the inn.
+
+"Wonder who's roddin' this outfit," Kirby remarked. "That fella's gone
+to rout him out. Do your talkin' like a short-trigger man, Drew."
+
+They pulled rein in front of the inn and sat their horses facing the
+door through which the soldier had disappeared. His fellows edged
+around the trough and stood in a straggling line to front the
+Confederates.
+
+"You!" Drew caught the eye of the nearest. "Tell your commanding officer
+General Morgan's flag is here!"
+
+The Yankee was young, almost as young as Boyd, but he had less assurance
+than Boyd. Now the boy stammered a little as he answered:
+
+"Yes ... yes, sir." Then he added in a rush, "General who, sir?"
+
+"General John Hunt Morgan, Confederate Cavalry, Army of the Tennessee,
+detached duty!" Drew made that as impressive as he could, whether it was
+worded correctly according to military protocol or not. It was, he
+thought with satisfaction, a nicely rounded, important-sounding speech,
+although a bit short.
+
+"Yes, sir!" The boy started for the door, but he was too late.
+
+The man who erupted from that portal was short and stout, his face a
+dramatic scarlet above the dark blue of his unbuttoned coat. He stopped
+short a step or two into the open and stood staring at the three on
+horseback, that scarlet growing more dusky by the second.
+
+"Who ... are ... you?" His demand was expelled in heavy puffs of breath.
+
+"Flag from General Morgan," Drew repeated. Then to make it quite plain,
+he added kindly, "General John Hunt Morgan, Confederate Cavalry, Army of
+the Tennessee, detached duty."
+
+"But, but Morgan was defeated ... at Cynthiana. He was broken--"
+
+Slowly Drew shook his head. "The General has been reported defeated
+before, suh. No, he's right here outside Bardstown. And I wouldn't
+rightly say he was broken either, not with a couple of regiments behind
+him--"
+
+"Couple of regiments!" The man was buttoning his coat, his red jowls
+sagging a little, almost as if Drew had used the carbine across his
+unprotected head. "Couple of regiments ... Morgan ..." he repeated
+dazedly. "Well," sullenly he spoke to Drew, "what does he want?"
+
+"You're a captain," Drew spoke crisply. "You'll return with us to
+discuss surrender terms with an officer of equal rank!"
+
+"Surrender!" For a moment some of the sag went out of the other.
+
+"Two regiments--an' you have maybe eighty or ninety men." Kirby gazed
+with critical disparagement at such Union forces as were visible.
+
+"One hundred and twenty-five," the officer repeated mechanically and
+then glared at the Texan.
+
+"One hundred and twenty-five then." Kirby was willing to be generous.
+"All ready to hold this heah town. I don't see no artillery neither." He
+rose in his stirrups to view the immediate scene. "Goin' to fight from
+house to house maybe--?"
+
+"General Morgan," Drew remarked to the company at large, "is not a
+patient man. But it's your decision, suh. If you want to make a fight of
+it." He shrugged.
+
+"No! Well, I'll talk ... listen to your terms anyway. Get my horse!" he
+roared at the nearest soldier.
+
+They escorted the captain with due solemnity out of Bardstown to meet
+Campbell, a well-armed guard in evidence strung out on the pike. The
+Union officer picked up enough assurance to demand to see the General
+himself, but Campbell's show of surprised hauteur at the request was an
+expert's weapon in rebuttal; and the other not only subsided but agreed
+without undue protest to Campbell's statement of terms.
+
+The Union detachment in town were to stack their arms in the square,
+leaving in addition their rations. They were to withdraw, unarmed, to a
+field outside and there await the patroling officer who would visit them
+in due course. Having agreed, the Union captain departed.
+
+Campbell was already signaling the rest of the company out of cover.
+
+"This is where we move fast. You all know what to do."
+
+But much had to be left to chance. Drew and Kirby surrendered their
+borrowed carbines to the rightful owners and prepared to join the first
+wave of that quick dash.
+
+_"Yahhhh-aww-wha--"_ There were no words in that, just the war cry which
+might have torn from an Indian warrior's throat, but which came instead
+from between Kirby's lips: the famous Yell with all its yip of victory
+as only an uninhibited Texan could deliver it. Then they were rushing,
+yelping in an answering chorus, four and five abreast, down the street
+under the shade of the trees, answered by screams and cries as the walks
+emptied before them.
+
+Blue ranks broke up ahead, leaving rifles stacked, provisions in
+knapsacks. And the ragged crew struck at the spoil like a wave, lapping
+up arms, cartridge boxes, knapsacks. For only moments there was a
+milling pandemonium in the heart of Bardstown. Then once again that Yell
+was raised, echoed, and the pound of hoofs made an artillery barrage of
+sound. Armed, provisioned, and very much the masters of the scene,
+Morgan's men were heading out of town on the other side, leaving
+bewilderment behind.
+
+They pushed the pace, knowing that the telegraph wires or the couriers
+would be spreading the news. Perhaps the reputation of their commander
+might slow the inevitable pursuit, but it would not deter it entirely.
+They must put as much distance between themselves and the out-foxed
+Union garrison as they could. And Campbell continued to point them
+westward instead of south, since any enemy force would be marching in
+the other direction to cut them off.
+
+Even if men could stand that dogged pace, driven by determination and
+fear of capture, horses could not. And through the next two days the
+inference was very clear: fall behind at your own risk; there will be no
+waiting for laggards to catch up. Nor any mounts furnished; you must
+provide your own.
+
+Drew discovered the black gelding an increasing problem, but at least
+the horse provided transportation, and he tried to save the animal as
+best he could. Though when it was impossible to unsaddle, when one had
+to ride--and did--some twenty hours out of twenty-four, there was not
+much the most experienced horseman could do to relieve his mount.
+
+Drew pulled up beside Kirby as he returned from a flank scout. The Texan
+had dropped to the rear of the small troop, holding his horse to not
+much more than a walk. Now and then he glanced to the receding length of
+the road as if in search of someone.
+
+"Where's Boyd?" Drew had ridden along the full length of the company and
+nowhere had he seen that blond head.
+
+"Jus' what I'm wonderin'." Kirby came to a complete halt. "I came back
+a little while ago, and nobody's seen him."
+
+Drew pulled in beside the other. His horse's head hung low as the
+gelding blew in gusty snorts. He tried to remember when he had seen Boyd
+last and when he did, that memory was not too encouraging.
+
+"With Hilders ... and Cambridge ..." he said softly.
+
+"Yeah." Kirby's thought seemed to match his. "Hilder's mare is jus'
+about beat, an' Boyd rides light; that bay he got is holdin' up like a
+corn-fed stud."
+
+"They were talkin' to him when I went out on point." Drew followed his
+own line of thought. "And he won't listen to me--"
+
+"It don't foller that because you advise a hombre for his own good, he's
+goin' to take kindly to your interest in him," the Texan observed. "You
+tell him Hilders an' Cambridge are wearin' skunk stripes, an' he's apt
+to claim 'em both as compadres. Suppose he don't come in when we bed
+down; he coulda jus' cut his picket rope an' drifted, as far as we can
+prove."
+
+"Not if his bay turns up with one of them on top," Drew replied.
+
+"Them two are of the curly wolf breed." Kirby shifted his newly acquired
+Enfield. "No tellin' as how they would join up with us again did they
+make such a switch; might figure as how they could make it better time
+driftin' on their own."
+
+The Texan had put his own fear into words. Drew pointed the gelding back
+down the road and booted the animal into a trot. A moment later he heard
+more drumming hoofs behind him; Kirby was following.
+
+"This ain't your trouble," Drew reminded him.
+
+"No, maybe it ain't. But then, me, I'm jus' a rough string rider from
+way back, an' this may end in a smoke-up. Odds seem a mite one-sided
+now--Hilders is easy on the trigger. He won't take kindly to anyone
+tryin' to hang up his hide for dryin'--"
+
+Drew studied the hoof-churned dust of the road. He could only hold a
+very slim hope of some trace along its margin. The gelding stumbled and
+tried to cut pace. Drew hardened his will, holding the animal to the
+trot. He knew that under saddle and blanket, sores were forming, that
+soon he would have no choice but a "trade" such as Hilders might be
+forcing now, though not at the expense of one of his own fellows.
+
+Kirby was reading sign on the other side of the road. His sudden hand
+signal brought Drew to join him. Hoofprints marked the softer verge.
+
+"Turned off not too long ago," Drew commented.
+
+Kirby nodded toward the brush. They were facing a small woodland into
+which a thin trace of path led. Good cover for trouble. Looping reins
+over his arm, Drew walked forward, Colt in hand, using scout tricks to
+cover the noise of his advance into the green shimmer of the trees.
+
+The trail led ahead without any attempt at concealment. The other two
+troopers must have tricked Boyd into taking that way; maybe they had
+even put a revolver on him once they were off the road. It was only too
+easy for a man to straggle from the company and not be missed until
+hours and miles later.
+
+"Now, sonny, there ain't no use makin' a big fuss...."
+
+Drew dropped the reins and slipped on.
+
+"You can see for yourself, boy, that m' hoss ain't gonna be able to git
+much farther. You can nurse him along an' take it easy. Them blue
+bellies ain't gonna be hard on a nice little boy like you--no, suh,
+they ain't--even if they find you. We jus' trade fair an' square. No
+trouble...."
+
+"'Course," another, harsher voice cut in, "if you want to make it rough,
+well, that's what you'll git! We're takin' that hoss, no matter what!"
+
+"You ain't!" There was a short snap of sound, the cocking of a hand gun.
+
+"Pull that on me, will you!"
+
+"I'll shoot! I'm warnin' you ... touch m' horse, and I'll shoot!" Boyd's
+voice scaled higher.
+
+Drew ran, his arm up to shield his face from the whip of branches. He
+came out at a small stream. Boyd was backed against a tree while the two
+others advanced on him from different directions.
+
+"That's enough!" Drew's Colt was pointed at Hilders. The man's head
+jerked around. "Get goin'," the scout ordered.
+
+Cambridge blinked stupidly, but Hilders took a step back to catch up the
+reins of a horse that stood dull-eyed, its head bent, pink foam roping
+from its muzzle as it breathed in heavy gasps.
+
+"I said--get!" Drew advanced, and Hilders gave ground again, towing the
+trembling horse.
+
+"Now, we don't want no trouble," Cambridge said hurriedly. "It woulda
+bin a fair trade.... Sonny, heah, ain't got place in the company
+anyhow----"
+
+"Get!" Drew's weapon raised a fraction of an inch. Cambridge's protest
+thickened into a mumble and he went. When both men had disappeared, Drew
+turned to Boyd.
+
+"Put that away--" he flicked a finger at the other's Colt--"and mount
+up. We'll have to push to get back to the troop."
+
+He watched the other lead the bay away from the stream side. Kirby was
+right, the horse was in better condition than most of the others in the
+company, and sooner or later someone might again try to rank Boyd out of
+it. There were a good many in that hunted column who would see that in
+the same light as Hilders and Cambridge did and would say so, with the
+weight of public opinion to back them. Campbell had set their course for
+Calhoun--and in that town Boyd and the raiders must definitely part
+company.
+
+
+
+
+6
+
+_Horse Trade_
+
+
+"What's this heah Calhoun like?" Kirby watched Drew loosen the saddle
+blanket, lifting it from the gelding as gently as he could.
+
+"Not much--" Drew was beginning, then he sucked in his breath and stood
+staring at the nasty sight he had just uncovered. He slung the blanket
+to the ground as Boyd came up, leading the bay. It was the younger boy
+who spoke first.
+
+"You ain't goin' to try to ride him now, Drew!" That protest came
+spontaneously. Drew thought that Shawnee's end had put the last bit of
+steel over his feelings, but he had to agree with Boyd now: no one with
+any humanity could make the gelding carry so much as a blanket over that
+back, let alone saddle and rider.
+
+"Here!" Roughly, his face flushed, Boyd jerked on the reins of his own
+mount, bringing the bay sidling toward Drew. "You can take Bruce...."
+
+He stooped, reaching for Drew's saddlebags. "You have to ride scout.
+I'll walk this one a while. Maybe he can carry me later. I ride light."
+
+Drew shook his head. "Not that light," he commented dryly. "No, I guess
+this is where I do some tradin'--"
+
+"House-smoke yonder ..." Kirby pointed. They could see the thin trail of
+smoke rising steadily this windless morning. "Best make it fast--the
+cap'n is already thinkin' about pointin' up an' headin' out."
+
+Drew loosened his side arms in their holsters. He always hated this
+business, but it was part of a day's work in the cavalry now. He just
+hoped that he wouldn't have to do his impressing at gun point. He
+entrusted saddle and blanket to Boyd, but made the other wait outside
+the farmyard twenty minutes later as he shepherded the gelding into the
+enclosure where chickens squawked and ran witlessly and a dog hurled
+himself to the end of a chain, giving tongue like a hound on a hot
+scent.
+
+Drew skirted that defender, moving toward the barn. But he was still
+well away from the half-open door when a woman hurried out, a basket in
+her hands, her face picturing surprise and apprehension. She stopped
+short to stare at Drew.
+
+"Who are you--what do you want?" Her two questions ran together in a
+single breathless sentence. Drew looked beyond her. No one else issued
+from the barn or came in answer to the dog's warning. He took off his
+hat.
+
+"I need a horse, ma'am." He said it bluntly, impatiently. After all, how
+could you make a demand like that more courteous or soft? The very fact
+that he had been driven to this made him angry.
+
+For a moment she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and then her eyes
+shifted to the gelding. She came forward a step or two, and there was a
+blaze of anger in the gaze she directed once more to the man.
+
+"That horse's galled raw!" She accused.
+
+"Don't you think I know it?" he returned abruptly. "That's why I have to
+have another mount."
+
+A quick step back and she was between him and the door of the barn,
+holding the basket as a shield between them. It was full of eggs.
+
+"You won't get one here!" she snapped.
+
+"Ma'am"--Drew had his temper under control now--"I don't want to take
+your horse if you have one. But I'm under orders to keep up with the
+company. And I'm goin' to do what I have to...."
+
+He dropped the gelding's reins, walked forward, hoping she wouldn't make
+him push around her. But apparently she read the determination in his
+face and stood aside, her expression bleak now.
+
+"There's only King in there," she said. "And I wish you the joy of him,
+you thief!"
+
+King proved to be a stallion, stabled in a box stall. Drew hesitated.
+The stud might be mean, harder to handle even than the gelding. But it
+was either taking him or being put afoot. If he could back this one even
+as far as Calhoun tomorrow--or the next day--he might be able to make a
+better exchange in town. It would depend on just how hard the stallion
+was to control.
+
+Making soothing noises, he worked fast to bit and bridle the big
+chestnut. His experience with the Red Springs stud led him aright now.
+He came out of the barn leading the horse while the dog, its first
+incessant clamor stilled, growled menacingly from the end of its chain.
+The woman had disappeared, maybe into the fields beyond in search of
+help. Drew departed at a swift trot to where he had left Boyd.
+
+"That's all horse!" Boyd eyed Drew's trade excitedly.
+
+"Too much so, maybe. We'll see." He saddled quickly, glad that so far
+the chestnut had proved amiable. But how the stud might behave in troop
+company he had yet to learn. He mounted and waited for any signs of
+resentment, remembering the woman's warning. King snorted, pawed the
+dust a bit, but trotted on when Drew urged him.
+
+Kirby whistled from where he rode with the rear guard as they rejoined
+the company. But Captain Campbell frowned. And King put on a display of
+fireworks which almost shook Drew out of the saddle, rearing and pawing
+the air.
+
+"Makes like a horny one on the prod," commented the Texan. "That's
+stud's a lotta hoss to handle, amigo."
+
+"Too much," the captain echoed Drew's earlier misgivings. "Keep him away
+from the rest until you're sure he won't start anything!"
+
+But that order fitted in with Drew's usual scouting duties. And when he
+did bed down for one of the fugitives' limited halts he was careful to
+stake King away from the improvised picket lines.
+
+Drew was eating a mixture of hardtack and cold bacon, the last of their
+captured provision from Bardstown, when Driscoll sauntered over to the
+small mess Kirby, Boyd, and Drew had established without any formal
+agreement.
+
+"The boys are plannin' 'em a high old time," Driscoll announced.
+
+Kirby's left eyebrow slanted up in quizzical inquiry. Drew chewed
+energetically and swallowed. It was Boyd who asked, "What do you mean?"
+
+"Calhoun--that's what I mean, sonny." Driscoll squatted on his heels.
+"They 'low as how they're gonna do a little impressin' in Calhoun."
+
+"The town's not very big," Drew observed. "A couple of stores, a church,
+maybe a smithy...."
+
+Driscoll snickered. "Oh, the boys ain't particular 'long 'bout now. They
+won't be too choosy. Only thought I'd tell you fellas, seem' as how you
+been ridin' scout and ain't maybe heard the plans. If you want to load
+up, better git into town early. Some of them fast workers from B Company
+are gittin' set...."
+
+"The cap'n know about this?" asked Kirby.
+
+Driscoll shrugged. "He ain't deaf. But the cap'n also knows as how you
+can't be too big a gold-lace officer when you're behind the enemy lines
+with men on the run. We're gonna take Calhoun and take her good!" He
+grinned at the two veterans. "Jus' like we took Mount Sterlin'."
+
+Kirby was sober. "There was a take theah which warn't no good. Somebody
+cleaned out the bank, or else I wasn't hearin' too well afterward. I can
+see some impressin'--stuff an hombre can put in his belly as paddin',
+an' maybe what he can put on his back. That's fair an' square. The
+Yankees do it too. But takin' a gold watch or money outta a man's
+pants--now that's somethin' different again."
+
+Driscoll stood up. "Ain't nobody said anything about gold watches or
+money or banks," he replied stiffly. "There's stores in Calhoun, and
+there's men in this heah outfit what needs new shirts or new breeches.
+And since when have you seen any paymaster ridin' down the pike with his
+bags full of bills, not that you can use that paper stuff for anythin'
+like shoppin', anyway!"
+
+"Thanks for the tip," Drew cut in. "We take it kindly."
+
+Driscoll's ruffled feelings appeared soothed. "Jus' thought you boys
+oughta know. Me, I have in mind gittin' maybe two or three cans of them
+peaches like we got from the sutler's wagon. Them were prime eatin'.
+General store might jus' have some. Yankee crackers are right good, too.
+Say, that theah stud you got, Rennie, how's he workin' out?"
+
+"So far no trouble," Drew remarked. "Only I'm lookin' for a trade--maybe
+in town."
+
+"Trade? Why ever a trade?"
+
+"We got a couple of river crossin's comin' up ahead," the scout
+explained. "And one of them is a good big stretch of deep water--you
+don't go wadin' across the Tennessee. I don't want to beg for trouble,
+headin' a stud into somethin' as dangerous as that."
+
+Driscoll seemed struck by the wisdom of that precaution. "Now I heard
+tell," he chimed in eagerly, "as how a mule is a right sure-footed
+critter for a river crossin'. An' a good ridin' mule could suit a man
+fine----"
+
+"A mule!" Boyd exploded, outraged. But Drew considered the suggestion
+calmly.
+
+"I'll keep a lookout in town. May be swappin' for that mule yet,
+Driscoll. You'll have to pick up my share of peaches if that's the way
+it's goin' to be."
+
+There were more plans laid for the taking of Calhoun as the hours passed
+and the harried company plodded or spurred--depending upon the nature of
+the countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their general
+state of energy at the time--southwest across the length of Kentucky.
+Days became not collections of hours they could remember one by one
+afterward, but a series of incidents embedded in a nightmare of hard
+riding, scanty fare, and constant movement. Not only horses were giving
+out now; they dropped men along the way. And some--like Cambridge and
+Hilders--vanished completely, either cut off when they went to "trade"
+mounts, or deserting the troop in favor of their own plans for survival.
+
+The remaining men burst into Calhoun as a cloud of locusts descending on
+a field of unprotected vegetation. Drew did not know how much Union
+sentiment might exist there, but he judged that their actions would not
+leave too many friends behind them. Jugs had appeared, to be passed
+eagerly from hand to hand, and the contents of store shelves were swept
+up and out before the outraged owners could protest.
+
+It had showered that morning, leaving puddles of mud and water in the
+unpaved streets. And at one place there was a mud fight in
+progress--laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the new
+clothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud's
+prancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitching
+rail before the largest store.
+
+A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching the
+excitement in the street. As Drew came up the man glanced at the scout,
+surveying his shabbiness, and his mouth took on the harsh line of a
+sneer.
+
+"Want a new suit, soldier?" he demanded. "Just help yourself! You're
+late in gettin' to it...."
+
+Drew leaned against the wall of the store front. He was so tired that
+the effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed,
+fought over selections, was too much to face. This was just another part
+of the never-ending nightmare which had entrapped them ever since they
+had fled from the bank of the Licking at Cynthiana. Listlessly he
+watched one trooper snatch a coat from another, drag it on triumphantly
+over a shirt which was a fringe of tatters. He plucked at the front of
+his own grimy shirt, and then felt around in the pocket he had so
+laboriously stitched beneath the belt of his breeches, to bring out one
+creased and worn bill. Spreading it out, he offered it to the man beside
+him. To loot an army warehouse was fair play as he saw it. Morgan's
+command had long depended upon Union commissaries for equipment,
+clothing, and food. And a horse trade was something forced upon him by
+expediency. But he still shrank from this kind of foraging.
+
+"A shirt?" he asked wearily.
+
+The man glanced from that crumpled bill to Drew's tired face and then
+back again. The sneer faded. He reached out, closed the scout's fingers
+tight over the money.
+
+"That's just wastepaper here, son. Come on!" Catching hold of Drew's
+sleeve so tightly that the worn calico gave in a rip, he guided the
+other into the store, drawing him along behind a counter until he
+reached down into the shadows and came up with a pile of shirts, some
+flannel, some calico, and one Drew thought was linen.
+
+"These look about your size. Take 'em! You might as well have them. Some
+of these fellows will just tear them up for the fun of it."
+
+Drew fumbled with the pile, a flannel, the linen, and two calico. He
+could cram that many into his saddlebags. But the store owner thrust the
+whole bundle into his arms.
+
+"Go ahead, take 'em all! They ain't goin' to leave 'em, anyway."
+
+"Thanks!" Drew clutched the collection to his chest and edged back along
+the wall, avoiding a spirited fight now in progress in the center of
+the store. Mud-spattered men came bursting back, wanting to change their
+now ruined clothing for fresh. Drew stiff-armed one reeling, singing
+trooper out of his path and was gone before the drunken man could resent
+such handling. With the shirts still balled between forearm and chest,
+he led King away from the store.
+
+"Ovah heah!"
+
+That hail in a familiar voice brought Drew's head around. Kirby waved to
+him vigorously from a doorway, and the scout obediently rehitched King
+to another rack, joining the Texan in what proved to be the village
+barber-shop.
+
+Kirby was stripped to the waist, using a towel freely sopped in a large
+basin to make his toilet. His face was already scraped clean of beard,
+and his hair plastered down into better order than Drew had ever seen
+it, while violent scents of bay rum and fancy tonics fought it out in
+the small room.
+
+"What you got there?" Boyd looked up from a second basin, a froth of
+soap hiding most of his face.
+
+"Shirts--" Drew dropped his bundle on a chair. He was staring, appalled,
+into the stretch of mirror confronting him, unable to believe that the
+face reflected there was his own. Skinning his hat onto a shelf, he
+moved purposefully toward the row of basins, ripping off his old shirt
+as he went.
+
+Where the barber had gone they never did know, but a half hour later
+they made some sweeping attempts to clean up the mess to which their
+efforts at personal cleanliness had reduced the shop, pleased once more
+with what they saw now in the mirror. They had divided the shirts, and
+while the fit was not perfect, they were satisfied with the windfall.
+Before he left the shop Kirby swept a half dozen cakes of soap into his
+haversack.
+
+Boyd was already balancing a bigger sack, full to the top.
+
+"Peaches, molasses, crackers, pickles," he enumerated his treasure trove
+to Drew. "We got us some real eats."
+
+"Hey, you--Rennie!" As they emerged from the barber-shop Driscoll
+trotted up. "The cap'n wants to see you. He's on the other side of
+town--at the smithy."
+
+Boyd and Kirby trailed along as Drew obeyed that summons. They found
+Campbell giving orders to the smith's volunteer aides, some engaged with
+the owner of the shop in shoeing the raiders' horses, others making up
+bundles of shoes to be slung from the saddles as they rode out.
+
+"Rennie"--the captain waved him out of the rush and clamor of the
+smithy--"I want you to listen to this. You--Hart--come here!" One of the
+men bundling horseshoes dropped the set he was tying together and came.
+
+"Hart, here, comes from Cadiz. Know where that is?"
+
+Drew closed his eyes for a moment, the better to visualize the map he
+tried to carry in his head. But Cadiz--he couldn't place the town. "No,
+suh."
+
+"It's south, close to the Tennessee line and not too far from the big
+river. There's just one thing which may be important about it; it has a
+bank and Hart thinks that there are Union Army funds there. We still
+have a long way to go, and Union currency could help. Only," Campbell
+spoke with slow emphasis, "I want this understood. We take army funds
+only. This may just be a rumor, but it is necessary to scout in that
+direction anyway."
+
+"You want me to find out about the funds and the river crossin' near
+there?"
+
+"It's up to you, Rennie. Hart's willin' to ride with you."
+
+"I'll go." He thought the bank plan was a wild one, but they did have to
+have a safe route to the river.
+
+"You'll move out as soon as possible. We'll be on our way as soon as we
+have these horses shod."
+
+Drew doubted that. What he had seen in the streets suggested that it was
+not going to be easy to pry most of the company out of Calhoun in a
+hurry, but that was Campbell's problem. "I'll need couriers," he said
+aloud. It was an advance scout's privilege to have riders to send back
+with information.
+
+Campbell hesitated as if he would protest and then agreed. "You have men
+picked?"
+
+"Kirby and Barrett. Kirby's had scout experience; Barrett knows part of
+this country and rides light."
+
+"All right, Kirby and Barrett. You ready to ride, Hart?"
+
+The other trooper nodded, picked up a set of extra horseshoes, and went
+out of the smithy. Campbell had one last word for Drew.
+
+"We'll angle south from here to hit the Cumberland River some ten miles
+north of Cadiz, Hart knows where. This time of year it ought to be easy
+crossin'. But the Tennessee--" he shook his head--"that is goin' to be
+the hard one. Learn all you can about conditions and where it's best to
+hit that...."
+
+Drew found Hart already mounted, Kirby and Boyd waiting.
+
+"Hart says we're ridin' out," the Texan said. "Goin' to cover the high
+lines?"
+
+"Scout, yes. South of here. River crossin's comin' up."
+
+"No time for shadin' in this man's war," Kirby observed.
+
+"Shadin'?" Boyd repeated as a question.
+
+"Sittin' nice an' easy under a tree while some other poor hombre prowls
+around the herd," Kirby translated. "It's a kinda restin' I ain't had
+much of lately. Nor like to...."
+
+They put Calhoun behind them, and Hart led them cross-country. But at
+each new turn of the back country roads Drew added another line or two
+on the map he sketched in on paper which Boyd surprisingly produced from
+his bulging sack of loot.
+
+The younger boy looked self-conscious as he handed it over. "Thought as
+how I might want to write a letter."
+
+Drew studied him. "You do that!" He made it an order. There had been no
+chance to leave Boyd in Calhoun. But there was still Cadiz as a
+possibility. He did not believe this vague story about Union gold in the
+bank. And the company might never enter the town in force at all. So
+that Boyd, left behind, would not attract the unfavorable attention of
+the authorities.
+
+It began to rain again, and the roads were mire traps. As they struggled
+on into evening Kirby found a barn which appeared to be out by itself
+with no house in attendance. The door was wedged open with a drift of
+undisturbed soil and Boyd, exploring into a ragged straggle of brush in
+search of a well, reported a house cellar hole. The place must be
+abandoned and so safe.
+
+"We'll be in Cadiz tomorrow," Hart said.
+
+"An' how do we ride in?" Kirby wanted to know. "Another
+bearer-of-the-flag stunt?"
+
+"Is Cadiz a Union town?" Drew asked Hart.
+
+The other laughed. "Not much, it ain't. This is tobacco country; you
+seen that for yourself today. An' there's guerrillas to give the Yankees
+trouble. They hole up in the Brelsford Caves, six or seven miles outta
+town. We can ride right in, and there ain't nobody gonna care."
+
+"Nice to know these things ahead'a time," Kirby remarked. "So we ride
+in--lookin' for what?"
+
+Hart glanced at Drew but remained silent. The scout shrugged.
+"Information about the rivers and any stray garrison news. You have kin
+here, Hart?"
+
+"Some." But the other did not elaborate on that.
+
+Drew was thinking about those guerrillas; their presence did not match
+Hart's story about the Yankee gold in the bank. Such irregulars would
+have been after that long ago. He didn't know why Hart had pitched
+Campbell such a tale, but he was dubious about the whole setup now.
+Better make this a quick trip in--and out--of town.
+
+
+
+
+7
+
+_A Mule for a River_
+
+
+For a Confederate patrol, they looked respectable enough as they rode
+into Cadiz. Though they lacked the uniformity of a Yankee squad, their
+dark shirts, "impressed" breeches, and good boots gave an impression of
+a common dress, and Kirby had even acquired a hat.
+
+They slung their captured rifles before entering town and progressed at
+a quiet amble which suggested good will. But there was no mistaking the
+fact that they attracted attention, immediately and to some purpose. A
+small boy, balancing on a fence, put his fingers to his mouth and
+released a piercing whistle.
+
+King's response to that was vigorous. Rearing, until he stood almost
+upright on his hind feet, the stallion pawed the air. Drew barely kept
+his seat. He fought with all his knowledge of horsemanship to bring the
+stud back to earth and under control. And he could hear Kirby's laugh
+and Boyd calling out some inarticulate warning or advice.
+
+"Better git that mule--or run down this one's mainspring some," the
+Texan said when Drew had King again with four feet on the ground, though
+weaving in a sideways dance.
+
+"You men--what are you doing here?" A horseman looked over the heads of
+the crowd to the four troopers.
+
+"Passin' through, suh. Leastwise we was, until greeted--" Kirby answered
+courteously.
+
+Drew assessed the questioner's well-cut riding clothes, his good linen,
+and fine gloves. The rider was middle-aged, his authority more evident
+because of that fact. This was either one of the wealthy planters of the
+district or some important inhabitant of Cadiz. There was a wagon
+drawing up behind him, a span of well-cared-for mules in harness with a
+Negro driver.
+
+The mules held Drew's attention. King's reaction to that sudden whistle
+was a warning. He had no wish to ride such an animal into a picket
+skirmish. The sleekness of the mules appealed to his desire to rid
+himself of the unmanageable stud.
+
+Now he edged the sidling King closer to the wagon. The driver watched
+him with apprehension. Whether he guessed Drew's intention or whether he
+dreaded the near approach of the stallion was a question which did not
+bother the scout.
+
+"You there," Drew hailed the driver. "I'll take one of those mules!"
+
+As always, he hated these enforced trades and spoke in a peremptory way,
+wanting to get the matter finished.
+
+"You, suh--" the solid citizen turned his horse to face the scout--"what
+gives you the right to take that mule?"
+
+With a visible sigh of relief, the Negro relaxed on the driver's seat,
+willing to let the other carry on the argument.
+
+"Nothing, except I have to have a mount I can depend upon." Drew did not
+know why he was explaining, or even why he wanted the mule so acutely
+right now. Except that he was tired, tired of the days in the saddle, of
+being on the run, of these small Kentucky towns into which they rode to
+loot and ride off again. The Yankees in Bardstown had been fair game,
+and their bluff there had been an adventure. But Calhoun left a sour
+taste in his mouth, and he didn't like the vague order which had brought
+him to Cadiz. So his dislike boiled over, to settle into a sullen
+determination to rid himself of one irritation--this undependable horse.
+
+"Do I assume, suh, that you are part of General Morgan's command?" Sharp
+blue eyes studied Drew across the well-curried backs of the mules.
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+The man gave a nod, which might have been for some thought of his own.
+
+"We have heard some rumors of your coming, suh," the other continued.
+"You, Nelson," he spoke to the Negro, "take this team up to the livery
+stable and tell Mr. Emory I want Hannibal saddled! Then you bring him
+back here and give him to this gentleman!"
+
+"Yes, suh. Hannibal--wi' saddle--for this young gentlem'n."
+
+"Hannibal, suh," the man said to Drew, "is a mule, but a remarkable one,
+riding trained and strong. I think you will find him quite usable. Do I
+understand we are about to be favored by a visit from General Morgan?"
+
+Drew dismounted. Now he made a business of squinting up at the sun as if
+to tell time. "Not for a while, suh." He remained cautious; though he
+guessed that his questioner's sympathies were at least not openly Union.
+
+There was a stir in the gathering crowd. Hart was leaning from his
+saddle, talking earnestly to two men flanking him on either side.
+
+"May I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen. I am James Pryor, at your
+service--"
+
+Automatically Drew responded to the manners of Red Springs. "Drew
+Rennie, suh. Anson Kirby, Boyd Barrett...." He looked around for Hart,
+only to see the other disappearing into an alley with his two companions
+from the crowd.
+
+"Suh, that's a right heartenin' offer," Kirby said, smiling. "Trail dust
+sure does make a man's throat dryer'n an alkali flat!"
+
+"Mark Hale over here has just the answer for that difficulty, gentlemen.
+If you will accompany me--"
+
+They left the glare of the sunlit street, following their host into a
+small shop where a quantity of strange smells fought for supremacy.
+Kirby stared about him puzzled, but his look changed to an expression of
+pure bafflement and outrage as Pryor gave his order to the smaller man
+who came from a back room.
+
+"Mark, these gentlemen need some of that good lemonade you make--if you
+have some cold and ready."
+
+Drew heard Kirby's muffled snort of protest and wanted so badly to laugh
+that the struggle to choke off that sound was a pain in his chest. Mr.
+Pryor smiled at them blandly.
+
+"M' boys, nothing better on a really hot day than some of Mark's
+lemonade. Nothing like it in this part of Kentucky. Ah, that looks like
+a draft fit for the gods, Mark, it certainly does!"
+
+Hale had bobbed out of his inner room again, shepherding before him a
+Negro boy who walked with exaggerated caution, balancing a tray on which
+stood four tall glasses, beaded with visible moisture. There was a
+sprig of green mint standing sentry in each.
+
+"Drink up, gentlemen." Under Mr. Pryor's commanding eye they each took a
+glass and a first sip.
+
+But it was good--cool as it went slipping down the throat bearing that
+blessed chill with it, tart on the tongue, and fresh. Drew had sipped,
+but now he gulped, and he noted over the rim of his own glass, that
+Kirby was following his example. Mr. Pryor consumed his portion at a
+more genteel rate of intake.
+
+"This allays that trail dust of yours, Mr. Kirby?" He inquired with no
+more than usual solicitude, but there was a faint trace of amusement in
+his small smile.
+
+Kirby met the challenge promptly. "Ably, suh, ably!" He raised his
+half-filled glass. "To your very good health, suh. I don't know when
+I've had me a more satisfyin' drink!"
+
+Pryor bowed. He was still smiling as he glanced at Drew.
+
+"You have business in Cadiz, suh? Beyond that of swapping that
+firebreather of yours for another mount, I mean? Perhaps I can be of
+service in some other way...."
+
+Drew cradled his glass in both hands. The condensing moisture made it
+slippery, but the chill was pleasant to feel.
+
+"Do you have any news about the Cumberland River, suh?" he asked. Pryor
+might have usable information, and there was no reason to disguise that
+part of their objective. Short of turning about and fighting their way
+through about a quarter of the aroused Yankee army, the fugitives did
+have to cross the Cumberland and the Tennessee, and do both soon.
+
+"The Cumberland, suh, is not apt to give you much trouble." Pryor sipped
+at his glass with a relish. "If, of course, you contemplate a try at the
+Tennessee--that will be a different matter. I trust your commander will
+be amply prepared for difficulties there. But General Morgan is not to
+be easily caught napping, or so his reputation stands. I wish you the
+best of luck."
+
+"Is that your horse out there, young man?" the proprietor of the
+drugstore addressed Drew. "That big stallion?"
+
+Drew put his glass on the counter and spun around. "What's he doin'
+now?"
+
+"Nothing," Hale returned quickly. "Ransome!" Out of nowhere Hale's
+servant appeared. "Get the saddlebags from that horse."
+
+Surprised at this highhanded demand for his property, Drew waited for
+enlightenment. When Ransome returned with the bags, Hale took them,
+moved quickly to a cabinet, and unlocked it. By handfulls he took small
+boxes from the shelves inside, added some paper packets, and then
+buckled the straps tightly over the new bulge.
+
+"I understand," he said in his dry, precise voice, "there is a pressing
+need for quinine, morphine, and the like in the South?"
+
+Drew could only nod as Hale held out the bags.
+
+"Give this to your surgeon, young man, with my compliments. There is
+little enough we can do, but this is something."
+
+Drew stammered his thanks, knowing that those boxes and packets crammed
+into his bags meant a fortune to a blockade runner, but far more to men
+in the improvised hospitals behind the gray lines. Hale waved away
+Drew's thanks, adding only a last warning: "Keep your bags dry if you
+contemplate a river crossing! I would like to make sure that those drugs
+do reach the right hands intact."
+
+"Rennie!" Hart hailed him from the door. "There's a boy here with a
+mule; he says it's for you."
+
+Pryor put down his glass. "It's Hannibal. I think you will find him
+acceptable, suh. An even-tempered animal for the most part, and the
+surest-footed one I have ever ridden."
+
+"Then you do _ride_ him?" Boyd spoke for the first time.
+
+"Naturally he has been ridden--by me. I would not offer him otherwise,
+suh!" Pryor's flash of indignation was quick. "Hannibal's dam was Dido,
+a fine trotting mare. He's an excellent mount."
+
+The mule stood in the street, ears slightly forward, eyeing King warily.
+He was a big animal, groomed until his gray coat shone under the sun,
+wearing a well rubbed and oiled saddle and trappings. As Drew approached
+he lowered his head, sniffing inquiringly at the scout.
+
+"Your new master, Hannibal," Pryor addressed the animal with the gravity
+of one making a formal introduction. "You are about to be mustered into
+the cavalry."
+
+Hannibal appeared to consider this and then shook his big head up and
+down in a vigorous nod. Boyd laughed and Kirby offered vocal
+encouragement.
+
+"Mount up an' see if you have to go smoothin' out any humps."
+
+"If you're goin' to ride that critter, git on!" Hart called. His tone
+expressed urgency as if he had learned something in town which should
+send them out of Cadiz in a hurry.
+
+Drew's previous experience with mules had not been as a rider. He had
+heard plenty about their sure-footedness, their ability to keep going as
+pack animals and wagon teams when horses gave out, their intelligence,
+as well as that stubbornness which lay on the darker side of the scales.
+He advanced on Hannibal now a little distrustfully, settling into the
+saddle on the animal's back with the care of one expecting some
+unpleasant reaction. But Hannibal merely swung his head about as if to
+make sure by sight, as well as pressure of weight on his back, that his
+rider was safely aloft.
+
+Relaxing, Drew saluted Pryor. "My thanks to you, suh."
+
+"Think nothing of it, young man. Luck to you--all of you."
+
+"That we can use, suh," Kirby returned. "Adios...."
+
+Hart's impatience was so patent that Drew had only hasty thanks for Hale
+before the trooper had them on their way out of town. When they were at
+a trot Kirby joined their guide.
+
+"How come you workin' on your critter's rump with a double of rope? Git
+sight of some blue belly hangin' out to dry-gulch us?"
+
+"We ain't too welcome hereabouts." Hart did look worried, and Drew was
+alert.
+
+"Yankees?" he asked.
+
+Hart shook his head. "Just some of the boys; they don't want no
+attention pulled this way, not right now."
+
+The bank money--and the guerrillas. Yes, holding up the Cadiz bank if
+and when any gold reached there, would appeal to the local irregulars,
+who might be so irregular as to be on the cold side of the law, even in
+wartime with the enemy their victim. Drew fitted one piece to another
+and thought he could guess the full pattern.
+
+Kirby looked from one to the other. Boyd was completely at a loss. A
+moment later the Texan spoke again.
+
+"Me, I'm never one to argue with local talent, specially if they wear
+their Colts low and loose. Doin' that is apt to make a man wolf meat.
+Wheah to now--this heah river?"
+
+Drew nodded. The Cumberland must be scouted. And, after that, the more
+formidable barrier of the Tennessee. He had not needed Pryor's warning
+about the latter. Ever since they had left Bardstown and knew they were
+headed for that barrier, Drew had been carrying worry at the back of his
+mind.
+
+But Pryor was also right about the Cumberland. Hart agreed to ride back
+to the company with the information to direct them to the best crossing.
+While Drew, Kirby, and Boyd went on to the last barrier between them and
+eventual escape southwest.
+
+Here the Tennessee was a flood, a narrow lake more than a river. As they
+traveled its eastern bank Boyd halted now and again to study the waste
+of water dubiously.
+
+"It's wide," he said in a subdued voice. Kirby spat accurately at a leaf
+drifting just below.
+
+"Need us some fish fixin's heah," he agreed. "You swim?" he asked the
+other two.
+
+There had been ponds at home where both of them in childhood had paddled
+about with most of the young male populations of Red Springs and Oak
+Hill. But whether they could trust that somewhat limited skill to get
+them over this flood was another matter.
+
+"Some." Boyd appeared to have discovered caution.
+
+"Me, I'm not sayin' yet," Kirby commented. "Splashin' 'round some in a
+little-bitty wadin' pool, an' gittin' out in this, don't balance none.
+Ain't every hoss takes kindly to water, neither. I'd say we'd better see
+what's the chances of knockin' together a raft or somethin'. 'Less we
+can find us a boat."
+
+But boats were not to be found, unless they were willing to risk
+discovery by trying to cross near a well-settled district. And when
+Captain Campbell joined them that afternoon he insisted on the need of
+speed over a longer reconnaissance.
+
+"The Yankees are closing in," he told the trio by the river. "If we try
+to cross at a town, they'll have a point to center on. Rafts, yes, we
+can try to build rafts--have to ferry over the men who can't swim, and
+our gear. This is the time we must push--fast."
+
+The remote section of bank which Drew had chosen became a scene of
+activity as the company came in--a tight bunch--not long after Campbell.
+The stragglers came later, pushing beat-out horses, one or two riding
+double. They had no tools other than bowie knives, and their attempts at
+raft-building were not only awkward but in the most cases futile. When
+they did have a mat which would stick together after a fashion, they
+were determined to put it to the test at once.
+
+None of them had much practice in getting horses over such a wide body
+of water, and there were a great many freely voiced suggestions
+concerning the best methods.
+
+Kirby stood watching the first attempt, his face blank of expression, a
+sign Drew had come to recognize as the Texan's withdrawal from a
+situation or action of which he did not approve. There were five men
+squeezed together on the flimsy-looking raft and they had strung out
+their mounts in a line, the head of one horse linked by leading rope to
+the tail of the one before him.
+
+"You don't think it's goin' to work?" Drew asked Kirby.
+
+The Texan shrugged. "Maybe, only hosses don't think like men. An' a
+lotta hosses don't take kindly to gittin' wheah theah ain't no footin'.
+Me, I want to see a little more, 'fore I roll out--"
+
+Kirby's misgivings were amply justified. For that first voyage was
+doomed to a tragic and speedy end. The second horse in line, losing
+footing as the river bed fell away beneath him, reared in fright, caught
+his forefeet over the rope linking him to his fellow, and so jerked his
+head underwater by his own frenzied struggles. Before the men on the
+wildly dipping raft were able to cut the now fright-maddened animals
+loose, three in that string had drowned themselves by their uncontrolled
+plunges, and the others were being dragged under.
+
+Boyd dived from the upper bank before Drew could stop him. It was
+madness to go anywhere near the struggling horses. But somehow Boyd's
+blond head broke water at the side of the last gasping animal. He took a
+grip on the water-logged mane, his body bobbing up and down with the
+jerks of the horse's forequarters, until he had sawed through the lead
+cord and was able to start the mount back toward the shore, swimming
+beside him.
+
+Drew was waiting with Kirby to give Boyd a hand up the bank.
+
+"You could have been pulled under!"
+
+Boyd was grinning. "But I wasn't. And the horse's all right, too." He
+patted the wet haunch of the shivering animal. "That was bad--they
+pulled each other down."
+
+It was a disheartening beginning. But as the hours slipped by they had
+better success. One horse, two, three could be towed on separate ropes
+behind the raft. And in the morning there was a cockleshell of a boat
+oared in by one of the men who had found it downriver.
+
+They had ferried and crossed well into the dusk of the evening. And at
+the first dawn they were at it again. Drew tried to remember how many
+times he had made that trip, swimming or rowing, always with some mount
+as his special charge. More than half the company had sworn they could
+not swim, and so the burden of the transfer fell upon their fellows.
+
+"Rennie--" That was Campbell climbing up from the raft after another
+weary passage across. "There's trouble on the other side. You've been
+using that mule of yours to get some of the horses over, haven't you?"
+
+Drew was so tired that words were too much trouble to shape. He nodded
+dully. Pryor had been right about Hannibal. The big mule had not only
+taken his own passage across the Tennessee as a matter-of-course
+proceeding, but had shouldered and urged along three horses as he went.
+And twice since then Drew had taken him back and forth to bring in
+skittish mounts causing trouble.
+
+"That horse of mine's running wild; he broke out of the water twice."
+The captain caught at Drew's bare arm so hard his nails cut. "Think you
+could get him over with the mule's help?"
+
+Drew wavered a little as he walked slowly to where he had picketed
+Hannibal after their last trip. He was tired, and although he had eaten
+earlier that morning, he was hungry again. It was warm and the sun was
+climbing, but the air felt chill against his naked body and he shivered.
+The one thing they were all getting out of this river business, Drew
+decided, were much-needed baths.
+
+Kirby, his body white save for tanned face and throat, sun-darkened
+hands and wrists, crouched on the raft as Drew brought Hannibal down to
+that unwieldy craft.
+
+"Tryin' for the cap'n's hoss?"
+
+"What's wrong with it?" Drew helped the Texan push off.
+
+"Reaches no bottom, an' then it plain warps its backbone tryin' to paw
+down the sky. Maybe that mule can git some sense into the loco critter.
+But I'm not buyin' no chips on his doin' it."
+
+Drew located Campbell's horse, a rangy, good-looking gray which reminded
+him a little of the colt he had seen at Red Springs, snorting and
+trotting back and forth along the path they had worn on the banks during
+their efforts of the past twenty-four hours. One of the rear guard held
+its lead rope and kept as far from the skittish animal as he could.
+
+"He's plumb mean," the guardian informed Drew. "When he jumps, get out
+from under--quick!"
+
+Yet when Drew, mounted on Hannibal now, brought the horse down to the
+water's edge, the horse appeared to go willingly enough. The scout
+tossed the lead rope to Kirby, waiting until the raft pushed off with
+its load of men and fringe of horses, then took to the river beside
+Campbell's horse. When they reached the deeper section he saw the gray
+go into action.
+
+Rearing, the horse appeared about to try to climb onto the raft. And the
+man holding its lead rope dropped it quickly. Drew, swimming, one hand
+on Hannibal's powerful shoulder, tried to guide the mule toward the
+horse that was still splashing up and down in a rocking-horse movement.
+But the mule veered suddenly, and Drew saw those threatening hoofs loom
+over his own head. He pushed away frantically, but too late to miss a
+numbing blow as one hoof grazed his shoulder.
+
+Somehow, with his other hand outflung, he caught Hannibal's rope tail
+and held on with all the strength he had left, while the water washed in
+and out of a long raw gouge in the skin and muscles of his upper arm.
+
+
+
+
+8
+
+_Happy Birthday, Soldier!_
+
+
+"No water here either." Boyd climbed up the bank of what might once have
+been a promising stream. Carrying three canteens, he ran the tip of his
+tongue over his lips unhappily. "It sure is hot!"
+
+They had turned off the road, which was now filled with men, horses,
+men, artillery, and men, all slogging purposefully forward. They
+composed an army roused out before daylight, on the move toward another
+army holed in behind a breastworks and waiting. And over all, the
+exhausting blanket of mid-July heat which pressed to squeeze all the
+vital juices out of both man and animal.
+
+Drew touched his aching arm soothingly. It still hurt, although the
+rawness had healed during the weeks between that turbulent crossing of
+the Tennessee and this morning in Mississippi as they moved at the Union
+position on the ridge above the abandoned ghost town of Harrisburg. The
+remnant of Morgan fugitives, some eighty strong, had fallen in with
+General Bedford Forrest's ranging scouts at Corinth, and had ridden
+still farther southward to join his main army just on the eve of what
+promised to be a big battle.
+
+"Hot!" echoed Kirby. "A man could git hisself killed today an' never
+know no difference."
+
+They were reluctant to re-enter the stream progressing along the road.
+The dust was ankle-deep there, choking thick when stirred by feet and
+hoof to a powdery cloud. In contrast, there were no clouds in the sky,
+and the sun promised to be a ball of brass very soon.
+
+Yesterday had been as punishing. Men wilted in the road, overcome by
+heat and lack of water. If there ever had been any moisture in this
+country, it had long ago been boiled away. The very leaves were brittle
+and grayish-looking where they weren't inches deep in dust.
+
+As of last night, the Morgan men were an addition to Crossland's
+Kentuckians under General Buford. The speech of the blue grass was
+familiar, but nothing yet had made them a part of this new army with
+which they marched.
+
+Drew reached for one of the canteens. His worry over Boyd, dulled by the
+passing of time, stirred sluggishly. The other had kept up the grueling
+pace which had brought the fugitives across half of Kentucky, all of
+Tennessee, and into this new eddy of war, making no complaint after his
+first harsh introduction to action--which might be in part an adventure,
+but which was mostly something to be endured--with the dogged
+stubbornness of a seasoned veteran. And Boyd had manifestly toughened in
+that process. After Drew's mishap in the river, Boyd had accepted
+responsibility, helping to keep the scout in the saddle and riding, even
+when Drew had been bemused by a day or two of fever, unaware of either
+their enforced pace or their destination.
+
+No, somewhere along the line of retreat Drew had stopped worrying about
+Boyd. And now, with the youngster already appointed horse holder for the
+day's battle, he need not think of him engulfed in action. Though any
+fighting future was decided mainly by the capricious chance which struck
+one man down and allowed his neighbor to march on unscathed.
+
+"You men--over there--close up!" A officer, hardly to be distinguished
+from the men he rode among, waved them back to the column. Then they
+were dismounting. As Drew handed Hannibal over to Boyd's care, he was
+glad again that the other was safely behind the battle line moving up in
+the thin woods.
+
+During the night the enemy had thrown together the breastworks on the
+ridge, weaving together axed trees, timbers torn out of the abandoned
+houses of the village--anything the Union leader could commandeer for
+such use. And between that improvised fortification and the cover in
+which the Confederates now waited was a section of open ground, varying
+in width with the wanderings of a now dry river. Where the Kentuckians
+were stationed, there must have stretched about three hundred yards of
+that open, Drew estimated, and the woods bordering it on this side were
+so thin that any charge would take them into plain sight for five
+hundred yards of approach.
+
+Fieldpieces brought into line on the woods side, hidden above by the
+breastworks, opened up in a dull _pom-pom_ duel. Drew saw a shell strike
+earth not far away, bounce twice, still intact, and roll on toward the
+Confederate lines.
+
+The _zip-zip_ of the Miniés had not yet begun. And this waiting was the
+hardest part of all. Drew tried to pin all his powers of concentration
+on a study of the ground immediately before him, the slope up which they
+would have to win in order to have it out with the now hidden enemy. He
+made himself calculate just which path to take when the orders to charge
+came. Although his arm prevented his using a carbine or rifle, his two
+Colts were loaded, and one was in his hand. He glanced around.
+
+Kirby? There was a Morgan trooper next--Drew tried to remember his name.
+Laswell ... Townstead ... no, Clinton! Tom Clinton. He'd done picket
+duty with Drew. And beyond Clinton--there was Kirby, his lips pulled
+tight in what might have been a grin, but which Drew thought was not.
+Then ... Boyd! But Boyd was back with the horses; he had to be!
+
+Drew edged forward a little, trying to see better. If it were Boyd, he
+had to wrench him out of that line and get the boy back. A hot emotion
+close to panic boiled up in Drew.
+
+Somewhere, through the pound of the artillery, a bugle blared. And
+Drew's muscles obeyed that call, even as he still tried to see who was
+fourth in line from him.
+
+Slowly at first, they were on the move. The sun was up, shining directly
+into their faces. But in spite of the glare, they could still see the
+Union works and the flash of guns along it. They were moving faster,
+coming to a trot. Officers shouted here and there, trying to slow that
+steady advance--why?
+
+Then, drowning out the bugles, the mutter and roar of the artillery,
+came the Yell. Their shambling trot quickened. Men were running now,
+forming a great wave to lick up at the breastworks. Men in that line did
+not know--or care--that they were moving without the promised support on
+right and left; they did not hear the disturbed orders of the officers
+still striving to slow them, to wrench them back into a battle plan
+already too broken to mend. All they cared about now was the field clear
+for running, the weapons in their hands, the enemy waiting under the hot
+morning sun.
+
+Drew never remembered afterward that splendid useless charge except as
+chaos. He could not have told just when they were caught in a murderous
+crossfire which poured canister at their undefended flanks. A man went
+down before him, stumbling. The scout caught his foot against the
+writhing body, pitched head forward, and struck on his bad arm. For a
+moment or two the stabbing pain of that made the world red and black.
+Then Drew was up on one knee again, just in time to realize foggily that
+the Yankees were ripping at their flanks, that their charge was pocketed
+by lead and steel, being wiped out. He steadied his gun hand on the
+crook of his injured arm, tried to find some target, then fired
+feverishly without one, the gun's recoil sending shivers of pain through
+his whole shoulder and side.
+
+The first wave of men had great gaps torn in its length. But those
+remaining on their feet still ran up the slope, screaming their
+defiance. A handful reached the breastworks. Drew saw one man by some
+strange fortune scramble to the top of that timber wall, stand balanced
+for a moment in triumph to take aim at a target below as if he himself
+were invulnerable, and then plunge, as might a diver cleaving a pool,
+out of sight on the other side.
+
+Men faltered, the fire was breaking them, crumpling up the lines. All
+the Union might was concentrated in a lead-and-canister hail on the
+remnants of the brigade, making of the slope a holocaust in which
+nothing human could continue to advance.
+
+But new lines of gray-brown came steadily from the woodland, racing,
+yelling, steadfast in their determination to storm that barricade and
+pluck out the Yankees with their hands. They were wild men, with no
+thought of personal safety. A color bearer went down. His standard was
+seized by his right rank man before its red folds hit the churned,
+stained ground, the soldier flinging aside his rifle to take tight grip
+on the pole. The line came on at a run. Now broken squads of Kentuckians
+re-formed; a battered lacework of what had been companies, regiments,
+joined the newcomers.
+
+Drew was on his feet. Where Kirby or any others of the small Morgan
+contingent had vanished--whether Boyd _had_ been with them--he did not
+know. He jammed his now empty Colt into its holster, drew its twin,
+still not wholly aware that the breastworks were too far away for small
+arms' fire to have any effect.
+
+Now the whole world was no larger than that stretch of open ground and
+the breastworks, the men in blue behind them. Only the flanking fire
+still withered the gray lines, curling them up as the sun had withered
+and curled the leaves on the shrubs by the dried stream bed. This was
+walking stiff-legged through a bath of fire--sun fire, lead-death
+fire--with no end except the hope of reaching the ridge top and the
+fight waiting there.
+
+But they could not reach that wall--except singly, or in twos and
+threes, then only to fall. And the waves of men no longer broke from the
+woods to lap up and recede sullenly down the slope. Out of nowhere, just
+as they fell back to the first fringe of trees, came an officer on a
+tall gray horse. His coat was gone, he rode in his shirt sleeves, and a
+bullet-torn tatter waved from one wide shoulder. Above prominent
+cheekbones, his eyes were hot and bright, his clipped beard pointed
+sharply from a jaw which must be grimly set, his face was flushed, and
+his energy and will was like a cloud to engulf the disheartened men as
+he bore down upon them.
+
+His galloping course threaded through the shattered groups of
+Kentuckians, men fast disintegrating into a mob as the realization of
+their failure on the slope began to strike home--no longer a portion of
+an army believing in itself. But, sighting him, they followed his route
+with a rising wave of cheers--cheers which even though they came from
+dry throats rose in force and violence to that inarticulate Yell which
+had raised them past all fear up the hill.
+
+From his saddle, the officer leaned to grab at a standard, whirling the
+flag aloft and around his head so that its scarlet length, crossed with
+the starred blue bands, made a tossing splotch of color, to hold and
+draw men's eyes. And now he was shouting, too, somehow his words
+carrying through the uproar in the woods.
+
+"Rally! Rally on colors!"
+
+"Forrest!" A man beside Drew whooped, threw his hat into the air. "The
+old man's here! Forrest!"
+
+They were pulled together about that rider and his waving standard.
+Lines tightened, death-made gaps closed. They steadied, again a fighting
+command and not a crowd of men facing defeat. And having welded that
+force, Forrest did not demand a second charge. He was furiously
+angry--not with them, Drew sensed--but with someone or something beyond
+the men crowding about him. It was not until afterward that rumor seeped
+out through the ranks; it had not been Forrest's kind of battle, not his
+plan. And he now had five hundred empty saddles to weight the scales
+after a battle which was not his.
+
+Drew leaned against a bullet-clipped tree. Men were at work with some of
+the same will as had taken them to attack, building a barricade of their
+own, expecting a counterthrust from the enemy. He wiped his sweaty face
+with the back of his hand. His throat was one long dry ache; nowhere had
+he seen a familiar face.
+
+Somewhere among this collection of broken units and scrambled companies
+of survivors he must find his own. He stood away from the tree, fighting
+thirst, weariness, and the shaking reaction from the past few hours, to
+move through the badly mauled force, afraid to allow himself to think
+what--or who--might still lie out on the ridge under the white heat of
+the sun.
+
+"Rennie!"
+
+Drew rounded a fieldpiece which had been manhandled off the firing line,
+one wheel shattered. He steadied himself against its caisson and turned
+his head with caution, fearing to be downed by the vertigo which seemed
+to strike in waves ever since he had retreated to the cover of the
+woods. He wanted to find the horse lines, to make sure that he had not
+seen Boyd on the field just before the bugle had lifted them all into
+that abortive charge.
+
+It was Driscoll who hailed him. He had a red-stained rag tied about his
+forearm and carried his hand tucked into the half-open front of his
+shirt. Drew walked toward him slowly, feeling oddly detached. He noted
+that the trooper's weathered face had a greenish shade, that his mouth
+was working as if he were trying to shape soundless words.
+
+"Where're the rest?" Drew asked.
+
+Driscoll's good hand motioned to the left. "Four ... five ... some
+there. Standish--he got it with a shell--no head ... not any more--" He
+gave a sound like a giggle, and then his hand went hastily to his mouth
+as he retched dryly.
+
+Drew caught the other's shoulder, shaking him.
+
+"The others!" he demanded more loudly, trying to pierce the curtain of
+shock to Driscoll's thinking mind.
+
+"Four ... five ... some--" Driscoll repeated. "Standish, he's dead. Did
+I tell you about Standish? A shell came along and--"
+
+"Yes, you told me about Standish. Now show me where the others are!"
+Still keeping his shoulder grip, Drew edged Driscoll about until the
+trooper was pointed in the general direction to which he had gestured.
+Now Drew gave the man a push and followed.
+
+"Rennie!" That was Captain Campbell. He was kneeling by a man on the
+ground, a canteen in his hand.
+
+Drew lurched forward. He was so sure that that inert casualty was Boyd,
+and that Boyd was dead.
+
+"Boyd--" he murmured stupidly, refusing to believe his eyes. The man
+lying there had a brush of grayish beard on his chin, a mat of hair
+which moved up and down as he breathed in heavy, panting gasps.
+
+"Boyd?" This time the scout made a question of it.
+
+One of the men in that little group moved. "He got it--out there."
+
+Drew shifted his weight. He felt as if he were striving to move a body
+as heavy and as inert as that of an unconscious man. It took so long
+even to raise his hand. Before he could question the trooper further,
+another was before him.
+
+Kirby, his powder-blackened face only inches away from that of the man
+he had seized by a handful of shirt front, demanded: "How do you know?"
+
+The man pulled back but not out of Kirby's clutch. "He was right beside
+me. Went down on the slope before we fell back--"
+
+So--Drew's thinking process was as slow as his weary body--he had been
+right back there on the field! Boyd had been in the first line, and he
+was still out there.
+
+Again, Drew made one of those careful turns to keep his unsteadiness
+under control. If Boyd was out there, he must be brought back--now!
+Hands closed on Drew's shoulders, jerking him back so that he collided
+with another body, and was held pinned against his captor.
+
+"You can't go theah now!" Kirby spoke so closely to his ear that the
+words were a roaring in his head. But they did not make sense. Drew
+tried to wrench loose of that hold, the pain in his half-healed arm
+answering. Then there was a period he could not account for at all, and
+suddenly the sun was fading and it was evening. Somebody pushed a
+canteen into his hand, then lifted both hand and canteen for him so that
+he could drink some liquid which was not clear water but thick and
+brackish, evil-tasting, but which moistened his dry mouth and swollen
+tongue.
+
+Through the gathering dusk he could see distant splotches of red and
+yellow--were they fires? And shells screamed somewhere. Drew held his
+head between his hands and cowered under that beat of noise which
+combined with the pulsation of pain just over his eyes. Men were moving
+around him, and horses. He heard tags of speech, but none of them were
+intelligible.
+
+Was the army pulling out? Drew tried to think coherently. He had
+something to do. It was important! Not here--where? The boom of the
+field artillery, the flickering of those fires, they confused him,
+making it difficult to sort out his memories.
+
+Again, a canteen appeared before him, but now he pushed it petulantly
+aside. He didn't want a drink; he wanted to think--to recall what it was
+he had to do.
+
+"Drew--!" There was a figure, outlined in part by one of those fires,
+squatting beside him. "Can you ride?"
+
+Ride? Where? Why? He had a mule, didn't he? Back in the horse lines.
+Boyd--he had left the mule with Boyd. Boyd! _Now_ he knew what had to be
+done!
+
+He moved away from the outstretched hand of the man beside him, got to
+his feet, saw the blot of a mount the other was holding. And he caught
+at reins, dragged them from the other's hand before he could resist.
+
+"Boyd!" He didn't know whether he called that name aloud, or whether it
+was one with the beat in his head. Boyd was out on that littered field,
+and Drew was going to bring him in.
+
+Towing the half-seen animal by the reins, Drew started for the fires and
+the boom of the guns.
+
+"All right!" The words came to him hollowly. "But not that way, you're
+loco! This way! The Yankees are burnin' up what's left of the town; that
+ain't the battlefield!"
+
+Drew was ready to resist, but now his own eyes confirmed that. Fire was
+raging among the few remaining buildings of the ghost town, and shells
+were striking at targets pinned in that light, shells from Confederate
+batteries, taking sullen return payment for that disastrous July day.
+
+A lantern bobbed by his side, swinging to the tread of the man carrying
+it. And, as they turned away from the inferno which was consuming
+Harrisburg, Drew saw other such lights in the night, threading along the
+slope. This was the heartbreaking search, among the dead, for the
+living, who might yet be brought back to the agony of the field
+hospitals. He was not the only one hunting through the human wreckage
+tonight.
+
+"I've talked to Johnson," Kirby said. "It'll be like huntin' for a steer
+in the big brush, but we can only try."
+
+They could only try ... Drew thought he was hardened to sights, sounds.
+He had helped bring wounded away from other fields, but somehow this was
+different. Yet, oddly enough, the thought that Boyd could be--_must_
+be--lying somewhere on that slope stiffened Drew, quickened his muscles
+back into obedience, kept him going at a steady pace as he led Hannibal
+carefully through the tangle of the dead. Twice they found and freed the
+still living, saw them carried away by search parties. And they were
+working their way closer to the breastworks.
+
+"Ho--there--Johnny!"
+
+The call came out of the dark, out of the wall hiding the Yankee forces.
+
+Drew straightened from a sickening closer look at three who had fallen
+together.
+
+"Johnny!" The call was louder, rising over the din from the burning
+town. "One, one of yours--he's been callin' out some ... to your left
+now."
+
+Kirby held up the lantern. The circle of light spread, catching on a
+spurred boot. That tiny glint of metal moved, or was it the booted foot
+which had twitched?
+
+Drew strode forward as Kirby swung the lantern in a wider arc. The man
+on the ground lay on his back, his hands moving feebly to tear at the
+already rent shirt across his chest. There was a congealed mass of blood
+on one leg just above the boot top. Drew knew that flushed and swollen
+face in spite of its distortion; they had found what they had been
+searching for.
+
+Kirby pulled those frantic hands away from the strips of calico, the
+scratched flesh beneath, but there was no wound there. The leg injury
+Drew learned by quick examination was not too bad a one. And they could
+discover no other hurt; only the delirium, the flushed face, and the
+fast breathing suggested worse trouble.
+
+"Sun, maybe." Kirby transferred his hold to the rolling head, vising it
+still between his hands while Drew dripped a scanty stream of the
+unpalatable water from the Texan's canteen onto Boyd's crusted, gaping
+lips.
+
+"I'll mount Hannibal. You hold him!" Drew said. "He can't stay in the
+saddle by himself."
+
+Somehow they managed. Boyd's head, still rolling back and forth, moved
+now against Drew's sound shoulder. Kirby steadied his trailing legs,
+then went ahead with the lantern. Before they moved off, Drew turned his
+head to the breastworks.
+
+"Thanks, Yankee!" He called as loudly and clearly as his thirst-dried
+throat allowed. There was no answer from the hidden picket or sentry--if
+he were still there. Then Hannibal paced down the slope.
+
+"The Calhoun place?" Kirby asked.
+
+Hannibal stumbled, and Boyd cried out, the cry becoming a moan.
+
+"Yes. Anse ..." Drew added dully, "do you know ... this was his
+birthday--today. I just remembered."
+
+Sixteen today.... Maybe somewhere he could find the surgeon to whom last
+night he had turned over the drugs in his saddlebags. The doctor's
+gratitude had been incredulous then. But that was before the battle,
+before a red tide of broken men had flowed into the dressing station at
+the Calhoun house. The leg wound was not too bad, but the sun had
+affected the boy who had lain in its full glare most of the day. He must
+have help.
+
+The saddlebags of drugs, Boyd needing help--one should balance the
+other. Those facts seesawed back and forth in Drew's aching head, and he
+held his muttering burden close as Kirby found them a path away from the
+rending guns and the blaze of the fires.
+
+
+
+
+9
+
+_One More River To Cross_
+
+
+"The weather is sure agin this heah war. A man's either frizzled clean
+outta his saddle by the heat--or else his hoss's belly's deep in the mud
+an' he gits him a gully-washer down the back of his neck! Me--I'm a West
+Texas boy, an' down theah we have lizard-fryin' days an' twisters that
+are regular hell winds, and northers that'll freeze you solid in one
+little puff-off. But then all us boys was raised on rattlesnakes,
+wildcats, an' cactus juice--we're kinda hardened to such. Only I ain't
+seen as how this half of the country is much better. Maybe we shouldn't
+have switched our range--"
+
+Drew grinned at Kirby's stream of whispered comment and complaint as
+they wriggled their way forward through brush to look down on a Union
+blockhouse and stockade guarding a railroad trestle.
+
+"Weather don't favor either side. The Yankees have it just as bad, don't
+they?"
+
+The Texan made a snake's noiseless progress to come even with his
+companion's vantage point.
+
+"Sure, but then they should ... they ought to pay up somehow for huntin'
+their hosses on somebody else's range. We'd be right peaceable was they
+to throw their hoofs outta heah. My, my, lookit them millin' round down
+theah. Jus' like a bunch of ants, ain't they? Had us one of Cap'n
+Morton's bull pups now, we could throw us a few shells as would make that
+nest boil right over into the gully!"
+
+"We'll do something when the General gets here," Drew promised.
+
+Kirby nodded. "Yes, an' this heah General Forrest, too. He sure can
+ramrod a top outfit. Jus' prances round the country so that the poor
+little blue bellies don't know when he's goin' to pop outta some bush,
+makin' war talk at 'em. You know, the kid's gonna be hoppin' to think he
+missed this heah show--"
+
+"At least we know where he is and what he's doin'."
+
+Kirby propped his chin on his forearm. "Jus' 'bout now he's sittin' down
+at the table back theah in Meridian with a sight of fancy grub lookin'
+back at him. How long you think he's gonna take to bein' corraled that
+way?"
+
+"General Buford gave him strict orders personally--"
+
+"Nice to have a general take an interest in you," Kirby commented. "You
+Kaintuck boys, you're scattered all through this heah army. Want to stay
+with Boyd 'cause he's ailin', so you jus' find you a general from your
+home state an' talk yourself into a transfer--"
+
+"Notice you wanted me to talk you into one, too."
+
+"Well, Missouri, Mississippi, an' Tennessee are a sight nearer Texas an'
+home than Virginia. Anyway, theah warn't much left of our old outfit,
+an' this heah Forrest is headin' up a sassy bunch. So I'm glad you did
+find you a general to sling some weight an' git us into his scouts jus'
+'cause he knew your grandpappy. Kaintucks stick together...."
+
+There was a second of silence through which they could both hear the
+faint sounds of life from the stockade.
+
+"M' father was a Texan," Drew said suddenly.
+
+"Now that's a right interestin' observation," Kirby remarked. "Heah I
+was all the time thinkin' you was one of these heah fast-ridin',
+fine-livin' gentlemen what was givin' some tone to the army. Not jus'
+'nother range drifter from the big spaces. What part of Texas you
+from--Brazos?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't born there. You had a war down that way, remember?"
+
+"You mean when Santa Anna came trottin' in with his tail high, thinkin'
+as how he could talk harsh to some of us Tejanos?"
+
+"No, later than that--when some of us went down to talk harsh in
+Mexico."
+
+"Sure. Only I don't recollect that theah powder-burnin' contest, m'self.
+M'pa went ... got him these heah fancy hoss ticklers theah." Kirby moved
+his hand toward the spurs he had taken off and tucked into his shirt for
+safekeeping to muffle the jingle while they were on scout. "Took 'em
+away from a Mex officer, personal. Me, I was too young to draw fightin'
+wages in that theah dust-up."
+
+"My father wasn't too young, and he drew his wages permanent. My
+grandfather went down to Texas and brought my mother back to Kentucky
+just in time for me to appear. My grandfather didn't like Texans."
+
+"An' maybe not your father, special?"
+
+Drew smiled, this time mirthlessly. "Just so. You see, m' father came up
+from Texas to get his schoolin' in Kentucky. He was studyin' to be a
+doctor at Lexington. And he was pretty young and kind of wild. He had
+one meetin'--"
+
+"You mean one of them pistol duels?"
+
+"Yes. So my grandfather warned him off seein' his daughter. I never
+heard the rights of it, but it seems m' father didn't take kindly to
+bein' ordered around."
+
+Kirby chuckled. "That theah feelin' is borned right into a Texas boy. He
+probably took the gal an' ran off with her--"
+
+"You're guessing right. At least that's the story as I've put it
+together. Mostly nobody would tell me anything. I was the blacksheep
+from the day I was born--"
+
+"But your ma, she'd give you the right of it."
+
+"She died when I was born. That's another thing my grandfather had
+against me. I was Hunt Rennie's son, and I killed my mother; that's the
+way he saw it."
+
+Kirby rolled his head on his arm so that his hazel eyes were on Drew's
+thin, too controlled features.
+
+"Sounds like your grandpappy had a burr under his tail an' bucked it out
+on you."
+
+"You might see it that way. You know, Anse, I'd like to see Texas--"
+
+"After we finish up this heah war, compadre, we can jus' mosey down
+theah an' look it over good. Happen you don't take to Texas, why,
+theah's New Mexico, the Arizona territory ... clean out to California,
+wheah they dip up that theah gold dust so free. Ain't nothin' sayin' a
+man has to stay on one range all his born days--"
+
+"Looks like the war ain't doin' too well." Drew was watching the
+activity in the stockade.
+
+"Well, we lost us Atlanta, sure enough. An' every time we close up
+ranks, theah's empty saddles showin'. But General Forrest, he's still
+toughenin' it out. Me, I'll trail along with him any day in the week."
+
+"Hey!" Kirby was drawing a bead on a shaking bush. But the man edging
+through was Hew Wilkins, General Buford's Sergeant of Scouts. He crawled
+up beside them to peer at the blockhouse.
+
+"They're pullin' out!" The men in blue coats were lining up about a
+small wagon train.
+
+Wilkins used binoculars for a closer look. "Your report was right; those
+are Negro troops!"
+
+"No wonder they're clearin' out--fast."
+
+"Cheatin' us outta a fight," Kirby observed with mock seriousness.
+
+"All the better. Kirby, you cut back and tell the General they're givin'
+us free passage. We can get the work done here, quick."
+
+"Back to axes, eh, an' some nice dry firewood--an' see what we can do to
+mess up the railroads for the Yankees. Only, seems like we're messin' up
+a sight of railroads, all down in our own part of the country. I'd like
+to be doin' this up in one of them theah Yankee states like New York,
+say, or Indiana. Saw me some mighty fine railroads to cut up, that time
+General Morgan took us on a sashay through Indiana."
+
+Kirby got to his feet and stretched. Drew unwound his own lanky length
+to join the other.
+
+"Maybe the old man will be leadin' us up there, too--" Wilkins put away
+the binoculars. "Rennie, we'll move on down there and see if we can pick
+up any information."
+
+Two months or a little more since Harrisburg. The brazen heat had given
+way to torrents in mid-August, and the rain had made quagmire traps of
+roads, forming rapids of every creek and river--bogging down horses,
+men, and guns. But it had not bogged down Bedford Forrest. And one
+section of his small force, under the command of General Buford leading
+the Kentuckians, had held the Union forces in check, while the other,
+under Forrest's personal leadership had swung past Smith and his blue
+coats in a lightning raid on Memphis.
+
+Now in September the rain was still falling in the mountains, keeping
+the streams up to bank level. And Forrest was also on the move. After
+the Memphis raid there had been a second honing of his army into razor
+sharpness, a razor to be brought down with its cutting edge across those
+railroads which carried the lifeblood of supplies to the Union army
+around Atlanta.
+
+Blockhouses fell to dogged attack or surrendered to bluff, the bluff of
+Forrest's name. The Kentucky General Buford was leading his division of
+the command up the railroad toward the Elk River Bridge and that was
+below the scouts now, being abandoned by the Union troopers.
+
+Two factors had brought Drew into Buford's Scouts. If Dr. Cowan,
+Forrest's own chief surgeon, had not been the medical officer to whom
+Drew had by chance delivered those saddlebags of drugs, and if Abram
+Buford had not been a division commander, Drew might not have been able
+to push through his transfer. But Cowan had spoken to Forrest, and
+General Buford had known both the Barretts and the Mattocks all his
+life.
+
+Boyd had recovered speedily from the leg wound, but his convalescence
+from heat exhaustion and the ensuing complications was still in
+progress, though he had reached the point that only General Buford's
+strict orders had kept him from this second raid into enemy territory.
+Now he was safe in a private home in Meridian, where he was being
+treated as a son of the house, and Drew had even managed to send a
+letter to Cousin Merry with that information. He only hoped that she had
+received it.
+
+As for the change in commands, Drew was content. Perhaps the more so
+since the news had come less than two weeks earlier that John Morgan was
+dead. He had gone down fighting, shooting it out with Yankee troopers in
+a rain-wet garden in Tennessee on a Sunday morning. Men were dying,
+dead ... and maybe a cause was dying, too. Drew's thought flinched away
+from that line now, trying to keep to the job before them. There was the
+abandoned stockade to destroy, the trestle and bridge to knock to
+pieces, and if they had time, the tracks to tear up, heat, and twist out
+of shape.
+
+Wilkins stood behind a pile of wood cut for engine fuel. "They are on
+the run, all right. Headin' toward Pulaski."
+
+"Think they'll make a stand there?"
+
+"One guess is as good as another. If they do, we'll smoke them out. Keep
+'em busy and chase 'em clean out of their hats and back to camp."
+
+The destruction of the blockhouse and the trestle could be left to the
+army behind; the scouts moved on again.
+
+"The boys are havin' themselves a time." Kirby returned to his post with
+the advance. "Tyin' bowknots in rails gits easier all the time. When
+this heah campaign is over, we'll know more 'bout takin' railroads apart
+then the fellas who make 'em know 'bout puttin' 'em together."
+
+"Trouble!" Drew reined in Hannibal and waved to Wilkins. "There's a
+picket up there...."
+
+Kirby's gaze followed the other's pointing finger. "Kinda green at the
+business," he commented critically. "Sorta makin' a sittin' target of
+hisself. Like to tickle him up with a shot. We don't git much action
+outta this."
+
+"I'd say we're plannin' to go in now."
+
+A squad of Buford's advance filtered up through the trees, and an
+officer, his insignia of rank two-inch strips of yellowish ribbon sewed
+to the collar of a mud-brown coat, was conferring with Wilkins. Then the
+clear notes of the bugle charge rang out.
+
+Forrest's men were as adept as Morgan's raiders in making a show of
+force seem twice the number of men actually in the field. They now
+whirled in and out of a wild pattern which should impress the Yankee
+picket with the fact that at least a full regiment was advancing.
+
+Three miles from Pulaski the Yankees made a stand, slamming back with
+all they had, but Buford was pushing just as hard and determinedly.
+Gray-brown boiled out of cover and charged, yelling. That electric spark
+of reckless determination which had taken the Kentucky columns up the
+slope at Harrisburg flashed again from man to man. Drew tasted the old
+headiness which could sweep a man out of sanity, send him plunging
+ahead, aware only of the waiting enemy.
+
+The Union lines broke under those shock waves; men ran for the town
+behind them. But there was no taking that town. By early afternoon they
+had them fenced in, held by a show of force. Only in the night, leaving
+their fires burning, the Confederates slipped away.
+
+Rains hit again; guns and wagons bogged. But they kept on into
+rough-and-rocky country. They had taken enough horses from the Union
+corrals at the blockhouses to mount the men who had tramped patiently
+along the ruts in just that hope. Better still, sugar and coffee from
+the rich Yankee supply depot at the Brown farm was now filling Rebel
+stomachs.
+
+Drew sat on his heels by a palm-sized fire, watching with weary content
+the tin pail boiling there. The aroma rising from it was one he had
+almost forgotten existed in this world of constant riding and poor
+forage.
+
+"Hope it kicks in the middle an' packs double." Kirby rested a tin cup
+on one knee, ready and waiting. "Me, I like mine strong enough to rest a
+horseshoe on ... gentlelike."
+
+"Yankees are obligin', one way or another." Drew licked his fingers
+appreciatively. He had been exploring the sugar supply. "I've missed
+sweetenin'."
+
+"Drink up, boys, and get ready to ride," Wilkins said, coming out of the
+dark. "We've marchin' orders."
+
+Kirby reached for the pot and poured its contents, with careful
+measurement, into each waiting cup. "Wheah to now, Sarge? Seems like
+we've covered most of this heah range already."
+
+"Huntsville. We have to locate a river crossin'."
+
+Drew looked up. "Startin' back, Sarge?"
+
+"Heard talk," Wilkins admitted. "Most of the blue bellies in these parts
+are turnin' lines to aim square at us. We can't take on all of Sherman's
+bully boys--"
+
+"Got him riled, though, ain't we? All right." Kirby was energetically
+fanning the top of his steaming cup with his free hand. "Git this down
+to warm m' toes, Sarge, an' I'll stick them same toes in the stirrups
+an' jingle off. Come on, Drew, no man never joined up with the army to
+git hisself a comfortable life...."
+
+Certainly that last statement of the Texan's was proven correct during
+the next six days. A feint toward the Yankee garrison at Huntsville
+occupied the enemy until the wagon train and artillery moved on to the
+Tennessee River. And along its northern banks, Buford's Scouts ranged.
+Already high for the season the waters were still rising. And all the
+transportation they could collect were three ferry boats at Florence and
+a few skiffs, not enough to serve all the Confederate force pushing for
+that escape route.
+
+Athens, which Forrest had occupied on the upswing of the raid, was
+already back in Union hands, and the blue forces were closing in, in a
+countrywide sweep, backing the gray cavalry against the river.
+
+By the third of October Buford had the boats in action, ferrying across
+men, equipment, and artillery in a steady stream of night-and-day oar
+labor. The stout General, mounted on a big mule, a large animal to carry
+a large man, gave the scouts new orders.
+
+"Try downriver, boys. We're in a pinchers here, and they may be goin' to
+nip us--hard!" He rolled a big cheroot from a Yankee commissary store
+between his teeth, watching the wind whip the surface of the river into
+good-sized waves about the laboring boats. "Anything usable below
+Florence ... we want to know about it, and quick!"
+
+Wilkins led them out at a steady trot. "We'll take a look around
+Newport. Rough going, but I think I remember a place."
+
+However, the possibilities of Wilkins' "place" did not seem too
+promising to Drew when they came out on a steep bluff some miles down
+the Tennessee.
+
+"This is a heller of a river," Kirby expressed his opinion forcibly.
+"Always spittin' back in an hombre's face. We've had plenty of trouble
+with it before."
+
+They were on a bank above a slough which was not more than two hundred
+feet wide. And beyond that was an island thickly overgrown with cane,
+oak, and hickory. The upper end of that was sandy, matted with
+driftwood, some of it partially afloat again.
+
+"Use that for a steppin' stone?" Drew asked.
+
+"Best we're goin' to find. And if time's runnin' out, we'll be glad to
+have it. Rennie, report in. We'll do some more scoutin', just to make
+sure there'll be no surprises later."
+
+For more than thirty-six hours Buford had been ferrying. Artillery,
+wagons, and a large portion of his division were safely across. When
+Drew returned to the uproar along the river he found that the second
+half of the retreating forces, commanded by Forrest, were in town. And
+it was to Forrest that Drew was ordered to deliver his report.
+
+He would never forget the first glimpse he'd had of Bedford Forrest--the
+officer sitting his big gray charger in the midst of a battle, whirling
+his standard to attract a broken rabble of men, knitting out of them, by
+sheer force of personality, a refreshed, striking force. Now Drew found
+himself facing quite a different person--a big, quiet, soft-spoken man
+who eyed the scout with gray-blue eyes.
+
+"You're Rennie, one of that Morgan company who joined at Harrisburg."
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+"Morgan's men fought at Chickamauga ... good men, good fighters. Said so
+then, never had any reason to change that. Now what's this about an
+island downriver?"
+
+Drew explained tersely, for he had a good idea that General Forrest
+wanted no wasting of time. Then at request he drew a rough sketch of the
+island and its approaches. Forrest studied it.
+
+"Something to keep in mind. But I want to know that it's clear. You boys
+picket it. If there's any Union movement about, report it at once!"
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+If Yankee scouts had sighted the island, either they had not reported it
+or their superiors had not calculated what its value might be for hunted
+men--and to a leader who was used to improvising and carrying through
+more improbable projects than the one the island suggested.
+
+At Shoal Creek a rear guard was holding off the Union advance which had
+started from Athens, the two pronged pinchers General Buford had
+foreseen. And now the island came into use.
+
+Saddles and equipment were stripped from horses and piled into the boats
+brought down from Florence. Then the mounts were driven to the top of
+the bluff and over into the water some twenty feet below. Leaders of
+that leap were caught by their halters and towed behind the boats, the
+others swimming after.
+
+Men and mounts burrowed back into the concealment of those thick
+canebrakes and were hidden along the southern shore of the overgrown
+strip of water-enclosed land. The Union pursuers came up on the bluff,
+but they did not see the ferrying from the south bank of the island,
+ferrying which kept up night and day for some forty-eight hours.
+
+"Cold!" Kirby and Drew crouched together behind a screen of cane on the
+north side of the island, watching the bank above for any hostile move
+on the part of the enemy.
+
+"General Forrest says no fires."
+
+"Yeah. You know, I jus' don't like this heah spread of water.
+This is the second time I've had to git across it with Old Man
+Death-an'-Disaster raisin' dust from my rump with a double of his
+encouragin' rope. Seems like the Tennessee ain't partial to raidin'
+parties."
+
+"Makes a good barrier when we're on the other side," Drew pointed out
+reasonably.
+
+"So--"
+
+Drew's Colt was already out, Kirby's carbine at ready. But the man who
+had cat-footed it through the cane was General Forrest himself.
+
+"I thought"--the General eyed them both--"I would catch some of you
+young fools loafin' back heah as if nothin' was goin' on. If you don't
+want to roost heah all winter, you'd better come along. Last boats are
+leavin' now."
+
+As they scrambled after their commander Drew realized that the General
+had made it his personal business to make sure none of the north side
+pickets were left behind in the last-minute withdrawal.
+
+They piled into one of the waiting boats, catching up poles. Forrest
+took another. Then he balanced where he stood, glaring toward the bow of
+the boat. A lieutenant was there, his hands empty.
+
+"You ... Mistuh--" Forrest's voice took on the ring Drew had heard at
+Harrisburg. "Wheah's your oar, Mistuh?"
+
+The man was startled. "As an officer, suh--"
+
+Still gripping his pole with one hand, the General swung out a long arm,
+catching the lieutenant hard on one cheek with enough force to send him
+over the gunwale into the river. The lieutenant splashed, flailing out
+his arms, until he caught at the pole Drew extended to him. As they
+hauled him aboard again, the General snorted.
+
+"Now you, Mistuh officer, take that oar theah and git to work! If I have
+to knock you over again, you can just stay in. We shall all pull out of
+this together!"
+
+The lieutenant bent to the oar hastily as they moved out into the full
+current of the river.
+
+
+
+
+10
+
+_"Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"_
+
+
+"Drew!"
+
+He turned his head on the saddle which served him as a temporary pillow
+and was aware of the smell of mule, strong, and the smell of a wood
+fire, less strong, and last of all, of corn bread baked in the husk,
+and, not so familiar, bacon frying--all the aromas of camp--with the
+addition of food which could be, and had been on occasion, very
+temporary. Squinting his smarting eyes against the sun's glare, Drew sat
+up. With four days of hard riding by night and scouting by day only a
+few hours behind him, he was still extremely weary.
+
+Boyd squatted by his side, a folded sheet of paper in his hand.
+
+"... letter ..."
+
+Drew must have missed part during his awakening. Now he turned away from
+the sun and tried to pay better attention.
+
+"From who?" he asked rustily.
+
+"Mother. She got the one you sent from Meridian, Drew! And when Crosely
+went home for a horse she gave him these to bring back through the
+lines. Drew, your grandfather's dead...."
+
+Odd, he did not feel anything at all at that news. When he was little he
+had been afraid of Alexander Mattock. Then he had faced out his fear and
+all the other emotions bred in him during those years of being Hunt
+Rennie's son in a house where Hunt Rennie was a symbol of black hatred;
+he had faced up to his grandfather on the night he left Red Springs to
+join the army in '62. And then Drew had discovered that he was free. He
+had seen his grandfather as he would always remember him now, an old man
+eaten up by his hatred, soured by acts Drew knew would never be
+explained. And from that moment, grandfather and grandson were
+strangers. Now, well, now he wished--for just a fleeting second or
+two--that he did know what lay behind all that rage and waste and
+blackness in the past. Alexander Mattock had been a respected man. As
+hardly more than a boy he had followed Andy Jackson down to New Orleans
+and helped break the last vestige of British power in the Gulf. He had
+bred fine horses, loved the land, and his word was better than most
+men's sworn oaths. He had had a liking for books, and had served his
+country in Congress, and could even have been governor had he not
+declined the nomination. He was a big man, in many ways a great and
+honorable man. Drew could admit that, now that he had made a life for
+himself beyond Alexander Mattock's shadow. A great man ... who had hated
+his own grandson.
+
+"This is yours...." Boyd pulled a second sheet from the folds of the
+first. Drew smoothed it out to read:
+
+     My dear boy:
+
+     Your letter from Meridian reached me just two days ago, having been
+     many weeks on the way, and I am taking advantage of Henry Crosely's
+     presence home on leave to reply. I want you to know that I do not,
+     in any way, consider you to blame for Boyd's joining General organ's
+     command. He had long been restless here, and it was only a matter of
+     time and chance before he followed his brother.
+
+     I know that you must have done all that you could to dissuade him
+     after your aunt's appeal to you, but I had already accepted failure
+     on this point. Just as I know that it was your efforts which
+     established him under good care in Meridian. Do not, Drew, reproach
+     yourself for my son's headstrong conduct. I know Boyd's
+     stubbornness. There is this strain in all the Barretts.
+
+     You may not have heard the news from Red Springs, though I know
+     your aunt has endeavored to find a means of communicating it to
+     you. Your grandfather suffered another and fatal seizure on the
+     third of August and passed away in a matter of hours.
+
+     I do not believe that it will come as any surprise to you, my dear
+     boy, that he continued in his attitude toward you to the last,
+     making no provision for you in his will. However, both Major Forbes
+     and Marianna believe this to be unfair, and they intend to see that
+     matters are not left so.
+
+     If and when this cruel war is over--and the news we receive each
+     day can not help but make us believe that the end is not far
+     off--do, I beg of you, Drew, come home to us. Sheldon spoke once of
+     some plan of yours to go west, to start a new life in new
+     surroundings. But, Drew, do not let any bitterness born out of the
+     past continue to poison the future for you.
+
+     Perhaps what I say may be of value since I have always held your
+     welfare dear to me, and you have a place in my heart. Melanie
+     Mattock Rennie was my dearest friend for all of her life, your
+     father, my cousin. And you were Sheldon's playmate and comrade for
+     his short time on this earth.
+
+     Come home to us, I ask you to do this, my dear boy. We shall
+     welcome you.
+
+     I pray for you and for Boyd, that you may both be brought safely
+     through all the dangers which surround a soldier, that you may come
+     home to us on a happier day. Your concern for and care of Boyd is
+     something which makes me most grateful and happy. He had lost a
+     brother, one of his own blood, but I content myself with the belief
+     that he has with him now another who will provide him with what
+     guidance and protection he can give.
+
+     Remember--we want you both here with us once more, and let it be
+     soon.
+
+     With affection and love,
+
+
+Drew could not have told whether her "Meredith Barrett" at the bottom of
+the page was as firmly penned as ever. To him it was now wavering from
+one misty letter to the next. Slowly he made a business of folding the
+sheet into a neat square of paper which he could fit into the safe
+pocket under his belt. A crack was forming in the shell he had started
+to grow on the night he first rode out of Red Springs, and he now feared
+losing its protection. He wanted to be the Drew Rennie who had no ties
+anywhere, least of all in Kentucky. Yet not for the world would he have
+lost that letter, though he did not want to read it again.
+
+"Rennie! Double-quick it; the General's askin' for you!"
+
+Boyd started up eagerly from his perch on another saddle. He was, Drew
+decided, like a hound puppy, so determined to be taken hunting that he
+watched each and every one of them all the time. He had been allowed to
+ride on this return visit to West Tennessee with the condition that he
+would act as one of Drew's scout couriers, a position which kept him
+under his elder's control and attached to General Buford's Headquarters
+Company.
+
+Kirby reached out a brown hand to catch Boyd by the sleeve and anchor
+him.
+
+"Now, kid, jus' because the big chief sends for him, it ain't no sign
+he's goin' to take the warpath immediately, if not sooner. Ease off, an'
+keep your moccasins greased!"
+
+Drew laughed. Nobody who rode with Forrest could complain of a lack of
+action. He had heard that some general in the East had said he would
+give a dollar or some such to see a dead cavalryman. Well, there had
+been sight of those at Harrisburg and some at the blockhouses. Forrest
+stated that Morgan's men could fight; he did not have to say that of his
+own.
+
+Now they were heading into another sort of war altogether. Drew hadn't
+figured out just how Bedford Forrest intended to fight river gunboats
+with horse soldiers, but the scout didn't doubt that his general had a
+plan, one which would work, barring any extra bad luck.
+
+They were setting a trap along the Tennessee right now, lying in the
+enemies' own back pasture to do it. South, downriver, was Johnsonville,
+where Sherman had his largest cache of supplies, from which he was
+feeding, clothing, equipping the army now slashing through the center of
+the South. They had been able to cripple his rail system partially on
+that raid two weeks earlier; now they were aiming to cut the river
+ribbon of the Yankee network.
+
+Buford's division occupied Fort Heiman, well above the crucial section.
+The Confederates also held Paris Landing. Now they were set to put the
+squeeze on any river traffic. Guns were brought into station--Buford's
+two Parrots, one section of Morton's incomparable battery with Bell's
+Tennesseeans down at the Landing. They had moved fast, covered their
+traces, and Drew himself could testify that the Yankees were as yet
+unsuspecting of their presence in the neighborhood.
+
+He found General Buford now and reported.
+
+"Rennie, see this bend...." The General's finger stabbed down on the
+sketch map the scouts had prepared days earlier. "I've been thinkin'
+that a vedette posted right here could give us perhaps a few minutes of
+warning ahead when anything started to swim into this fishnet of ours.
+General Forrest wants some transports, maybe even a gunboat or two.
+We're in a good position to deliver them to him, but before we begin the
+game, I want most of the aces right here--" He smacked the map against
+the flat of his other palm.
+
+"A signal system, suh. Say one of those--" Drew pointed to the very
+large and very red handkerchief trailing from Buford's coat pocket.
+"Wave one of those out of the bushes: one wave for a transport, two for
+a gunboat."
+
+The General jerked the big square from his pocket, inspected it
+critically, and then called over his shoulder.
+
+"Jasper, you get me another one of these--out of the saddlebags!"
+
+When the Negro boy came running with the piece of brilliant cloth,
+Buford motioned for him to give it to Drew.
+
+"Mind you, boy," he added with some seriousness, "I want that back in
+good condition when you report in. Those don't grow handily on trees. I
+have only three left."
+
+"Yes, suh," Drew accepted it with respect. "I'm to stay put until
+relieved, suh?"
+
+"Yes. Better take someone to spell you. I don't want any misses."
+
+Back at the scout fire Drew collected Boyd. This was an assignment the
+boy could share. And shortly they had hollowed out for themselves a
+small circular space in the thicket, with two carefully prepared
+windows, one on the river, the other for their signal flag.
+
+It was almost evening, and Drew did not expect any night travel. Morning
+would be the best time. He divided the night into watches, however, and
+insisted they keep watch faithfully.
+
+"Kinda cold," Boyd said, pulling his blanket about his shoulders.
+
+"No fire here." Drew handed over his companion's share of rations, some
+cold corn bread and bacon carefully portioned out of their midday
+cooking.
+
+"'Member how Mam Gusta used to make us those dough geese? Coffee-berry
+eyes.... I could do with some coffee berries now, but not to make eyes
+for geese!"
+
+Dough geese with coffee-berry eyes! The big summer kitchen at Oak Hill
+and the small, energetic, and very dark skinned woman who ruled it with
+a cooking spoon of wood for her scepter and abject obedience from all
+who came into her sphere of influence and control. Dough geese with
+coffee-berry eyes; Drew hadn't thought of those for years and years.
+
+"I could do with some of Mam Gusta's peach pie." He was betrayed by
+memory into that wistfulness.
+
+"Peach pie all hot in a bowl with cream to top it," Boyd added
+reverently. "And turkey with the fixin's--or maybe young pork! Seems to
+me you think an awful lot about eatin' when you're in the army. I can
+remember the kitchen at home almost better than I can my own room...."
+
+"Anse, he was talkin' last night about some Mexican eatin' he did down
+'long the border. Made it sound mighty interestin'. Drew, after this war
+is over and we've licked the Yankees good and proper, why don't we go
+down that way and see Texas? I'd like to get me one of those wild horses
+like those Anse's father was catchin'."
+
+"We still have a war on our hands here," Drew reminded him. But the
+thought of Texas could not easily be dug out of mind, not when a man had
+carried it with him for most of his life. Texas, where he had almost
+been born, Hunt Rennie's Texas. What was it like? A big wild land, an
+outlaws' land. Didn't they say a man had "gone to Texas" when the
+sheriff closed books on a fugitive? Yes, Drew had to admit he wanted to
+see Texas.
+
+"Drew, you have any kinfolk in Texas?"
+
+"Not that I know about." Not for the first time he wondered about that.
+There had been no use asking any questions of his grandfather or of
+Uncle Murray. And Aunt Marianna had always dismissed his inquiries with
+the plea that she herself had only been a child at the time Hunt Rennie
+came to Red Springs and knew very little about him. Odd that Cousin
+Merry had been so reticent, too. But Drew had pieced out that something
+big and ugly must have happened to begin all the painful tangle which
+had led from his grandfather's cold hatred for Hunt Rennie, that hatred
+which had been transferred to Hunt Rennie's son when the original target
+was gone.
+
+When Drew first joined the army and met Texans he had hoped that one of
+them might recognize his name and say:
+
+"Rennie? You any kin to the Rennies of-" Of where? The Brazos, the Rio
+country, West Texas? He had no idea in which part of that sprawling
+republic-become-a-state the Rennies might have been born and bred. But
+how he had longed in those first lonely weeks of learning to be a
+soldier to find one of his own--not of the Mattock clan!
+
+"Yes, I would like to see Texas!" Boyd pulled the blanket closer about
+his shoulders, curling up on his side of their bush-walled hole. "Wish
+these fool Yankees would know when they're licked and get back home so
+we could do somethin' like that." He closed his eyes with a child's
+determination to sleep, and by now a soldier's ability to do so when the
+opportunity offered.
+
+Drew watched the river. The dusk was night now with the speed of the
+season. And the crisp of autumn hung over the water. This was the
+twenty-ninth of October; he counted out the dates. How long they could
+hold their trap they didn't know, but at least long enough to wrest from
+the enemy some of the supplies they needed far worse than Sherman's men
+did.
+
+General Buford had let four transports past their masked batteries today
+because they had carried only soldiers. But sooner or later a loaded
+ship was going to come up. And when that did--Drew's hand assured him
+that the General's red handkerchief was still inside against his ribs
+where he had put it for safekeeping.
+
+In the early morning Drew slipped down to the river's edge behind a
+screen of willow to dip the cold water over his head and shoulders--an
+effective way to clear the head and banish the last trace of sleep.
+
+The sun was up and it must have been shortly before eight when they
+sighted her, a Union transport riding low in the water, towing two
+barges. A quick inspection through the binoculars he had borrowed from
+Wilkins told Drew that this was what the General wanted. He passed the
+signal to Boyd.
+
+"_Mazeppa_," he read the name aloud as the ship wallowed by their post.
+She was passing the lower battery now, and there was no sign of any
+gunboat escort. But when their quarry was well in the stretch between
+the two lower batteries, they opened fire on her, accurately enough to
+send every shell through the ship. The pilot headed her for the opposite
+shore, slammed the prow into the bank, and a stream of crew and men
+leaped over at a dead run to hunt shelter in the woods beyond.
+
+Men were already down on the Confederate-held side of the river, trying
+to knock together a raft on which to reach their prize. When that broke
+apart Drew and Boyd saw one man seize upon a piece of the wreckage and
+kick his way vigorously into the current heading for the stern of the
+grounded steamer. He came back in the _Mazeppa's_ yawl with a line, and
+she was warped back into the hands of the waiting raiders.
+
+There was a wave of gray pouring into the ship, returning with bales,
+boxes, bundles. Then Drew, who had snatched peeps at the activity
+between searching the upper waters for trouble, saw the gunboats
+coming--three of them. Again Boyd signaled, but the naval craft made
+better speed than the laden transport and they were already in position
+to lob shells among the men unloading the supply ships, though the
+batteries on the shore finally drove them off.
+
+In the end they fired the prize, but she was emptied of her rich cargo.
+Shoes, blankets, clothing--you didn't care whether breeches and coats
+were gray or blue when they replaced rags--food.
+
+Kirby came to their sentry post, his arms full, a beatific smile on his
+face.
+
+"What'll you have, amigos--pickles, pears, Yankee crackers, long
+sweetenin'--" He spread out a variety of such stores as they had almost
+forgotten existed. "You know, seein' some of the prices on this heah
+sutlers' stuff, I'm thinkin' somebody's sure gittin' rich on this war.
+It ain't nobody I know, though."
+
+They kept their trap as it was through the rest of the day and the
+following night without any more luck. When the next fish swam into the
+net it approached from the other side and not past the scout post. The
+steamer _Anna_ progressed from Johnsonville, ran the gantlet of the
+batteries, and in spite of hard shelling, was not hit in any vital spot,
+escaping beyond. But when the transport _Venus_, towing two barges and
+convoyed by the gunboat _Undine_, tried to duplicate that feat they were
+caught by the accurate fire of the masked guns. Trying to turn and steam
+back the way they had come, they were pinned down. And while they were
+held there, another steamer entered the upper end of the trap and was
+disabled. Guns moved by sweat, force, will and hand-power, were wrestled
+around the banks to attend to the _Undine_. And after a brisk duel her
+officers and crew abandoned her.
+
+"We got us a navy," Kirby announced when he brought their order to
+leave the picket post. "The Yankees sure are kind, presentin' us with a
+couple of ships jus' outta the goodness of their hearts."
+
+The _Undine_ and the _Venus_, manned by volunteers, did steam with the
+caution of novice sailors upriver when on the first of November troops
+and artillery started to Johnsonville.
+
+"Hi!" One of the new Horse Marines waved to the small party of scouts,
+weaving in and out to gain their position at the head of the column.
+"Want to leave them feed sacks for us to carry?"
+
+Kirby put a protecting hand over his saddle burden of extra and choice
+rations.
+
+"This heah grub ain't gonna be risked out on no water," he called back.
+"Nor blown up by no gunboat neither."
+
+Those fears were realized, if not until two days later, when the scouts
+were too far ahead to witness the defeat of Forrest's river flotilla.
+The _Undine_, outfought by two Yankee gunboats, was beached and set
+afire. The same fate struck the _Venus_ a day afterward. But by that
+time the raiders had reached the bank of the river opposite Johnsonville
+and were making ready to destroy the supply depot there.
+
+Drew, Kirby, and Wilkins, with Boyd to ride courier, had already
+explored the bank and tried to estimate the extent of the wealth lying
+in the open, across the river.
+
+"Too bad we jus' can't sorta cut a few head outta that theah herd,"
+Kirby said wistfully. "Heah we are so poor our shadows got holes in 'em,
+an' lookit all that jus' lyin' theah waitin' for somebody to lay a hot
+iron on its hide--"
+
+"More likely to lay a hot iron on your hide!" countered Drew. But he
+could not deny that the river landing with its thickly clustered
+transports, gunboats and barges, the acres of shoreline covered with
+every kind of army store, was a big temptation to try something
+reckless.
+
+They had illustrious company during their prowling that afternoon.
+Forrest himself and Captain Morton, that very young and very talented
+artillery commander, were making a reconnaissance before placing the
+batteries in readiness. And during the night those guns were moved into
+position. At midafternoon the next day the reduction of Johnsonville
+began.
+
+Smoke, then flame, tore holes in those piles of goods. Warehouses
+blazed. By nightfall for a mile upriver and down they faced a solid
+sheet of fire, and they smelled the tantalizing odor of burning bacon,
+coffee, sugar, and saw blue rivers of blazing liquid running free.
+
+"I still say it's a mighty shame, all that goin' to waste," commented
+Kirby sadly.
+
+"Well, anyway it ain't goin' into the bellies of Sherman's men," Drew
+replied.
+
+The Confederate force was already starting withdrawal, battery by
+battery, as the wasteland of the fire lighted them on their way. And now
+the Yankee gunboats were burning with explosions of shells, fired by
+their own crews lest they fall into Rebel hands. It was a wild scene,
+giving the command plenty of light by which to fall back into the
+country they still dominated. The reduction of the depot was a complete
+success.
+
+Scouts stayed with the rear guard this time, so it was that Drew saw
+again those two who had so carefully picked the gun stands only
+twenty-four hours before. General Forrest and his battery commander came
+down once more to survey the desolation those guns had left as a
+smoking, stinking scar.
+
+Drew heard the slow, reflective words the General spoke:
+
+"John, if you were given enough guns, and I had me enough men, we could
+whip old Sherm clean off the face of the earth!"
+
+And then the scout caught Kirby's whisper of assent to that. "The old
+man ain't foolin'; he could jus' do it!"
+
+"Maybe he could," Drew agreed. He wished fiercely that Morton did have
+his guns and Forrest all the men who had been wasted, who had melted
+away from his ranks--or were buried. A man had to have tools before he
+could build, but their tools were getting mighty few, mighty old,
+and.... He tried to close his mind to that line of thought. They were on
+the move again, and Forrest had certainly proven here that though
+Atlanta might be gone, there was still an effective Confederate Army in
+the field, ready and able to twist the tail of any Yankee!
+
+
+
+
+11
+
+_The Road to Nashville_
+
+
+Sleet drove at the earth with an oblique, knife-edged whip. The
+half-ice, half-rain struck under water-logged hat brims, found the neck
+opening where the body covering, improvised from a square of
+appropriated Yankee oilcloth, lay about the shoulders.
+
+"I'm thinkin' we sure have struck a stream lengthwise." Kirby's Tejano
+crowded up beside Hannibal. "Can't otherwise be so many bog holes in any
+stretch of country. An' if we ever do come across those dang-blasted
+ordnance wagons, we won't know 'em from a side of 'dobe anyway."
+
+They had reined in on the edge of a mud hole in which men sweated--in
+spite of the sleet which plastered thin clothing to their gaunt
+bodies--swore, and put dogged endurance to the test as they labored with
+drag ropes and behind wheels encrusted with pendulous pounds of mud, to
+propel a supply wagon out of the bog into which it had sunk when the
+frozen crust of the rutted road had broken apart. The Army of the
+Tennessee, now fighting storms, winter rains, snow and hail, was also
+fighting men as valiantly, engaged in General Hood's great gamble of an
+all-out attack on Nashville. They had a hope--and a slim chance--to
+sweep through the Union lines back up into Tennessee and Kentucky, and
+perhaps to wall off Sherman in the south and repair the loss of Atlanta.
+
+Hannibal brayed, shifting his weary feet in the churned-up muck of the
+field edge. The ground, covered with a scum of ice at night, was a trap
+for animals as well as vehicles. Breaking through that glassy surface to
+the glutinous stuff beneath, they suffered cuts deep enough to draw
+blood above hoof level.
+
+Drew called to the men laboring at the stalled wagon.
+
+"Ordnance? Buford's division?"
+
+He didn't really expect any sort of a promising answer. This was worse
+than trying to hunt a needle in a stack of hay, this tracing--through
+the fast darkening night--the lost ordnance wagons, caught somewhere in
+or behind the infantry train. But ahead, where Forrest's cavalry was
+thrusting into the Union lines at Spring Hill, men were going into
+battle with three rounds or less to feed their carbines and rifles.
+Somehow the horse soldiers had pushed into a hot, full-sized fight and
+the scouts had to locate those lost wagons and get them up to the front
+lines.
+
+A living figure of mud spat out a mouthful of that viscous substance in
+order to answer.
+
+"This heah ain't no ordnance--not from Buford's neither! Put your backs
+into it now, yo' wagon-dogs! Git to it an' push!"
+
+Under that roar the excavation squad went into straining action. Oxen,
+their eyes bulbous in their skulls from effort, set brute energy against
+yokes along with the men. The mud eventually gave grip, and the wagon
+moved.
+
+Drew rode on, the two half-seen shapes which were Boyd and Kirby in his
+wake. A dripping branch flicked bits of ice into his face. The dusk was
+a thickening murk, and with the coming of the November dark, their
+already pitiful chance of locating the wagons dwindled fast.
+
+There was a distant crackle of carbine and rifle fire. The struggle must
+still be in progress back there. At least the stragglers about them were
+still moving up. No retreat from Spring Hill, unless the Yankees were
+making that. All Drew's party could do was to continue on down the road,
+asking their question at each wagon, stalled in the mud or traveling at
+a snail's pace.
+
+"D'you see?" Boyd cried out. "Those men were barefoot!" Involuntarily he
+swung one of his own booted feet out of the stirrup as if to assure
+himself that he still had adequate covering for his cold toes.
+
+"It ain't the first time in this heah war," Kirby remarked. "They'll
+ketch 'em a Yankee. The blue bellies, they're mighty obligin' 'bout
+wearin' good shoes an' such, an' lettin' themselves be roped with all
+their plunder on. Some o' 'em, who I had the pleasure of surveyin'
+through Sarge's glasses this mornin', have overcoats--good warm ones.
+Now that's what'd pleasure a poor cold Texas boy, makin' him forgit his
+troubles. You keep your eyes sighted for one of them theah overcoats,
+Boyd. I'll be right beholden to you for it."
+
+Hannibal brayed again and switched his rope tail. His usual stolid
+temperament showed signs of wear.
+
+"Airin' th' lungs that way sounds like a critter gittin' set to make war
+medicine. A hardtail don't need no hardware but his hoofs to make a man
+regret knowin' him familiar-like--"
+
+Drew had reached another wagon.
+
+"Ordnance? Buford's?" He repeated the well-worn question without hope.
+
+"Yeah, what about it?"
+
+For a moment the scout thought he had not heard that right. But Kirby's
+crow of delight assured him that he had been answered in the
+affirmative.
+
+"What about it?" Boyd echoed indignantly. "We've been huntin' you for
+hours. General Buford wants...."
+
+The man who had answered Drew was vague in the dusk, to be seen only in
+the limited light of the lantern on the driver's seat. But they did not
+miss the pugnacious set of knuckles on hips, nor the truculence which
+overrode the weariness in his voice.
+
+"Th' General can want him a lotta things in this heah world, sonny. What
+the Good Lord an' this heah mud lets him have is somethin' else again.
+We've been pushin' these heah dang-blasted-to-Richmond wagons along,
+mostly with our bare hands. Does he want 'em any faster, he can jus'
+send us back thirty or forty fresh teams, along with good weather--an'
+we'll be right up wheah he wants us in no time--"
+
+"The boys are out of ammunition," Drew said quietly. "And they are
+tryin' to dig out the Yankees."
+
+"You ain't tellin' me nothin', soldier, that I don't know or ain't
+already heard." The momentary flash of anger had drained out of the
+other's voice; there was just pure fatigue weighting the tongue now.
+"We're comin', jus' as fast as we can--"
+
+"You pull on about a quarter mile and there's a turnout; that way you'll
+make better time," Drew suggested. "We'll show you where."
+
+"All right. We're comin'."
+
+In the end they all pitched to, lending the pulling strength of their
+mounts, and the power of their own shoulders when the occasion demanded.
+Somehow they got on through the dark and the cold and the mud. And close
+to dawn they reached their goal.
+
+But that same dark night had lost the Confederate Army their chance of
+victory. The Union command had not been safely bottled up at Spring
+Hill. Through the night hours Schofield's army had marched along the
+turnpike, within gunshot of the gray troops, close enough for Hood's
+pickets to hear the talk of the retreating men. Now they must be pursued
+toward Franklin. The Army of the Tennessee was herding the Yankees right
+enough, but with a kind of desperation which men in the ranks could
+sense.
+
+Buford's division held the Confederate right wing. Drew, acting as
+courier for the Kentucky general, saw Forrest--with his tough,
+undefeated, and undefeatable escort--riding ahead.
+
+They had Wilson's Cavalry drawn up to meet them. But they had handled
+Wilson before, briskly and brutally. This was the old game they knew
+well. Drew saw the glitter of sabers along the Union ranks and smiled
+grimly. When were the Yankees going to learn that a saber was good for
+the toasting of bacon and such but not much use in the fight? Give him
+two Colts and a carbine every time! There was a fancy dodge he had seen
+some of the Texans use; they strung extra revolver cylinders to the
+saddle horn and snapped them in for reloading. It was risky but sure was
+fast.
+
+"They've got Springfields." He heard Kirby's satisfied comment.
+
+"I'm goin' to get me one of those," Boyd began, but Drew rounded on him
+swiftly.
+
+"No, you ain't! They may look good, but they ain't much. You can't
+reload 'em in the saddle with your horse movin', and all they're good
+for in a mixup is a fancy sort of club."
+
+The Confederate infantry were moving up toward the Union breastworks,
+part of which was a formidable stone wall. And now came the orders for
+their own section to press in. They pushed, hard and heavy, while swirls
+of blue cavalry fought, broke, re-formed to meet their advance, and
+broke again. They routed out pockets of blue infantry, sending some
+pelting back toward the Harpeth.
+
+A wave of retreating Yankees crossed the shallow river. Forrest's men
+dismounted to fight and took the stream on foot, the icy water splashing
+high. It was wild and tough, the slam of man meeting man. Drew wrested a
+guidon from the hold of a blue-coated trooper as Hannibal smashed into
+the other's mount with bared teeth and pawing hoofs. Waving the trophy
+over his head and yelling, he pounded on at a knot of determined
+infantry, aware that he was leading others from Buford's still-mounted
+headquarter's company, and that they were going to ride right over the
+Yankee soldiers. Men threw away muskets and rifles, raised empty hands,
+scattered in frantic leaps from that charge.
+
+Then they were rounding up their blue-coated prisoners and Drew, the
+pole of the captured guidon braced in the crook of his elbow as he
+reloaded his revolver, realized that the shadows were thickening, that
+the day was almost gone.
+
+"Rennie!" Still holding the guidon, Drew obeyed the beckoning hand of
+one of the General's aides. He put Hannibal to a rocking gallop to come
+up with the officer.
+
+"Withdrawin'--behind the river. Pass the word to gather in!"
+
+Drew cantered back to wave in Kirby, Boyd, and the others who had made
+that charge with him. It was retreat again, but they did not know then
+that Franklin had cost them Hood's big gamble. Forty-five hundred men
+swept out of the gray forces--killed, wounded, missing, prisoners. Five
+irreplaceable generals were dead; six more, wounded or captured. The
+Army of the Tennessee was slashed, badly torn ... but it was not yet
+destroyed.
+
+That night the cavalry was on the march, driven by Forrest's tireless
+energy. They hit skirmishers at a garrisoned crossroads, using Morton's
+field batteries to cut them a free path. And through the bitter days of
+early December they continued to show their teeth to some purpose.
+
+Blockhouses along the railroads and along the Cumberland were taken,
+with Murfreesboro their goal. Life was a constant alert, a plugging away
+of weary men, worn-out horses, bogged-down wagons, relieved now and then
+from the morass of exhaustion by sharp spurts of fighting, the
+satisfaction of rounding up a Yankee patrol or blockhouse squad, the
+taking of some supply train and finding in its wagons enough to give
+them all mouthfuls of food.
+
+Murfreesboro was strongly garrisoned by the enemy, too strong to be
+stormed. But on the morning of the seventh a Yankee detachment came out
+of that fort and Forrest's men deployed to entice them farther afield.
+Buford's command was lying in wait--let the blue bellies get far enough
+from the town and they could cut in between, perhaps even overrun the
+remaining garrison and accomplish what Forrest himself had believed
+impossible, the taking of Murfreesboro.
+
+They made part of that ... fought their way into the town. Drew pounded
+along in a compact squad led by Wilkins. He saw the sergeant sway in the
+saddle, dropping reins, his face a clay-gray which Drew recognized of
+old. Snatching at the now trailing rein, Drew jerked the other's mount
+out of the main push.
+
+The sergeant's head turned slowly; his mouth looked almost square as he
+fought to say something. Then he slumped, tumbling from the saddle into
+the embrace of an ornamental bush as his horse clattered along the
+sidewalk. Drew knew he was already dead.
+
+Buford's men went into Murfreesboro right enough, well into its heart.
+But they could not hold the town. Only that thrust was deep and well
+timed; it saved the whole command. For, though they did not know it yet,
+on the pike the infantry had broken. For the first time Forrest had seen
+men under his orders run from the enemy in panic-stricken terror. Only
+the cavalry had saved them from a wholesale rout.
+
+Drew trudged over the stubble of a field, leading Hannibal and Wilkins'
+mount. There had been no way of bringing the sergeant's body out of
+town, and Drew had reported the death to Lieutenant Traggart, who
+officered the scouts. He felt numb as he headed for the spark of fire
+which marked their temporary camp, numb not only with cold and hunger,
+but with all the days of cold, hunger, fighting, and marching which lay
+behind. It seemed to him that this war had gone on forever, and he found
+it very hard to remember when he had slept soundly enough not to arouse
+to a quick call, when he had dared to ride across a field or down a
+road without watching every bit of cover, every point on the landscape
+which could mask an enemy position or serve the same purpose for the
+command behind him.
+
+As he came up to the fire he thought that even the flames looked
+cold--stunted somehow--not because there had not been enough wood to
+feed them, but because the fire itself was old and tired. Blinking at
+the flames, he stood still, unaware of the fact that he was swaying on
+feet planted a little apart. He could not move, not of his own volition.
+
+Someone coughed in the shadow fringe beyond the light of those tired
+flames. It was a short hard cough, the kind which hurt Drew's ears as
+much as its tearing must have hurt the throat which harbored it. He
+turned his head a fraction to see the bundle of blankets housing the
+cougher. Then the reins of mule and horse were twisted from his stiff
+fingers, and Kirby's drawl broke through the coughing.
+
+"You, Larange, take 'em back to the picket line, will you?"
+
+The Texan's hands closed about Drew's upper arms just below the arch of
+his shoulders, steered him on, and then pressed him down into the
+limited range of the fire's heat. From somewhere a tin plate
+materialized, and was in Drew's hold. He regarded its contents with eyes
+which had trouble focusing.
+
+A thick liquid curled stickily back and forth across the surface of the
+plate as he strove to hold it level with trembling hands. Into the
+middle of that lake Kirby dropped white squares of Yankee crackers, and
+the pungent smell of molasses reached Drew's nostrils, making his mouth
+water.
+
+Snatching at the crackers, he crammed his mouth with a dripping square
+coated with molasses. As he began to chew he knew that nothing before
+that moment had ever tasted so good, been so much an answer to all the
+disasters of the day. The world shrank; it was now the size of a
+battered tin plate smeared with molasses and the crumbs of stale
+crackers.
+
+Drew downed the mass avidly. Kirby was beside him again, a steaming tin
+cup ready.
+
+"This ain't nothin' but hotted water. But maybe it can make you think
+you're drinkin' somethin' more interestin'."
+
+With the tin cup in his hands, Drew discovered he could pay better
+attention to his surroundings. He glanced around the small circle of men
+who messed together. There was Larange, coming back from the horse
+lines, Webb, the Tennesseean from the mountains, Croff and Weatherby,
+Cherokees of the Indian Nations, and Kirby, of course. But--Drew was
+searching beyond the Texan for the other who should be there.
+
+Absently he sipped the hot water, almost afraid to ask a question. Then,
+just because of his inner fears, he forced out the words: "Where's
+Boyd?"
+
+When Kirby did not answer, Drew's head lifted. He put down his cup and
+caught the Texan's arm.
+
+"He made it out of town; I know that. But where _is_ he?"
+
+"Ovah theah." Kirby nodded at the blanket-wrapped figure in the shadows.
+"Seems like he ain't feelin' too well...."
+
+Drew wasted no time in getting to his feet. On his hands and knees, he
+scrambled across the space separating him from the roll of blankets. His
+questing hand smoothed across a ragged bullet tear in the top one,
+recognizing it to be Kirby's by that mark. The pale oval of Boyd's face
+turned toward him.
+
+"What's the matter, boy?"
+
+Drew could hear the other's harsh, fast breathing just as he had when
+they had found the injured boy at Harrisburg. Drew's fingers touched a
+burning-hot cheek.
+
+"Got ... me ... sniffles." Boyd's mumble ended in another bout of those
+sharp coughs. "'Member--sniffles? Hot soup an' bricks in bed, an' onion
+cloth for the throat...." He repeated all the Oak Hill remedies for a
+severe cold.
+
+Bricks to warm the bed, hot soup of Mam Gusta's expert concocting, a
+thick onion poultice to ease the pain in throat and chest and draw out
+inflammation: every one of those were as far beyond reach now as Oak
+Hill itself! For a moment Drew was gripped with a panic born of utter
+frustration.
+
+"Shelly? You there, Shelly?" Boyd's hoarse voice came from the dark.
+"I'm sure thirsty, Shelly!"
+
+Drew turned his head. Kirby had been behind him, but now the Texan was
+back to the fire, ladling more hot water out of the pot. When he
+returned, Weatherby was with him. Drew slipped his arm under that
+restlessly turning head to support the boy while the Texan held the tin
+cup to Boyd's lips. They got a few mouthfuls into him before he turned
+his head away with a ghost of some of his old petulance.
+
+"I'm hungry, Shelly. Tell Mam Gusta...."
+
+Weatherby squatted down on the other side of Boyd's limp body and put
+his hand to the boy's forehead.
+
+"Fever."
+
+"Yes." Drew knew that much.
+
+"There's a farmhouse two miles that way." Weatherby nodded to the south.
+"Maybe nobody there, but it will be cover--"
+
+"You can find it?" Drew demanded.
+
+The Cherokee scout answered quickly. "Yes. You tell the lieutenant, and
+we'll go there."
+
+Kirby's hand rested on Drew's shoulder for a moment. "I'll track down
+Traggart. You and Weatherby here get the kid into that cover as quick as
+you can. This ain't no weather for an hombre with a cough to be out
+sackin' in the bush."
+
+Kirby was back again before they had rigged a blanket stretcher between
+two horses.
+
+"The lieutenant says to stay with th' kid till mornin'. He'll send the
+doc along as soon as he can find him. Trouble is, we may have to ride on
+tomorrow...."
+
+But Drew put that worry out of his mind. No use thinking about tomorrow;
+the present moment was the most important. With Weatherby as their
+guide, they started off at a walk, heading into the night across
+ice-rimmed fields while the rising wind brought frost to bite in the air
+they pulled into their lungs.
+
+There was no light showing in the black bulk of the house to which
+Weatherby steered them. It was small, hardly better than a cabin, but
+the door swung open as Kirby knocked on it; and they could smell the
+cold, stale odor of a deserted and none-too-clean dwelling. But it was
+shelter, and exploring in the dark, Kirby announced that there was
+firewood piled beside the hearth.
+
+By the light of the blaze Weatherby brought alive they found an old
+bedstead backed against the wall, a tangle of filthy quilts cascading
+from it. One look at them assured Drew that Boyd would be far better
+left in his blankets on the floor itself.
+
+The Cherokee scout prowled the room, looking into the rickety wall
+cupboards, venturing through another door into a second smaller room,
+really a lean-to, and then going up the ladder into a loft.
+
+"They left in a hurry, whoever lived here," he reported. "They left
+this--" He held out a dried, shrunken piece of shriveled salt beef.
+
+"We can boil it," Kirby suggested. "Make a kinda broth; it might help
+the kid. Any sign of a pot--?"
+
+There was a pot, encrusted with corn-meal remains. Weatherby took it
+outside and returned, having scrubbed its interior as clean as possible,
+and filling it with a cup or so of water. "There's a well out there."
+
+Boyd was asleep, or at least Drew hoped it was sleep. The boy's face was
+flushed, his breathing fast and uneven. But he hadn't coughed for some
+time, and Drew began to hope. If he could have a quiet day or two here,
+he might be all right. Or else the surgeon could send him along on one
+of the wagons for the sick and wounded--the wagons already on the move
+south. If the doctor would certify that Boyd was ill....
+
+Weatherby was busily shredding the wood-hard beef into the pot of water.
+His busy fingers stopped; his dark eyes were now on the outer door. Drew
+stiffened. Kirby's fingers closed about the butt of a Colt.
+
+"What--" Drew asked in the faintest of whispers.
+
+The Cherokee dropped the remainder of the uncut beef into the pot. Knife
+in hand, he moved with a panther's fluid grace to the begrimed window
+half-covered with a dusty rag.
+
+
+
+
+12
+
+_Guerrillas_
+
+
+Boyd stirred. "Shelly?" His call sounded loud in the now silent room.
+Drew set his hand across the boy's mouth, dividing his attention between
+Boyd and Weatherby. They had no way of putting out the fire, whose light
+might be providing a beacon through the dark. The Indian moved back a
+little from the window.
+
+"Riders ... coming down the lane." His whisper was a thread.
+
+Now Drew could hear, too, the ring of hoofs on the iron-hard surface of
+the ground. A horse nickered--one of those which had brought Boyd's
+stretcher, or perhaps one of the newcomers.
+
+Kirby whipped about the door and was now lost in the shadows of the next
+room. Weatherby looked to Drew, then to the loft ladder against the far
+wall. In answer to that unspoken question, Drew nodded.
+
+As the Cherokee swung up into the hiding place, Drew eased one of his
+Colts out of the holster, pushing it under the folds of the blankets
+around Boyd. Then he swung the pot, with its burden of beef and water,
+out over the fire--to hang on its chain to boil.
+
+"Shelly?" Boyd asked again. His eyes were open, too bright, and he
+stared about him, plainly puzzled. Then he looked up at his nurse, and
+his forehead wrinkled with effort. "Drew?"
+
+But Drew was listening to those oncoming hoofs. The strangers would see
+two horses. If they came in, they would find two men--it was as simple
+as that. And if they wore the wrong color uniforms, Weatherby above, and
+Kirby in the lean-to, would be ready and waiting for trouble. Drew laid
+fresh wood on the fire. Since he could not hide, he felt he'd better get
+as much light as possible in case of future trouble. The last they had
+heard the Yankees were concentrating at Murfreesboro and Nashville. But
+scouts would be out, dogging the flanks of the Confederate forces, just
+as he had done the opposite during the past few days.
+
+There was silence now in the lane, a suspicious quiet. Drew deduced that
+the riders had dismounted and might be closing in about the cabin. A
+prickle of chill climbed his spine. He touched the lump under the
+blanket which was his own insurance.
+
+The door burst open, sent banging inward by a booted foot. And at the
+same time a small pane in an opposite window shattered, the barrel of a
+rifle thrust in four inches, covering him. Drew remained where he was,
+his left arm thrown protectingly across Boyd.
+
+"Now ain't this somethin'?" The man who had booted in the door was
+grinning down at the two on the hearth. He wore a blue coat right
+enough, but it was slick with old grease across the chest, stained on
+one shoulder, and his breeches were linsey-woolsey, his boots old and
+scuffed. And his bush of unkempt hair was covered with a battered hat
+topping a woolen scarf wound about ears and neck.
+
+The chill on Drew's spine was a band of ice. This was no
+Union trooper. The scout could identify a far worse threat
+now--bushwhacker ... guerrilla, one of the jackals who hung on the
+fringe of both armies, looting, killing, and changing sides when it
+suited their purposes. Such a man was a murderer who would kill another
+for a pair of boots, a whole shirt, or the mere whim of the moment.
+
+"Come in, Simmy, we's got us a pair o' Rebs," the man bawled over his
+shoulder, and then turned to Drew. "Don't you go gittin' no ideas,
+sonny. Jas' thar, he's got a bead right on yuh, an' Jas' he's mighty
+good with that rifle gun. Now, you jus' pull out that Colt o' yourn an'
+toss it here. Make it fast, too, boy. I'm a mighty unpatient man--"
+
+Drew pulled free the Colt still in its holster, tossing it across the
+floor so that it spun against the fellow's boot. The big hairy hand
+scooped it up easily and tucked the weapon barrel down in his belt.
+
+A second man, smaller, with a thin face which had an odd lopsided look,
+squeezed through the door and sidled along the wall of the room, his
+rifle pointed straight at Drew's head. He spat a blotch of tobacco juice
+on the hearth, spattering the edge of the top blanket which covered
+Boyd.
+
+"What's th' matter wi' him?" he demanded.
+
+"He's sick," Drew returned. "You Union?"
+
+The big man grinned. "Shore, sonny, shore. We is Union ... scouts ...
+Union scouts." He repeated that as if pleased by the sound. "An' you is
+Rebs, which makes you our prisoners. So he's sick, eh? What's the
+matter?"
+
+"I don't know." Drew's fingers were only inches away from the Colt under
+the blanket. But he could dare no such move with that rifle covering him
+from the window.
+
+"Jas', any sign out thar?" the big man called.
+
+"Petey ain't seen any, jus' two horses." The words came from behind the
+still ready rifle.
+
+"Wai, tell him to look round some more. An' you kin come in, Jas'. These
+here Rebs ain't gonna be no trouble--is you, sonny?"
+
+Drew shook his head. Luck appeared to be on his side. Once Jas' was in
+here, they could hope to turn tables on the three of them, with
+Weatherby and Kirby taking them by surprise.
+
+Jas' appeared in the doorway a moment or so later. He was younger than
+his two companions, younger and more tidy. His coat was also blue, and
+he wore a forage cap pulled down over hair very fair in the firelight.
+There was a fluff of young beard on his chin, and he carried himself
+with the stance of a drilled man. Deserter, thought Drew.
+
+The newcomer surveyed Drew and Boyd expressionlessly, his eyes oddly
+shallow, and tramped past them to hold his hands to the blaze on the
+hearth, keeping his rifle between his knees. Then he reached up with his
+weapon, hooked the barrel in the chain supporting the pot, and pulled
+that to him, sniffing at the now bubbling contents.
+
+"You, Reb"--the big man towered over Drew--"git this friend o' yourn an'
+drag him over thar. Us wants to git warm."
+
+"Drew?" Boyd looked up questioningly, his feverish gaze passing on to
+the guerrilla. "Where's Shelly?"
+
+The big man's grin faded. His big boot came out, caught Drew's leg in a
+vicious prod.
+
+"Who's this here Shelly? Whar at is he?"
+
+"Shelly was his brother," Drew said, nodding at Boyd. "He's dead."
+
+"Dead, eh? How come sonny boy here's askin' for him then?" He leaned
+over them, and his fingers grabbed and twisted at the front of Drew's
+threadbare shell jacket. "I ask yuh, Reb, whar at is this heah Shelly?"
+He seemed only to flick his wrist, but the strength behind that move
+whirled Drew away from Boyd, brought him part way to his feet, and
+slammed him against the wall--where the big man held him pinned with
+small expenditure of effort.
+
+"Shelly's dead." Somehow Drew kept his voice even. Kirby ... Weatherby
+... They were there. "Boyd's out of his head with fever."
+
+Jas' let the pot swing back over the fire, moving toward Boyd to lean
+over and stare at the boy's flushed face.
+
+"Might be so," Jas' remarked. "Two horses, two men. Neither one much to
+bother about."
+
+"Better be so!" The big man held Drew tight to the wall and cuffed him
+with his other hand. Dazedly, his head ringing, Drew slipped to the
+floor as the other released him. "Now"--that boot prodded Drew
+again--"git your friend over thar, Reb."
+
+Drew stumbled back and went on his knees beside Boyd. His fingers groped
+under the edge of the blanket, closing on the Colt. Jas' was inspecting
+the pot again, and Simmy had moved forward to share the warmth of the
+hearth. With the revolver still in his hand, though concealed by the
+blanket, Drew pulled Boyd away from the fire as best he could, aware
+the big man was watching closely.
+
+Jas' reached up to the crude mantel shelf, brought down a wooden spoon,
+and wiped it on a handkerchief he pulled from an inner pocket.
+
+"This ain't fancy grub," he observed to the room at large, "but it's
+better than nothin'. You want Simmy to bring in Petey, Hatch?"
+
+"Th' cap'n's comin'." Simmy's remark was made in a tone of objection.
+
+Hatch swung his head around to eye the smaller man.
+
+"You bring Petey in!" he ordered. "Now!" he added.
+
+For a second or two it appeared that Simmy might rebel, but Hatch stared
+him down. Jas' scooped out a spoonful of the pot's contents and blew
+over it.
+
+"You fixin' on havin' a showdown with the captain, Hatch?" he asked.
+
+The big man laughed. "I has me a showdown with anyone what gits too big
+for his breeches, Jas'. You, Reb--" he indicated Drew, with a thumb
+poking through a ragged glove--"supposin' you jus' show us what you got
+in them pockets o' yourn."
+
+Jas' laughed. "Don't figure to find anything worth takin' on a Reb do
+you, Hatch? Most of 'em are poorer'n dirt."
+
+"Now that's whar you figger wrong, Jas'." Hatch shook his head as might
+one deploring the stupidity of the young. "Lotsa them little Reb boys
+has got somethin' salted 'way, a nice watch maybe, or a ring or such.
+Them what comes from th' big houses kinda hold on to things from home.
+What you got, Reb?"
+
+"A gun--in your back!"
+
+Jas' spun in a half crouch, his rifle coming up. There was the explosion
+of a shot, making a deafening clap of thunder in the room. The younger
+bushwhacker cried out. His rifle lay on the floor, and he was holding a
+bloody hand. Kirby stood in the doorway, a Colt in each hand. And now
+Drew produced his own hidden weapon, centering it on Hatch.
+
+The door burst open for the second time as Simmy was propelled through
+it, his hands shoulder high, palm out, and empty. Weatherby came behind
+him, a gun belt slung over one shoulder, two extra revolvers thrust into
+his own belt.
+
+"They got Petey," Simmy gabbled. "Got him wi' a knife!" His forward rush
+brought him against the wall, and he made no move to turn around to face
+them. He could only plaster his body tight to that surface as if he
+longed to be able to ooze out into safety through one of its many
+cracks.
+
+"Shuck th' hardware!" Kirby ordered.
+
+Hatch's grin was gone. The fingers of his big hands were twitching, and
+the twist of his mouth was murderous.
+
+"Lissen--" the Texan's tone was frosty--"I've a finger what cramps on m'
+trigger when I git riled, an' I'm gittin' riled now. You loose off that
+theah fightin' iron, an' do it quick!"
+
+Hatch's hand went to his gun. He jerked it from the holster and slung it
+across the floor.
+
+"Now th' one you got holdin' up your belly ... an' your knife!"
+
+The Colt that Hatch had taken from Drew and a bowie with a long blade
+joined the armament already on the boards. Drew made a fast harvest of
+all the weapons.
+
+"Well, we sure got us some bounty hunter's bag," Kirby observed as he
+and Weatherby finished using the captives' own belts to pinion them.
+
+"There may be more comin'; they talked about some captain." Drew brought
+Boyd back to the warmth of the fire.
+
+Weatherby nodded. "I'll scout." He disappeared out the door.
+
+Jas' was rocking back and forth, holding on one knee the injured hand
+Kirby had roughly bandaged; his other arm was fastened behind him. There
+were tears of pain on his cheeks, but after his first outcry he had not
+uttered a sound. Hatch, on the other hand, had been so foul-mouthed that
+Kirby had torn off a length of the bed covering and gagged him.
+
+Simmy sat now with his back against the wall, watching their every move.
+Of the three, he seemed the likeliest to talk. Kirby appeared to share
+in Drew's thoughts on that subject, for now he bore down on the small
+man.
+
+"You expectin' some friends?" Compared to his tone of moments earlier,
+the Texan's voice was now mildly friendly. "We'd like to know, seein' as
+how we're thinkin' some hospitable thoughts 'bout entertainin' them
+proper."
+
+Simmy stared up at him, bewildered. Kirby shook his head, his expression
+one of a man dealing with a stubbornly stupid child.
+
+"Lissen, hombre, me--I'm from West Texas, an' that theah's Comanche
+country, leastwise it was Comanche country 'fore we Tejanos moved in.
+Now Comanches, they're an unfriendly people, 'bout the unfriendliest
+Injuns, 'cept 'Paches, a man can meet up with. An' they have them some
+neat little ways of makin' a man talk, or rather yell, his lungs out. It
+ain't too hard to learn them tricks, not for a bright boy like me, it
+ain't. You able to understand that?"
+
+Kirby did not scowl, he did not even touch the little man. But as one
+drawling word was joined to the next, Simmy held his body tighter
+against the wall, as if to escape by pushing.
+
+"I ain't done nothin'!" he cried.
+
+"That's what I said, little man. You ain't done nothin'. But you're
+goin' to do somethin'--talk!"
+
+Simmy's pale tongue swept across working lips. "What ... you
+want--wantta ... know?" he stuttered.
+
+"You expectin' to meet some friends heah?"
+
+"Th' rest o' the boys an' th' cap'n; they may be ketchin' up."
+
+"How many 'boys'?"
+
+Simmy's tongue tripped again. He swallowed. Drew thought he was trying
+to produce a crumb of defiance. Kirby reached out, selecting Hatch's
+bowie knife from the cache of captured weapons. He weighed it across the
+palm of his hand as if trying its balance and then, with deceptive ease,
+flipped it. The point thudded into the wall scant inches away from
+Simmy's right ear, and the little man's head bobbed down so that his
+nose hit one of his hunched-up knees.
+
+"How many 'boys'?" Kirby repeated.
+
+"Depends...."
+
+"On what?"
+
+"On how good th' raidin' is. After a fight thar's always some pickin's."
+
+Drew was suddenly sick. What Simmy hinted at was the vulture work among
+the dead and the wounded too enfeebled to protect themselves from being
+plundered. He saw Kirby's lips set into a thin line.
+
+"Kinda throw a wide rope, don't you, little man? How many 'boys'?"
+
+"Maybe five ... six...."
+
+"An' this heah cap'n?"
+
+"He tells us wheah thar's good pickin's." For a moment the man produced
+a spark of spite. "He's a Reb, like you----"
+
+"Have you used this place before?" Drew broke in. If this were either a
+regular or temporary rendezvous for this jackal pack, the quicker they
+were away, the better.
+
+"No, the cap'n said to meet here tonight."
+
+"I don't suppose he said _when_?" Kirby's question was answered by a
+shake of Simmy's unkempt head.
+
+Boyd suddenly moved in his cocoon of blankets, struggling to sit up, and
+Drew went to him.
+
+He was coughing again with a strangling fight for breath which was
+frightening to watch. Drew steadied him until the attack was over and he
+lay in the other's arms, gasping. The liquid in the pot on the fire was
+cooked by now. Perhaps if Boyd had some of that in him.... But dared
+they stay here?
+
+Kirby squatted back on his heels as Drew settled Boyd on his blankets
+and went to unhook the pot. Then the Texan supported the younger boy as
+Drew ladled spoonfuls of the improvised broth into his mouth.
+
+"Th' doc'll come," Kirby murmured. "Croff promised to guide him heah.
+But this gang business--"
+
+"I don't see how we can move him now...." Drew was feeding the broth
+between Boyd's lips, trying to ease the cough, his wits too dulled to
+tackle any problem beyond that.
+
+"Which means we gotta keep company from movin' in. If we could raise us
+a few of the boys now...." Kirby was speculative.
+
+"If you went back to camp, gave the alarm. Traggart doesn't want a gang
+like this runnin' loose around here. They say they're Union; maybe they
+do have some connection with the Yankees."
+
+"With a Reb cap'n throwin' in with 'em? Most of these polecats play both
+sides of the border when it'll git them anythin' they want. An' they
+could try an' pay their way with the Yankees by tellin' 'bout our
+movements heah."
+
+"Could you make it to camp, fast?"
+
+Kirby grunted. "Sure, easy as driftin' downriver on one of them theah
+steamers. But leavin' you heah with that mess of skunks is somethin'
+else."
+
+"Weatherby's out there. Anything or anyone gettin' by him would have to
+come in on wings."
+
+"An' wings don't come natural to this breed of critter! All right, I
+don't see how theah's much else we can do. We can't go pullin' the kid
+'round any more. I'll give Weatherby the high sign an' make it back as
+quick as I can. Let's see if these heah ropes is staked out tight."
+
+He made a careful inspection of their three captives' bonds, and Drew
+laid the assorted armament to hand. But Kirby hesitated by the door.
+
+"You keep your eyes peeled, amigo. Weatherby--he can pull that
+in-and-out game through the loft like he did before. But one man can't
+be all over the range at once."
+
+"I know." Drew studied the remnants of battered furniture about the
+room. He thought he could pull the bed frame across the outer door, and
+shove the table and bench in front of the door to the lean-to. And
+there was a section of wall right under the broken window which could
+not be seen by anyone outside. "I've some precautions in mind."
+
+"I'm ridin' then. See you." Kirby was gone with a wave of hand.
+
+Boyd was quiet again. The broth must have soothed him. Drew shifted the
+other's body to the floor on the spot of safety under the window. As he
+returned to gather up the arms he noted that Jas' was watching him.
+
+Some of the first shock of his wound had worn off so that the guerrilla
+was not only aware of his present difficulties but was eyeing Drew in a
+manner which suggested he had not accepted the change in their roles as
+final. Drew hesitated. He could tie back that wounded hand, too, but he
+was sure the other could not use it to any advantage, and Drew could not
+bring himself to cause the extra pain such a move would mean. Not that
+he had any illusions concerning the bushwhacker's care for him, had
+their situation been reversed.
+
+Simmy, once Kirby had gone, moved against the wall, holding up his head
+with a sigh of relief. He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. And
+when the scout did not pay any attention to him he spoke. "Wotcha gonna
+do wi' us, Reb?"
+
+Hatch's eyes, over the gag, were glaring evil; Jas' was watching the two
+Confederates with an intent measuring stare; but Simmy wilted a little
+when Drew looked at him directly.
+
+"You're prisoners of war. As Union scouts...."
+
+Simmy wriggled uncomfortably, and Drew continued the grilling.
+
+"You _are_ Union scouts?"
+
+"Shore! Shore! We's Union, ain't we, Jas'?" he appealed eagerly to his
+fellow.
+
+Jas' neither answered nor allowed his gaze to wander from Drew.
+
+"Then you'll get the usual treatment of a prisoner." Drew was short,
+trying to listen for any movement beyond the squalid room. Weatherby was
+out there, and Drew put a great deal of trust in the Cherokee's ability.
+But what if the "captain" and the remaining members of this outlaw gang
+arrived before Kirby returned with help? Seeing that Boyd appeared to be
+asleep, Drew once again inspected his weapons, checking the loading of
+revolvers and rifle.
+
+Jas's rifle was one of the new Spencers. The Yankees loaded those on
+Sunday and fired all week, or so the boys said. It was a fine piece, new
+and well cared for. He examined it carefully and then looked up to meet
+Jas's flat stare, knowing that the guerrilla's hate was the more bitter
+for seeing his prized weapon in the enemy's hands.
+
+The Spencer, Simmy's Enfield, old and not very well kept, five Colts
+beside his own, Hatch's bowie knife and another, almost as deadly
+looking, which had been found on Jas', equipped Drew with a regular
+arsenal. But it was not until he settled down that Drew knew he faced a
+far more deadly enemy--sleep. The fatigue he had been able to battle as
+long as he was on the move, hit him now with the force of a clubbed
+rifle. He knew he dared not even lean back against the wall or relax any
+of his vigilance, not so much over the prisoners and Boyd, as over
+himself.
+
+Somehow he held on, trying to move. The pile of wood by the hearth was
+diminishing steadily. He would soon have to let the fire die out. To
+venture out of the house in quest of more fuel was too risky. And
+always he was aware of Jas's tight regard. Simmy had fallen asleep, his
+thin, weasel face hidden as his head lolled forward on his chest.
+Hatch's eyes were also closed.
+
+Drew straightened with a start, conscious of having lost seconds--or
+moments--somewhere in a fog. He jerked aside, perhaps warned by his
+scout's sixth sense more than any real knowledge of danger. There was a
+searing flash beside his head, the bite of fire on his cheek. If he had
+not moved, he would have received that blazing brand straight between
+the eyes. Now he rolled, snapping out a shot.
+
+A man shouted hoarsely and Drew strove to avoid a kick, struggling to
+win to his feet, unable to tell just what was happening.
+
+
+
+
+13
+
+_Disaster_
+
+
+Simmy's animallike howling filled the room. Jas', his hand bleeding
+afresh, sopping through the bandage his captors had twisted about the
+wound, sprawled forward, clawing with those reddened fingers for the
+Spencer. While Hatch, eyes and upper portions of his hair-matted cheeks
+bulging over the gag, kicked out, striving to come at Drew with the
+frenzy of a man making a last desperate play.
+
+The brand Jas' had hurled was smoldering on Boyd's blankets. Drew sent
+it flying with the toe of his boot and made a quick movement to stamp
+out a small spurt of flame. Then he kicked it again, spinning the
+Spencer back against the wall.
+
+Simmy's cry died to a whimper. A wide stain spread over his nondescript
+coat just above the belt, and Drew knew that his first shot had found
+that target. But he was in charge of the situation once again. Both
+Hatch and Jas' had subsided, the one eyeing the threat of Drew's weapon,
+the other again nursing his hand, his face drawn into a grin of agony.
+
+The smell of burning cloth was a sour stench. Drew moved to beat out a
+new blaze in the bedcovers. He coughed in acrid smoke and felt the
+smart of the burn along his neck and jaw where the brand had hit him.
+Simmy rolled on the floor, bent double.
+
+"Drew!" Boyd was struggling free of his blankets, up on one elbow,
+staring about him as one who had wakened into a nightmare rather than
+having come out of such a dream.
+
+"It's all right...."
+
+But was it? Hatch had subsided. Jas' was quiet; there was nothing to
+fear from Simmy. Only that same sense which was part of any scout's
+equipment nagged at Drew, warning him that the crisis was not over.
+
+He went down on one knee beside Simmy, endeavoring to roll him over to
+examine his wound. The guerrilla's mouth was slackly open, his small,
+predator's eyes were oddly bewildered, as if he could not comprehend
+what had happened to him or why. As Drew fumbled with his clothing to
+lay bare the wound, Simmy twisted, his legs pulling up a little. Then
+his head rolled, and Drew sat back on his heels. There was no longer any
+need for aid.
+
+Boyd still rested on his elbow, listening. He could hear Hatch's thick
+breathing and Jas's, a crack of charred wood breaking on the hearth, a
+slashing against the broken window ... the storm had begun again. Only
+those were not the sounds they were listening for.
+
+Drew visited in turn each of the flimsy barricades he had erected after
+Kirby left. He had no way of telling time. How long had it been since
+the Texan left? It could not be too far from morning now, yet the sky
+outside the windows was still as black as night.
+
+"Drew!" Boyd pulled his other hand free, pointing to the ceiling over
+their heads.
+
+The loft! And the route Weatherby had made use of when he had gone up
+that ladder, dropped out of a window above, and returned with his
+prisoner through the front door. But if the Cherokee had come back to
+the cabin, surely the disturbance in the room below would have brought
+him down. Unless he was otherwise occupied.... How? And by whom?
+
+Drew went to the foot of the ladder, not looking up to show his
+suspicion, but only to listen. He was certain he heard a scraping sound.
+Was it someone making his way through a small window? No one who had
+been weeks in Weatherby's company could believe that the Indian would
+betray his movements in that manner.
+
+Drew left the ladder, collected the Spencer, and joined Boyd. The rest
+of the weapons lay at hand, and Drew sorted them out swiftly, piling
+them between Boyd and his own post. From here, as he had earlier
+planned, they had both doors, two windows, and the ladder to the loft
+under surveillance. The other window was over the level of their heads.
+As long as they kept below its sill, anyone shooting through it could
+not touch them.
+
+Boyd hitched his shoulders higher against the wall. He was still
+flushed, his eyes too bright, but he was certainly more himself than he
+had been any time since they had brought him here. Now he reached for
+one of the Colts, resting it on his body at chest level.
+
+"Who are they?" he whispered, glancing at the prisoners.
+
+"Guerrillas," Drew replied.
+
+"More company comin'?"
+
+"Might be. Anse went for the boys."
+
+But Boyd's chin lifted an inch or two, a slight gesture to indicate the
+ceiling again. He brought his other hand up, and using both, cocked the
+Colt, that click carrying with almost a shot's sharp twang through the
+room.
+
+Jas' was again staring at Drew, his lips a silent snarl. But the scout
+believed that as long as he was alert, weapons in hand, he had nothing
+more to fear from his prisoners. They had made their reckless gamble and
+had lost.
+
+The opening at the top of the ladder was a square of dark, hardly
+touched by the flickering light of the dying fire.
+
+"You theah...." The barking hail came from without, strident, startling.
+"We have you surrounded."
+
+It was the voice of an educated man with the regional softening of
+vowels. Simmy's cap'n? What then had happened to Weatherby? Boyd braced
+the barrel of his Colt on a bent knee, its sights centered on the front
+door. But Drew still watched the loft opening.
+
+"Last chance ... come out with your hands up!" The voice was very close
+now. And the unknown apparently knew at least part of the situation in
+the cabin. Which meant either very clever scouting, or that they had
+taken Weatherby. But Drew, knowing the habits of the guerrillas, dared
+not follow that last thought far. He tried to locate the man outside; he
+was in front all right, but surely not directly in line with the door.
+
+"Cap'n!" Jas' called, his gaze daring Drew to shoot. "There's only two
+of 'em, and one's sick."
+
+There was a flicker of movement in the trap opening. Drew fired, to be
+answered by a yelp of pain and surprise. Perhaps he had not entirely
+removed one of the attackers from the effective list, but the fellow
+would be more cautious from now on.
+
+There was only a short second between his shot and an answering
+fusillade from outside. The panes in the other windows shattered and
+Hatch, gurgling incoherently behind his gag, kicked to roll himself
+behind the flimsy protection of the bedstead.
+
+"You almost got one of your own men then!" Drew called. Feverishly he
+tried to think of a way to play for time. Weatherby might be dead, but
+Kirby could have reached the headquarters camp and already be well on
+his way back with reinforcements.
+
+Hatch's gurgling was louder. And now Jas' had transferred his attention
+to the broken windows and what might be beyond them. There was a
+creaking above. Drew tried to deduce from those sounds whether one man
+or two moved overhead. The fire was dying fast. Should he try to urge it
+into new life with the last of the wood, or would the dark be more to
+his benefit?
+
+Shots again, but not crashing through the windows now; these were
+outside. A man screamed shrilly. Then a horse cried in pain. Drew heard
+the pounding of hoofs, and in the loft a quick shuffling. More shots....
+
+Boyd laughed hysterically, and then coughed, until he bent over the Colt
+he still grasped, gasping. Drew steadied him against his shoulder,
+trying to picture for himself what was happening outside. It sounded
+very much as if Kirby's relief force had arrived and that the "cap'n"
+and his gang were in retreat.
+
+"Drew! Everythin' all right?" There was no mistaking Kirby's voice.
+
+He had brought not only four other scouts from the camp, but also
+Lieutenant Traggart and the doctor. And as the major portion of that
+relief force crowded into the room Drew leaned back against the wall,
+very glad to let other authority take over.
+
+"Guerrilla scum," was the lieutenant's verdict on their prisoners. "They
+say they're Union ... or ours, whichever works best at the time. There's
+another one dead out there, and he's wearing one of _our_ cavalry
+jackets!"
+
+"Officer's?" Drew wondered if they had picked off the "cap'n."
+
+"No, you thinkin' he was this renegade officer Kirby was talkin' about?
+I don't think this is the one. He's a pretty nasty-lookin' specimen,
+though. Four of 'em at least got away. We'll take these two into camp
+and see what they can tell us. The General will be interested. I'd say
+this one's a Yankee deserter." He studied Jas'.
+
+The young man in the blue jacket spat, and one of the scouts hooked his
+fingers in the other's collar, jerking him roughly to his feet.
+
+"Mount and start back with them!" Traggart ordered. "How's the boy,
+suh?"
+
+Boyd had wilted back into his blankets when the stimulation of the fight
+was gone. He was still conscious, but his coughing shook his whole body.
+
+"Lung fever, unless he gets the right care." The surgeon was going about
+his business with dispatch. "I hate to move him, but there's no sense in
+remaining here as a target for more of this trash." He glanced at Jas'
+and Hatch impersonally. "Lucky we brought the wagon. Tell Henderson to
+bring it up. We'll take him to the Letterworth house for now--"
+
+Reeling a little when he tried to walk, Drew found himself sharing the
+accommodation of the wagon with Boyd, a canvas slung across them to keep
+off the gusts of rain. He fell asleep as they bumped along, unable to
+fight off exhaustion any longer.
+
+Twenty-four hours later he was back on duty with the advance. Boyd was
+housed in such comfort as any could hope to find, and the cavalry was on
+the move. Buford's men were to picket along the Cumberland River. There
+was a new feel to the army. Drew sensed it as he rode with the small
+headquarters detachment. Empty saddles, too many of them, and the
+growing belief--evidenced in mutters passed from man to man--that they
+were engaged in a nearly hopeless bid.
+
+Franklin, which for Drew had been a wild gallop across some fields, a
+strip of cloth seized from the enemy to set beneath a guidon of their
+own, had been a major disaster for the Army of the Tennessee. Forrest's
+energy and drive kept the cavalry a sharp-edged weapon, still to be used
+with telling effect. But they all sensed the clouds gathering over their
+heads, not those laden with the eternal chill rain, but ones which
+carried with them a coming night.
+
+It was so cold that men had to use both hands to cock their revolvers.
+And Drew saw Croff swing from the saddle, draw his belt knife to cut the
+hoof from a dead horse. The Cherokee glanced up as he looped his grisly
+trophy to his saddle horn.
+
+"Need the shoe," he explained briefly. "Runner has one worn pretty
+thin." He patted the drooping neck of his mount.
+
+Hannibal walked around the dead horse carefully. The mule was only a
+skeleton copy of the sturdy, well-cared-for animal Drew had ridden out
+of Cadiz. But he would keep going until he dropped, and his rider knew
+it.
+
+"Any trace of Weatherby?" Drew asked. The disappearance of the other
+Cherokee scout at the cabin battle had continued as a mystery for their
+own small company. None of those who had known him could credit the
+Indian being taken unawares by the guerrilla force. He had vanished
+somewhere in the dark of the night, and none of their searching a day
+later, interrupted by orders to move, had turned up a clue.
+
+"Not yet," Croff answered. "He may have made too wide a circle and run
+into a Yankee picket. Someday, perhaps, we shall know. Look there!"
+
+From their screen of cover they watched a blue cavalry patrol trot along
+a lane.
+
+"Headin' for th' home corral, an' lookin' twice over each shoulder while
+they do it," commented Kirby. "Was we to let out a yell now, they'd drag
+it so fast they'd dig their hoofs in clear down to the stirrup
+leathers."
+
+Drew shook his head. "Those are General Wilson's men ... can't be sure
+with them that they wouldn't come poundin' up, sabers out, tryin' to
+take a prisoner or two. Anyway, we don't stir them up, that's orders."
+
+Kirby sighed. "Too bad. Cold as it is, a little fightin' would warm an
+hombre up some. You know, for sure, the only way we're gonna git outta
+this heah war is to fight our way out."
+
+Croff reined his patient mount around. "The big fight is comin'--"
+
+"Nashville?" Drew asked, aware of a somber shadow closing in on them
+all.
+
+The Cherokee shrugged. "Nashville? Maybe. The signs are not good."
+
+"It's when the signs ain't good," Kirby observed, "that fellas lean on
+their hardware twice as hard. Heard tell of gunfighters knotchin' their
+irons for each man they take in a shootout. Me, I'm kinda workin' the
+same idea for battles. An' I have me a pretty good tally--Shiloh,
+Lebanon, Chickamauga, Cynthiana twice, Harrisburg, an' a mixed herd o'
+little ones. Gittin' pretty long, that line o' knotches." His voice
+trailed away as he watched the disappearing Yankee cavalrymen, but
+somehow Drew thought he was seeing either more or less than blue-coated
+men riding under a sullen December sky.
+
+Yes, a long tally of battles, and all those small fights in between
+which sometimes a man could remember better than the big ones, remember
+too often and too well.
+
+"The wagons pulled out of the Letterworth place this mornin'," Drew
+said. "They were gone when I stopped by at noon--"
+
+"Goin' south? Any news of the kid?"
+
+"They took him along." There was a faint ray of comfort in the thought
+that Boyd had been judged well enough to be moved with the rest of the
+sick and wounded up from the temporary hospitals and shelters in the
+neighborhood. The seriously ill certainly could not be moved. But he
+wished he could have seen the boy; there was no telling when and where
+they would meet again.
+
+"Well," Kirby pointed out, "if the doc took him, it means they thought
+he was able to make it. He's young an' tough. Bet he'll be back in line
+soon."
+
+"They'll travel slow," Croff added. "Drivin' hogs and cattle and all
+those wagons, they ain't goin' to push."
+
+Forrest, along with his prisoners, wagons, sick and wounded, the
+barefoot, and dismounted men, was driving four-footed supplies south on
+his way to the Tennessee River, and he was not likely to risk or
+relinquish any of the spoil. Buford's Kentuckians lay in wait along the
+Cumberland, hoping perhaps to echo, if only faintly, their earlier
+successes against the gunboats and supply transports. And at Nashville a
+battle was shaping....
+
+Drew had ridden in to report when the first of the new retreat orders
+came. General Buford, who had invited Drew up to the fire, sat listening
+as the scout held his stiff hands to the blaze and listed the sum total
+of the day's comings and goings as far as Yankee patrols were concerned.
+
+"No sign of that missin' scout?" the General asked when Drew's account
+was finished. "Pour yourself a cup of that, boy! It ain't coffee. In
+fact, I don't inquire too deeply into what Lish does bring me to drink
+nowadays. But it's kind of comfortin' to have something warm under your
+belt in this weather. Blame-coldest, wettest winter I ever did see! No
+sign of Weatherby?" he repeated as Drew sipped from the tin cup his
+superior had pushed into his hands, not only grateful for the warmth
+spreading through his insides, but also for the heat of the container he
+cupped between his palms.
+
+"No, suh, no sign at all."
+
+"Hmm. That's strange." The General edged his solid bulk forward on his
+stool, which creaked as his weight shifted. He poured himself a cup of
+the same brew he had urged upon the scout. "Those were guerrillas right
+enough. Scum from both sides, just out like buzzards to pick up what
+they could. Only they were too far into our lines ... and bolder than
+most. Doesn't fit somehow."
+
+"Might be cover for Union scouts after all, suh?"
+
+Buford shrugged. "Not very likely. If Weatherby does report in, send him
+to me! Oh, by the way, Rennie, you're promoted to sergeant to take
+Wilkins' place." The General sat gazing into the cup he held, but it was
+plain his thoughts were far from the current substitute for coffee.
+
+"Thank you, suh."
+
+Buford glanced up. "Thank--? Oh, the sergeant business. Lieutenant
+Traggart put you in for the first openin' some time ago. You had your
+trainin' with Morgan, and you learned well. John Morgan ... hard to
+think of him dead now. And Pat Cleburne ... and all the rest. We have to
+close ranks and do double duty for all of them." Again he was speaking
+his thoughts, Drew was sure. "Well, Sergeant Rennie, we will, we will!"
+
+The courier who stumbled into the room, lurched against the rude wooden
+table, almost rebounding from it to fall. He was nearly out on his feet,
+feet where broken boots were mired within inches of their tops. Drew put
+down his cup and jumped up to steady the man.
+
+"General Forrest's compliments, suh. Will you bring up the division to
+join General Chalmers? The battle's on at Nashville, and it may be
+necessary to form a rear guard for a retreat--" He got the message out
+mechanically in a croak.
+
+So they went to start the first move in a vast job of salvage. Buford's
+men marched fast to come between a broken army and the full force of
+enemy pursuit. For Franklin, having bled the Army of the Tennessee of
+its strength, was only the beginning of chaos. Nashville crushed the
+remains, and the remnants fled, a crippled despairing flight of the
+defeated. The big gamble was totally lost.
+
+It was Forrest who commanded that hastily formed rear guard. Its stiff
+spine was his cavalry, with the addition of two brigades of
+infantry--Alabama and Georgia troops. Snapping at them was Union
+cavalry in full force. Not snapping at their heels, for it was fang to
+fang; the Confederates only gave ground fighting. Day darkened on the
+field and they were in hand-to-hand assault. A man marked musket or
+carbine flash to sight on the enemy.
+
+And as time became a nightmare of almost continuous battle, the rain
+lashed at the struggling men with a whip of icy water. Fighters crouched
+behind rail fences while the Union cavalry charged across black fields,
+hoofs drumming on the ground, and the sputtering fire of carbines making
+an uneven kind of lightning along the improvised wood barricades. Black
+tree trunks gleamed greasily in the wet; and here and there, out of
+defiance, the war whoop of the Yell cut eerily through the melee.
+
+After evacuating Columbia, they closed ranks and stiffened again,
+knowing that they must be the wall between the disorganized rabble of
+the army and the thrust of the Yankee forces coming confidently to
+finish them off. Cavalry, volunteers from the infantry, fragments of
+commands all, but still with enough cohesion behind a commander they
+trusted to fall back in fighting order ... and fighting--even to
+countercharge when the need and the occasion offered.
+
+Drew, Kirby, Croff, and Webb circled around a wagon, bringing the driver
+to a halt, his mule team standing with drooping heads, blowing and
+puffing so that their ribs showed as bony bars through their wet hides.
+
+"Git!" The driver raised his whip as a weapon of offense until he saw
+where Croff's carbine was aimed. A little pale, he sank back on the
+seat. A bush of whiskers hid most of his dirty face, and there was
+something about him which reminded Drew of the guerrilla Simmy.
+
+"Watta yuh want?" he whined.
+
+"Orders," Drew told him shortly. "Pull over there and dump your load!"
+
+"Whose orders?" The driver bristled, still fingering his whip.
+
+"General Forrest's. Now get to it!" Drew put snap in that. "All right,
+boys," he called to the patiently waiting line of infantrymen, "here's
+another one ready to carry you as soon as you empty it."
+
+The ragged half company fanned forward, bearing down upon the wagon as
+if it were a Yankee stronghold. They swarmed over and in it, pitching
+the contents out on the ground in spite of the futile protests of the
+driver.
+
+"Lordy! Lordy!" One of the willing unloaders paused, his arms about a
+box. He was staring into its interior, bemused. "Lookit what's heah! I
+ain't seen such a lovely, lovely sight since I had me a chance on the
+river at that blue-belly supply ship!"
+
+He placed the box with exaggerated care on the ground and dived into it,
+coming up with a can in each hand. "Boys, we has us a treasure; we sure
+enough has!" He was immediately the core of a group eager to share in
+his find. The driver half raised his whip. Kirby brought his horse
+closer to the wagon, caught at the lash, pulling the stock out of the
+other's hands with a quick jerk.
+
+"Reckon the boys must have lighted on your own private cache, eh, fella?
+Don't hump your tail none 'bout it. They ain't in no mood to listen to
+any palaver on the subject. Better ride it out peaceablelike."
+
+"Much obliged, Sarge." The original finder of the treasure trove broke
+from the circle and handed Drew some crackers. "The boys want you should
+have a taste, too."
+
+Drew laughed and began sharing the windfall with the scouts.
+
+"Better break it up, soldiers. The General wants us on the move."
+
+They were already busy throwing the last articles out of the wagon,
+settling in. Barefoot, cold, hungry, until the last few minutes, they
+were Forrest's indomitable rear guard, riding between brisk spats with
+the enemy.
+
+Kirby tested the edge of a cracker between his teeth as they trotted on
+in search for another wagon to turn over to the infantry.
+
+"This heah army is bound to git mounted, one way or the other," he
+commented. "Hope we have some more luck like that in the next wagon,
+too."
+
+
+
+
+14
+
+_Hell in Tennessee_
+
+
+"At least we have that river between us now," Drew said. Behind them was
+Columbia, where Forrest had bought them precious hours of traveling time
+with his truce to discuss a prisoner exchange. Along the banks of the
+now turbulent Duck River not a bridge or boat remained to aid their
+pursuers. Buford's Scouts had had a hand in that precaution.
+
+"Yeah, an' Forrest's waitin' for the Yankees to try an' smoke him out.
+It's 'bout like puttin' your hand in a rattler's den to git him by the
+tail, I'd say. But I'd feel a mite safer was theah an ocean between us.
+Funny, a man is all randy with his tail up when he's doin' the chasin',
+but you git mighty dry-mouthed an' spooky when the cards is slidin' the
+other way 'crost the table. Seems like we has been chased back an' forth
+over these heah rivers so much, they ought to know us by now. An' be a
+little more obligin' an' do some partin', like in that old Bible
+story--let us through on dry land. Man, how I could do with some _dry_
+land!" Kirby spoke with unusual fervor.
+
+Croff laughed. "No use hopin' for that. Anyways, we have business
+ahead."
+
+Just as they had rounded up wagons to transport the infantry between
+skirmishes, so now they were on the hunt for oxen to move the guns. The
+bogs--miscalled "roads" on their maps--demanded more animal power than
+the worn-out horses and mules of the army could supply. Oxen had to be
+impressed from the surrounding farms for use in moving the wagons and
+fieldpieces relay fashion, with those teams sometimes struggling belly
+deep. Having pulled one section to a point ahead, they were driven back
+to bring up the rear of the train.
+
+"Not enough ice on the ground; it's rainin' it now!" Kirby's shoulders
+were hunched, his head forward between them as if, tortoisewise, he
+wanted to withdraw into a nonexistent protecting shell.
+
+"Just be glad," Drew answered, "you ain't walkin'. I saw an ox fall back
+there a ways. Before it was hardly dead the men were at it, rippin' off
+the hide to cover their feet--bleedin' feet!"
+
+"Oh, I'm not complainin'," the Texan said. "M'boots still cover me,
+anyway. Me, I'm thankful for what I got--can even sing 'bout it."
+
+His soft, clear baritone caroled out:
+
+    "And now I'm headin' southward, my heart is full of woe,
+    I'm goin' back to Georgia to find my Uncle Joe,
+    You may talk about your Beauregard an' sing of General Lee,
+    But the gallant Hood of Texas played Hell in Tennessee."
+
+Some sardonic Texan, anonymous in the defeated forces, had first chanted
+those words to the swinging march of his western command--"The Yellow
+Rose of Texas"--and they had been passed from company to company, squad
+to squad, by men who had always been a little distrustful of Hood, men
+who had looked back to the leadership of General Johnston as a good time
+when they actually seemed to be getting somewhere with this
+endless-seeming war.
+
+There was a soft echo from somewhere--"...played Hell in
+Tennessee-ee-ee."
+
+"Sure did," Webb commented. "But this country comin' up now ain't gonna
+favor the blue bellies none."
+
+He was right. Both sides of the turnpike over which the broken army
+dragged its way south were heavily wooded, and the road threaded through
+a bewildering maze of narrow valleys, gorges, and ravines--just the type
+of territory made for defensive ambushes to rock reckless Yankees out of
+their saddles. The turnpike was to be left for the use of the rear guard
+of fighting men, while the wagon trains and straggling mass of the
+disorganized Army of the Tennessee split up to follow the dirt roads
+toward Bainbridge and the Tennessee River.
+
+"Know somethin'?" Webb demanded suddenly, hours later, as they were on
+their way back with their hard-found quota of oxen and protesting owners
+and drivers. "This heah's Christmas Eve--tomorrow's Christmas! Ain't had
+a chance to count up the days till now."
+
+"Sounds like we is gonna have us a present--from the Yankees. Hear that,
+amigos?" Kirby rose in his stirrups, facing into the wind.
+
+They could hear it right enough, the sharp spatter of rifle and musket
+fire, the deeper sound of field guns. It was a clamor they had listened
+to only too often lately, but now it was forceful enough to suggest that
+this was more than just a skirmish.
+
+Having seen their oxen into the hands of the teamsters, they settled
+down to the best pace they could get from their mounts. But before they
+reached the scene of action they caught the worst of the news from the
+wounded men drifting back.
+
+"... saw him carried off myself," a thin man, with a bandaged arm thrust
+into the front of his jacket, told them. "Th' Yankees got 'cross
+Richland Creek and flanked us. General Buford got it then."
+
+Drew leaned from his saddle to demand the most important answer. "How
+bad?" Abram Buford might not have had the dash of Morgan, the electric
+personality of Forrest, but no one could serve in his headquarters
+company without being well aware of the steadfast determination, the
+regard for his men, the bulldog courage which made him Forrest's
+dependable, rock-hard supporter in the most dangerous action.
+
+"They said pretty bad. General Chalmers, he took command."
+
+"Christmas present," Kirby repeated bleakly. "Looks like Christmas ain't
+gonna be so merry this year."
+
+They had lost Buford and they were forced back again, disputing
+savagely--hand to hand, revolver against saber, carbine against
+carbine--to Pulaski. Seven miles, and the enemy made to pay dearly for
+every foot of that distance.
+
+It was Christmas morning, and Drew chewed on a crust of corn pone, old
+and rock-hard. He wondered dully if his capacity to hold more than a few
+crumbs had completely vanished. And he allowed himself for one or two
+long moments to remember Christmas at Oak Hill--where he had managed to
+spend a more festive day than at Red Springs in the chilly neighborhood
+of his grandfather. Christmas at Oak Hill ... Sheldon, Boyd, Cousin
+Merry, Cousin Jeff, too, before he died back in '59.
+
+Drew opened his eyes and saw a fire, not the flames of brandy flickering
+above a plum pudding, or the quiet, welcoming fire on a hearth, but
+rather a violent burst of yellow-and-red destruction punctured by bursts
+of exploding ammunition. These were the stores Forrest had ordered
+destroyed because the men could transport them no further.
+
+The word was out that they were going to make a firm stand near
+Anthony's Hill, again to the south. And they had been hard at work there
+to fashion a stopper which would either suck the venturesome enemy into
+a bad mauling, as Forrest hoped, or else just hold him to buy more time.
+
+There the turnpike descended sharply with a defile between two ridges,
+ridges which now housed Morton's battery, ready to blast road and hollow
+below. Felled timber, rails, stones, anything which could shelter a man
+from lead and steel long enough for him to shoot his share back, had
+been woven together, and a mounted reserve waited behind to prevent
+flanking. A good stout trap--the kind Forrest had used to advantage
+before and which had enough teeth in it to crush the unwary.
+
+"Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed," Drew repeated to himself that tag
+from some childhood rhyme or story as he waited at the mouth of the
+gorge to play his own part in the action to come. A small force of
+mounted men, scouts, and volunteers from various commands were bait. It
+was their job to make a short stiff resistance, then fly in headlong
+retreat, enticing the Union riders into the waiting ambush.
+
+"Who's this heah Dilly?" Kirby wanted to know. "Some Yankee?"
+
+Drew laughed. "Might be." He sagged a little in the saddle. Sleep during
+the past ten days had come in small snatches. Twice he had caught naps
+lying in stalled wagons waiting for fresh teams to arrive, and both
+times he had been awakened out of dreams he did not care to remember, to
+ride with gummy eyelids and a sense of being so tired that there was a
+fog between him and most of the world. It was two days now since Buford
+had been wounded. The news was that the big Kentucky general would
+recover. And it was a whole twenty-four hours since he watched the
+Christmas fires Forrest had lit in Pulaski, the fires which had devoured
+what they no longer had the animal power to save.
+
+Here in the mouth of the gorge the silence was almost oppressive. He
+heard a smothered cough from one of the waiting men, a horse blow in a
+kind of wheeze. Then came the call of a bugle from down the road.
+
+Theirs, not ours, Drew thought. Hannibal shook his head vigorously, as
+if bitten by a sadly out-of-season fly. The captain commanding their
+company of bait signaled an advance. And they followed the familiar
+pattern of weaving in and out of cover to enlarge the appearance of
+their force.
+
+Firing rent the quiet of a few minutes earlier. Drew snapped a shot at
+the Yankee guidon bearer, certain he saw the man flinch. Then, with the
+rest, he sent Hannibal on the best run the mule could hold, back into
+the waiting mouth of the hollow. They pounded on, eager to present such
+a picture of wholesale rout that the Union men would believe a soft
+strike, perhaps an important bag of prisoners, lay ahead, needing only
+to be scooped in.
+
+Perhaps it was the reputation for wiliness Forrest had earned which put
+the Yankee commander on his guard. There was no headlong chase down the
+ambush valley as they had hoped and planned to intercept. Instead,
+dismounted men came at a careful, suspicious pace, cored around a single
+fieldpiece, a small answer to their trap.
+
+But when that blue stream funneled into the hollow, the jaws snapped
+away. Canister from Morton's guns laid a scythe along the Union advance,
+cutting men to ground level. The Yell shrilled along the slopes, and men
+jumped trees and rail barricades, pouring down in an assault wave not to
+be turned aside. The Yankee gun, its eight-horse team, men who stood now
+with their hands high, horses for riders who were no longer to need
+them. Three hundred of those horses from the lines behind the dismounted
+skirmishers--far more valuable than any inanimate treasure to men who
+had lost mounts--one hundred and fifty prisoners.
+
+Kirby rode back from the eddy in the road, his mouth a wide grin
+splitting his skin-and-bone face. He had a length of heavy blue cloth
+across the saddle before him and was smoothing it lovingly with one
+chilblained hand.
+
+"Got me one of them theah overcoats," he announced. "Sure fine, like to
+thank General Wilson for it personal. If I could git me in ropin'
+distance of him to do that."
+
+The small success of the venture was not a complete victory. His
+dismounted cavalry overrun or thrust back, Wilson brought up infantry,
+and they settled down to a dogged attack on the entrenched Confederates
+on the ridges.
+
+Union forces bored in steadily, slamming the weight of regiments against
+the flanks of the defenders. And slowly but inexorably, that turning
+movement pushed the Confederates in and back. Drew, riding courier,
+brought up to the ridge where Forrest sat on the big gray King Phillip,
+statue-still, immovable.
+
+"General, suh, the enemy is in our rear--"
+
+Forrest turned his head abruptly, the statue coming to life. And there
+was impatience in the answer which was certainly meant for all the
+doubters at large and not to one sergeant of scouts relaying a message.
+
+"Well, ain't we in theirs?"
+
+General Armstrong, his men out of ammunition, made his own plea to fall
+back. But the orders were to hold. Hood was at Sugar Creek with the
+army; he must have time to cross. It was late afternoon when Forrest at
+last ordered the withdrawal, and they made it in an orderly fashion.
+
+Through the night the rear guard toiled on and a little after midnight
+they reached the Sugar in their turn. Drew splashed cold water on his
+face, not only to keep awake, but to rinse off the mud and grime of days
+of riding and fighting. He could not remember when he had had his
+clothes off, had bathed or worn a clean shirt. Now he smeared his jacket
+sleeve across his face in place of a towel and tramped wearily back to
+the fire where his own small squad had settled in for what rest they
+could get.
+
+Croff was sniffing the air, hound fashion.
+
+"Ain't gonna do you no good," Webb told him sourly. "Theah ain't nothin'
+in the pot, nor no pot neither--'less Kirby 'membered to stow it last
+time. Lordy, m' back an' m' middle are clean growed together, seems
+like."
+
+"Feast your eyes, man! Jus' feast your eyes!" Kirby unrolled his prized
+coat. In its folds was a greasy package which did indeed give up a
+treasure--a good four-inch-thick slab of bacon squeezed in with a block
+of odd, brownish-yellow stuff.
+
+They crowded around, dazzled by the sight of bacon, real bacon. Then
+Drew pointed at the accompanying block.
+
+"What's that? New kind of hardtack?"
+
+"Nope. That theah's vegetables." Kirby spoke with authority.
+
+"Vegetables?"
+
+"Yeah. These heah Yankee commissaries bin workin' out new tricks all th'
+time. They takes a lot of stuff like turnips, carrots, beets, all such
+truck, an' press it into cakes like this. 'Course you have to be
+careful. I heard tell as how one blue belly, he chawed the stuff dry an'
+then drank water; it bloated him up like a cow in green cane. Poor
+fella, he jus' natchelly suffered from bein' so greedy. But you drop it
+in water an' give it a boil...."
+
+"Looks like hay," Drew commented without enthusiasm. He picked it up and
+sniffed dubiously.
+
+"Man," Webb said, "if the Yankees can eat hay, then we can too. An' I'm
+hungry 'nough to chaw grass, were you to show me a tidy patch an' say go
+to it! How come you know all 'bout this hay-stuff, Anse?"
+
+"We found some of it on the _Mazeppa_. The lieutenant told us how it
+worked--"
+
+"The _Mazeppa_!" Webb breathed reverently, and there was a moment of
+silence as they all recalled the richness of that capture. "We shore
+could do with another boat like that one. Too bad this heah crick ain't
+big 'nough to float a nice bunch of supplies in, right now."
+
+Kirby produced the pail dedicated to the preparation of coffee. But
+since coffee was so far in the past they could not even remember its
+smell or taste, no one protested his putting the vegetable block to the
+test by setting it boiling in the sacred container.
+
+"Don't look like much." Webb fanned away smoke to peer into the pail.
+Kirby had also produced a skillet, made from half of a Yankee canteen,
+into which he was slicing the bacon.
+
+"It's fillin'," he retorted sharply. "An' you didn't pay for it, did
+you? A man who slangs th' cook--an' the grub--now maybe he ain't gonna
+find his plate waitin' when it's time to eat--"
+
+Webb drew back hurriedly. "I ain't sayin' nothin', nothin' at all!"
+
+Drew grinned. "That's being wise, Will. Times when a man can talk
+himself right out of a good piece of luck. It's hot and fillin', and you
+got bacon to give it some taste...."
+
+With hot food under their belts, a fire, and no sign of orders to move,
+they were content. Kirby and Croff followed the old Plains trick of
+raking aside the fire, leaving a patch of warmed earth on which all four
+could curl up together, two men sharing blankets. As the Texan squirmed
+into place beside him Drew felt the added warmth of the plundered coat
+Kirby pulled over them. This had not been too bad a day after all, or
+rather yesterday had not; it was now not too far before dawn. They had
+made their play at Anthony's Hill and had come out of it with horses,
+some food, and a few incidental comforts like this coat. Now after
+eating, they had a chance to sleep. It seemed that Forrest was going to
+pull it off neatly again. Drowsily Drew watched the rekindled fire. They
+would make it, after all.
+
+He awoke to find a thick white cotton of fog enfolding the bivouac. The
+preparations they had made again of rail and tree breastworks to greet
+the Union advance were no easier to see than the men crouched in their
+shadows. It would be a blind battle if Wilson's pursuit caught up before
+this cleared; one would only be able to tell the enemy by his position.
+
+But there was no hanging back on the part of the Yankees that morning.
+Slowly, maybe blindly, but with determination, they were picking their
+way ahead, reaching the creek bank. If they could cut through Forrest's
+present lines, thrust straight ahead, they could smash the demoralized
+straggle of Hood's main command, and the Army of the Tennessee would
+cease to exist.
+
+The blue coats were shadows in the fog, the first advance wading the
+creek now, their rifles held high. And as that line closed up and
+solidified into a wall of men, a burst of flame met them face-on. It was
+brutal, almost one-sided. The Yankees were on their feet, pacing into a
+country they could not clearly distinguish. While their opponents had
+"picked trees" and were firing from shelter with accuracy to tear huge
+gaps in that line.
+
+Men stopped, fired, then broke, running back to the creek for the safety
+which might lie beyond that wash of icy water. And as they went, ranks
+of the defenders rose and raced after them, hooting and calling as if on
+some holiday hunt. Now the cavalry moved in in their turn, cutting
+savagely at the Union flanks, herding the dismounted Yankees back
+through the lines of their horse holders as the Morgan men had been
+driven at Cynthiana. Wild with fright, horses lunged, reared, tore free
+from men, and raced in and out, many to be caught by the gray coats. It
+was a rout and they pushed the Union troops back, snapping up
+prisoners, horses, equipment--whipping out like a thrown net to sweep
+back laden with spoil.
+
+These attackers were the rear guard of a badly beaten army, but they did
+not act that way. They rode, fought, and out-maneuvered their enemies as
+if they were the fresh advance of a superior invading force. And the
+swift, hard blows they aimed bought not only time for those they
+defended, but also the respect, the irritated concern of the men they
+turned time and time again to fight against.
+
+Having pushed Wilson's troopers well back, the Confederates withdrew
+once more to the creek, waiting for what might be a second assault. They
+ate, if they were lucky enough to have rations, and rested their horses.
+Corn was long gone, so mounts were fed on withered leaves pulled from
+field shocks, from any possible forage a man could find.
+
+Drew led the gaunt rack of bones that was Hannibal to the creek, letting
+the mule lip the water. But it was plain the animal was failing. Drew
+shifted his saddle from that bony back to one of the horses they had
+gathered in during the morning. But the Yankee gelding was little
+improvement. In the mud, constantly cut by ice, too wet most of the
+time, a horse's hoofs rotted on its feet. And the dead animals, many of
+them put out of their misery by their riders, marked with patches of
+black, brown, gray, the path of the army. A man had to harden himself to
+that suffering, just as he had to harden himself to all the other
+miseries of war.
+
+War was boredom, and it was also quick, exciting action such as they had
+had that morning. It was fighting gunboats along the river; it was the
+heat and horror of that slope at Harrisburg, the cold and horror of
+Franklin. It was riding with men such as Anson Kirby, being a part of a
+fluid weapon forged and used well by a commander such as Bedford
+Forrest. It was a way of life....
+
+The scout's hand paused in his currying of Hannibal as that idea struck
+him for the first time. Now he thought he could understand why Red
+Springs and all it stood for was so removed and meaningless, was lost in
+the dim past. To Drew Rennie now, the squad, his round of duties, the
+army--these were home, not a brick house set in the midst of green
+fields and smooth paddocks. The house was empty of what he had found
+elsewhere--acceptance of Drew Rennie as a person in his own right,
+friendship, an occupation which answered the restlessness which had
+ridden him into rebellion. He stood staring at nothing as he thought
+about all that.
+
+Kirby startled him out of his self-absorption. "Butt your saddle, amigo!
+We're hittin' the trail again."
+
+As he swung up on the Yankee horse and took Hannibal's lead halter, Drew
+asked a question:
+
+"Ever seem to you, Anse, like the army's home? Like it's always been,
+and you've always been a part of it?"
+
+Kirby shot him a quick glance. "Guess we all kinda feel that sometimes.
+Gits so you can hardly remember how it was 'fore you joined up. Me, I
+sometimes wonder if I jus' dreamed Texas outta m' head. Only I keep
+remindin' myself that someday I can go back an' see if it's jus' the way
+I dreamed it. Kinda nice to think 'bout that."
+
+They cut away from the main line of march, ranging out and ahead.
+Stragglers from the army must be moved forward, directed. And they came
+upon one of those, a tall man, limping on feet covered with strips of
+filthy rag. But he still had his musket, and on its bayonet was stuck a
+goodly portion of ham. He had been sitting on a tree trunk, but at the
+approach of the scouts he moved to meet them.
+
+"Howdy, fellas," he spoke in a hoarse voice, and wiped a running nose on
+his sleeve. "What command you in?"
+
+"Forrest's Cavalry ... Scouts--"
+
+"Forrest's!" He took another eager step forward. "Now theah's a command!
+Ain't bin for you boys, th' blue bellies woulda gulped us right up!
+Nairy a one of us'd got out of Tennessee."
+
+"You ain't rightly out yet, amigo," Kirby pointed out. "Kinda lost,
+ain't you?"
+
+The man shrugged and grinned wryly. "Feet ain't too good. But I'm makin'
+it, fast as I can."
+
+"Can you fork a mule?" Drew asked. "This one is for ridin'. We'll take
+you to one of the wagons--"
+
+"Now that's right kind of you boys, right kind." The man hobbled up to
+Hannibal as if he feared they might withdraw their offer. "Say, you
+hungry? Git us wheah we can light a spell, an' I'll divide my rations
+with you." He waved the musket with its impaled ham.
+
+"Maybe we'll do jus' that," Kirby promised.
+
+Drew dismounted to give the straggler a leg up on Hannibal before they
+headed on toward the Tennessee and the promise of a breathing space.
+
+
+
+
+15
+
+_Independent Scout_
+
+
+"What did the doc say?" Kirby, his blue overcoat a splotch of color
+against the general drabness of the winter scene, came up towing
+Hannibal and his own mount.
+
+"Doesn't think he should try it." Drew made a lengthy business of
+pulling on the knitted gloves he had acquired only that morning as a
+swap for a captured Yankee Colt.
+
+The infantry, back under the solid security of Joe Johnston's
+leadership, had marched on into North Carolina--to face Sherman's
+destructive sweep there. In the west, the only effective Confederate
+force still in the field east of the Mississippi was Forrest's Cavalry.
+And they had been granted twenty days' furlough to return home if they
+could get there, and gather clothing and fresh horses. The sun was far
+down the western horizon of the Confederacy, but to the men who rode
+with Forrest it had not yet set.
+
+"Th' kid wants to go...."
+
+That was the worst of it. When they listened to Boyd's eager talk, saw
+him make the effort to get on his feet again, they were almost convinced
+that the youngster could make the trip back through enemy-held territory
+to Oak Hill. Kirby, though he had no ties in Kentucky, was willing to
+chance the journey to help Boyd home. But those miles between, where
+they must skulk and maybe even fight their way--living out, eating very
+light--Boyd could not stand that. The surgeon's verdict was that such an
+idea was utter folly.
+
+"I'll try to get a letter through with one of the boys," Drew said.
+"Major Forbes ought to be able to furnish Cousin Merry with safe conduct
+on that side; we could have the General take care of it from this end.
+Then she could take him home with her when he was able to travel."
+
+"You write the letter fast. The Kaintucks are makin' tracks today--"
+
+Drew swung into the saddle, and they headed back to camp.
+
+"Now that we ain't headin' north, you thinkin' of joinin' Croff an'
+Webb?"
+
+Men on furlough had been given their orders to collect supplies from
+home, but also to devil the Yankees when and where they could. They were
+to fire into transports along the rivers and rout and capture any Union
+patrols small enough to be attacked when and where they came across
+them. The Cherokee scout and others who could not return home asked for
+their own type of furlough, determined to hunt the district below
+Franklin. Since such men could be of great nuisance value well within
+the enemy lines, they were granted permission and were even now
+preparing to move out.
+
+Drew, who had held off from committing himself to the expedition until
+he had the final verdict on Boyd, knew that Kirby was eager to go. And
+Drew felt that old restlessness, which gripped him whenever he thought
+of spending days in camp. He could do nothing for Boyd, but they might
+be able to accomplish something in Tennessee.
+
+"All right." He saw Kirby grin at his answer. The plan was one after the
+Texan's heart, and Drew knew what it had meant to him to hold back from
+it.
+
+"You tell the kid?"
+
+"Dr. Fairfax did." At least he had not had to deliver that blow, a small
+relief which did not, however, lighten his sense of responsibility.
+
+"How'd he take it?"
+
+"Quiet--on the surface."
+
+The Boyd who once would have fought stubbornly to get his own way, the
+Boyd who would have pulled himself out of that big rocker and announced
+fiercely that he was riding home whether the doctor said Yes or No--that
+Boyd was gone. Perhaps this new acceptance of hard facts was a matter of
+growing up. Drew clung to that. There was little he could do, except not
+go home without him.
+
+"The kid's gonna be all right?"
+
+"Doc hopes so, if he takes it easy."
+
+"Ever feel like this heah war's runnin' down?"
+
+"I don't see how we can keep on much longer."
+
+"Some of the boys are talkin' Texas. Git us down theah an' we can go
+off--be a republic again. Wouldn't be the first time the Tejanos stood
+up all by themselves. Supposin' this fightin' heah stops ... you ridin'
+for Texas?"
+
+"I might."
+
+Kirby slapped his hand on the horn of his Mexican saddle. "Now that's
+what an hombre wants to hear. You change pasture on a good colt, makes
+him even fatter! Come blue bellies all ovah this heah territory, we jus'
+shift range. An' nobody gonna take Texas! Even the horny toads would
+spit straight in a Yankee's eye--"
+
+"How 'bout it, Sarge?" They were at the cluster of rail-walled huts
+where the scouts had established a temporary headquarters. Webb hailed
+them from the door of one of those dwellings where he was rolling up the
+rubber cloth laid over corn husks to form the floor. "You Kaintuck
+bound?"
+
+"No. Ridin' with you boys. Doc thinks Boyd can't try it."
+
+"Good enough, Sarge. We're pullin' out soon as Injun draws us some
+travelin' rations. Jus' enough to get us theah. We can eat off the
+Yankees later."
+
+Since 1861 the clothing of the Confederate Army at large had never
+matched the colorful sketches hopefully issued by the Quartermaster
+General's department. Perhaps in Richmond or some state capitol the
+gold-lace exponents did appear in tasteful and well-tailored gray with
+the proper insignia of rank. Forrest's men, equipped from the first by
+the unwilling enemy, wore blue, a blue tempered tactfully and
+ingeniously by butternut shirts, dyed breeches--when there was time to
+do any dyeing--and slouch hats. But as Drew rode out with his squad he
+might have been leading a Union rather than a Rebel patrol, which, of
+course, was part of the necessary cover for venturing into the jaws of a
+very alert lion.
+
+Parts of West Tennessee were still Confederate-held and through those
+they rode openly. But the countryside could offer them nothing in the
+way of forage. Two armies had stripped it bare during the past few
+months. Sometimes foraging parties on opposite sides had been known to
+combine forces under a private truce, or had fought brisk, bitter
+skirmishes to decide which would collect the spoils. If there remained a
+hog or chicken still running loose, it certainly possessed the power of
+invisibility.
+
+They slipped across the river in one of the boats kept by local contacts
+acting in the scouts' service. Drew questioned the boy who owned their
+transportation.
+
+"Sure they's bummers-out. Yankees say they's ourn, but they ain't!" he
+returned indignantly. "They ain't ridin' for nobody but their own
+selves. Cut off a Yankee an' shoot him for the boots on his feet--do the
+same if they want a hoss. Git ketched an' they tell as how they's
+scouts, workin' secret-like. Scouts o' ourn--if we ketch 'em;
+Yankees--do the blue bellies take 'em. But they ain't nothin' but
+lowdown trash as nobody wants, for sure!" He dug his pole into the water
+as if he were impaling a guerrilla on it. "They's mean, plenty mean,
+suh. Don't go foolin' 'round them!"
+
+"Any special place they hang out?" Drew wanted to know.
+
+The boy shook his head. "Oh, they holes up now an' then somewheahs. But
+they's a lotta empty houses 'bout nowadays. An' the bummers kin hide out
+good without no one knowin' they be theah--till they git ready to jump.
+Cut off a supply wagon or raid a farm or somethin' like that."
+
+"Ridin' the south side of the law." Kirby settled his gun belt in a more
+comfortable circle about his thin middle. "Bet they know all the tricks
+of hoppin' back an' forth 'cross the border ahead of the sheriff, too.
+Time somebody collected bounty on those wolves' scalps."
+
+Ridding the country of such vermin was indeed a worthy occupation. And
+their private quest for an answer to Weatherby's fate might be a part of
+that. But their first duty was to the army: The gathering of
+information, and any discomfort they could deal the Yankees, must be
+their primary project.
+
+Croff brought them into a camping site he had chosen for just such use.
+It lay at the head of a small rocky ravine down the center of which ran
+an ice-sealed thread of stream. It was not quite a cave, but provided
+shelter for them and their mounts. It was a clear night, and the ground
+was reasonably hard.
+
+They ate hard salt beef and cold army bread made with corn meal, grease,
+and water the night before.
+
+"Leave here in the early mornin'." The Cherokee outlined his
+suggestions. "There's a road leadin' to the turnpike that's three or
+four miles from here. Last I heard, a bridge had washed out on the pike.
+Anybody ridin' from Pulaski to Columbia has to turn out and take this
+other way--"
+
+"Good cover on it?" Drew asked.
+
+"The best."
+
+"I jus' got me one question," Kirby interrupted. "Say we was to gobble
+us up a bunch of strayin' Yankees along this road, what're we gonna do
+with 'em after? Four of us don't make no army, an' we ain't gonna be
+able to detach no prisoner guard. 'Course theah are them what's said
+from the first that the only good Yankees are them laid peacefullike in
+their graves. But I don't take natural to shootin' men what are holdin'
+up the sky with both hands."
+
+"Orders are to spread confusion," Drew observed. "I'd say if we hit
+quick and often, take a prisoner's boots, maybe, and his horse, and his
+gun--"
+
+"Also," Webb added, "his rations an' his overcoat, be he wearin' one."
+
+"Then turn him loose, after parolin' him--"
+
+"The Yankees don't honor a parole no more," Kirby objected.
+
+"What if they don't? A lot of men comin' in sayin' they've been paroled
+will stir up trouble. Remember, from what we've heard, a lot of the
+Yankees ain't any happier about fightin' on and on than we are. So we
+take prisoners, get their gear, keep what we can use, destroy the rest,
+and turn the men loose. If we can move around enough, maybe we can draw
+some of Wilson's men out of that big army he's supposed to be gatherin'
+to hit us south. It's the old game Morgan played."
+
+Croff grunted. "It may be old, but I've seen it work. All right, we
+parole prisoners and light out cross-country after a strike."
+
+"I've been thinkin'--" Kirby was checking the loading of his Colts--"if
+we start heah, we can sorta work our way in, coyote right up close to
+Franklin. They'll be expectin' us to light out for the home range, not
+go jinglin' in to wheah they've forted up. Might raise a sight of smoke
+that way. Git Wilson's boys on the prod, for sure."
+
+"Franklin--?" Croff repeated.
+
+"Little below, maybe. From what that boy said, those bushwhackers move
+around pretty free," Drew reminded him, certain the Cherokee was back to
+the desire to search for Weatherby.
+
+"We'll see what kind of luck we have along this road, Injun-scouted. You
+take first watch, Injun?"
+
+"Yeah." Drew heard rather than saw the Cherokee leave their camp, bound
+for a lookout point. The other three bedded down, anxious to snatch as
+much rest as possible.
+
+Long before dawn they were on the move again, threading through the
+winter-seared woods. Croff brought them out unerringly behind a sagging
+rail fence well masked with the skeleton brush of the season. There was
+equally good cover on the other side of the road. Kirby climbed the
+fence, investigating a dark splotch on the surface of the lane.
+
+"Fresh droppin's. Been a sight of trailin' 'long heah recent."
+
+The rest was elementary. There was no need for orders. Croff and Webb
+holed up on one side of the lane well apart; Drew and Kirby did the same
+on the other. Waiting would be sheer boredom and in this weather the
+height of discomfort.
+
+The gray of early morning sharpened the land about them. Boyd would have
+enjoyed this game of tweaking a wildcat's tail. Drew chewed his lower
+lip, tasting the salt of sweat, the grit of road dust. Just now was no
+time to think of Boyd; he must concentrate on the business before him.
+
+He heard the sharp chittering of an aroused squirrel, repeated in two
+shrill bursts. But his own ear close to the ground told him they were to
+expect company. There was the regular thud of horses' hoofs, the sound
+of mounts ridden in company and at an even pace. The only remaining
+question was whether it was a Union patrol and small enough for the four
+of them to handle.
+
+One, two ... two more ... five of them, topping a small rise. A cavalry
+patrol ... and the odds were not too impossible.
+
+Drew sighted sergeant's stripes on the leader's jacket. It would depend
+upon how alert that noncom was. Wilson was drawing in new levies, so
+these men could be new to the district, even green in the army.
+
+The Yankee sergeant was past Kirby's post now, and after him the first
+two of his squad. He paid no attention to the bushes.
+
+Webb's carbine and Kirby's Colts cracked in what seemed like a single
+spat of sound. One of the troopers in the rear shouted, grabbing at a
+point high on his shoulder, the other one was thrown as his horse
+reared, its upraised forefeet striking another man from the saddle as he
+endeavored to turn his mount.
+
+Drew fired, and saw the sergeant's carbine fall as he caught at the
+saddle horn, his arm hanging limp.
+
+"Surrender!" As Drew shouted that order into the tangle below, he leaped
+to the right. A single shot clipped through the bushes where he had
+been, answered by a blast from Webb.
+
+Then hands were up, men stared white-faced and sullen at the fence
+behind which might be a whole company of the enemy. Drew came into the
+open, the Spencer he had taken from Jas' covering the sergeant. For the
+expression on the noncom's face suggested that, wounded as he was, he
+would like nothing better than to carry on the struggle--with Drew as
+his principal target.
+
+"Go ahead, get it over with!" He spat at Drew.
+
+For a second Drew was bewildered, and then he suddenly guessed that the
+Union soldier expected to be shot out of hand.
+
+His anger was hot. "We don't shoot prisoners!"
+
+"No? The evidence is not in favor of that statement," the Yankee spoke
+dryly, his accent and choice of words that of an educated man.
+
+"What brand you think we're wearin', fella?" Kirby had come out of
+concealment, his Colt steady on the captives.
+
+"Guerrillas, I'd say," the sergeant returned hardily. Drew realized then
+that their mixture of clothing must have stamped them as the very
+outlaws they wanted to hunt down, as far as the Union troopers were
+concerned.
+
+"Now that's wheah you're sure jumpin' your fences," Kirby's half grin
+vanished. "We're General Forrest's men, not guerrillas. Or ain't you
+never heard tell of Forrest's Cavalry? Seems like anyone wearin' blue
+an' forkin' a hoss ought to know who's been chasin' him to Hell an' gone
+over most of Tennessee. Lucky I ain't in a sod-pawin' mood, hombre, or I
+might jus' want to see how a blue-belly sarge looks without an ear on
+his thick skull, or maybe try a few Comanche tricks of hair trimmin'!
+Guerrillas--!"
+
+The Union sergeant glanced from Kirby and Drew to his own men. One was
+sitting on the edge of the road, nursing his head between his hands.
+Another had his hand to his shoulder, and the sticky red of fresh blood
+showed between his fingers. The two others, very young, stood nervously,
+their hands high. If the Yankee noncom was thinking of trying something,
+his material was not promising. Drew broke the moment of silence with a
+warning.
+
+"You're surrounded, subject to fire from both sides, Sergeant! I suggest
+surrender. You will be treated as prisoners of war and given parole. We
+_are_ from General Forrest's command. We're scouts. Believe me, if we
+had wished to, we could have shot every one of you out of the saddle
+before you knew we were here. Guerrillas would have done just that."
+
+The logic of that argument reached the Union sergeant. He still eyed
+Drew straightly, but there was a ruefulness rather than hostile defiance
+in his voice as he asked:
+
+"What do you plan to do with us?"
+
+"Nothing." Drew was crisp. "Give us your parole, leave your arms, your
+horses, your rations--if you are carrying any. Then you are free to go."
+
+"We've been ordered not to take parole," the sergeant objected.
+
+"General Forrest hasn't given any orders not to grant it," Drew
+countered. "As far as I am concerned, you can take it, we'll accept your
+word."
+
+"All right." The other dismounted awkwardly, and with one hand unbuckled
+his saber, dropping his belt and gun.
+
+Kirby went among the men gathering up their weapons. Then he and Drew
+tended the slight wounds of their enemies.
+
+"You'll both do until you can get to town," Drew told them. "And you've
+a road and plenty of daylight to help you foot it...."
+
+To Drew's surprise, the sergeant suddenly laughed. "This ain't going to
+sit well with the captain. He swore all you Rebs were run out of here a
+couple of weeks ago."
+
+"You can assure him he's wrong." Drew saw a chance to confuse the enemy.
+"We're very much around. You'll be seem' a lot of us from now on, a lot
+more."
+
+They watched the squad in blue, now afoot, plod on down the road. When
+they were out of sight around a bend, Webb and Croff came out of hiding
+to inspect the spoil. Unfortunately the Yankees had not possessed
+rations, but their opponents acquired five horses, five Springfields,
+four sabers, and three Colts, as well as welcome rounds of ammunition--a
+fine haul.
+
+Croff methodically smashed the stocks of the Springfields against a rock
+and pitched the ruined weapons back of the fence. They had seen during
+the retreat just how useless those rifles were for mounted men. The
+sabers were broken the same way, but the rest of the plunder was shared.
+
+Webb appropriated one of the captured mounts. They stripped the others
+of their gear, taking what they wanted in the way of blankets and saddle
+equipment, and were putting the horses on leading ropes when a volley of
+shots ripping through the early morning froze them. Croff whirled to
+face the road down which the Yankees had vanished.
+
+"Came from that direction--"
+
+They mounted, taking not the open road but a cross route the Cherokee
+indicated. Coming out on the crest of a slope, they were above another
+of those hollows through which the road ran. And in that way lay still
+blue figures. Drew's carbine swung up as men broke from ambush and
+headed toward those forms. No Confederate force would have wantonly
+butchered unarmed and wounded men, nor would the Yankees. Which left the
+scum they both hated--the bushwhackers!
+
+Just as the crack of the murder guns had earlier torn the quiet, so did
+the Confederate answer come now. Three of those advancing on their
+victims dropped. One more cried out, staggering toward the concealing
+bush. Then more broke from cover beyond, going into flight up the other
+rise.
+
+"Croff! Webb! After them!" The Cherokee scout was already booting his
+horse into a run.
+
+Drew and Kirby reached the road together. Slipping from Hannibal, Drew
+knelt by the Union sergeant, turning the man over as gently as he could.
+But there was no hope. The Yankee's eyes opened; he stared up with a
+cold and terrible hate.
+
+"Shot us ... after all ... murder--" he mouthed.
+
+"No!" Drew cried his protest. "Not us--"
+
+But that head rolled on his arm, and Drew was forced to swallow the fact
+that the other had died believing that treachery. Kirby arose from the
+examination of the rest of the bodies.
+
+"Got 'em all. Musta bin as easy as shootin' weanlin's. They didn't have
+a chance! We got three--" He made a circle about one of the dead
+guerrillas--"but that don't balance none."
+
+Drew lowered the dead sergeant to the surface of the road.
+
+"It sure doesn't!" he said bleakly. "We'll go after them--if we have to
+ride clear to the Ohio!"
+
+
+
+
+16
+
+_Missing in Action_
+
+
+"I've counted twenty at least," Webb said over his shoulder. The scouts
+were belly-flat in cover, looking down into a scene of some activity. It
+almost resembled the cavalry camp they had left behind them to the
+south. There were the same shelters ingeniously constructed of brush and
+logs and a picket line for horses and mules. This hole must harbor a
+high percentage of deserters from both armies.
+
+"Only four of us," Kirby remarked. "'Course I know we're the tall men of
+the army, but ain't this runnin' the odds a mite high?"
+
+Croff chuckled. "He's got a point there, Sarge."
+
+"Seein' as how what happened back there on the road could be pinned on
+us, we have to do something," Drew returned. This whole section of
+country would boil over when those bodies were discovered. "And we ain't
+the only ones. Any of our boys comin' through here on furlough are like
+to be jumped for it if the Yankees catch them."
+
+"That's the truth if you ever spoke it, Sarge. I can see some hangin's
+comin' out of that ambush."
+
+"Theah's still twenty hombres down theah, an' four of us. We can pick
+off a few from up heah, but they ain't gonna wait around to git sniped.
+So, how we gonna spread ourselves--?"
+
+Kirby's was the unanswerable question. They had trailed the fugitives
+from the ambush back to this tangled wilderness with infinite caution,
+bypassing two sentries so well posted and concealed they had been forced
+to judge that the motley collection of guerrillas were as experienced at
+this trade as the scouts. There was no time to try to round up any other
+bands of homing Confederates or prowling scouts, even if they knew where
+they could be located. This was really a Yankee problem partly as well.
+
+Because of that murderous ambush, the local Union commander should be
+out for blood. But how could they get into enemy hands the information
+about this rats' nest?
+
+"We can't take 'em ourselves, and we've no time to round up any of the
+boys who might be passin' through."
+
+"So we jus' leave heah an' forgit it?" Webb demanded.
+
+"There's another way--risky, but it might work. Take the Yankees off our
+trail and put them to doing something for us...."
+
+"Sic 'em in heah, eh?" Kirby was watching Drew with dancing eyes. "How?"
+
+"Yeah, how? Ride up to their camp an' say, 'We know wheah at theah's
+some bushwhackers, come'n see'?" Webb asked scornfully. "After this
+mornin' they won't even listen to a truce flag, I'm thinkin'."
+
+Croff nodded. "That's right."
+
+"Supposin' those sentries we passed back there were knocked out and two
+of us took their places and the other two then laid a trail leadin'
+here?"
+
+"Showin' themselves for bait, plainlike?" Kirby asked.
+
+"If we have to. The alarm will have gone out. I'm bettin' there're
+patrols thick on that road."
+
+"Any blue bellies travelin' theah now are gonna be bunched an' ready to
+shoot at anything movin'."
+
+"So," Croff cut in over Webb's instant objection, "you get some Yankees
+a-hittin' it up after you, and you run for here. They're not all dumb
+enough to ride right into this kind of country."
+
+"We'll have to work it so they'll keep comin'. When you see them headin'
+into the gorge after us, you move out of the sentry posts back across
+this ridge and start cuttin' this camp down to size--pick off those
+horses and put 'em afoot. That'll keep them here till the Yankees come."
+
+"You know," Kirby said, "it's jus' crazy enough to work. Lordy--if it
+was summer, I'd say we all had our brains sun-cured, but I'm willin' to
+try it. Who does what?"
+
+"Croff and Webb'll take out the sentries. We'll go hunt us up some
+Yankees." As Kirby said, it was a wild plan anchored here and there on
+chance alone. But the scouts were familiar with action as rash as this,
+which _had_ worked. And they still had a few hours of daylight left in
+which to try it.
+
+They let a supply train go by on the road undisturbed. It was, Drew
+noted, well guarded and the guard paid special attention to the woods
+and fields flanking them. The word had certainly gone out to expect dire
+trouble along that section of countryside.
+
+"Have to be kinda hopin' for the right-sized herd," Kirby observed.
+"Need a nice patrol. Too bad we ain't able to rope in, to order, jus'
+what we need."
+
+He went to a post farther south along the pike, and Drew settled
+himself in his own patch of cover, with Hannibal close at hand. The
+passing of time was a fret, but one they were used to. Drew thought over
+the plan. Improvisation always had to play a large part in such a
+project, but he believed they had a chance of success.
+
+A bird note, clear and carrying, broke the silence of the winter
+afternoon. Drew cradled the Spencer close to him. That was Kirby's
+signal that around the bend he had sighted what they wanted.
+
+It was a patrol, led by a bearded officer with a captain's bars on his
+shoulders--quite an impressive turnout, consisting of some thirty men
+and two officers. Watching them ride toward him, Drew's mouth went dry,
+a shiver ascending his spine. To play fox to this pack of hounds was
+going to be more of a task than he had anticipated. But it had to be
+done.
+
+He fired, carefully missing the captain by a small margin, as he saw the
+spark his bullet struck from a roadside stone. Then he pumped one shot
+after another over the heads of the startled men. As he mounted Hannibal
+he caught a glimpse of Kirby cutting across the slope. The Texan rode
+Indian fashion with most of his mount between him and the return fire
+from the road. Drew kicked Hannibal into a leap, taking him half way out
+of range and out of sight.
+
+Then, with Kirby, he was pounding away. A branch was bullet-clipped over
+his head, and he heard the whistle of shots. Unless he was very lucky,
+this might be one piece of recklessness he would pay for dearly. But he
+also heard what he had hoped for--the shouts of the hunters, the thud of
+hoofs behind.
+
+Now it was a game, much the same as the one they had played to lead the
+Union troops into the cavalry trap at Anthony's Hill. They showed
+themselves, to fire and fall back, riding a crisscross pattern which
+would confuse the Yankees as to whether they were pursuing two men or
+more. Drew watched for the landmarks to guide them back. Less than half
+a mile would bring them to the gorge. Then they must ride fast to put a
+bigger gap between them and the enemy so they could go to cover before
+they struck the valley of the guerrilla camp.
+
+They must depend upon Croff and Webb having successfully taken over the
+sentry posts. But Drew faced those heights with some apprehension.
+Kirby, on one of his cross runs, pulled near.
+
+"They're laggin'. Better give 'em somethin' to try an' bite on!" He
+brought his bay to a complete stop and aimed. When his carbine barked, a
+horse neighed and went down. Then Kirby flinched, his weapon fell from
+his hand, and he caught quickly at the horn of his saddle. From the
+foremost of the blue riders there was a wild yell of exultation.
+
+Drew whirled Hannibal and brought him at a run to the Texan's side.
+
+"How bad?"
+
+"Jus' creased me." But Kirby's expression gave the lie to his words.
+"Git goin' ... don't be a dang-blasted fool!"
+
+Drew scooped up the reins the other had let fall. Kirby must not be
+allowed to lag. To be captured now was to lose all hope of being taken
+as an ordinary prisoner of war. He booted Hannibal into the rocking
+gallop the big mule was capable of upon occasion, and pulled the bay
+along. Kirby was clinging to the horn, his language heated as he
+alternately ordered or tried to abuse Drew into leaving him.
+
+The Texan's plight had applied any spur the pursuers might have needed.
+Confident they were now going to gather in at least two bushwhackers,
+the shouting behind took on a premature shrilling of triumph. There was
+a blast of shooting, and Drew marveled that neither man nor horse was
+hit again.
+
+He was into the mouth of the gorge, still leading Kirby's horse, but a
+glance told him that the Texan would not be able to hold on much longer.
+He was gray-white under his tan, and his head bobbed from side to side
+with the rocking of the horse's running stride.
+
+Their pursuers pulled pace a little, maybe fearing a trap. Drew gained a
+few precious seconds by the headlong pace he had set from the time Kirby
+had been wounded. But they dared not try to get up the steep sides of
+the cut now.
+
+He dared not erupt into the bushwhacker campsite, or could he? If Croff
+and Webb were now making their way to the heights above, ready to fire
+into the camp as they had planned, wouldn't that keep the men there busy
+and cover his own break into the valley?
+
+He heard firing again; this time the sound was ahead of him. Croff and
+Webb were starting action, which meant that the Yankees would be drawn
+on to see what was up. Kirby's horse was running beside Hannibal. The
+Texan's eyes were closed, his left shoulder and upper sleeve bloody.
+
+Riding neck and neck, they burst out of the gorge as rifle bullets
+propelled from a barrel. The impetus of that charge carried them across
+an open strip. There were yells ... shots.... But Drew's attention was
+on keeping Kirby in the saddle.
+
+Hannibal hit a brush wall and tore through it. Branches whipped back at
+them with force enough to throw riders.
+
+Kirby was swept off, gone before Drew could catch him. Then Hannibal
+gave a wild bray of pain and terror. He reared and Drew lost grasp of
+the bay's reins. The riderless horse drove ahead while Drew tried to
+control the mule and turn him.
+
+Tossing his head high, Hannibal brayed again. A man scuttled out of the
+brush, and Drew only half saw the figure snap a shot at him.
+
+He was aware of the sickening impact of a blow in his middle, of the
+fact that suddenly he could pull no air into his straining lungs. The
+reins were out of his hands, but somehow he continued to cling to the
+saddle as the mule leaped ahead. Then under Hannibal's hoofs the ground
+gave way, both of them tumbling into the icy stream. And for Drew there
+was instant blackness, shutting out the need for breath, the terrible
+agony which shook him.
+
+"... dead. Get on after the others!"
+
+The words made no sense. He was cold, wet, and there was a throbbing
+pain beating through him with every thrust of blood in his veins. But he
+could breathe again and if he lay very still, his nausea eased.
+
+Then he heard it--not quite a bray, but a kind of moaning. The sound
+went on and on--shutting everything else out of his ears--to hurt not
+flesh, but spirit. He could stand it no longer.
+
+With infinite labor, Drew turned his head. He felt the rasp of grit on
+the skin of his burned cheek, and that small pain became a part of the
+larger. He opened his eyes, setting his teeth against a wave of nausea,
+and tried to understand what had happened to him.
+
+Water washed over his legs and boots, numbing him to the waist. But his
+arms, shoulders, and head were above its surface as he lay on his side,
+half braced against a rock. And he could see across the stream to the
+source of that mournful sound.
+
+Hannibal was struggling to get to his feet. There was a wound in his
+flank, a red river rilling from it to stain the water. And one of his
+forelegs was caught between two rocks. Throwing his head high, the mule
+bit at the branches of a willow. Several times he got hold and pulled,
+as if he could win to his feet with the aid of the tooth-shredded wood.
+Shudders ran across his body, and the sound he uttered was almost a
+human moan of pain and despair.
+
+Drew moved his arm, dully glad that he could. His fingers seemed
+stiff--as if his muscles were taking their own time to obey his
+will--but they closed on one of the Colts which had not been shaken free
+from his holster when he fell. He pulled the weapon free, biting his lip
+hard against the twinges that movement cost him.
+
+Steadying the weapon on his hip, he took careful aim at Hannibal's head
+and fired. The recoil of the heavy revolver brought a small, whistling
+cry of pain out of him. But across the stream, the mule's head fell from
+the willows, and he was mercifully still.
+
+The sky was gray. Drew heard a snap of shots, but they seemed very far
+away. And the leaden cold of the water crept farther up his body,
+turning the throb into a cramp. He tried not to cry out; for him there
+would be no mercy shot.
+
+The rising tide of cold brought lethargy with it. He felt as if all his
+strength had drained into the water tugging at him. Again, the dark
+closed in, and he was lost in it.
+
+Warm ... he was warm. And the painful spasms which had torn at him were
+eased. He still had a dull ache through his middle, but there was warm
+pressure over it, comforting and good. He sighed, fearful that a sudden
+movement might cause the sharp pains to return.
+
+Then he was moved, his head was raised, and something hard pressed
+against his lower lip so that he opened his mouth in reflex. Hot liquid
+lapped over his tongue. He swallowed and the warmth which had been on
+the outside was now within him as well, traveling down his throat into
+his stomach.
+
+More warmth, this time on his forehead. Drew forced his eyes open.
+Memory stirred, too dim to be more than a teasing uneasiness. Action was
+necessary, important action. He focused his eyes on a brown face bearing
+a scruff of beard on cheeks and chin.
+
+"Webb...." It was very slow, that process of matching face to name. But
+once he had done it, memory brightened.
+
+"What happened--?"
+
+They had ridden into the guerrilla camp site, he and Kirby, with the
+Yankees on their heels. Painfully he could recall that. Then, later he
+had been lying half in, half out of a creek, sicker than he had ever
+been in his life. And Hannibal ... he had shot Hannibal!
+
+Webb's hand came out of the half dark, holding the tin cup to his mouth
+again.
+
+"Drink up!" the other ordered sharply.
+
+Drew obeyed. But he was not so far under, now. Objects around him took
+on clarity. He was lying on the ground, not too far from a fire, and
+there were walls. Was he in a cabin?
+
+There had been a cabin before, but he had not been the sick one then.
+The guerrillas!
+
+"Bushwhackers?" He got that out more clearly. A shadow which had
+substance, moved behind Webb. Croff's strongly marked features were
+lined by the light.
+
+"Dead ... or the Yankees have them."
+
+Webb was making him drink again. With the other supporting his head and
+shoulders, Drew was able to survey his body. A blanket was wrapped
+tightly about his legs, and over his chest and middle a wet wad of
+material steamed. When Webb laid him flat again, the two men, working
+together, wrung out another square of torn blanket, and substituted its
+damp heat for the one which had been cooling against him.
+
+"What's the ... matter--? Shot?"
+
+Croff reached to bring into the firelight a belt strap. Dangling it, he
+held the buckle-end in Drew's line of vision. The plate was split, and
+embedded in it was an object as big as Drew's thumb and somewhat
+resembling it in shape.
+
+"We took this off you," the Cherokee explained. "Stopped a bullet plumb
+center with that."
+
+"Ain't seen nothin' like it 'fore," Webb added, patting the compress
+gently into place. "Like to ripe you wide open if it hadn't hit the
+buckle! You got you a bruise black as charcoal an' big as a plate right
+across your guts, but the skin's only a little broke wheah the plate cut
+you some. An' if you ain't hurt inside, you're 'bout the luckiest fella
+I ever thought to see in my lifetime!"
+
+Drew moved a hand, touching the buckle with a forefinger. Then he filled
+his lungs deeply and felt the answering pinch of pain in the region of
+the bruise Webb described.
+
+"It sure hurts! But it's better than a hole."
+
+A hole! Kirby! Drew's hand went out to brace himself up, the compress
+slid down his body, and then Webb was forcing him down again.
+
+"What you tryin' to do, boy? Pass out on us agin? You stay put an' let
+us work on you! This heah district's no place to linger, an' you can't
+fork a hoss 'til we git you fixed up some."
+
+Drew caught at the hand which pinned his shoulder. "Will, where's Anse?
+You got him here too?" He rolled his head, trying to see more of the
+enclosure in which he lay, but all he faced was a wall of rough stone.
+Webb was wringing out another compress, preparing to change the
+dressing.
+
+"Where's Anse?" Drew demanded more loudly, and there was a faint echo of
+his voice from overhead.
+
+Croff flipped off the cooling compress as Webb applied the fresh one.
+But Drew was no longer lulled by that warmth.
+
+"He ain't here," replied the Cherokee.
+
+"Where then?" Drew was suddenly silent, no longer wanting an answer.
+
+"Looky heah, Drew"--Webb hung over him, peering intently into his
+face--"we don't know wheah he is, an' that's Bible-swear truth! We saw
+you two come out into the valley, but we was busy pickin' off hosses so
+them devils couldn't make it away 'fore the Yankees caught up with 'em.
+Then the blue bellies slammed in fast an' hard. They jus' naturally went
+right over those bushwhackers. Maybe so, they captured two or three, but
+most of them was finished off right theah. We took cover, not wantin'
+to meet up with lead jus' because we might seem to be in bad company.
+When all the shootin' was over an' you didn't come 'long, me and Injun
+did some scoutin' 'round.
+
+"We found you down by that crick, an' first--I'm tellin' it to you
+straight--we thought you was dead. Then Injun, he found your heart was
+still beatin', so we lugged you up heah an' looked you over. Later,
+Injun, he went back for a look-see, but he ain't found hide nor hair of
+Anse--"
+
+"He was hit bad--in the shoulder--" Drew looked pleadingly from one to
+the other--"when we smashed into that brush he was pushed right out of
+the saddle, not far from that crick where you found me. Injun, he could
+still be out there now ... bleedin'--hurt...."
+
+Croff shook his head. "I backtracked all along that way after we found
+you. There was some blood on the grass, but that could have come from
+one of the bushwhackers. There was no trace of Anse, anywhere."
+
+"What if he was taken prisoner!" Neither one of them would meet his eyes
+now, and Drew set his teeth, clamping down on a wild rush of words he
+wanted to spill, knowing that both men would have been as quick and
+willing to search for the Texan as they had to bring Drew, himself, in.
+No one answered him.
+
+But Croff stood up and said quietly: "This is a pretty well-hidden cave.
+The Yankees probably believe they've swept out this valley. You stay
+holed up here, and you're safe for a while. Then when you're ready to
+ride, Sarge, we'll head back south."
+
+He stopped to pick up his carbine by its sling.
+
+"Where're you going?"
+
+"Take a look-see for Yankees. If they got Anse, there's a slim chance we
+can learn of it and take steps. Leastwise, nosing a little downwind
+ain't goin' to do a bit of harm." He moved out of the firelight with his
+usual noiseless tread and was gone.
+
+
+
+
+17
+
+_Poor Rebel Soldier...._
+
+
+"Sergeant Rennie reporting suh, at the General's orders." Drew came to
+attention under the regard of those gray-blue eyes, not understanding
+why he had been summoned to Forrest's headquarters.
+
+"Sergeant, what's all this about bushwhackers?"
+
+Drew repeated the story of their adventure in Tennessee, paring it down
+to the bald facts.
+
+"That nest was wiped out by the Yankee patrol, suh. Afterward Private
+Croff found a saddlebag with some papers in it, which was in the remains
+of their camp. It looks like they'd been picking off couriers from both
+sides. We sent those in with our first report."
+
+The General nodded. "You stayed near-by for a while after the camp was
+taken?"
+
+"Well, I was hurt, suh."
+
+He saw that General Forrest was smiling. "Sergeant, that theah story
+about your belt buckle has had a mightly lot of repeatin' up and down
+the ranks. You were a lucky young man!"
+
+"Yes, suh!" Drew agreed. "While I was laid up, Privates Croff and Webb
+took turns on scout, suh. They located some of our men hidin'
+out--stragglers from the retreat. They also rounded up a few of the
+bushwhackers' horses and mules."
+
+Forrest nodded. "You returned to our lines with some fifteen men and ten
+mounts, as well as information. Your losses?"
+
+Drew stared at the wall behind the General's head.
+
+"One man missin', suh."
+
+"You were unable to hear any news of him?"
+
+"No, suh." The old weariness settled back on him. They had hunted--first
+Croff and Webb--and then he, too, as soon as he was able to sit a
+saddle. It was Weatherby's fate all over again; the ground might have
+opened and gulped Kirby down.
+
+"How old are you, Sergeant?"
+
+Drew could not see what his age had to do with Kirby's disappearance,
+but he answered truthfully: "Nineteen--I had a birthday a week ago,
+suh."
+
+"And you volunteered when--?"
+
+"In May of '62, suh. I was in Captain Castleman's company when they
+joined General Morgan--Company D, Second Kentucky. Then I transferred to
+the scouts under Captain Quirk."
+
+"The big raids ... you were in Ohio, Rennie? Captured?"
+
+"No, suh. I was one of the lucky ones who made it across the river
+before the Yankees caught up--"
+
+"At Chickamauga?"
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+"Cynthiana"--but now Forrest did not wait for Drew's affirmative
+answer--"and Harrisburg, Franklin.... It's a long line of battles, ain't
+it, boy? A long line. And you were nineteen last week. You know,
+Rennie, the Union Army gives medals to those they think have earned
+them."
+
+"I've heard tell of that, suh."
+
+The General's hand, brown, strong, went to the officer's hat weighing
+down a pile of papers on the table. With a quick twist, Forrest ripped
+off the tassled gold cord which distinguished it, smoothing out the loop
+of bullion between thumb and forefinger.
+
+"We don't give medals, Sergeant. But I think a good soldier might just
+be granted a birthday present without any one gittin' too excited about
+how military that is." He held out the cord, and Drew took it a bit
+dazedly.
+
+"Thank you, suh. I'm sure proud...."
+
+A wave of Forrest's hand put a period to his thanks.
+
+"A long line of battles," the General repeated, "too long a line--an end
+to it comin' soon. Did you ever think, boy, of what you were goin' to do
+after the war?"
+
+"Well, there's the West, suh. Open country out there--"
+
+Forrest's eyes were bright, alert. "Yes, and we might even hold the
+West. We'll see--we'll have to see. Your report accepted, Sergeant."
+
+It was plainly a dismissal. As Drew saluted, the General laid his hat
+back on the tallest pile of papers. Busy at the table, he might have
+already forgotten Drew. But the Kentuckian, pausing outside the door to
+examine the hat cord once more, knew that he would never forget. No,
+there were no medals worn in the ragged, thin lines of the shrinking
+Confederate Army. But his birthday gift--Drew's fist closed about the
+cord jealously--that was something he would have, always.
+
+Only, nowadays, how long was "always"?
+
+"That's a right smart-lookin' mount, Sarge!" Drew looked at the pair of
+lounging messengers grinning at him from the front porch of
+headquarters. He loosened the reins and led the bony animal a step or
+two before mounting.
+
+Shawnee, nimble-footed as a cat, a horse that had known almost as much
+about soldiering as his young rider. Then Hannibal, the mule from Cadiz,
+that had served valiantly through battle and retreat, to die in a
+Tennessee stream bed. And now this bone-rack of a gray mule with one lop
+ear, a mind of his own, and a gait which could set one's teeth on edge
+when you pushed him into any show of speed. The animal's long,
+melancholy face, his habit of braying mournfully in the moonlight--until
+Westerners compared him unfavorably with the coyotes of the Plains--had
+earned him the name Croaker; and he was part of the loot they had
+brought out of the bushwhackers' camp.
+
+As unlovely as he appeared, Croaker had endurance, steady nerves, and a
+most un-mulelike willingness to obey orders. He was far from the ideal
+cavalry mount, but he took his rider there and back, safely. He was
+sure-footed, with a cat's ability to move at night, and in scout circles
+he had already made a favorable impression. But he certainly was an
+unhandsome creature.
+
+"Smart actin's better than smart lookin'," Drew answered the disparagers
+now. "Do as well yourselves, soldiers, and you'll be satisfied."
+
+Croaker started off at a trot, sniffling, his good ear twitching as if
+he had heard those unfriendly comments and was storing them up in his
+memory, to be acted upon in the future.
+
+January and February were behind them now. Now it was March ...
+spring--only it was more like late fall. Or winter, with the night
+closing in. Drew let Croaker settle to the gait which suited him best.
+He would visit Boyd and then rejoin Buford's force.
+
+The army, or what was left of it hereabouts, was, as usual, rumbling
+with rumor. The Union's General Wilson had assembled a massive hammer of
+a force, veterans who had clashed over and over with Forrest in the
+field, who had learned that master's tricks. Seventeen thousand mounted
+cavalrymen, ready to aim straight down through Alabama where the war had
+not yet touched. Another ten thousand without horses, who formed a
+backlog of reserves.
+
+In the Carolinas, Johnston, with the last stubborn regiments of the Army
+of the Tennessee, was playing his old delaying game, trying to stop
+Sherman from ripping up along the coast. And in Virginia the news was
+all bad. The world was not spring, but drab winter, the dying winter of
+the Confederacy.
+
+Wilson's target was Selma and the Confederate arsenal; every man in the
+army knew that. Somehow Bedford Forrest was going to have to interpose
+between all the weight of that Yankee hammer and Selma. And he had done
+the impossible so often, there was still a chance that he _could_ bring
+it off. The General had a free hand and his own particular brand of
+genius to back it.
+
+Drew's fingers were on the front of his short cavalry jacket, pressing
+against the coil of gold cord in his shirt pocket. No, the old man
+wasn't licked yet; he'd give Wilson and every one of those twenty-seven
+thousand Yankees a good stiff fight when they came poking their long
+noses over the Alabama border!
+
+"He gave you what?" Boyd sat up straighter. His face was thin and no
+longer weather-beaten, and he'd lost all of that childish arrogance
+which had so often irritated his elders. In its place was a certain
+quiet soberness in which the scout sometimes saw flashes of Sheldon.
+
+Now Drew pulled the cord from his pocket, holding it out for Boyd's
+inspection. The younger boy ran it through his fingers wonderingly.
+
+"General Forrest's!" From it he looked to the faded weatherworn hat Drew
+had left on a chair by the door. Boyd caught it up and pulled off the
+leather string banding its dented crown. Carefully he fitted on
+Forrest's gift and studied the result critically. Drew laughed.
+
+"Like puttin' a new saddle on Croaker; it doesn't fit."
+
+"Yes, it does," Boyd protested. "That's right where it belongs."
+
+Drew, standing by the window, felt a pinch of concern. He found it
+difficult nowadays to deny Boyd anything, let alone such a harmless
+request.
+
+"The first lieutenant comin' along will call me for sportin' a general's
+feathers on a sergeant's head," he protested. "Nothin' from Cousin Merry
+yet? Maybe Hansford didn't make it through with my letter. He hasn't
+come back yet.... But--"
+
+"Think I'd lie to you about that?" Boyd's eyes held some of the old
+blaze as he turned the hat around in his hands. "And what I told you is
+the truth. The surgeon said it won't hurt me any to ride with the boys
+when you pull out. General Buford's ordered to Selma and Dr. Cowan's
+sister lives there. He has a letter from her sayin' I can rest up at her
+house if I need to. But I won't! I haven't coughed once today, that's
+the honest truth, Drew. And when you go, the Yankees are goin' to move
+in here. I don't want to go to a Yankee prison, like Anse--"
+
+Drew's shoulders hunched in an involuntary tightening of muscles as he
+stared straight out of the window at nothing. Boyd had insisted from the
+first that the Texan must be a prisoner. Drew schooled himself into the
+old shell, the shell of trying not to let himself care.
+
+"General Buford said I was to ride in one of the headquarters wagons. He
+needs an extra driver. That's doin' something useful, not just sittin'
+around listenin' to a lot of bad news!" The boy's tone was almost raw in
+protest.
+
+And some of Boyd's argument made sense. After the command moved out he
+might be picked up by a roving Yankee patrol, while Selma was still so
+far behind the Confederate lines that it was safe, especially with
+Forrest moving between it and Wilson.
+
+"Mind you, take things easy! Start coughin' again, and you'll have to
+stay behind!" Drew warned.
+
+"Drew, are things really so bad for us?"
+
+The scout came away from the window. "Maybe the General can hold off
+Wilson ... this time. But it can't last. Look at things straight, Boyd.
+We're short on horses; more'n half the men are dismounted. And more of
+them desert every day. Men are afraid they'll be sent into the Carolinas
+to fight Sherman, and they don't want to be so far from home. The women
+write or get messages through about how hard things are at home. A man
+can march with an empty belly for himself and somehow stick it out, but
+when he hears about his children starvin' he's apt to forget all the
+rest. We're whittled 'way down, and there's no way under Heaven of
+gettin' what we need."
+
+"I heard some of the boys talkin' about drawin' back to Texas."
+
+"Sure, we've all heard that big wishin', but that's all it is, just
+wishin'. The Yankees wouldn't let up even if they crowded us clear back
+until we're knee-deep in the Rio Grande. It's close to the end now--"
+
+"No, it ain't!" Boyd flared, more than a shade of the old stubbornness
+back in his voice. "It ain't goin' to be the end as long as one of us
+can ride and hold a carbine! They can have horses and new boots, their
+supplies, and all their men. We ain't scared of any Yankee who ever rode
+down the pike! If you yell at 'em now, they'd beat it back the way they
+came."
+
+Drew smiled tiredly. "Guess we're on our way now to do some of that
+yellin'." The end was almost in sight; every trooper in or out of the
+saddle knew it. Only some, like Boyd, would not admit it. "Remember what
+I say, Boyd. Take it slow and ride easy!"
+
+Boyd picked up Drew's hat again, holding it in the sunlight coming
+through the window. The cord was a band of raw gold, gleaming brighter,
+perhaps, because of the shabbiness of the hat it now graced.
+
+"You don't ride easy with the General," he said softly. "You ride tall
+and you ride proud!"
+
+Drew took the hat from him. Out of the direct sunbeam, the band still
+seemed to hold a bit of fire.
+
+"Maybe you do," he agreed soberly.
+
+Now Boyd was smiling in turn. "You carry the General's hatband right up
+so those blue bellies can get the shine in their eyes! We'll lam 'em
+straight back to the Tennessee again--see if we don't!"
+
+But almost three weeks later the Yankees were not back at the Tennessee;
+they were dressing their lines before the horseshoe bend of the
+defending breastworks of Selma. Everything which could have gone wrong
+with Forrest's plans had done just that. A captured courier had given
+his enemies the whole framework of his strategy. Then the cavalry had
+tried to hold the blue flood at Bogler's Creek by a tearing frantic
+battle, whirling Union sabers against Confederate revolvers in the hands
+of veterans. It had been a battle from which Forrest himself broke free
+through a lane opened by the action of his own weapons and the
+concentrated fury of his escort.
+
+Out of the city had steamed the last train while a stream of civilian
+refugees had struggled away on foot, the river patrolled by pickets of
+cavalry ordered to extricate every able-bodied man from the throng and
+press him into the struggle. Forrest's orders were plain: Every male
+able to fight goes into the works, or into the river!
+
+Now Drew and Boyd were with the Kentuckians, forming with Forrest's
+escort a small reserve force behind the center of that horseshoe of
+ramparts. Veterans on either flank, and the militia, trusted by none, in
+the middle. Thin lines stretched to the limit, so that each dismounted
+trooper in that pitiful fortification was six or even ten feet from his
+nearest fellow. And gathering under the afternoon sun a mass of blue, a
+vast, endless ocean....
+
+The enemy was dismounted, too, coming in on a charge as fearless and
+reckless as any the Confederates had delivered in the past. With the
+sharpness of one of their own sabers, they slashed out a trotting arc of
+men, cutting at Armstrong's veterans in the earthworks to be curled
+back under a withering fire, losing a general, senior officers, and men.
+But the rebuff did not shake them.
+
+A second Union attack was aimed at the center, and the militia broke.
+Bugles shrilled in the small reserve, who then pushed up to meet that
+long tongue of blue licking out confidently toward the city. This time
+there was no stopping the Yankee advance. The reserve neither broke nor
+followed the shambling panic-striken flight of the militia, but were
+pushed back by sheer weight of numbers to the unfinished second line of
+the city's defenses.
+
+Blue--a full tidal wave of it in front and wedges of blue overlapping
+the gray flanks and appearing here and there even to the rear--
+
+Having thrown away his rifle, Drew was now firing with both Colts, never
+sure any of his bullets found their targets. He stood shoulder to
+shoulder with Boyd in a dip of half-finished earthwork when the bugle
+called again, and down the ragged line of gray snapped an order unheard
+before--
+
+"Get out! Save yourselves!"
+
+Boyd fired, then threw his emptied Colt into the face of a tall man
+whose blue coat bore a sergeant's stripes. His own emptied guns placed
+in their holsters, Drew caught up the carbine the Yankee had dropped. He
+gave Boyd a shove.
+
+"Run!"
+
+They dodged in and out of a swirling mass of fighting men, somehow
+reaching the line of horse holders. Drew found Croaker standing stolidly
+with dragging reins, got into the saddle, and reached down a hand to aid
+Boyd up behind him. In the early dusk he saw General Forrest--his own
+height and the proportions of his charger King Phillip distinguishable
+even in that melee--gathering about him a nucleus of resistance as they
+battled toward the city. And Drew headed Croaker in the General's
+direction.
+
+Boyd pawed at his shoulder as they burst into a street at the
+bone-shaking gallop which was the mule's fastest gait. A blue-coated
+trooper sat with his back against the paling of a trim white fence, one
+lax hand still holding the reins of a horse. Drew pulled Croaker up so
+Boyd could slip down. As he pulled loose the reins the Yankee slid
+inertly to the ground.
+
+A squad of blue coats turned the corner a block away, heading for them.
+Somewhere ahead, the company led by the General was fighting its way
+through Selma. Drew was driven by the necessity of catching up. The two
+armies were so mingled now that the wild disorder proved a cover for
+escaping Confederates.
+
+Twilight was on them as they hit the Burnsville road, coming into the
+tail end of the command of men from a dozen or more shattered regiments,
+companies, and divisions, who had consolidated in some order about
+Forrest and his escort. These were all veterans, men tough enough to
+fight their way out of the city and lucky enough to find their mounts or
+others when the order to get out had come. They were part of the
+striking force Forrest had built up through months and years--tempered
+with his own particular training and spirit--now peeled down to a final
+hard core.
+
+In the darkness their advance tangled with a Union outpost, snapping up
+prisoners before the bewildered Yankees were aware that they, too, were
+not Wilson's men. And the word passed that a Fourth United States
+Regulars' scouting detachment was camped not too far away.
+
+"We can take 'em, suh." Drew caught the assurance in that.
+
+"We shall, we certainly shall!" Forrest's drawl had sharpened as if he
+saw in the prospect of this small engagement a chance to redeem the
+futile shame of those breaking lines at Selma.
+
+"Not you, suh!"
+
+That protest was picked up, echoed by every man within hearing. Finally
+the General yielded to their angry demands that he not expose himself to
+the danger of the night attack.
+
+They moved in around the house, and somehow confidence was restored by
+following the old familiar pattern of the surprise attack--as if in this
+small action they were again a part of the assured troops who had fought
+gunboats from horseback, who had tweaked the Yankees' tails so often.
+
+Drew and Boyd were part of the detachment sent to approach the
+fire-lighted horse lot, coming from a different angle than the main body
+of the force. It was the old, old game of letting a dozen do the work of
+fifty. But before they had reached the rail fence about that enclosure,
+there was a ripple of spiteful Yankee fire.
+
+"Come on!" The officer outlined against one of the campfires, lurched
+and caught at the rails as the men he led crawled over or vaulted that
+obstruction, overrunning the Union defenders with the vehemence of men
+determined to make up for the failure of the afternoon. It was a sharp
+skirmish, but one from which they came away with prisoners and a renewed
+belief in themselves. Though they did not know it then, they had fought
+the last battle of the war for the depleted regiments of cavalry of the
+Army of the Tennessee. The aftertaste of Selma had been bitter, but the
+small, sharp flurry at the Godwin house left them no longer feeling so
+bitter.
+
+"Where're we goin'?" Boyd pushed his horse up beside Croaker as they
+swung on through the dark.
+
+"Plantersville, I guess." But something inside Drew added soundlessly:
+On to the end now.
+
+"We're not finished--" Boyd went on, when Drew interrupted:
+
+"We're finished. We were finished months ago." It was true ... they had
+been finished at Franklin, their cause dead, their hopes dead,
+everything dead except men who had somehow kept on their feet, with
+weapons in their hands and a dogged determination to keep going. Why?
+Because most of them could no longer understand any other way of life?
+
+There was that long line of battles General Forrest had named.... And
+marching backward through weeks, months, and years a long line of men,
+growing more and more shadowy in memory. Among them was Anse--Drew tried
+not to think about that.
+
+Now, out of the dark there suddenly arose a voice, singing. Others
+picked up the tune, one of the army songs. Just as Kirby had sung to
+them on the big retreat, so this unknown voice was singing them on to
+whatever was awaiting at Plantersville. The end was waiting and they
+would have to face it, just as they had faced carbine, saber, field gun
+and everything else the Yankees had brought to bear against them.
+
+Drew joined in and heard Boyd's tenor, high but on key, take up the
+refrain:
+
+    "On the Plains of Manassas the Yankees we met,
+    We gave them a whipping they'll never forget:
+    But I ain't got no money, nor nothin' to eat,
+    I'm afraid that tonight I must sleep in the street."
+
+The Army of the Tennessee hadn't seen the Plains of Manassas, maybe, but
+they had seen other fields and running Yankees in their time.
+
+Drew found himself slapping the ends of his reins in time to the tune.
+
+"I'm a poor Rebel soldier, and Dixie's my home--"
+
+Croaker brayed loudly and with sorrowful undertone, and Drew heard a
+laugh, which could only have come from General Forrest, floating back to
+him through the dawn of a new morning.
+
+
+
+
+18
+
+_Texas Spurs_
+
+
+The soft wind curled languidly in through the open church window,
+stirring the curly lock which Boyd now and then impatiently pushed away
+from his eyes ... was a delicate fingertip touch on Drew's cheek. A
+subdued shuffle of feet could be heard as the congregation arose. It was
+Sunday in Gainesville, and a congregation such as could only have
+gathered there on this particular May 7, 1865. Rusty gray-brown,
+patched, and with ill-mended tears, which no amount of painstaking
+effort could ever convert again into more than dimly respectable
+uniforms, a sprinkling of civilian broadcloth and feminine bonnets. And
+across the church a smaller block of once hostile blue....
+
+As the recessional formed, prayer books were closed to be slipped into
+pockets or reticules. The presiding celebrate moved down from the altar,
+his surplice tugged aside by the wandering breeze revealing the worn
+cavalry boots of a chaplain.
+
+    "For the beauty of the earth,
+    For the beauty of the skies,
+    For the love which from our birth
+    Over and around us lies."
+
+Men's voices, hesitant and rusty at first, then rose confidently over
+the more decorous hum of the regular church-goers as old memories were
+renewed.
+
+    "Lord of all, to Thee we raise
+    This our Hymn of grateful praise."
+
+The hymn swelled, a mighty, powerful wave of sound. Drew's hard,
+calloused hands closed on the back of the pew ahead. Hearing Boyd's
+voice break, Drew knew that within them both something had loosened. The
+apathy which had held them through these past days was going, and they
+were able to feel again.
+
+"Drew--" Boyd's voice quavered and then steadied, "let's go home...."
+
+They had shared the talk at camp, the discussion about slipping away to
+join Kirby Smith in Texas, and some had even gone before the official
+surrender of Confederate forces east of the Mississippi three days
+earlier. But when General Forrest elected to accept Yankee terms, most
+of the men followed his example. Back at camp they were making out the
+paroles on the blanks furnished by the Union Command, but so far no
+Yankee had appeared in person. The cavalry were to retain their horses
+and mules, and whole companies planned to ride home together to
+Tennessee and Kentucky. Drew and Boyd could join one of those.
+
+As they moved toward the church door now three of the Union soldiers who
+had attended the service were directly ahead of them in the aisle. Boyd
+caught urgently at Drew's arm.
+
+"Those spurs--look at his spurs!" He pointed to the heels of the middle
+Yankee. Sunlight made those ornate disks of silver very bright. Drew's
+breath caught, and he took a long stride forward to put his hand on the
+blue coat's shoulder. The man swung around, startled, to face him.
+
+"Suh, where did you get those spurs?" Drew's tone carried the note of
+one who expected to be answered promptly--with the truth.
+
+The Yankee had straight black brows which drew together in a frown as he
+stared back at the Confederate.
+
+"I don't see how that's any business of yours, Reb!"
+
+Drew's hand went to his belt before he remembered that there wasn't any
+weapon there, and no need for one now. He regained control.
+
+"It's this much my business, suh. Those spurs are Mexican. They were
+taken from a Mexican officer at Chapultepec, and the last time I saw
+them they were worn by a very good friend of mine who's been missing
+since February! I'd like very much indeed to know just how and where you
+got them."
+
+Lifting one booted foot, the Yankee studied the spurs as if they had
+somehow changed their appearance. When his eyes came back to meet Drew's
+his frown was gone.
+
+"Reb, I bought these from a fella in another outfit, 'bout two or three
+weeks ago. He was on sick leave and was goin' home. I gave him good hard
+cash for 'em."
+
+"Did he say where he got them?" pressed Drew.
+
+The other shook his head. "He had a pile of stuff--mostly Reb--buckles,
+spurs, and such. Sold it all around camp 'fore he left."
+
+"What outfit are you?" Boyd asked.
+
+"Trooper, any trouble here?" A Yankee major bore down on them from one
+side, a Confederate captain from the other.
+
+"No, suh," Drew replied quickly. "I just recognized a pair of spurs this
+trooper is wearin'. They belonged to a friend of mine who's been missin'
+for some time. I hoped maybe the trooper knew something about him."
+
+"Well, do you?" the major demanded of his own man.
+
+"No, sir. Bought these in camp from a fella goin' on furlough. I don't
+know where he got 'em."
+
+"Satisfied, soldier?" the officer asked Drew.
+
+"Yes, suh." Before he could add another word the major was shepherding
+his men away.
+
+"I'm sorry." The Confederate captain shook his head. "Pity he didn't
+have any more definite information for you." He glanced at Drew's set
+face. "But, Sergeant, the news wasn't all bad--"
+
+"No, suh. Only Anse never would have parted with those while he was
+alive and could prevent it--never in this world!"
+
+"Where was your friend when he was reported missin'?"
+
+"We were on scout in Tennessee, and both of us were wounded. I was found
+by our men, but he wasn't. There was just a chance he might have been
+taken prisoner."
+
+"Men'll be comin' back from their prisons now. What's his name and
+company, Sergeant? I'll ask around."
+
+"Anson Kirby. He was with Gano's Texans under Morgan, and then he
+transferred with me into General Buford's Scouts. He's about nineteen or
+twenty, has reddish hair and a scar here--" With a forefinger Drew
+traced a line from the left corner of his mouth to his left temple. "He
+was shot in the left shoulder pretty bad when we were separated."
+
+The captain nodded. "I'll keep a lookout. A lot of Texans pass through
+here on their way home."
+
+"Thank you, suh. Should you have any news, I'd be obliged to hear it. My
+name's Drew Rennie, suh, and you can address a message care of the
+Barrett's, Oak Hill. That's in Fayette County, Kentucky."
+
+But the chance of ever receiving any such news was, Drew thought, very
+improbable. That afternoon when he tried to find Boyd, he, too, was
+missing and none of the headquarters company knew where the boy had
+gone.
+
+"Ain't pulled out though," Webb assured. "Said as how you two were
+plannin' to head north with the Kaintuck boys right after the old man
+says good-bye. Guess I'll trail 'long with you for a spell. You gotta
+cross Tennessee to git to Kaintuck."
+
+"Goin' home, Will?"
+
+"Guess so. Heard tell as how they burned out m' old man. Dunno, that
+theah's sure hard-scrabble ground; we never did make us a good crop on
+it. Maybe so, we'll try somewheah's else now. Sorta got me an itchin'
+foot. Maybe won't tie down anywheah for a spell."
+
+"What about you, Injun?" Drew turned to Croff.
+
+"Goin' back to the Nations. Guess they had it hard there too, General
+Watie and the Union 'Pins' raidin' back and forth. They'll need schools
+though, and someone to teach 'em--"
+
+"You a teacher, Injun?" Webb was plainly startled.
+
+"Startin' to be one, before the bands started playin' Dixie so loud,"
+Croff said, smiling. "Maybe I've forgotten too much, though. I have to
+see if I can fit me in behind a desk again."
+
+"Heah's th' kid--"
+
+Drew looked up at Webb's hail. Boyd walked toward them, his saddlebags
+slung over one shoulder, under his arm the haversack for rations which
+normally hung from any forager's saddle horn. He dropped them by the
+fire and held two gleaming objects out to Drew.
+
+"Anse's spurs! How did you get them?"
+
+"Sold m' horse to the sutler at the Yankee camp. Then bought 'em. That
+trooper gave 'em to me for just what he paid: five dollars hard money.
+Said as how he could understand why you wanted to have them--"
+
+"But your horse!"
+
+Boyd grinned. "Looky here, Drew, more'n half of this heah Reb army is
+footin' it home. I guess I can cross two little states without it
+finishin' me off--leastwise I reckon anyone who has toughened it out
+with General Forrest can do that much."
+
+Drew turned the spurs around in hands which were a little shaky. "We got
+Croaker, and we'll take turns ridin'. No, two states ain't too far for a
+couple of troopers, specially if they have them a good stout mule into
+the bargain!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A hot copper sun turned late Kentucky May into August weeks ahead of
+season. Thunder muttered sullenly beyond the horizon. And a breeze
+picked up road dust and grit, plastering it to Croaker's sweating hide,
+their own unwashed skin.
+
+"Better ... ride...." Licking dust from his lips, Drew watched the
+weaving figure on the other side of the mule with dull concern. They
+were steadying themselves by a tight grip on the stirrups, and Croaker
+was supporting and towing them, rather than their steering him.
+
+Boyd's head lifted. "Ride yourself!" He got a ghost of his old defiance
+into that, though his voice was hardly more than a harsh croak of
+whisper. "I ain't givin' in now!"
+
+He leased his stirrup hold, staggering forward a step or two, and would
+have gone face-down on the turnpike if Drew had not made a big effort to
+reach him. But the other's weight bore him along, and they both sprawled
+on the road. Croaker came to a halt, his head hanging until he could
+have nuzzled Drew's shoulder.
+
+They had made a brave start from Alabama, keeping up with the company
+they joined until they were close to the Kentucky-Tennessee border. Then
+a blistered heel had forced Drew into the rider's role for two days, and
+they had fallen behind. The rations they had drawn had been stretched as
+far as they would go. Even though there were people along the way
+willing to feed a hungry soldier, there were too many hungry soldiers.
+The farther north they traveled there was also a growing number of
+places where a blue coat might be welcome, but a gray one still
+signified "enemy."
+
+Drew moved, and raised Boyd's head and shoulders to his knee. If he
+could summon enough energy to reach the canteen hanging from Croaker's
+saddle.... Somehow he did, recklessly spilling a cupful of its contents
+on Boyd's face, and turning road dust into flecks of mud which freckled
+the gaunt cheeks.
+
+"Ain't goin' t' ride--" Boyd's eyes opened and he took up the argument
+again.
+
+"Well," Drew lashed out, "I can't carry you! Or do you expect to be
+dragged?"
+
+Boyd's face crumpled and he flung up his arms to hide his eyes.
+
+"All right."
+
+With the aid of a sloping bank and an effort which left them both weakly
+panting, Boyd was mounted and they started their slow crawl once more.
+
+"Drew!"
+
+He raised his head. Boyd had straightened in the saddle and was pointing
+ahead, though his outstretched hand was shaking. "We made it--there's
+home!"
+
+Beyond was the green of trees, a whole line of trees curving along a
+gravel carriage drive. But somehow Drew could not match Boyd's joy. He
+was tired, so tired that he was aware of nothing really but the aching
+weariness of his body.
+
+They turned into the drive, the gravel crunching into his holed boots
+while the tree shadows made a green twilight. Croaker came to a stop,
+and Drew's eyes raised from the gravel to the line of one step and then
+another. His gaze finally came to a broad veranda ... to someone who had
+been sitting there and who was now on her feet, staring wide-eyed back
+at the three of them. Then the gravel came up in a wave and he was
+swallowed up in it and darkness--
+
+The sun, warm through the window, awoke a glint of reflection from the
+top of the chest of drawers where rested a round cord of bullion with
+two tassels and a pair of fancy spurs. The wink of light was reflected
+again from the mirror before which Drew stood.
+
+"Jefferson's shirt has long enough sleeves, but all these billows!"
+Cousin Merry's tongue clicked against her teeth in exasperation. Her
+hand was in the middle of Drew's back, gathering up a good pleating of
+linen, but he still had extra folds of cloth to spare over his ribs.
+Four days of rest and plenty of food was not sufficient to restore any
+padding to his frame. "You certainly grew one way, but not the other!"
+
+Boyd, established in the big chair by the window, laughed.
+
+"I could take a few tucks," Drew offered.
+
+"_You_ could take a few tucks!" Her astonished face showed in the glass
+above his shoulder.
+
+"Oh, I'm not too bad with a needle. Did you note those neat patches on
+my breeches--?"
+
+"I noted nothing about those breeches; they went straight into the fire!
+Such rags...."
+
+"Miss Merry, ma'am--" small Hetty showed an eager face around the corner
+of the door--"Majuh Forbes and Missus Forbes--they's downstairs."
+
+Drew faced away from the mirror. "Why?" he demanded with almost hostile
+emphasis.
+
+Meredith Barrett untied the strings of her sewing apron. "Hetty, tell
+Mam Gusta to set out some of the English biscuits and make tea." Then
+she turned back to face Drew. "Why, Drew? Rather--why not? They're your
+kin, and I think that Marianna feels it deeply that you came here and
+not to Red Springs. Not to go home...."
+
+"Home?" There was heat in that. "You, if anyone, know that Red Springs
+was never really my home. And Forbes is an officer in the Union Army.
+This is no time for a Reb to camp out in his house. My grandfather
+wanted the place to be just Aunt Marianna's, didn't he?" He paused by
+the chest of drawers, his hand going out to the spurs, the gold cord.
+Three years--in a way a small lifetime--all to be summed up now by a
+slightly tarnished cord from a general's hat, a pair of spurs a young
+Texan had jauntily worn.
+
+But it _was_ a lifetime. He was not a boy any more, to have to endure
+his elders making decisions for him. His future was his own, and he had
+earned the right to that. Drew did not know that his face had hardened,
+that he suddenly looked a stranger to the woman who was watching him
+with concern.
+
+"Please, Drew, you mustn't allow yourself to be so bitter--"
+
+"Bitter? About Red Springs, you mean? Lord, I never wanted the place. I
+hate every brick of it, and I think I always have. But I don't hate
+Forbes or Aunt Marianna if that's what you're afraid of. It's just that
+I have no place there any more."
+
+Her mouth tightened. "But you have! You owe it to Marianna to listen to
+her now. This is important, Drew, more important than you can guess. No,
+Boyd--" her gesture checked her son as he arose from the chair--"this is
+none of your affair. Come with me, Drew!"
+
+He picked up a borrowed coat, also much too wide for him, pulled it on
+over the bunchiness of his shirt, and followed her, swallowing what he
+knew to be a useless protest.
+
+The parlor was as bright with sun as the upper room had been. As Drew
+entered a pace or two behind Cousin Merry, the officer in blue strode
+away from the hearth to meet them. But Aunt Marianna forestalled her
+husband's greeting, rising suddenly from a chair, her crinoline rustling
+across the carpet. She held out her hands, and then hesitated, studying
+Drew's face, looking a little daunted, as if she had expected something
+she did not find. The assurance she had displayed at their last meeting
+on the Lexington road was missing.
+
+"Drew?"
+
+He bowed, conscious that he must present an odd figure in the
+ill-fitting clothing of Meredith Barrett's long dead husband.
+
+Major Forbes held out his hand. "Welcome home, my boy."
+
+My boy. Consciously or unconsciously the major's tone strove to thrust
+Drew into the past, or so he believed. The major might almost be
+considering Drew an unruly schoolboy now safely out of some scrape,
+welcome indeed if he would settle down quietly into the conventional
+mold of Oak Hill or Red Springs. But he was no schoolboy, and at that
+moment the parlor of Oak Hill, for all its luxury and warmth, was a box
+sealing him in stifling confinement which he could no longer endure.
+Drew held tight control over that resurgence of his old impatience,
+knowing that his first instinct had been right: the old life fitted him
+now no better than his coat. But he answered civilly:
+
+"Thank you, suh."
+
+His proper courtesy apparently reassured his aunt. She came to him, her
+hands on his shoulders as she stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. "Drew,
+come home with us, dear--please!"
+
+He shook his head. "I don't belong at Red Springs, ma'am. I never did."
+
+"Nonsense!" Major Forbes put the force of a field officer's authority
+into that denial. "I do not and never did agree with many of Alexander
+Mattock's decisions. I do so even less when they pertain to your
+situation, my boy. You have every right to consider Red Springs your
+home. You must come to us, resume your interrupted education, take your
+proper place in the family and the community--"
+
+Drew shook his head again. The major paused. He had been studying Drew,
+and now there was a faint shadow of uneasiness in his own expression. He
+might be slowly realizing that he was not fronting a repentant schoolboy
+rescued from a piece of regrettable youthful folly. A veteran was being
+forced against his will to recognize the stamp of his own experience on
+another, if much younger, man.
+
+"What are your plans?" he asked in another tone of voice entirely.
+
+"Drew--" Major Forbes waved aside that tentative interruption from
+Cousin Merry.
+
+"I don't know. But I can't stay here." That much he was sure of, Oak
+Hill, Red Springs, all of this was no longer necessary to him any more
+than the outgrown toys of childhood could hold the interest of a man.
+Once, hurt and seeking for freedom, he had thought of the army as home.
+Now he knew he had yet to find what he wanted or needed. But there was
+no reason why he could not go looking, even if he could not give a name
+to the object of such a search. "I might go west. It's all new out
+there, a good place to start on my own."
+
+There was a catch of breath from Aunt Marianna. The look she gave Cousin
+Merry held something of accusation. "You told him!"
+
+"Told me what, ma'am?"
+
+"That your father is alive...." She saw his surprise.
+
+"Is that true, suh?" Drew appealed to the major.
+
+Forbes scowled, tugging at the belt supporting his saber. "Yes. We found
+some letters among your grandfather's papers after his death. Your
+father wasn't killed; he was in a Mexican prison during the war. When he
+escaped and returned to Texas, your grandfather had already been there
+and taken your mother away. Hunt Rennie was too ill to follow
+immediately. Before he had recovered enough to travel, he was informed
+his wife was dead, and he was allowed to believe that you died with
+her--at birth."
+
+"But why?" Alexander Mattock had disliked, even hated his grandson. So
+why should he have lied to keep Drew with him at Red Springs?
+
+"Because of Murray," Cousin Merry said slowly, sadly. "It was a cruel
+thing to do, so cruel. Alexander Mattock was a hard man. He couldn't
+bear opposition; it made him go close to the edge of sanity, I truly
+believe. I know we are not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I
+can't forgive him for what he did to those two. Melanie and Hunt were so
+young, young and in love. And your Uncle Murray deliberately pushed that
+quarrel on Hunt. Jefferson was there; he tried to stop it. The duel was
+_not_ Hunt's fault----"
+
+"Uncle Murray and my father fought a duel?" Drew demanded.
+
+"Yes. Murray was badly wounded, and for a time his life was despaired
+of. Your grandfather swore out a warrant against Hunt for attempted
+murder! So he and Melanie ran away. They were so pitifully young!
+Melanie was just sixteen and Hunt two years older, though he seemed a
+man, having lived such a hard life on the frontier. They went back to
+Texas, and she was very happy there--I had some letters from her. Yes,
+she was happy until the War with Mexico began. Then Hunt was reported
+killed, his father, too. And she was left all alone with distant kin of
+theirs. So your grandfather went down to fetch her home. I'll always
+believe he really wanted to punish her for going against his will. She
+died--" her voice broke--"she died, because she had no will to live, and
+_then_ he was sorry. But just a little, not enough to blame himself any.
+Oh, no--it was still all Hunt's wickedness, he said, every bit of it! He
+was a hard man...." Cousin Merry faced Aunt Marianna with her chin up as
+if daring the other to object what she'd just said.
+
+Drew returned to the news he still found difficult to believe. "So my
+father's alive, Major. Well, that gives me some place to go--Texas...."
+
+"Hunt Rennie's not in Texas." Cousin Merry spoke with such certainty
+that all three of them gave her their full attention.
+
+"I married Jefferson Barrett six months after Melanie eloped. We went to
+Europe then for almost two years of traveling. Part of our mail must
+have been lost. Hunt surely wrote to me! He liked Jefferson in spite of
+the differences in their ages. If I had only had the chance to tell him
+the truth about you, Drew. But I never knew he was alive either. You
+remember Granger Wood, Justin?"
+
+Major Forbes nodded. "He went out to California in '50."
+
+"Yes, and when the war broke out he rode back across the Arizona and New
+Mexico territories with General Johnston to enlist in the Confederate
+forces. A month ago he came back here and he called to tell me he saw
+Hunt in Arizona in '61. He had a horse-and-cattle ranch there, also some
+mining holdings."
+
+"Drew"--Aunt Marianna caught his arm--"you won't be so foolish as to go
+out into that horrible wilderness hunting a man who doesn't even know
+you're alive--who's a perfect stranger to you? You must be sensible. We
+know that Father's will was very unjust, and we are not going to abide
+by its terms--half of Red Springs will be yours."
+
+Gently Drew released himself from her hold. "Maybe Hunt Rennie doesn't
+know I exist; maybe we won't even like each other if and when we do
+meet--I don't know. But Red Springs ain't my kind of world any more. And
+I won't take anything my grandfather grudged givin' me. I may be young,
+only in another way, I'm old, too. Too old to come under a schoolin'
+rein again." He glanced across her shoulder, noticing that his speech
+had registered with the major.
+
+"You're not goin' to start out this very afternoon, are you?" Forbes
+asked.
+
+Drew relaxed and laughed a little self-consciously, knowing that his
+uncle had ceded him the victory in this first skirmish.
+
+"No, suh. You know, I brought two things home from the army--and one of
+them was a pair of Texas spurs. A mighty good man wore those. You'd have
+to ride proud and tall in the saddle to match him. I told him once I was
+goin' to see Texas, and he said there was nothing to make a man stay on
+the range where he had been born. Since I've always wanted to know what
+kind of a man Hunt Rennie was--is--now maybe I'm goin' to do just that."
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BY ANDRE NORTON
+
+
+    Storm Over Warlock
+    Galactic Derelict
+    The Time Traders
+    Star Born
+    Yankee Privateer
+    The Stars Are Ours!
+
+
+EDITED BY ANDRE NORTON
+
+
+    Space Pioneers
+    Space Service
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Ride Proud, Rebel!, by Andre Alice Norton
+
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+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ride Proud, Rebel!, by Andre Alice Norton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ride Proud, Rebel!
+
+Author: Andre Alice Norton
+
+Release Date: November 26, 2007 [EBook #23624]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDE PROUD, REBEL! ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>RIDE PROUD, REBEL!</h1>
+
+<h2>ANDRE NORTON</h2>
+
+<h4>[Transcriber Note: This is a rule 6 clearance. Extensive research did
+not<br /> uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
+renewed.]</h4>
+
+<h4>THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY<br />
+CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK</h4>
+
+<h4><i>Published by</i> The World Publishing Company<br />
+2231 West 110th Street, Cleveland 2, Ohio</h4>
+
+<h4><i>Published simultaneously in Canada by</i><br />
+Nelson, Foster &amp; Scott Ltd.</h4>
+
+<h4>Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 61-6657<br />
+<i>First Edition</i></h4>
+
+<h4>HC361<br />
+Copyright &copy; 1961 by Andre Norton</h4>
+
+<h4>Printed in the United States of America.</h4>
+
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>To those Reconstructed Rebels <span class="smcap">Ernestine</span> and <span class="smcap">William Donaldy</span> <i>with no
+apologies from a damnyankee</i></p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>The author wishes to express appreciation to Mrs. Gertrude Morton
+Parsley, Reference Librarian, Tennessee State Library and Archives, for
+her aid in obtaining use of the unpublished memoirs of trooper John
+Johnson, concerning the escape of the Morgan company after Cynthiana.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>Contents</h2>
+
+<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. -->
+<p>
+
+<a href="#c1">1. Ride with Morgan</a><br />
+<a href="#c2">2. Guns in the Night</a><br />
+<a href="#c3">3. On the Run&mdash;</a><br />
+<a href="#c4">4. The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry</a><br />
+<a href="#c5">5. Bardstown Surrenders</a><br />
+<a href="#c6">6. Horse Trade</a><br />
+<a href="#c7">7. A Mule for a River</a><br />
+<a href="#c8">8. Happy Birthday, Soldier!</a><br />
+<a href="#c9">9. One More River To Cross</a><br />
+<a href="#c10">10. "Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"</a><br />
+<a href="#c11">11. The Road to Nashville</a><br />
+<a href="#c12">12. Guerrillas</a><br />
+<a href="#c13">13. Disaster</a><br />
+<a href="#c14">14. Hell in Tennessee</a><br />
+<a href="#c15">15. Independent Scout</a><br />
+<a href="#c16">16. Missing in Action</a><br />
+<a href="#c17">17. Poor Rebel Soldier....</a><br />
+<a href="#c18">18. Texas Spurs</a><br /><br />
+<a href="#By_Andre_Norton">By Andre Norton</a><br />
+</p>
+<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. -->
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">FROM GENERAL N. BEDFORD FORREST'S FAREWELL TO HIS COMMAND, MAY 9, 1865,
+GAINESVILLE, ALABAMA.</span></p>
+
+<p><i>The cause for which you have so long and so manfully struggled, and for
+which you have braved dangers, endured privations and sufferings, and
+made so many sacrifices, is today hopeless....</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Civil war, such as you have passed through naturally engenders feelings
+of animosity, hatred and revenge. It is our duty to divest ourselves of
+all such feelings; and, as far as in our power to do so, to cultivate
+friendly feelings toward those with whom we have so long contended, and
+heretofore so widely, but honestly, differed....</i></p>
+
+<p><i>... In bidding you farewell, rest assured that you carry with you my
+best wishes for your future welfare and happiness. Without, in any way,
+referring to the merits of the cause in which we have been engaged, your
+courage and determination, as exhibited on many hard-fought fields, have
+elicited the respect and admiration of friend and foe. And I now
+cheerfully and gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to the officers
+and men of my command, whose zeal, fidelity and unflinching bravery have
+been the great source of my success in arms.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>I have never, on the field of battle, sent you where I was unwilling to
+go myself; nor would I now advise you to a course which I felt myself
+unwilling to pursue. You have been good soldiers; you can be good
+citizens. Obey the laws, preserve your honor, and the Government to
+which you have surrendered can afford to be, and will be, magnanimous.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">N. B. Forrest</span>, <i>Lieutenant General</i></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c1" id="c1"></a>1</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Ride with Morgan</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>The stocky roan switched tail angrily against a persistent fly and
+lipped water, dripping big drops back to the surface of the brook. His
+rider moved swiftly, with an economy of action, to unsaddle, wipe the
+besweated back with a wisp of last year's dried grass, and wash down
+each mud-spattered leg with stream water. Always care for the mount
+first&mdash;when a man's life, as well as the safety of his mission, depended
+on four subordinate legs more than on his own two.</p>
+
+<p>Though he had little claim to a thoroughbred's points, the roan was as
+much a veteran of the forces as his groom, with all a veteran's ability
+to accept and enjoy small favors of the immediate present without
+speculating too much concerning the future. He blew gustily in pleasure
+under the attention and began to sample a convenient stand of spring
+green.</p>
+
+<p>His mount cared for, Drew Rennie swung up saddle, blanket, and the
+meager possessions which he had brought out of Virginia two weeks ago,
+to the platform in a crooked tree overhanging the brook. He settled
+beside them on the well-seasoned timbers of the old tree house to
+rummage through his saddlebags.</p>
+
+<p>The platform had been there a long time&mdash;before Chickamauga and the Ohio
+Raid, before the first roll of drums in '61. Drew pulled a creased shirt
+out of the bags and sat with it draped over one knee, remembering....</p>
+
+<p>Sheldon Barrett and he&mdash;they had built it together one hot week in
+summer&mdash;had named it Boone's Fort. And it was the only thing at Red
+Springs Drew had really ever owned. His dark eyes were fixed now on
+something more than the branches about him, and his mouth tightened
+until his face was not quite sullen, only shuttered.</p>
+
+<p>Five years ago&mdash;only five years? Yes, five years next month! But the
+past two years of his own personal freedom&mdash;and war&mdash;those seemed to
+equal ten. Now there was no one left to remember the fort's existence,
+which made it perfect for his present purpose.</p>
+
+<p>The warmth of the sun, beating down through yet young leaves, made Drew
+brush his battered slouch hat to the flooring and luxuriate in the heat.
+Sometimes he didn't think he'd ever get the bite of last winter's cold
+out of his bones. The light pointed up every angle of jaw and cheekbone,
+making it clear that experience&mdash;hard experience&mdash;and not years had
+melted away boyish roundness of chin line, narrowed the watchful eyes
+ever alert to his surroundings. A cavalry scout was wary, or he ceased
+to be a scout, or maybe even alive.</p>
+
+<p>Shirt in hand, Drew dropped lightly to the ground and with the same
+dispatch as he had cared for his horse, made his own toilet, scrubbing
+his too-thin body with a sigh of content as heartfelt as that the roan
+had earlier voiced.</p>
+
+<p>The fresh shirt was a dark brown-gray, but the patched breeches were
+Yankee blue, and the boots he pulled on when he had bathed were also
+the enemy's gift, good stout leather he'd been lucky enough to find in a
+supply wagon they had captured a month ago. Butternut shirt, Union pants
+and boots&mdash;the unofficial standard uniform of most any trooper of the
+Army of the Tennessee in this month of May, 1864. And he had garments
+which were practically intact. What was one patch on the seat nowadays?</p>
+
+<p>For the first time Drew grinned at his reflection in the small mirror he
+had been using, when he scraped a half week's accumulation of soft beard
+from his face. Sure, he was all spruced up now, ready to make a polite
+courtesy call at the big house. The grin did not fade, but was gone in a
+flash, leaving no hint of softness now about his gaunt features, no
+light in the intent, measuring depths of his dark gray eyes.</p>
+
+<p>A call at Red Springs was certainly the last thing in the world for him
+to consider seriously. His last interview within its walls could still
+make him wince when he recalled it, word by scalding word. No, there was
+no place for a Rennie&mdash;and a Rebel Rennie to make matters blacker&mdash;under
+the righteous roof of Alexander Mattock!</p>
+
+<p>Hatred could be a red-hot burning to choke a man's throat, leaving him
+speechless and hurting inside. Since he had ridden out of Red Springs he
+had often been cold, very often hungry&mdash;and under orders willingly,
+which would have surprised his grandfather&mdash;but in another way he had
+been free as never before in all his life. In the army, the past did not
+matter at all if one did one's job well. And in the army, the civilian
+world was as far away as if it were conducted in the cold chasms of the
+moon.</p>
+
+<p>Drew leaned back against the tree trunk, wanting to yield to the soft
+wind and the swinging privacy of the embowered tree house, wanting to
+forget everything and just lie there for a while in the only part of the
+past he remembered happily.</p>
+
+<p>But he had his orders&mdash;horses for General Morgan, horses and information
+to feed back to that long column of men riding or trudging westward on
+booted, footsore feet up the trail through the Virginia mountains on the
+way home to Kentucky. These were men who carried memories of the Ohio
+defeat last year which they were determined to wipe out this season,
+just as a lot of them had to flush with gunsmoke the stench of a
+Northern prison barracks from their nostrils.</p>
+
+<p>And there were horses at Red Springs. To mount Morgan's men on Alexander
+Mattock's best stock was a prospect which had its appeal. Drew tossed
+his haversack back to the platform and added his carbine to it. The army
+Colts in his belt holsters would not be much hindrance while crawling
+through cover, but the larger weapon might be.</p>
+
+<p>He thumped a measure of dust from his hat, settled it over hair as black
+as that felt had once been, and crossed the brook with a running leap.
+The roan lifted his head to watch Drew go and then settled back to
+grazing. This, too, followed a pattern both man and horse had practiced
+for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>Drew could almost imagine that he was again hunting Sheldon as a
+"Shawnee" on the warpath while he dodged from one bush to the next. Only
+Chickamauga stood between the past and now&mdash;and Sheldon Barrett would
+never again range ahead, in play or earnest.</p>
+
+<p>The scout came out on a small rise where the rails of the fence were
+cloaked on his side by brush. Drew lay flat, his chin propped upon his
+crooked arm to look down the gradual incline of the pasture to the
+training paddock. Beyond that stood the big house, its native brick
+settling back slowly into the same earth from which it had been molded
+in 1795.</p>
+
+<p>In the pasture were the brood mares, five of them, each with an
+attendant foal, all long legs and broom tail, still young enough to be
+bewildered by so large and new a world. In the paddock.... Drew's head
+raised an inch or so, and he pressed forward until his hat was pushed
+back by the rail. The two-year-old being schooled in the paddock was
+enough to excite any horseman.</p>
+
+<p>Red Springs' stock right enough, of the Gray Eagle-Ariel breed, which
+was Alexander Mattock's pride. Born almost black, this colt had shed his
+baby fur two seasons ago for a dark iron-gray hide which would grow
+lighter with the years. He had Eclipse's heritage, but he was more than
+a racing machine. He was&mdash;Drew's forehead rasped against the weathered
+wood of the rail&mdash;he was the kind of horse a man could dream about all
+his days and perhaps find once in a lifetime, if he were lucky! Give
+that colt three or four more years and there wouldn't be any horse that
+could touch him. Not in Kentucky, or anywhere else!</p>
+
+<p>He was circling on a leading strap now, throwing his feet in a steady,
+rhythmic pattern around the hub of a Negro groom who was holding the
+strap and admiring the action. Mounted on another gray&mdash;a mare with a
+dainty, high-held head&mdash;was a woman, her figure trim in a habit almost
+the same shade of green as the fields.</p>
+
+<p>Drew pulled back. Then he smiled wryly at his instinctive retreat. His
+aunt, Marianna Forbes, had abilities to be respected, but he very much
+doubted if she could either sense his presence or see through the leafy
+wall of his present spy hole. Yet caution dictated that he get about his
+real business and inspect the fields where the horses he sought should
+be grazing.</p>
+
+<p>He halted several times during his perimeter march to survey the
+countryside. And the bits of activity he spied upon began to puzzle him.
+Aunt Marianna's supervision of the colt's schooling had been the
+beginning. And he had seen her later, riding out with Rafe, the
+overseer, to make the daily rounds, a duty which had never been
+undertaken at Red Springs by any one other than his grandfather.</p>
+
+<p>Aunt Marianna had every right to be at Red Springs. She had been born
+under its roof, having left it only as a bride to live in Lexington. The
+war had brought her back when her husband became an officer in the
+Second Kentucky Cavalry&mdash;Union. But now&mdash;riding with Rafe, watching in
+the paddock&mdash;where was Alexander Mattock?</p>
+
+<p>Red Springs was his grandfather. Drew found it impossible to think of
+the house and the estate without the man, though in the past two years
+he had discovered very few things could be dismissed as impossible.
+Curiosity made him want to investigate the present mystery. But the
+memory of his last exit from that house curbed such a desire.</p>
+
+<p>Drew had never been welcome there from the day of his birth within those
+walls. And the motive for his final flight from there had only provided
+an added aggravation for his grandfather. A staunch Union supporter
+wanted no part of a stubborn-willed and defiant grandson who rode with
+John Hunt Morgan. Drew clung to his somewhat black thoughts as he made
+his way to the pasture. The escape he had found in the army was no
+longer so complete when he skulked through these familiar fields.</p>
+
+<p>But there were only two horses grazing peacefully in the field dedicated
+by custom to the four- and five-year-olds, and neither was of the best
+stock. One could imagine that Red Springs had already contributed to the
+service.</p>
+
+<p>Of course, Morgan's men were not the only riders aiming to sweep good
+horseflesh out of Kentucky blue grass this season, and here the Union
+cavalry would be favored.</p>
+
+<p>There was a slim chance that a few horses might be in the stables. He
+debated the chance of that against the risk of discovery and continued
+debating it as he started back to the tree house.</p>
+
+<p>Drew had known short rations and slim foraging for a long time, but the
+present pinch in his middle sharpened when he sighted the big house,
+with its attendant summer kitchen showing a trail of chimney smoke.</p>
+
+<p>Alexander Mattock might have considered his grandson an interloper at
+Red Springs; certainly the old man never concealed the state of his
+feelings on that subject. But neither had he, in any way, slighted what
+he deemed to be his duty toward Drew.</p>
+
+<p>There had been plenty of good clothing&mdash;the right sort for a Mattock
+grandson&mdash;and the usual bounteous table set by hospitable Kentucky
+standards. Just as there had been education, sometimes enforced by the
+use of a switch when the tutor&mdash;imported from Lexington&mdash;thought it
+necessary to impress learning on a rebellious young mind by a painful
+application in another portion of the body. Education, as well as a
+blooded horse in the stables, and all the other prerequisites of a young
+blue-grass grandee. But never any understanding, affection, or sympathy.</p>
+
+<p>That cold behavior&mdash;the cutting, weighing, and judgment of every act of
+childish mischief and boyish recklessness&mdash;might have crushed some into
+a colorless obedience. But it had made of Drew a rebel long before he
+tugged on the short gray shell jacket of a Confederate cavalryman.</p>
+
+<p>Drew had forgotten the feel of linen next to his now seldom clean skin,
+the set of broadcloth across the shoulders. And he depended upon the
+roan's services with appreciation which had nothing to do with boasted
+bloodlines, having discovered in the army that a cold-blooded horse
+could keep going on rough forage when a finer bred hunter broke down.
+But today the famed dinner table at Red Springs was a painful memory to
+one facing only cold hoecake and stone-hard dried beef.</p>
+
+<p>He had circled back to the brush screening the brook and the tree house.
+Now he stood very still, his hand sliding one of the heavy Colts out of
+its holster. The roan was still grazing, paying no attention to a figure
+who was kneeling on the limb-supported platform and turning over the
+gear Drew had left piled there.</p>
+
+<p>The scout flitted about a bush, choosing a path which would bring him
+out at the stranger's back. That same warm sun, now striking from a
+different angle into the tree house, was bright on a thick tangle of
+yellow hair, curly enough to provide its owner with a combing problem.</p>
+
+<p>Drew straightened to his full height. The sense of the past which had
+dogged him all day now struck like a blow. He couldn't help calling
+aloud that name, even though the soberer part of his brain knew there
+could be no answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Shelly!"</p>
+
+<p>The blond head turned, and blue eyes looked at him, startled, across a
+bowed shoulder. Drew's puzzlement was complete. Not Sheldon, of course,
+but who? The other's open surprise changed to wide-eyed recognition
+first.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew!" The hail came in the cracked voice of an adolescent as the other
+jumped down to face the scout. They stood at almost eye-to-eye level,
+but the stranger was still all boy, awkwardly unsure of strength or
+muscle control.</p>
+
+<p>"You must be Boyd&mdash;" Drew blinked, something in him still clinging to
+the memory of Sheldon, Sheldon who had helped to build the tree house.
+Why, Boyd was only a small boy, usually tagging his impatient elders,
+not this tall, almost exact copy of his dead brother.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, I'm Boyd. And it's true then, ain't it, Drew? General Morgan's
+coming back here? Where?" He glanced over his shoulder once more as if
+expecting to see a troop prance up through the bushes along the stream.</p>
+
+<p>Drew holstered the revolver. "Rumors of that around?" he asked casually.</p>
+
+<p>"Some," Boyd answered. "The Yankee-lovers called out the Home Guard
+yesterday. What sort of a chance do they think they'll have against
+<i>General Morgan</i>?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew moved toward the roan's picket rope. As his fingers closed on that
+he thought fast. Just as the Mattocks and the Forbeses were Union, the
+Barretts were, or had been, Southern in sympathy. Most of Kentucky was
+divided that way now. But what might have been true two years ago was
+not necessarily a fact today. One took no chances.</p>
+
+<p>"You come back to see your grandfather, Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"Any reason why I should?" The whole countryside must know very well
+the state of affairs between Alexander Mattock and Drew Rennie.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, he's been sick for so long.... Didn't you know about that?" Boyd
+must have read Drew's answer in his face, for he spilled out the news
+quickly. "He had some kind of a fit when he heard Murray was killed&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew dropped the picket rope. "Uncle Murray ... dead?"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd nodded. "Killed at Murfreesboro in sixty-two, but the news didn't
+come till about a week after the battle. Mr. Mattock was in town when
+Judge Hagerstorm told him ... just turned red in the face and fell down
+in the middle of the street. They brought him home, and sometimes he
+sits outdoors. But he can't walk too good and he talks thick; you can
+hardly understand him."</p>
+
+<p>"So that's why Aunt Marianna's in charge." Drew thought of Uncle Murray
+swept away by time and the chances of war as so many others&mdash;and no
+emotion stirred within him. Murray Mattock had firmly agreed with his
+father concerning the child who was the result of a runaway match
+between his sister Melanie and a despised Texan. But Uncle Murray's
+death must indeed have been a paralyzing blow for the old man at Red
+Springs, with all his pride and his plans for his only son.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Cousin Marianna runs Red Springs," Boyd assented, "she and Rafe.
+They sell horses to the army&mdash;the blue bellies." He used the term with
+the concentration of one determined to say the right thing at the right
+time.</p>
+
+<p>Drew laughed. And with that spontaneous outburst, years fell away from
+his somber face. "I take it that you do not approve of blue bellies,
+Boyd?"</p>
+
+<p>"'Course not! Me, I'm goin' to join General Morgan now. Ain't nobody
+goin' to keep me from doin' that!" Again his voice scaled up out of
+control, and he flushed.</p>
+
+<p>"You're rather young&mdash;&mdash;" Drew began, when the other interrupted him
+with something close to desperation in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"No, I ain't too young! That's all I ever hear&mdash;too young to do this,
+too young to be thinkin' about things like that! Well, I ain't much
+younger than you were, Drew Rennie, when you joined up with Captain
+Castleman and rode south to join General Morgan&mdash;you and Shelly. And you
+know that, too! I'll be sixteen on the fifteenth of this July. And this
+time I'm goin'! Where's the General now, Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>The scout shrugged. "Movin' fast. Your rumors probably know as much as I
+do. They plant him half a dozen places at once. He might be in any one
+of them or fifty miles away; that's how Morgan rides."</p>
+
+<p>"But you're goin' to join him, and you'll take me with you, won't you,
+Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>The lightness was gone from the older boy's eyes, his mouth set in
+controlled anger. "I am not goin' to do anything of the kind, Boyd
+Barrett." He spoke the words slowly, in an even tone, with a fraction of
+pause between each. Men of the command had once or twice heard young
+Rennie speak that way. Although difficult to know well, he had the
+general reputation of being easy to get along with. But a few times he
+had erupted into action as might a spring uncoiling from tight pressure,
+and that action was usually preceded by just such quiet statements as
+the one he had just made to Boyd.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd, however, was never one to be defeated in a first skirmish of
+wills. "Why not?" he demanded now.</p>
+
+<p>"Because," Drew offered the first argument he could think of which might
+be acceptable to the other, "I'm on scout in enemy-held territory. If
+I'm taken, it's not good. I have to ride light and fast, and this is
+duty I've been trained to do. So I can't afford to be hampered by a
+green kid&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I can ride just as fast and hard as you can, Drew Rennie, and I have
+Whirlaway for my own now. He's certainly better than that nag!" With an
+arrogant lift of the chin, Boyd indicated the roan, who had raised his
+head and was chewing rather noisily, regarding the two by the tree house
+with mild interest.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't underrate Shawnee." For an instant Drew rose to the roan's
+defense and then found himself irritated at being so drawn from the main
+argument. "And I wouldn't care if you had Gray Eagle, himself, under
+you, boy&mdash;I'm not taking you with me. Let us be snapped up by the
+Yankees, and you'd be in bigger trouble than I would." He gestured to
+his shirt and breeches. "I'm in uniform; you ain't."</p>
+
+<p>"No blue bellies could drop on us," Boyd pushed. "I know where all the
+garrisons are round here&mdash;all about their patrols. I could get us
+through quicker'n you can, yourself. I ain't no green kid!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew slapped the blanket down on Shawnee's back, smoothed it flat with a
+palm stroke, and jerked his saddle from the platform. He could not stay
+right here now that Boyd had smoked him out&mdash;maybe nowhere in the
+neighborhood with this excitable boy dogging him.</p>
+
+<p>The scout was driven to his second line of defense. "What about Cousin
+Merry?" he asked as he tightened the cinch. "Have you talked this over
+with her&mdash;enlistin', I mean?"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd's lower lip protruded in a child's pout. His eyes shifted away from
+Drew's direct gaze.</p>
+
+<p>"She never said No&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ask her?" Drew challenged.</p>
+
+<p>"Did you ask your grandfather when you left?" Boyd tried a
+counterattack.</p>
+
+<p>This time Drew's laughter was harsh, without humor. "You know I didn't,
+and you also know why. But I didn't leave a mother!"</p>
+
+<p>He was being purposefully brutal now, for a good reason. Sheldon had
+ridden away before; Boyd must not go now. In Drew's childhood, his
+father's cousin, Meredith Barrett, had been the only one who had really
+cared about him. His only escape from the cold bleakness of Red Springs
+had been Barrett's Oak Hill. There was a big debt he owed Cousin Merry;
+he could not add to it the burden of taking away her second son.</p>
+
+<p>Sure, he had been only a few months older than this boy when he had run
+away to war, but he had not left anyone behind who would worry about
+him. And Alexander Mattock's cold discipline had tempered his grandson
+into someone far more able to take hard knocks than Boyd Barrett might
+be for years to come. Drew had met those knocks, thick and fast,
+enduring them as the price of his freedom.</p>
+
+<p>"You were mad at your grandfather, and you ran away. Well, I ain't mad
+at Mother, but I ain't goin' to sit at home with General Morgan comin'!
+He needs men. They've been recruitin' for him on the quiet; you know
+they have. And I've got to make up for Sheldon&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew swung around and caught Boyd's wrist in a grip tight enough to
+bring a reflex backward jerk from the boy. "That's no way to make up for
+Sheldon's death-runnin' away from home to fight. Don't give me any
+nonsense about goin' to kill Yankees because they killed him! When a man
+goes to war ... well, he takes his chances. Shelly did at Chickamauga.
+War ain't a private fight, just one man up against another&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But he was making no impression; he couldn't. At Boyd's age you could
+not imagine death as coming to you; nor were you able to visualize the
+horrors of an ill-equipped field hospital. Any more than you could
+picture all the rest of it&mdash;the filth, hunger, cold, and boredom with
+now and then a flash of whirling horses and men clashing on some road or
+field, or the crazy stampede of other men, yelling their throats raw as
+they charged into a hell of Mini&eacute; balls and canister shot.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm goin' to ride with General Morgan, like Shelly did," Boyd repeated
+doggedly, with that stubbornness which seasons ago had kept him
+eternally tagging his impatient elders.</p>
+
+<p>"That's up to you." Suddenly Drew was tired, tired of trying to find
+words to pierce to Boyd's thinking brain&mdash;if one had a thinking brain at
+his age. Slinging his carbine, Drew mounted Shawnee. "But I do know one
+thing&mdash;you're not goin' with me."</p>
+
+<p>"Drew-Drew, just listen once...."</p>
+
+<p>Shawnee answered to the pressure of his rider's knees and leaped the
+brook. Drew bowed his head to escape the lash of a low branch. There was
+no going back ever, he thought bitterly, shutting his ears to Boyd's
+cry. He'd been a fool to ride this way at all.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c2" id="c2"></a>2</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Guns in the Night</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>There were sounds enough in the middle of the night to tell the
+initiated that a troop was on the march&mdash;creak of saddle leather, click
+of shod hoof, now and then the smothered exclamation of a man shaken out
+of a cavalryman's mounted doze. To Drew's trained ears all this was loud
+enough to send any Union picket calling out the guard. Yet there was no
+indication that the enemy ahead was alert.</p>
+
+<p>Near two o'clock he made it, and the advance were walking their horses
+into the fringe of Lexington&mdash;this was home-coming for a good many of
+the men sagging in the saddles. Morgan's old magic was working again.
+Escaping from the Ohio prison, he had managed to gather up the remnants
+of a badly shattered command, weld them together, and lead them up from
+Georgia to their old fighting fields&mdash;the country which they considered
+rightfully theirs and in which during other years they had piled one
+humiliating defeat for the blue coats on another. General Morgan could
+<i>not</i> lose in Kentucky!</p>
+
+<p>And they already had one minor victory to taste sweet: Mount Sterling
+had fallen into their hold as easily as it had before. Now
+Lexington&mdash;with the horses they needed&mdash;friends and families waiting to
+greet them.</p>
+
+<p>Captain Tom Quirk's Irish brogue, unmistakable even in a half whisper,
+came out of the dark: "Pull up, boys!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew came to a halt with his flanking scout. There was a faint drum of
+hoofs from behind as three horsemen caught up with the first wave of
+Quirk's Scouts.</p>
+
+<p>"Taking the flag in ..." Drew caught a snatch of sentence passed between
+the leader of the newcomers and his own officer. He recognized the voice
+of John Castleman, his former company commander.</p>
+
+<p>"... worth a try ..." that was Quirk.</p>
+
+<p>But when the three had cantered on into the mouth of the street the
+scout captain turned his head to the waiting shadows. "Rennie, Bruce,
+Croxton ... give them cover!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew sent Shawnee on, his carbine resting ready across his saddle. The
+streets were quiet enough, too quiet. These dark houses showed no signs
+of life, but surely the Yankees were not so confident that they would
+not have any pickets posted. And Fort Clay had its garrison....</p>
+
+<p>Then that ominous silence was broken by Castleman's call: "Bearer of
+flag of truce!"</p>
+
+<p>"... Morgan's men?" A woman called from a window up ahead, her voice so
+low pitched Drew heard only a word or two. Castleman answered her before
+he gave the warning:</p>
+
+<p>"Battery down the street, boys. Take to the sidewalks!"</p>
+
+<p>A lantern bobbed along in their direction. Drew had a glimpse of a
+blue-uniformed arm above it. A moment later Castleman rode back. One of
+his companions swerved close-by, and Drew recognized Key Morgan, the
+General's brother.</p>
+
+<p>"They say, 'No surrender.'"</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps that was what they said. But the skirmishers were now drifting
+into town. Orders snapped from man to man through the dark. The crackle
+of small-arms fire came sporadically, to be followed by the heavier
+<i>boom-boom</i> as cannon balls from Fort Clay ricocheted through the
+streets, the Yankees being forced back into the protection of that
+stronghold. Riders threaded through alleys and cross streets; lamps
+flared up in house windows. There was a pounding on doors, and shouted
+greetings. Fire made a splash of angry color at the depot, to be
+answered with similar blazes at the warehouses.</p>
+
+<p>"Spur up those crowbaits of yours, boys!" Quirk rounded up the scouts.
+"We're out for horses&mdash;only the best, remember that!"</p>
+
+<p>Out of the now aroused Lexington just as daylight was gray overhead,
+they were on the road to Ashland. If Red Springs might have proved poor
+picking, John Clay's stables did not. One sleek thoroughbred after
+another was led from the stalls while Quirk fairly purred.</p>
+
+<p>"Skedaddle! Would you believe it? Here's Skedaddle, himself, just aching
+to show heels to the blue bellies, ain't you?" He greeted the great
+racer. "Now that's the sort of stuff we need! Give us another chase
+across the Ohio clean up to Canada with a few like him under us. Sweep
+'em clean and get going! The General wants to see the catch before
+noon."</p>
+
+<p>Drew watched the mounts being led down the lane. Beautiful, yes, but to
+his mind not one of them was the equal of the gray colt he had seen at
+Red Springs. Now that was a horse! And he was not tempted now to strip
+his saddle off Shawnee and transfer to any one of the princes of equine
+blood passing him by. He knew the roan, and Shawnee knew his job. Knows
+more about the work than I do sometimes, Drew thought.</p>
+
+<p>"You, Rennie!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew swung Shawnee to the left as Quirk hailed him.</p>
+
+<p>"Take point out on the road. Just like some stubborn Yankee to try and
+cut away a nice little catch like this."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir." Drew merely sketched a salute; discipline was always free
+and easy in the Scouts.</p>
+
+<p>The day was warm. He was glad he had managed to find a lightweight shirt
+back at the warehouse in town. If they didn't win Lexington to keep, at
+least all of the raiders were going to ride out well-mounted, with boots
+on their feet and whole clothing on their backs. The Union
+quartermasters did just fine by Morgan's boys, as always.</p>
+
+<p>Shawnee's ears went forward alertly, but Drew did not need that signal
+of someone's approaching. He backed into the shadow-shade of a tree and
+sat tense, with Colt in hand.</p>
+
+<p>A horse nickered. There was the whirr of wheels. Drew edged Shawnee out
+of cover and then quickly holstered his weapon, riding out to bring to a
+halt the carriage horse between the shafts of an English dogcart.</p>
+
+<p>He pulled off his dust-grayed hat. "Good mornin', Aunt Marianna."</p>
+
+<p>Such a polite greeting&mdash;the same words he would have used three years
+ago had they met in the hall of Red Springs on their way to breakfast.
+He wanted to laugh, or was it really laughter which lumped in his
+throat?</p>
+
+<p>Her momentary expression of outrage faded as she leaned forward to study
+his face, and she relaxed her first half-threatening grip on her whip.
+Though Aunt Marianna had never been a beauty, her present air of
+assurance and authority became her, just as the smart riding habit was
+better suited to her somewhat angular frame than the ruffles and bows of
+the drawing room.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew!" Her recognition of his identity had come more slowly than
+Boyd's, and it sounded almost wary.</p>
+
+<p>"At your service, ma'am." He found himself again using the graces of
+another way of life, far removed from his sweat-stained shirt and
+patched breeches. He shot a glance over his shoulder, making sure they
+were safely alone on that stretch of highway. After all, one horse among
+so many would be no great loss to his commander. "You'd better turn
+around. The boys'll have Lady Jane out of the shaft before you get into
+Lexington if you keep on. And the Yankees are still pepperin' the place
+with round shot." He wondered why she was driving without a groom, but
+did not quite dare to ask.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew, is Boyd here with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Boyd?"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be evasive with me, boy!" She rapped that out with an officer's
+snap. "He left a note for Merry&mdash;two words misspelled and a big
+blot&mdash;all foolishness about joining Morgan. Said you had been to Red
+Springs, and he was going along. Why did you do it, Drew? Cousin
+Merry ... after Sheldon, she can't lose Boyd, too! To put such a wild
+idea into that child's head!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew's lips thinned into a half grimace. He was still cast in the role
+of culprit, it seemed. "I didn't influence Boyd to do anything, Aunt
+Marianna. I told him I wouldn't take him with me, and I meant it. If he
+ran away, it was his own doin'."</p>
+
+<p>She was still measuring him with that intent look as if he were a
+slightly unsatisfactory colt being put through his paces in the training
+paddock.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'll help me get him back home?" That was more a statement than
+a question, delivered in a voice which was all Mattock, enough to awaken
+by the mere sound all the old resistance in him.</p>
+
+<p>He nodded at the Lexington road. "There are several thousand men ahead
+there, ma'am. Hunting Boyd out if he wants to hide from me&mdash;and he
+will&mdash;is impossible. He's big enough to pass a recruiter; they ain't too
+particular about age these days. And he'll stay just as far from me as
+he can until he is sworn in. He already knows how I feel about his
+enlistin'."</p>
+
+<p>Her gloved hands tightened on the reins. "If I could see John Morgan
+himself&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>If</i> you could get to Lexington and find him&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But Boyd's just a child. He hasn't the slightest idea of war except the
+stories he hears ... no idea of what could happen to him, or what this
+means to Merry. All this criminal nonsense about being a soldier&mdash;sabers
+and spurs, and dashing around behind a flag, the wrong flag, too&mdash;" She
+caught her breath in an unusual betrayal of emotion. And now she studied
+Drew with some deliberation, noting his thinness, itemizing his
+shabbiness.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled tiredly. "No, I ain't Boyd's idea of a returnin' hero, am I?"
+he agreed with her unspoken comment. "Also, we Rebs don't use sabers;
+they ain't worth much in a real skirmish."</p>
+
+<p>She flushed. "Drew, why did you go? Was it all because of Father? I know
+he made it hard for you."</p>
+
+<p>"You know&mdash;" Drew regarded a circling bird in the section of sky above
+her head&mdash;"some day I hope I'll discover just what kind of a no-account
+Hunt Rennie was, to make his son so unacceptable. Most of the Texans
+I've ridden with in the army haven't been so bad; some of them are
+downright respectable."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know." Again she flushed. "It was a long time ago when it all
+happened. I was just a little girl. And Father, well, he has very strong
+prejudices. But, Drew, for you to go against everything you'd been
+taught, to turn Rebel&mdash;that added to his bitterness. And now Boyd is
+trying to go the same way. Isn't there something you can do? I can't
+stand to see that look in Merry's eyes. If we can just get Boyd home
+again&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't hope too much." Drew was certain that nothing Marianna Forbes
+could do was going to lead Boyd Barrett back home again. On the other
+hand, if the boy had not formally enlisted, perhaps the rigors of one of
+the General's usual cross-country scrambles might be disillusioning.
+But, having tasted the quality of Boyd's stubbornness in the past, Drew
+doubted that. For long months he had been able to cut right out of his
+life Red Springs and all it stood for; now it was trying to put reins on
+him again. He shifted his weight in the saddle.</p>
+
+<p>"He's been restless all spring," his aunt continued. "We might have
+known that, given an opportunity like this, the boy would do something
+wild. Only the waste, the sinful waste! I can't go back and face Merry
+without trying something&mdash;anything! Can't you ... Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know." He couldn't harden himself to tell her the truth. "I'll
+try," he promised vaguely.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew&mdash;" A change in tone brought his attention back to her. She looked
+disturbed, almost embarrassed. "Have you had a hard time? You look
+so ... so thin and tired. Is there anything you need?"</p>
+
+<p>He flinched from any such attack on the shell he had built against the
+intrusion of Red Springs, for a second or two feeling once more the rasp
+across raw nerves. "We don't get much time for sleep when the General's
+on the prod. Horse stealin' and such keeps us a mite busy, accordin' to
+your Yankee friends. And we have to pay our respects to them, just to
+keep them reminded that this is Morgan country. I'll warn you again,
+Aunt Marianna, keep Lady Jane out of Lexington today&mdash;if you want to
+keep <i>her</i>." He gathered up his reins. "Boyd told me about Grandfather,"
+he added in a rush. "I'm sorry." And he was, he told himself, sorry for
+Aunt Marianna, who had to stay at Red Springs now, and even a little in
+an impersonal way for the old man, who must find inactivity a worse
+prison than any stone-walled room. But it was being polite about a
+stranger. "Major Forbes ... he's all right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Only, Drew&mdash;" Again the urgency in her voice held him against his
+will, "Boyd...."</p>
+
+<p>He was saved further evasion by a carrying whistle from down the road,
+the signal to pull in pickets. Pursing his own lips, he answered.</p>
+
+<p>"I have to go. I'll do what I can." He set Shawnee pounding along the
+pike, and he did not look back.</p>
+
+<p>If he were ever to fulfill his promise to locate Boyd, that would have
+to come later. Quirk's horse catch delivered, the scouts were on the
+move again, on the Georgetown road, riding at a pace which suggested
+they must keep ahead of a boiling wasp's nest of Yankees. There was an
+embarrassment of blue-coat prisoners on the march between two lines of
+gray uniforms, and pockets of the enemy such as that at Fort Clay were
+left behind. The strike northward took on a feverish drive.</p>
+
+<p>Georgetown with its streets full of women and cheering males, too old or
+too young to be riding with the columns. Mid-afternoon, Friday, and the
+heat rising from the pavement as only June heat could. Then they reached
+the Frankfort road, and the main command halted. The scouts ate in the
+saddle as they fanned out along the Frankfort pike, pushing toward
+Cynthiana. Sam Croxton strode back from filling his canteen at a
+farmyard well and scowled at Drew, who had dismounted and loosened cinch
+to cool Shawnee's back.</p>
+
+<p>"Cynthiana, now. I'm beginnin' to wonder, Rennie, if we know just which
+way we are goin'."</p>
+
+<p>Drew shrugged. "Might be a warm reception waitin' us there. Drake
+figures about five hundred Yankees on the spot, and trains comin' in
+with more all the time."</p>
+
+<p>Sighing, Croxton rubbed his hand across his freckled face, smearing road
+dust and sweat into a gritty mask. "Me&mdash;I could do with four or five
+hours' sleep, right down here in the road. Always providin' no blue
+belly'd trot along to stir me up. Seems like I ain't had a ten minutes'
+straight nap since we joined up with the main column. Scoutin' ahead a
+couple weeks ago you could at least fill your belly and rest up at some
+farm. Them boys pushin' the prisoners back there sure has it tough. Bet
+some of 'em been eatin' dust most all day&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Be glad you're not ridin' in one of the wagons nursin' a hole in your
+middle." Drew wet his handkerchief, or the sad gray rag which served
+that purpose, and carefully washed out Shawnee's nostrils, rubbing the
+horse gently down the nose and around his pricked ears.</p>
+
+<p>Croxton spat and a splotch of brown tobacco juice pocked the roadside
+gravel. "Now ain't you cheerful!" he observed. "No, I've no hole in my
+middle, or my top, or my bottom&mdash;and I don't want none, neither. All I
+want is about an hour's sleep without Quirk or Drake breathin' down my
+back wantin' to know why I'm playin' wagon dog. The which I ain't gonna
+have very soon by the looks of it. So...." He mounted, spat again with
+accuracy enough to stun a grasshopper off a nodding weed top, which feat
+seemed to restore a measure of his usual good nature. "Got him! You
+comin', Rennie?"</p>
+
+<p>The hours of Friday afternoon, evening, night, crawled by&mdash;leadenly, as
+far as the men in the straggling column were concerned. That dash which
+had carried them through from the Virginia border, through the old-time
+whirling attack on Mount Sterling only days earlier, and which had
+brought them into and beyond Lexington, was seeping from tired men who
+slept in the saddle or fell out, too drugged with fatigue to know that
+they slumped down along country fences, unconscious gifts for the enemy
+doggedly drawing in from three sides. There was the core of veterans who
+had seen this before, been a part of such punishing riding in Illinois,
+Ohio, and Kentucky. The signs could be read, and as Drew spurred along
+that faltering line of march late that night, carrying a message, he
+felt a creeping chill which was not born of the night wind nor a warning
+of swamp fever.</p>
+
+<p>Before daylight there was another halt. He had to let Shawnee pick his
+own careful path around and through groups of dismounted men sleeping
+with their weapons still belted on, their mounts, heads drooping,
+standing sentinel.</p>
+
+<p>Saturday's dawn, and the advance had plowed ahead to the forks of the
+road some three miles out of Cynthiana. One brigade moved directly
+toward the town; the second&mdash;with a detachment of scouts&mdash;headed down
+the right-hand road to cross the Licking River and move in upon the
+enemies' rear. From the hill they could sight a stone-fence barricade
+glistening with the metal of waiting musket barrels. Then, suddenly, the
+old miracle came. Men who had clung through the hours to their saddles
+by sheer will power alone, tightened their lines and were alertly alive.</p>
+
+<p>The ear-stinging, throat-scratching Yell screeched high over the pound
+of the artillery, the vicious spat of Mini&eacute; balls. A whip length of
+dusty gray-brown lashed forward, flanking the stone barrier. Blue-coated
+men wavered, broke, ran for the bridge, heading into the streets of the
+town. The gray lash curled around a handful of laggards and swept them
+into captivity.</p>
+
+<p>Then the brigade thundered on, driving the enemy back before they could
+reform, until the Yankees holed up in the courthouse, the depot, a
+handful of houses. Before eight o'clock it was all over, and the
+confidence of the weary raiders was back. They had showed 'em!</p>
+
+<p>Drew had the usual mixture of sharp scenes to remember as his small
+portion of the engagement while he spurred Shawnee on past the blaze
+which was spreading through the center of the town, licking out for more
+buildings no one seemed to have the organization nor the will to save.
+He was riding with the advance of Giltner's brigade, double-quicking it
+downriver to Keller's Bridge. In town the Yankees were prisoners, but
+here a long line, with heavy reserves in wedges of blue behind, strung
+out across open fields.</p>
+
+<p>Once more the Yell arose in sharp ululating wails, and the ragged line
+swept from the road, tightening into a semblance of the saber blades
+Morgan's men disdained to use ... clashed.... Then, after what seemed
+like only a moment's jarring pause, it was on the move once more while
+before it crumpled motes of blue were carried down the slope to the
+riverbank, there to steady and stand fast.</p>
+
+<p>Drew's throat was aching and dry, but he was still croaking hoarsely,
+hardly feeling the slam of his Colts' recoils. They were up to that blue
+line, firing at deadly point-blank range. And part of him wondered how
+any men could still keep their feet and face back to such an assault
+with ready muskets. By his side a man skipped as might a marcher trying
+to catch step, then folded up, sliding limply to the trampled grass.</p>
+
+<p>Men were flinging up hands holding empty cartridge boxes along the
+attacking line&mdash;too many of them. Others reversed the empty carbines, to
+use them in clubbing duels back and forth. The Union troops fell back,
+firing still, making their way into the railroad cut. Now the river was
+a part defense for them. Bayonets caught the sunlight in angry flashing,
+and they bristled.</p>
+
+<p>"You ... Rennie...."</p>
+
+<p>Drew lurched back under the clutch of a frantic hand belonging to an
+officer he knew.</p>
+
+<p>"Get back to the horse lines! Bring up the holders' ammunition, on the
+double!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew ran, panting, his boots slipping and scraping on the grass as he
+dodged around prone men who still moved, or others who lay only too
+still. A horse reared, snorted, and was pulled down to four feet again.</p>
+
+<p>"Ammunition!" Drew got the word out as a squawk, grabbing at the boxes
+the waiting men were already tossing to him. Then, through the haze
+which had been riding his mind since the battle began, he caught a clear
+sight of the fifth man there.... And there was no disguising the blond
+hair of the boy so eagerly watching the struggle below. Drew had found
+Boyd&mdash;at a time he could do nothing about it. With his arms full, the
+scout turned to race down the slope again, only to sight the white flag
+waving from the railroad cut.</p>
+
+<p>More prisoners to be marched along, joining the other dispirited ranks.
+Drew heard one worried comment from an officer: they would soon have
+more prisoners than guards.</p>
+
+<p>He went back, trying to locate Boyd, but to no purpose. And the rest of
+the day was more confusion, heat, never-ending weariness, and always the
+sense of there being so little time. Rumors raced along the lines, five
+thousand, ten thousand blue bellies on the march, drawing in from every
+garrison in the blue grass. And those who had been hunted along the Ohio
+roads a year before were haunted by that old memory of disaster.</p>
+
+<p>Once more they made their way through the streets of Cynthiana, where
+the acrid smoke of burning caught at throats, adding to the torturous
+thirst which dried a man's mouth when he tore cartridge paper with his
+teeth. Drew and Croxton took sketchy orders from Captain Quirk, their
+eyes red-rimmed with fatigue above their powder-blackened lips and
+chins. Fan out, be eyes and ears for the column moving into the Paris
+pike.</p>
+
+<p>Croxton's grin had no humor in it as they turned aside into a field to
+make better time away from the cluttered highway.</p>
+
+<p>"Looks like the butter's spread a mite thin on the bread this time," he
+commented. "But the General's sure playin' it like he has all the aces
+in hand. Which way to sniff out a Yankee?"</p>
+
+<p>"I'd say any point of the compass now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Listen!" Sam's hand went up. "Those ain't any guns of ours."</p>
+
+<p>The rumble was distant, but Drew believed Croxton was right. Through the
+dark, guns were moving up. The wasps were closing in on the disturbers
+of their nest, and every one of them carried a healthy stinger. He
+thought of what he had seen today: too many empty cartridge boxes,
+Enfield rifles still carried by men who would not, in spite of orders,
+discard them for the Yankee guns with ammunition to spare. Empty guns,
+worn-out men, weary horses ... and Yankee guns moving confidently up
+through the night.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c3" id="c3"></a>3</h2>
+
+<h3><i>On the Run&mdash;&mdash;</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"They're comin'! Looks like the whole country's sproutin' Yankees outta
+the ground."</p>
+
+<p>They were, a dull dark mass at first and then an arc of one ominous
+color advancing in a fast, purposeful drive, already overrunning the
+pickets with only a lone shot here and there in defiance. They rode up
+confidently, dismounted, and charged&mdash;to be thrown back once. But there
+were too many of them, and they moved with the precision of men who knew
+what was to be done and that they could do it. Confederates were trapped
+before they could reach their horses; there was a wild whirling scramble
+of a fight flowing backward toward the river.</p>
+
+<p>Men with empty guns turned those guns into clubs, fighting to hold the
+center. But the enemy had already cut them off from the Augusta road and
+the bridge, and the river was at their backs. Water boiled under a lead
+rain. Drew saw an opening between two Union troopers. Flattening himself
+as best he could on Shawnee's back, he gave the roan the spur. What good
+could be accomplished by the message he carried now&mdash;to bring up half
+the horse holders as reinforcements&mdash;was a question.</p>
+
+<p>However, he was never to deliver that message, for the horse lines had
+been stampeded by the first wave of flying men. Here and there a holder
+or two still tried to control at least one wild horse of the four he was
+responsible for, but there were no reserves for the fighting line.
+And&mdash;Drew glanced back&mdash;no battle to lead them into if there were.</p>
+
+<p>Men and horses were struggling, dying in the river. The bridge ... he
+gaped at the horror of that bridge ... horses down, kicking and dying,
+barring an escape route to their riders. And the blue coats everywhere.
+Like a stallion about to attack, Shawnee screamed suddenly and reared,
+his front hoofs beating the air. A spurting red stream fountained from
+his neck; an artery had been hit.</p>
+
+<p>Drew set teeth in lip, and plugged that bubbling hole with his thumb.
+Shawnee was dying, but he was still on his feet, and he could be headed
+away from the carnage in that water. Drew, his face sick and white,
+turned the horse toward the railroad tracks.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew!"</p>
+
+<p>Croxton? No, but somehow Drew was not surprised to see Boyd trying to
+keep his feet, being dragged along by two plunging horses, their eyes
+white-rimmed with terror. The only wonder was that the scout had heard
+that call through the din of screaming and shouting, the wild neighs of
+the horses, and the continual crackle of small arms' fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Mount! Mount and ride!" He mouthed the order, not daring to pull up
+Shawnee, already past Boyd and his horses. The roan's hoofs spurned
+gravel from the track line now. And Boyd drew level with him and mounted
+one of the horses, continuing to lead the other. There was a cattle
+guard ahead to afford some protection from the storm churning along the
+river.</p>
+
+<p>"Where?" Boyd called.</p>
+
+<p>Drew, his thumb still planted in the hole which was becoming Shawnee's
+death, nodded to the guard. They made it, and Drew kneed the roan closer
+to the extra horse Boyd led, slinging his saddlebags across to the other
+mount. Then he dismounted, releasing his hold on the roan's wound. For
+the second time Shawnee cried, but this time it was no warrior's protest
+against death; it was the nicker of a question. The answering shot from
+Drew's Colt was lost in the battle din. He was upon the other horse
+before Shawnee had stopped breathing.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on!" Drew's voice was strident as he spurred, herding Boyd before
+him. Two of them, then three, four, as they came out on the bank of a
+millpond. Across that stretch of water there was safety, or at least the
+illusion of safety.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew!" For the second time he was hailed. It was Sam Croxton, holding
+onto the saddle horn with both hands, a stream of red running from a
+patch of blood-soaked hair over one ear. He swayed, his eyes wide open
+as those of the frightened horses, but fastened now on Drew as if the
+other were the one stable thing in a mad world.</p>
+
+<p>"Can you stick on?" Drew leaned across to catch the reins the other had
+dropped.</p>
+
+<p>A small spark of understanding awoke in those wide eyes. "I'll stick,"
+the words came thickly. "I ain't gonna rot in that damned prison
+again&mdash;never!"</p>
+
+<p>"Boyd ... on his other side! We'll try gettin' him across together."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, Drew." Boyd's voice sounded unsteady, but he did not hesitate to
+bring his own mount in on Croxton's right.</p>
+
+<p>"You'd best let me take that theah jump first, soldier." The stranger
+sent his horse in ahead of Drew's. "It don't necessarily foller that
+because that's water a man can jus' natcherly git hisself across in one
+piece. I'll give it a try quicker'n you can spit and holler Howdy."</p>
+
+<p>As if he were one with the raw-boned bay he bestrode, he jumped his
+mount into the waiting pond. Still threshing about in the welter of
+flying water, he glanced back and raised a hand in a come-ahead signal.</p>
+
+<p>"Bottom's a mite missin', but the drop ain't so much. Better make it
+'fore them fast-shootin' hombres back theah come a-takin' you."</p>
+
+<p>Though they did not move in the same reckless fashion as their guide,
+somehow they got across the pond and emerged dripping on the other side.
+The determination which had made Croxton try the escape, seemed to fade
+as they rode on. He continued to hold to the horn, but he slumped
+further over in a bundle of misery. Their pond guide took Boyd's station
+to the right, surveying the half-conscious man critically.</p>
+
+<p>"This hoorawin' around ain't gonna do that scalpin' job no good," he
+announced. "He can't ride far 'less he gits him a spell of rest an'
+maybe has a medicine man look at that knock&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Croxton roused. "I stick an' I ride!" He even got a measure of firmness
+into his tone. "I don't go to no Yankee prison...." He tried to reach
+for the reins, but Drew kept them firmly to hand.</p>
+
+<p>There was a shot behind them, three or four more fugitives plunged down
+to the millpond, and the last one in line fired back at some yet unseen
+pursuer.</p>
+
+<p>"Then we git!" But across Croxton's bowed shoulders the other shook his
+head warningly at Drew.</p>
+
+<p>He was young and as whipcord thin and tough as most of those over-weary
+men from the badgered and now broken command, but he was not tense,
+riding rather with the easy adjustment to the quickened pace of a man
+more at home in the saddle than on foot. His weather-browned face was
+seamed with a scar which ran from left temple to the corner of his
+mouth, and his hair was a ragged, unkempt mop of brown-red which tossed
+free as he rode, since he was hatless.</p>
+
+<p>With Croxton boxed between them, Drew and the stranger matched pace at
+what was a lope rather than a gallop as Boyd ranged ahead. Another
+flurry of shots sounded from behind, and they cut across a field, making
+for the doubtful cover of a hedge. There was no way, Drew decided after
+a quick survey, for them to get back into town and join the general
+retreat. The Yankees must be well between them and any of the force
+across the Licking.</p>
+
+<p>When they had pushed through the hedge they were faced by a lane running
+in the general northwest direction. It provided better footing, and it
+led away from the chaos at Cynthiana. With Croxton on their hands it was
+the best they could hope for, and without more than an exchange of
+glances they turned into it, the wounded man's horse still between them.</p>
+
+<p>The cover of the hedge wall provided some satisfaction and Drew dared to
+slow their pace. Under his tan Sam was greenish-white, his eyes half
+closed, and he rode with his hands clamped about the saddle horn as if
+his grip upon that meant the difference between life and death. But
+Drew knew he could not hope to keep on much longer.</p>
+
+<p>There might be Confederate sympathizers in the next farmhouse who would
+be willing to take in the wounded scout. On the other hand, the
+inhabitants could just as well be Union people. It was obvious that Sam
+could not keep going, and it was just as obvious to Drew that they&mdash;or
+at least he&mdash;could not just ride on and leave him untended by the side
+of the road.</p>
+
+<p>"Boyd!" So summoned, the youngster reined in to wait for them. "You ride
+on! You, too!" Drew addressed the stranger.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd shook his head, though he glanced at the winding road ahead. "I
+ain't leavin' you!" His lip was sticking out in that stubborn pout.</p>
+
+<p>At that moment Drew could have lashed out at him and enjoyed it, or at
+least found a satisfaction in passing on some of his own exasperation
+and frustration.</p>
+
+<p>"We got a far piece to travel," commented the stranger. "An' I guess
+I'll string along with you, 'less, of course, this heah is a closed game
+an' you ain't sellin' any chips 'cross the table. Me, I'm up from Texas
+way&mdash;Anson ... Anse Kirby, if you want a brand for the tally book. An'
+most all a Yankee's good for anyway is to be shucked of his boots." He
+freed one foot momentarily from the stirrup and surveyed a piece of very
+new and shiny footware with open admiration. It was provided with a
+highly ornate silver spur, not military issue but Mexican work, Drew
+guessed.</p>
+
+<p>"You from Gano's Company?" the scout asked.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby nodded. "Nowadays, but it was Terry's Rangers 'fore I stopped me a
+saber with this heah tough old head of mine an' was removed for a
+while. That Yankee almost fixed me so m' own folks wouldn't know me from
+a fresh-skinned buffala&mdash;not that I got me any folks any more." He
+grinned and that expression was a baring of teeth like a wolf's
+uninhibited snarl. "You one of Quirk's rough-string scout boys, ain't
+you? We sure raised hell an' put a chunk under it back theah. Them
+Yankees are gonna be as techy as teased rattlers. An' I don't see as how
+we can belly through the brush with this heah hombre. He's got him a
+middle full of guts to stick it this far. Long 'bout now he must have
+him a horse-size headache...."</p>
+
+<p>Croxton swayed and only Drew's crowding their horses together kept the
+now unconscious scout from falling into the road dust. Kirby steadied
+the limp body from the other side.</p>
+
+<p>"Keep pullin' him 'round this way, amigo, an' he'll be planted
+permanent, all neat an' pretty with a board up at his head."</p>
+
+<p>"There's a house&mdash;back there." Boyd pointed to the right, where a narrow
+lane angled away from their road, a small house to be seen at its end.</p>
+
+<p>Drew, Croxton's weight resting against his shoulder, studied the house.
+The distant crackle of carbine fire rippled across the fields and came
+as a rumble of warning. It was plain that Croxton could not ride on, not
+at the pace they would have to maintain in order to outdistance pursuit;
+nor could he be left to shift for himself. To visit the house might be
+putting them straight into some Yankee's pocket, but it was the only
+solution open now.</p>
+
+<p>"Hey, those mules!" Boyd had already ventured several horse lengths down
+the lane. Now he jerked a forefinger at two animals, heads up, ears
+pointed suspiciously forward, that were approaching the fence at a
+rocking canter. "Those are Jim Dandy's! You remember Jim Dandy, Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jim Dandy&mdash;?" the other echoed. And then he did recall the little
+Englishman who had been a part of the Lexington horse country since long
+before the war. Jim Dandy had been one of the most skillful jockeys ever
+seen in the blue grass, until he took a bad spill back in '59 and
+thereafter set himself up as a consultant trainer-vet to the comfort of
+any stable with a hankering to win racing glory.</p>
+
+<p>To a man like Jim Dandy politics or war might not be all-important. And
+the fact that he had known the households of both Oak Hill and Red
+Springs could count for a better reception now. At least they could try.</p>
+
+<p>"No use you gettin' into anything," Drew told the Texan. "You and Boyd
+go on! I'll take Croxton in and see if they'll take care of him."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby looked back down the road. "Don't see no hostile sign heah
+'bouts," he drawled. "Guess we can spare us some time to bed him down
+proper on th' right range. Maybeso you'll find them in theah as leery of
+strangers as a rustler of the sheriff&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The Texan's references might be obscure, but he helped Drew transfer
+Croxton from the precarious balance in the wounded man's own saddle to
+Drew's hold, and then rode at a walking pace beside the scout while Boyd
+trailed with the led horse.</p>
+
+<p>There was a pounding of hoofs on the road behind. A half dozen riders
+went by the mouth of the land at a distance-eating gallop. In spite of
+the dust which layered them Drew saw they were not Union.</p>
+
+<p>"Them boys keep that gait up," Kirby remarked, "an' they ain't gonna
+make it far 'fore their tongues hang out 'bout three feet an' forty
+inches. That ain't no way to waste good hoss flesh."</p>
+
+<p>"Got a good hold on him?" he asked Drew a moment later. At the other's
+nod he rode forward into the yard at the end of the lane.</p>
+
+<p>"Hullo, the house!" he called.</p>
+
+<p>A man came out of the stable, walking with a kind of hop-skip step. His
+blond head was bare, silver fair in contrast to Boyd's corn yellow, and
+his features were thin and sharp. It was Jim Dandy, himself.</p>
+
+<p>"What's all this now?" he asked in that high voice Drew had last heard
+discussing the virtues of rival horse liniments at Red Springs. And he
+did not look particularly welcoming.</p>
+
+<p>"Mr. Dandy&mdash;" Drew walked his horse on, Croxton sagging in his hold, his
+weight a heavy pull on his bearer's tired arms&mdash;"do you remember me?
+Drew Rennie, of Red Springs." He added that quickly for what small
+guarantee of respectability the identification might give. Certainly in
+his present guise he did not look Alexander Mattock's grandson.</p>
+
+<p>Dandy rested his weight on his good leg and swung his shorter one a
+little ahead. And his hand went to the loose front of his white shirt.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that's a right unfriendly move, suh. I take it right unfriendly to
+show hardware 'fore you know the paint on our faces&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The smaller man's hand fell away from his concealed weapon, but Kirby
+did not reholster the Colt which had appeared through some feat of
+lightning movement in his grip.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not going to take <i>my</i> horses!" Even if there was no gun in
+Dandy's hand, his voice stated a fact they could not doubt he meant.</p>
+
+<p>"Nobody's takin' hosses," the Texan answered. "This heah soldier's got
+him a mighty sore head, an' he needs some fixin'. We ain't too popular
+round heah right now, an' he can't ride. So&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd pushed up. "Mr. Dandy, you know me&mdash;Boyd Barrett. And this <i>is</i>
+Drew Rennie. We have Yankees after us. And you never said you were
+Union&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Dandy shrugged. "No matter to me what you wear ... blue ... gray&mdash;you're
+all a bunch of horse thieves, like as not. You, Mr. Boyd, what you doing
+riding with these here Rebs? And what's the matter with that man? Got
+him a lick on the head, eh? Well&mdash;" he crossed with his lurching walk to
+stand by Drew, studying the now unconscious Croxton&mdash;"all right." His
+voice was angry, as if he were being pushed along a path he disliked.
+"Get him into the stable. I ain't yet took sides in this here bloody
+war, and I ain't going to now. But the man's hurt. Unload him and don't
+tell me what he's been doing back there to get him that knock. I don't
+want to know."</p>
+
+<p>He led the way into the stable, and moments later Croxton was as easy as
+they could make him on an improvised bed of straw and clean horse
+blankets. Dandy turned to them with Croxton's gun belt swinging free in
+his hand, still weighted down with two revolvers.</p>
+
+<p>"You want these?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew glanced at his two companions. His own carbine was gone; he had
+dropped it at the verge of the millpond when he had taken charge of
+Croxton. Boyd was without any weapons, and Kirby had only side arms.
+Drew started to reach for the belt and then shook his head. If Sam was
+able to ride soon, he would need those. And the rest of them could take
+their chances at getting more arms. Boyd opened his mouth as if to
+protest, but he did not say anything as Drew refused the Colts.</p>
+
+<p>"You keep 'em&mdash;for him."</p>
+
+<p>The ex-jockey nodded. "Better be riding on, Mr. Rennie. They'll come
+looking, and I don't fancy having any fight here. With luck we'll get
+your friend on his feet all right and tight, and he can slip south when
+the dust is down a bit. But you'd better keep ahead of what can come
+down the pike now."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby moved, the spurs jangling musically on his boots. "I've been
+thinkin' 'bout that theah road," he announced. "Any other trail outta
+heah we can take?"</p>
+
+<p>"Cross the pasture&mdash;" Dandy directed with a thumb&mdash;"then a cornfield,
+and you'll hit the pike again. Cuts off about a mile."</p>
+
+<p>"That sounds right invitin'." The Texan led the way back to the yard and
+their waiting mounts. "Obliged to you, suh. Now," he spoke to Drew, "I'd
+say it's time to raise some dust. Ain't far to sundown, an' we oughta
+git some countryside between us an' them rip-snortin' javalinas&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Javalinas?" Drew heard Boyd repeat inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>"Kid&mdash;" the Texan reined his bay&mdash;"there is some mean things in this
+heah world. Theah is Comanches an' Apaches, an' a longhorn cow with a
+calf hid out in a thicket, an' a rattler, what's feelin' lowdown in his
+mind. An' theah's javalinas, the wild boars of the Rio country. Then
+theah's men what have had to ride fast on a day as hot as this,
+swallerin' dust an' thinkin' what they're gonna do when they catch up to
+them as they're chasin'; an' those men're 'bout as mean as the boars&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew lifted his hand to Jim Dandy and followed the other two through the
+pasture gate. Now he grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"You sound like one speakin' from experience&mdash;of bein' chased, that is."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby chuckled. "I'm jus' a poor little Texas boy, suh. 'Course we do a
+bit of fast ridin'. Mostly though I've been on the other end, <i>doin'</i>
+the chasin'. An' I know how it feels to eat dust an' git a mite riled
+doin' it. I'd say we could maybe help ourselves a bit though."</p>
+
+<p>"How?" Boyd asked eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>"You"&mdash;Drew rounded on him&mdash;"can cut cross-country and get home!" There
+was nothing in Boyd's clothing or equipment to suggest that he had been
+a part of the now scattered raiders. "If the Yankees stop you," Drew
+continued, "you can spin them a tale about riding out to see the fight.
+And Major Forbes's name ought to help."</p>
+
+<p>Boyd's scowl was a black cloud on his grimy young face. "I'm one of
+General Morgan's men."</p>
+
+<p>"Only a fool," remarked Kirby, "stops to argue with a mule, a skunk, a
+cook, or a boy what's run away to join the army. You figgerin' to take
+this kid home personal?"</p>
+
+<p>"You'll have to tie me to a horse to do it!" Boyd flared up.</p>
+
+<p>"No thanks for your help." Drew frowned at Kirby, then turned to Boyd
+again. "No, I can't take you back now. But I'll see that you do go
+back!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd laughed, high, with a reckless note. "I'm comin' along."</p>
+
+<p>"As I was sayin'," Kirby returned to his half suggestion of moments
+before, "we can see 'bout helpin' ourselves. Them Yankees are mighty
+particular 'bout their rigs; they carry 'nough to outfit a squad right
+on one trooper."</p>
+
+<p>Drew had already caught on. "Stage an ambush?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, now, let's see." Kirby looked down at his own gear, then
+critically inspected Drew and Boyd in turn. "We could do with carbines.
+Them blue bellies had them some right pretty-lookin' hardware&mdash;leastways
+them back by the river did. An' I don't see no ration bags on them
+theah hosses you two are ridin'. Yes, we could do with grub, an'
+rifle-guns ... maybe some blue coats.... Say as how we was wearin' them
+we could ride up to some farm all polite an' nice an' maybe git asked in
+to rest a spell an' fill up on real fancy eats. I 'member back on the
+Ohio raid we came into this heah farm ... wasn't nobody round the place
+at all. We sashayed into the kitchen an' theah, jus' sittin' easylike an'
+waitin' right on the table, was two or three pies! Ain't had me a taste
+since as good as them theah pies. But maybe with a blue coat on us we
+could do as well heah 'bouts."</p>
+
+<p>There was merit in the Texan's suggestion. Drew, from past experience,
+knew that. His only hesitation was Boyd. The youngster was right. Short
+of subduing him physically and taking him back tied to his saddle
+through the spreading Union web, Drew had no chance of returning Boyd to
+Oak Hill. But to lead him into the chancy sort of deal Kirby had
+outlined was entirely too dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>"You mean&mdash;we hold up some Yankees and just take their uniforms an'
+carbines an' things?" It was already too late. Boyd had seized upon what
+must have seemed to him an idea right out of the dashing kind of war he
+had been imagining all these past weeks.</p>
+
+<p>"It has been done, kid," the Texan affirmed. "'Course we got to find us
+two or three poor little maverick blue bellies lost outta the herd like.
+Then we cut 'em away from the trail an' reason with 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"That ought to be easy." Boyd's enthusiasm was at the boiling point.
+"The Yankees are all cowards&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby straightened in his saddle, the lazy good humor gone from his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"Kid, don't git so lippy 'bout what you ain't rightly learned yet.
+Yankees can fight&mdash;they can fight good. You saw 'em do that today. And
+don't you ever forgit it!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd was disconcerted, but he clung doggedly to his belief. "One of
+Morgan's men can take on five Yankees."</p>
+
+<p>Drew laughed dryly. "You saw <i>that</i> happen just this mornin', Boyd. And
+what happened? We ran. They fight just as hard and as long, and most of
+them just as tough as we do. And don't ever think that the man facin'
+you across a gun is any less than you are; maybe he's a little better.
+Keep that in mind!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you read the aces an' queens in your hand 'fore you spreads your
+money out recklesslike," Kirby agreed. "So, if we find the right setup,
+we move, but&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew swung up one hand in the horseman's signal of warning.
+"Something&mdash;or someone&mdash;<i>is</i> on the move ... ahead there!" he warned.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c4" id="c4"></a>4</h2>
+
+<h3><i>The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>They had worked their way around the edge of the cornfield, and now they
+could look out on a hard-surfaced road which must be the pike. Riding
+along that in good order were a company of men&mdash;thirty, Drew counted.
+And four of those had extra horses on leading reins. He also saw ten
+carbines ... and the owners of those were alert.</p>
+
+<p>"Stand where you are!" The slight man leading that skeleton troop posted
+ahead. His shell jacket had the three yellow bars of a captain on its
+standing collar, and Drew saluted. This was the first group of fugitives
+he had seen who were more than frightened men running their horses and
+themselves into exhaustion.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie, Private, Quirk's Scouts," Drew reported himself.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby's salute was delivered with less snap but as promptly. "Kirby,
+Private, Gano's."</p>
+
+<p>"Captain William Campbell," the officer identified himself crisply. "Any
+more of you?" He looked to Boyd and then at the cornfield beyond.</p>
+
+<p>"Barrett's a volunteer," Drew explained. This was no time to clarify
+Boyd's exact status. "There're just the three of us."</p>
+
+<p>"You headin' somewheah special, Cap'n?" the Texan asked. "Or jus'
+travelin' for your continued health?"</p>
+
+<p>Campbell laughed. "You might call it that, Kirby. But if we stick
+together, I think all of us may stay healthy."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby turned his horse into the pike. "Sounds like a good argument to
+me, suh. You have any idea wheah at we are, or wheah we could be
+headin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Northwest is the best I can say. If we strike far enough to the west,
+we may be able to flank the troops spread out to keep us away from the
+river. Best plan for now, anyway. And the more men we can pick up, the
+better."</p>
+
+<p>"Scattered some, ain't we?" Kirby assented. "You give the orders, Cap'n,
+suh. We ain't licked complete yet."</p>
+
+<p>There was a low growl arising from the company on the pike as the
+Texan's comment reached them. They might have run and gone on running
+most of that long day, but they were no longer running; they were moving
+in reasonable order and to some purpose, with a direction in view and a
+form of organization, no matter how patched together they were. Campbell
+spoke directly to Drew: "You know anything about this section of the
+country?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some, but it's been almost three years since I was here. I know nothin'
+about any Union garrison&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Those we'll have to worry about as they come. But you ride advance for
+us now. Send in any stragglers you come across. The night is almost
+here, and that's in our favor."</p>
+
+<p>So Drew and Kirby, with Boyd trailing, ranged ahead of the small troop.
+And pick up more stragglers they did&mdash;some twenty men in the last hour
+before twilight closed down.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm hungry," Boyd said, approaching Drew. "There're farms around. Why
+can't we get something to eat?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here." Drew fumbled in the saddlebags he had transferred from Shawnee
+to this new mount back by the river. He handed over a piece of hardtack,
+flinty-surfaced and about as appetizing as a stone. "That's the best
+you'll get for a while."</p>
+
+<p>Boyd stared at it in dismay. "You can't eat a thing like this! It's a
+piece of rock." Indignantly he hurled it away.</p>
+
+<p>"You get down and pick that up! Now!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd, flushed and hot-eyed, gazed at Drew for a long moment. The flush
+faded and he moved uneasily in his saddle, but not out of the range of
+Drew's attention. At length, unhappily, he dismounted and went to pick
+the gray-white chunk out of a weed tangle. Holding it gingerly, he came
+back to his horse.</p>
+
+<p>"If you don't want it&mdash;give!" Drew held out his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd, realizing the other meant just what he said, fingered the hardtack
+and finally dropped it into that waiting palm.</p>
+
+<p>"You eat hard and you sleep on the soft side of a board&mdash;if you're lucky
+enough to find a board. You ride till your seat is blistered and until
+you can sleep in the saddle. You drink mud green with scum if that's all
+you can find to drink, and you think it's mighty fine drinkin', too.
+This ain't&mdash;" Drew's thoughts flitted back to his meeting with Aunt
+Marianna on the Lexington road&mdash;"all saber wavin' and chargin' the enemy
+and playin' hero to the home folks; this is sweatin' and dirt on you and
+your clothes, goin' mighty hungry, and cold and wet&mdash;when it's the
+season for goin' cold and wet. It's takin' a lot of the bad, with not
+much good. And if you don't cut off home now, you'll ride our way,
+keepin' your mouth shut and doin' as you're told!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd swallowed visibly. "All right." But there was a firmness in that
+short answer which surprised Drew. The other sounded as if he meant it,
+as if he were swearing the oath of allegiance to the regiment. But
+<i>could</i> he take it? A few days on the run, and Boyd would probably quit.
+Maybe if they got into some town and the Yankees didn't smoke them out
+right away, Drew could send a telegram and Boyd would be collected. Drew
+tried to console himself with that thought all the time another part of
+him was certain that Boyd intended to prove he could stick through all
+the rigors Drew had just outlined for him.</p>
+
+<p>But in any event the boy's introduction to war was going to be as
+unromantic as anyone could want, short of being thrown cold and
+untrained into a major battle. They must be prepared for a bad time
+until they made it out of the Union lines and south again.</p>
+
+<p>The night closed down, dark and moonless, with a heaviness in the air
+which was oppressive. Campbell had to grant men and horses a breathing
+period. He put out pickets, leaving the rest of them to lie with their
+mounts saddled and to hand. Drew loosened the girth, stripped off saddle
+and blanket, and wiped down the sweaty back of his new mount. But he
+dared not leave the gelding free. So, against all good practice, he
+re-equipped the tired beast. No mount was going to be able to take that
+kind of treatment for long. They had a half dozen spare horses, and
+undoubtedly they could "trade" worn-out mounts for fresh ones along the
+way. But such ceaseless use was cruel punishment, and no man wanted to
+inflict it. War was harder on horses than men. At least the men could
+take their chances and had a fraction of free will in the matter.</p>
+
+<p>Drew awoke at a tug of his sleeve, flailed out his arm, and struck home.
+Kirby laughed in the gray dawn.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that theah, kid, is no way to go 'round wakin' up a soldier. He may
+take you for a blue belly as has come crawlin' into his dreams. It's all
+right, amigo&mdash;jus' time to git on the prowl again."</p>
+
+<p>Feeling as if he had been beaten, Drew slowly got to his feet. Men were
+moving, falling into line. And one was arguing with Captain Campbell.</p>
+
+<p>"It could work, Cap'n," the trooper urged. "Ain't a lot of the boys
+wearin' Yankee truck they took outta the warehouses? Them what ain't can
+act like prisoners. Jus' say we're the Eleventh Ohio&mdash;they's stationed
+near Bardstown and it would seem right, them ridin' down to take them
+some prisoners. The old man, he's got a rich farm and sets a powerful
+good table. Might even give us a right smart load of provisions into the
+bargain. It's worth a try, suh...."</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie!" So summoned, Drew reported to their new commander.</p>
+
+<p>"Know anything about a Thomas McKeever livin' in this section?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew's memory produced a picture of a round-faced, cheerful man who
+liked to play chess and admired Lucilla's pickled watermelon rind to the
+point of begging a crock of it every time he visited Red Springs.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh. He's Union&mdash;got two sons with Colonel Wolford. Owns a big
+farm and raises prime mules&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You know him personally?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh. He's a friend of my grandfather; they used to visit back and
+forth a lot."</p>
+
+<p>"Then he'd know you." Campbell's fingernails rasped through the stubble
+on his chin.</p>
+
+<p>"So Rennie heah could be one of our prisoners, suh. That theah might
+convince Mistuh McKeever we's what we say&mdash;" the trooper pressed his
+point.</p>
+
+<p>"Could be. It's gospel truth we ain't goin' to get far with our bellies
+flat on our backbones. And it might work. Now, all of you men,
+listen...." Campbell explained, gave orders, and put them through a
+small drill. A dozen men without any Union uniform loot to distinguish
+them were told to play the role of prisoners; the others exchanged and
+drew out of saddlebags pieces of blue clothing to make their appearance
+as the Eleventh Ohio.</p>
+
+<p>"They ain't gonna expect too much." The trooper who had first urged the
+plan was optimistic. "We can pass as close to militia&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You hope!" Kirby was in the prisoner's section, and it was plain he did
+not relish a role which meant that he had to strip himself of weapons.
+"You&mdash;" he fixed his attention on the man to whom he must hand his Colts
+when the time came&mdash;"keep right 'longside, soldier. If I want to get
+those six-guns, I want 'em fast an' I want 'em sure&mdash;not 'bout ten yards
+away wheah I can't git my hands on 'em!"</p>
+
+<p>Their gnawing hunger drove them all into agreeing to the masquerade.
+Drew could not recall his last really full meal. Just thinking about
+food made a warm, sickish taste rise in his mouth. He brought out the
+hardtack which Boyd had so indignantly rejected the night before, and
+holding the chunk balanced on his saddle horn, rapped it smartly with
+the butt of a revolver. It broke raggedly across, and then he was able
+to crack it again between his fingers.</p>
+
+<p>"Here&mdash;" He held out a two-inch piece to Boyd, and this time there was
+no refusal. The younger boy's cheek showed a swollen puff as he sucked
+away at the fragment.</p>
+
+<p>Drew offered a bite to the Texan.</p>
+
+<p>"Right neighborly, amigo," Kirby observed. "'Bout this time, me, I'm
+ready to exercise m' teeth on a stewed moccasin, Comanche at that, were
+anybody to ask me to sit down an' reach for the pot."</p>
+
+<p>They rode on at a comfortable pace and for some reason met no other
+travelers on the pike. Drew found his new mount had no easy shuffle like
+Shawnee's. The gelding was a black with three white feet and a proudly
+held head&mdash;might even be Denmark stock&mdash;but for some reason he didn't
+relish moving in company. And, left without close enough supervision
+from his rider, he tended either to trot ahead or loiter until he was
+out of line. Drew was continually either reining him in or urging him
+on.</p>
+
+<p>"Kinda a raw one," Kirby commented critically. "He ain't no
+rockin'-chair hoss, that's for sure. If I was you, I'd look round for
+somethin' better to slap m' tree on&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew pulled rein for the tenth time, his exasperation growing. "I might
+do just that." Shawnee had been worth fifty of this temperamental
+blooded hunter.</p>
+
+<p>"You take Tejano heah. He's a rough-coated ol' snorter&mdash;nothin' to make
+an hombre's eyes bug out&mdash;but he takes you way over yonder, an' then he
+brings you back ... nothin' more you can ask."</p>
+
+<p>Drew agreed. "Lost my horse back at the river," he said briefly. "This
+was a pickup&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Tough luck!" Kirby was sincerely sympathetic. "Funny about you Kaintuck
+boys ... mostly you want a high-steppin' pacer with a chief's feathers
+sproutin' outta his head. They has to have oats an' corn an' be treated
+like they was glass. I'd'ruther have me a range hoss. You can ride one
+of 'em from Hell to breakfast&mdash;an' maybe a mile or two beyond&mdash;an' he
+never knows the difference. Work him hard all day, an' maybe the next
+mornin' when you're set to fork leather again, he shows you a bellyfull
+of bedsprings an' you're unloaded for fair. A hoss like that has him
+wind an' power to burn&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You raised horses before the war?"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby swallowed what must have been the last soggy crumb of hardtack.
+"Well, we had a mind to try that. M'pa, he started him a spread down
+Pecos way. He had him a good stud-quarter hoss&mdash;one of Steel Dust's git.
+Won two or three races, that stud did. Called him Kiowa. Pa made a deal
+with a Mex mustanger; he got some prime stuff he caught in the
+Panhandle. One mare, I 'member&mdash;she was a natcherel pacer. Yeah, you
+might say as how we was gittin' a start at a first-rate string. Me an'
+m' brothers, we was breakin' some right pretty colts..."</p>
+
+<p>His voice trailed into silence. Drew reined in the black again and asked
+another question:</p>
+
+<p>"What happened ... the war?"</p>
+
+<p>"What happened? Well, you might say as how Comanches happened. Me, I was
+trailin' 'long with this Mex mustanger to learn some of his tricks. When
+I came back, theah jus' warn't nothin'&mdash;nothin' a man wants to remember
+after. Someday I'm gonna hunt me Comanches. Gonna learn me some tricks
+in this heah war I can use in that business!" There was no change in
+his expression. If anything, his drawl was a little softer and lazier,
+but the deadly promise in it reached Drew as clearly as if the other had
+burst out with the Rebel Yell.</p>
+
+<p>"This is it!" Captain Campbell rode back along their line. It was a
+larger company; they had gathered in more fugitives this morning and had
+no stragglers. All they lacked was adequate arms to present a rather
+formidable source of trouble behind the Union lines. "We're goin' into
+the McKeever place. You men&mdash;remember, you're prisoners!"</p>
+
+<p>Very reluctantly those in that unhappy role unbuckled gun belts, passing
+their side arms over to their "captors." There was a graveled drive
+branching out of the pike to their right with a grove of trees arching
+over it, so they rode into a restful green twilight out of the punishing
+sun.</p>
+
+<p>Fields rippled lushly beyond that border of trees. There was a
+cleanness, a contentment, a satisfaction about this place which was no
+part of them or any men who passed so, armed, restless, tearing apart
+just such peace as enfolded them here. They rode out of urgency when the
+gravel of that well-raked drive shifted under the hoofs of their mounts.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sayin' one thing loud an' clear," Kirby announced to those in his
+immediate vicinity as they neared a big brick house. "I may be playin'
+prisoner to you boys, but I ain't settlin' for no prisoner's rations. We
+all eat full plates in heah, let that be understood from the start."</p>
+
+<p>Campbell laughed. "Noted, Kirby. We'll see that you desperate Rebs get
+all that's comin' to you."</p>
+
+<p>"Now that, Cap'n, is jus' what I'm afraid of. We git all that's
+<i>comin'</i>&mdash;that sounds a right smart better!"</p>
+
+<p>"Company ahead, Cap'n!" The trooper who had suggested this action,
+indicated a man walking down the drive to meet their cavalcade.</p>
+
+<p>"That's Mr. McKeever." Drew identified their host for Campbell.</p>
+
+<p>But the captain was already moving ahead to meet the older man. He
+touched fingers to kepi&mdash;a neat blue kepi&mdash;in a smart salute.</p>
+
+<p>"Chivers, Captain, Eleventh Ohio, sir. We'd like to make our noon halt
+here if you'll grant permission."</p>
+
+<p>Thomas McKeever beamed. "No reason not, suh. Take your men over in the
+orchard, Captain. We can add a little something to your rations. Glad,
+always glad to entertain our boys." His attention wandered to the score
+of "prisoners" in the center of the troop.</p>
+
+<p>"Prisoners, Captain?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some of Morgan's horse thieves." Campbell glanced back at the shabby
+exhibit. "You've heard the news, of course, sir? We smashed 'em proper
+over at Cynthiana&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You did? Now that's good hearin', Captain. It deserves a regular
+celebration; it surely does. Morgan smashed! Was he taken too? Next time
+I trust they'll put him in something stronger than that jail you Ohio
+boys had him in last time; he's a slippery one."</p>
+
+<p>"Haven't heard about that, sir. But his men are pretty well scattered.
+These aren't going to trouble any one for a while."</p>
+
+<p>McKeever nodded. "I've a stout barn you're welcome to use for a
+temporary lockup, Captain. Though I must say they don't display much
+spirit, do they? Look pretty well beat."</p>
+
+<p>Drew rubbed his hand across his face, hoping the grime there&mdash;a mixture
+of road dust, sweat, and powder blacking&mdash;was an effective disguise. No
+use recalling the old days for Mr. McKeever. Allowing his shoulders to
+slump dispiritedly as he was herded by his file guard, he rode sullenly
+on to the orchard.</p>
+
+<p>They stripped their saddles and allowed the horses freedom for the first
+time in hours, an act which was against prudence but which McKeever
+would expect of Union troops. Drew lay full length under the curving
+limbs of an apple tree, his head pillowed on saddlebags.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I wonder"&mdash;Kirby dropped down, to sit with his back against the
+tree trunk&mdash;"why they always say a fella is dog-tired. A dog, he ain't
+got him much to do 'cept chase around on his own business.
+Soldier-tired&mdash;now that's another matter. How 'bout it, kid? You ready
+to ride right outta heah an' chase General Grant clean back to Lake
+Erie?"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd had stretched out only a hand's length from Drew. There were dark
+smudges under his closed eyes, hardly to be told from the smears of dirt
+on his round cheeks, but there. He rolled his head on a hammock of grass
+and scowled at Kirby.</p>
+
+<p>"General Grant can&mdash;" he added a remark which surprised Drew into
+opening his eyes. Kirby shook his head reprovingly.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that ain't no way for a growin' boy to talk. An' it sits on your
+tongue as easy as a fly on a mule's ear, too. What kinda company you bin
+keepin', kid? Rennie, this heah colt ain't got no reason to cram grammar
+into a remark that way."</p>
+
+<p>Drew stretched, folded his arms under his head, and answered, in a voice
+he tried to make as blighting as possible: "Thinks it makes him sound
+like a man, probably. He's findin' out the army ain't quite what he
+expected."</p>
+
+<p>"You shut up&mdash;!" Boyd might have added something to that, but Drew had
+moved. He leaned over the youngster, his hand hard and heavy on Boyd's
+shoulder. And it was plain that, much as he wanted to, the other did not
+quite dare to move or shake off that grip.</p>
+
+<p>"I've had about enough," Drew said quietly. "The next town we hit you're
+goin' to stay there, until someone comes from back home to collect you.
+Nobody knows you're with us, and you can go back to Oak Hill without any
+trouble from Union troops."</p>
+
+<p>Boyd's eyes blazed. His mouth wasn't shaping a small boy's pout this
+time; it was an ugly line tight against his teeth.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't goin' home! I said you can't make me, 'less you tie me on a
+horse and keep me tied all the way. And I don't think you can do that,
+Drew Rennie. I'd like to see you try it; I sure would!"</p>
+
+<p>"He's got you on a stand-off, I'd say," Kirby remarked. "My, ain't he
+the tough one though, horns sticking up an' haired all over!
+Gentlemen&mdash;" he had glanced over their shoulder and was watching
+whatever was there&mdash;"company comin'. Mind your manners!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew looked around. His hand clamped tighter on Boyd, keeping him pinned
+on his back. If he only had time ... but there was no way of disguising
+the younger boy. And Thomas McKeever, strolling with Captain Campbell,
+had already sighted them, stopped short, and now was moving swiftly in
+their direction.</p>
+
+<p>"Boyd Barrett!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew had to release his hold and Boyd sat up, brushing bits of grass
+from his shirt sleeves even as he returned Mr. McKeever's stare with
+composure.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh?" Boyd was on his feet now, making his manners with the speed
+of one harboring a guilty conscience.</p>
+
+<p>"What are you doing with this gang of cutthroats and banditti?" Mr.
+McKeever had an excellent voice to deliver such an inquiry; it could
+rattle the unaware into confusion, and sometimes even into quick
+confession, as he undoubtedly knew.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm with General Morgan, Mr. McKeever." Boyd did not appear too
+ruffled.</p>
+
+<p>"I refuse to believe that even that unprincipled ruffian is robbing
+cradles to fill up his ranks, depleted as they may be&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd reddened. "General Morgan ain't no ... no unprincipled ruffian!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah," Kirby drawled. As the other two, he had risen to his feet on the
+approach of the older man. "Them's pretty harsh words, suh. Cutthroat
+now&mdash;I ain't never slit me a throat in all my born days. What about you,
+Rennie? You done any fancy work with a bowie lately?"</p>
+
+<p>Mr. McKeever favored the Texan with a passing frown; then his attention
+settled on Drew. "Rennie," he repeated, and then said the name again
+with the emphasis of one making a court identification. "Drew Rennie!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh." As Boyd had done, Drew answered to the indictment of being
+where he was and who he was.</p>
+
+<p>"I am most unhappy to see Alexander Mattock's grandson and Meredith
+Barrett's son in such company. Surely"&mdash;he turned to Captain
+Campbell&mdash;"these boys are not your regular prisoners&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Campbell shook his head gravely. "Unfortunately, sir, they are indeed
+troopers with Morgan. And, as such, they are subject to the rules of war
+governing prisoners&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"That does not prevent my seeing what I can do for both of you," their
+host said quickly. "At least, Boyd, you are young enough to be released
+by the authorities. Be sure I shall do all I can to bring that about."</p>
+
+<p>As Boyd opened his mouth to protest, Drew spoke quickly:</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, suh. I know Cousin Merry will appreciate that."</p>
+
+<p>With a last assurance of his intention to help them, Mr. McKeever left.
+Boyd grinned.</p>
+
+<p>"He did help me," he observed. "He knows now I'm with Morgan, and nobody
+can say that's not so!"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby laughed. "Reckon that's true, kid. You locked yourself right into
+the corral along with the rest of us bad men. Look's like you've been
+outfought this time, Rennie."</p>
+
+<p>Drew threw himself back under the tree. So Boyd had won this round&mdash;they
+were still in Kentucky and not too far from Oak Hill.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c5" id="c5"></a>5</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Bardstown Surrenders</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"Now that's what I call true hospitality, gentlemen, true hospitality."
+Kirby caressed his middle section gently with both hands, smiling
+dreamily into the lacing of apple boughs over his head. "I ain't had me
+a feed like that since we took that sutler's wagon back outside Mount
+Sterlin'. 'Mos' forgot theah was such vittles lyin' 'bout to be sampled.
+An' you got us most of the cream, too, 'cause you're poor little
+misguided boys a-runnin' 'way to be with us desperate characters. Git me
+a bowie knife, an' I'll show you how to cut throats&mdash;all free, too."</p>
+
+<p>Drew laughed, but Boyd did not appear amused. They had been favored with
+a short but pungent lecture from Mr. McKeever, served along with food,
+which to Drew made it worth the return of listening decorously to a
+listing of their sins.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't goin' home," Boyd repeated stubbornly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Kirby pointed out, "if he rides up to the Yankee prison camp, he
+ain't gonna find you neither. So what's the difference? I think we
+oughta be movin' on, seein' as how we ain't really on speakin' terms
+with the law heah 'bouts."</p>
+
+<p>It would appear that Captain Campbell agreed with that. The order came
+to saddle up and move out. But they went with provision sacks slung from
+their saddles, a portion of McKeever's bounty stowed away against
+tomorrow. And once they were past the house, the word came down the line
+for Drew to quit his prisoner's role and join their commander.</p>
+
+<p>Campbell held a fragment of map as he let his mount's pace fall to a
+slow walk. "There are about a hundred Union infantry stationed at
+Bardstown, according to Mr. McKeever. Know anything about the town?"</p>
+
+<p>"I was there once. My cousin went to St. Joseph's for a term."</p>
+
+<p>"Remember enough to find your way around?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know, suh. But if there's a Union garrison&mdash;?" He ended the
+sentence with an implied question.</p>
+
+<p>"What are we going to do there?" The captain grinned. "We're going to
+collect some arms, I hope. Supposing you were a Yankee commander,
+Rennie, and a bold, bad raider like General Morgan was to ride clean up
+to your door with a regiment or two tailing him and say: 'Your guns,
+suh, or your life!' What would you do, especially if your troops were
+mostly militia and green men who hadn't ever been in a real fight?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew understood. "Probably, suh, I'd tell General Morgan that he could
+have his guns, providin' he kept his side of the bargain."</p>
+
+<p>"As far as the Yankees in Bardstown may know, General Morgan could be
+headed their way right now with a regiment. I don't think they've had
+time yet to learn just how badly we were scattered back there by the
+Licking River. You willing to take the flag in when we get there,
+Rennie? Pick a couple of outriders to go with you!"</p>
+
+<p>It was risky, but no more risky than bluffs he had seen work before. And
+they did need the weapons. Cutting westward now only kept them well
+inside Union territory. Somehow they would have to skulk or fight their
+way down through the southern part of Kentucky and then probably all the
+way across Tennessee&mdash;a tall order, but one which was just possible of
+accomplishment.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll do it, suh." Riding into Bardstown was no worse than riding over
+the rest of this countryside where any moment they might be swept up by
+the enemy.</p>
+
+<p>It was lucky they had brought rations with them from McKeever's, for
+they took no more chances of trying for such supplies again. Once more
+they altered their advance, riding the pikes at night, hiding out by
+day.</p>
+
+<p>Hills then, and among them Bardstown. Drew borrowed a carbine, stringing
+a dubiously white strip of shirt tail from its barrel, and flanked by
+Kirby and Driscoll, a trooper Campbell had appointed, rode slowly up the
+broad street opening from the pike. Great trees arched overhead, almost
+as they had across the drive of the McKeever place, and the houses were
+fine, equal to the best about Lexington.</p>
+
+<p>A carriage pulled to the side, its two feminine occupants leaning
+forward a little under the tilt of dainty parasols, eyes wide. While
+their coachman stared open-mouthed at the three dirty, tattered
+cavalrymen riding with an assumption of ease, though armed, down the
+middle of the avenue.</p>
+
+<p>"You, suh." It was the coachman who hailed Drew. "You soldier men?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew reined in the black, who this time obeyed without protest. The
+weary miles had taught the gelding submission if not perfect manners.
+Transferring his reins to the hand which also steadied the butt of his
+carbine against his thigh so that his "flag" was well in evidence, Drew
+swept off his dust-grayed hat and bowed to the ladies in the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>"General Morgan's compliments, ladies," he said, loud enough for his
+words to carry beyond the vehicle to the townspeople gathering on the
+walk. "Flag of truce comin' in, ma'am." He spoke directly to the elder
+of the two in the carriage. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to
+where I may find the Union commander?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're from John Hunt Morgan, young man?" She shut her parasol with a
+snap, held it as if she was considering its use as a weapon.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, ma'am. General Morgan, Confederate Army&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>She sniffed. "You'll find their captain at the inn, probably. Yankees
+and whiskey apparently have an affinity for one another. So John
+Morgan's coming to pay us a visit?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe, ma'am. And where may I find the inn?"</p>
+
+<p>"Straight ahead," the girl answered. "You really are Morgan's men?"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby did not have a hat to doff, but his bow in the saddle was as
+graceful as Drew's.</p>
+
+<p>"That's right, ma'am. My, did we know what we'd find in Bardstown now,
+we'd bin ridin' in right sooner!"</p>
+
+<p>"Suh! ... Louisa!" The elder lady's intimidating glare was divided, but
+Drew thought that Louisa got more than a half share of it.</p>
+
+<p>"No offense meant, ma'am. It's jus' that ridin' 'bout the way we do an'
+all, we don't git us a chance to say Howdy to ladies." The Texan's
+expression was properly contrite; his voice all diffidence.</p>
+
+<p>"The inn, young men, is on down the street. Drive on, Horace!" she
+ordered the coachman. But as the carriage started, she pointed her
+parasol at Drew as a teacher might point an admonishing ruler at a
+pupil. "I hope you'll find what you're looking for, young man. In the
+way of Yankees...."</p>
+
+<p>"We generally do, ma'am," Kirby commented. "For us Yankees jus' turn up
+bright an' sassy all over the place."</p>
+
+<p>Drew laughed. "Bright and sassy, then on the run!" For the success of
+his present mission and all those listening ears he ended that boast in
+as fervent a tone as he could summon.</p>
+
+<p>"See that you keep them that way!" She enforced that order with a snap
+of parasol being reopened as the carriage moved from the shade back into
+the patch of open sunlight.</p>
+
+<p>"That sure was a pretty girl," observed Driscoll as Drew and the Texan
+wheeled back into line with him. "Wish we could settle down heah for say
+two or three days. Git some of the dust outta our throats and have a
+chance to say Howdy to some friendly folks&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You'd be more likely sayin' Howdy to a Yankee prison guard if you did
+that," Drew replied. "Let's find this inn and the garrison commander."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the proper way of layin' it out&mdash;the inn an' <i>then</i> business.
+Yankees an' whiskey go together; that's what she said, ain't it? I maybe
+don't weah no blue coat regular, but whiskey sounds sorta refreshin',
+don't it, now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Just so you only think that, Anse, and don't try any tastin'," Drew
+warned. "We make our big talk to this captain, and then we move
+out&mdash;fast. You boys know the drill?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sure," Driscoll repeated. "We're the big raiders come to gobble up all
+the blue bellies, 'less they walk out all nice an' peaceful, leavin'
+their popguns behind 'em for better men to use. I'd say that theah was
+the inn, Rennie&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>They saw their first Yankees, a blot of blue by the horse trough at the
+edge of the center square. And Drew, surveying the enemy with a critical
+and experienced eye, was sure that he was indeed meeting either green
+troops or militia. They were as wide-eyed in their return stare as the
+civilians on the streets around.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby chuckled. "Strut it up, roosters," he urged from the corner of his
+mouth. "Cutthroats, banditti, hoss thieves&mdash;jus' downright bad hombres,
+that's us. They expect us to be on the peck, all horns an' rattles.
+Don't disappoint 'em none! Their tails is half curled up already, an'
+they're ready to run if a horny toad yells Boo!"</p>
+
+<p>To the outward eye the three riding leisurely down the middle of the
+Bardstown street had no interest in the soldiers by the trough. Drew in
+the middle, the white rag dropping from the barrel of his carbine,
+brought the black a step or two in advance. Just so had Castleman ridden
+into Lexington earlier, and that had been at night with a far more wary
+and dangerous enemy to face. The scout's confidence rose as he watched,
+without making any show of his surveillance, the uneasy men ahead.</p>
+
+<p>One of them broke away from the group, and ran into the inn.</p>
+
+<p>"Wonder who's roddin' this outfit," Kirby remarked. "That fella's gone
+to rout him out. Do your talkin' like a short-trigger man, Drew."</p>
+
+<p>They pulled rein in front of the inn and sat their horses facing the
+door through which the soldier had disappeared. His fellows edged
+around the trough and stood in a straggling line to front the
+Confederates.</p>
+
+<p>"You!" Drew caught the eye of the nearest. "Tell your commanding officer
+General Morgan's flag is here!"</p>
+
+<p>The Yankee was young, almost as young as Boyd, but he had less assurance
+than Boyd. Now the boy stammered a little as he answered:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes ... yes, sir." Then he added in a rush, "General who, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>"General John Hunt Morgan, Confederate Cavalry, Army of the Tennessee,
+detached duty!" Drew made that as impressive as he could, whether it was
+worded correctly according to military protocol or not. It was, he
+thought with satisfaction, a nicely rounded, important-sounding speech,
+although a bit short.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir!" The boy started for the door, but he was too late.</p>
+
+<p>The man who erupted from that portal was short and stout, his face a
+dramatic scarlet above the dark blue of his unbuttoned coat. He stopped
+short a step or two into the open and stood staring at the three on
+horseback, that scarlet growing more dusky by the second.</p>
+
+<p>"Who ... are ... you?" His demand was expelled in heavy puffs of breath.</p>
+
+<p>"Flag from General Morgan," Drew repeated. Then to make it quite plain,
+he added kindly, "General John Hunt Morgan, Confederate Cavalry, Army of
+the Tennessee, detached duty."</p>
+
+<p>"But, but Morgan was defeated ... at Cynthiana. He was broken&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Slowly Drew shook his head. "The General has been reported defeated
+before, suh. No, he's right here outside Bardstown. And I wouldn't
+rightly say he was broken either, not with a couple of regiments behind
+him&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Couple of regiments!" The man was buttoning his coat, his red jowls
+sagging a little, almost as if Drew had used the carbine across his
+unprotected head. "Couple of regiments ... Morgan ..." he repeated
+dazedly. "Well," sullenly he spoke to Drew, "what does he want?"</p>
+
+<p>"You're a captain," Drew spoke crisply. "You'll return with us to
+discuss surrender terms with an officer of equal rank!"</p>
+
+<p>"Surrender!" For a moment some of the sag went out of the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Two regiments&mdash;an' you have maybe eighty or ninety men." Kirby gazed
+with critical disparagement at such Union forces as were visible.</p>
+
+<p>"One hundred and twenty-five," the officer repeated mechanically and
+then glared at the Texan.</p>
+
+<p>"One hundred and twenty-five then." Kirby was willing to be generous.
+"All ready to hold this heah town. I don't see no artillery neither." He
+rose in his stirrups to view the immediate scene. "Goin' to fight from
+house to house maybe&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"General Morgan," Drew remarked to the company at large, "is not a
+patient man. But it's your decision, suh. If you want to make a fight of
+it." He shrugged.</p>
+
+<p>"No! Well, I'll talk ... listen to your terms anyway. Get my horse!" he
+roared at the nearest soldier.</p>
+
+<p>They escorted the captain with due solemnity out of Bardstown to meet
+Campbell, a well-armed guard in evidence strung out on the pike. The
+Union officer picked up enough assurance to demand to see the General
+himself, but Campbell's show of surprised hauteur at the request was an
+expert's weapon in rebuttal; and the other not only subsided but agreed
+without undue protest to Campbell's statement of terms.</p>
+
+<p>The Union detachment in town were to stack their arms in the square,
+leaving in addition their rations. They were to withdraw, unarmed, to a
+field outside and there await the patroling officer who would visit them
+in due course. Having agreed, the Union captain departed.</p>
+
+<p>Campbell was already signaling the rest of the company out of cover.</p>
+
+<p>"This is where we move fast. You all know what to do."</p>
+
+<p>But much had to be left to chance. Drew and Kirby surrendered their
+borrowed carbines to the rightful owners and prepared to join the first
+wave of that quick dash.</p>
+
+<p><i>"Yahhhh-aww-wha&mdash;"</i> There were no words in that, just the war cry which
+might have torn from an Indian warrior's throat, but which came instead
+from between Kirby's lips: the famous Yell with all its yip of victory
+as only an uninhibited Texan could deliver it. Then they were rushing,
+yelping in an answering chorus, four and five abreast, down the street
+under the shade of the trees, answered by screams and cries as the walks
+emptied before them.</p>
+
+<p>Blue ranks broke up ahead, leaving rifles stacked, provisions in
+knapsacks. And the ragged crew struck at the spoil like a wave, lapping
+up arms, cartridge boxes, knapsacks. For only moments there was a
+milling pandemonium in the heart of Bardstown. Then once again that Yell
+was raised, echoed, and the pound of hoofs made an artillery barrage of
+sound. Armed, provisioned, and very much the masters of the scene,
+Morgan's men were heading out of town on the other side, leaving
+bewilderment behind.</p>
+
+<p>They pushed the pace, knowing that the telegraph wires or the couriers
+would be spreading the news. Perhaps the reputation of their commander
+might slow the inevitable pursuit, but it would not deter it entirely.
+They must put as much distance between themselves and the out-foxed
+Union garrison as they could. And Campbell continued to point them
+westward instead of south, since any enemy force would be marching in
+the other direction to cut them off.</p>
+
+<p>Even if men could stand that dogged pace, driven by determination and
+fear of capture, horses could not. And through the next two days the
+inference was very clear: fall behind at your own risk; there will be no
+waiting for laggards to catch up. Nor any mounts furnished; you must
+provide your own.</p>
+
+<p>Drew discovered the black gelding an increasing problem, but at least
+the horse provided transportation, and he tried to save the animal as
+best he could. Though when it was impossible to unsaddle, when one had
+to ride&mdash;and did&mdash;some twenty hours out of twenty-four, there was not
+much the most experienced horseman could do to relieve his mount.</p>
+
+<p>Drew pulled up beside Kirby as he returned from a flank scout. The Texan
+had dropped to the rear of the small troop, holding his horse to not
+much more than a walk. Now and then he glanced to the receding length of
+the road as if in search of someone.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Boyd?" Drew had ridden along the full length of the company and
+nowhere had he seen that blond head.</p>
+
+<p>"Jus' what I'm wonderin'." Kirby came to a complete halt. "I came back
+a little while ago, and nobody's seen him."</p>
+
+<p>Drew pulled in beside the other. His horse's head hung low as the
+gelding blew in gusty snorts. He tried to remember when he had seen Boyd
+last and when he did, that memory was not too encouraging.</p>
+
+<p>"With Hilders ... and Cambridge ..." he said softly.</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah." Kirby's thought seemed to match his. "Hilder's mare is jus'
+about beat, an' Boyd rides light; that bay he got is holdin' up like a
+corn-fed stud."</p>
+
+<p>"They were talkin' to him when I went out on point." Drew followed his
+own line of thought. "And he won't listen to me&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"It don't foller that because you advise a hombre for his own good, he's
+goin' to take kindly to your interest in him," the Texan observed. "You
+tell him Hilders an' Cambridge are wearin' skunk stripes, an' he's apt
+to claim 'em both as compadres. Suppose he don't come in when we bed
+down; he coulda jus' cut his picket rope an' drifted, as far as we can
+prove."</p>
+
+<p>"Not if his bay turns up with one of them on top," Drew replied.</p>
+
+<p>"Them two are of the curly wolf breed." Kirby shifted his newly acquired
+Enfield. "No tellin' as how they would join up with us again did they
+make such a switch; might figure as how they could make it better time
+driftin' on their own."</p>
+
+<p>The Texan had put his own fear into words. Drew pointed the gelding back
+down the road and booted the animal into a trot. A moment later he heard
+more drumming hoofs behind him; Kirby was following.</p>
+
+<p>"This ain't your trouble," Drew reminded him.</p>
+
+<p>"No, maybe it ain't. But then, me, I'm jus' a rough string rider from
+way back, an' this may end in a smoke-up. Odds seem a mite one-sided
+now&mdash;Hilders is easy on the trigger. He won't take kindly to anyone
+tryin' to hang up his hide for dryin'&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew studied the hoof-churned dust of the road. He could only hold a
+very slim hope of some trace along its margin. The gelding stumbled and
+tried to cut pace. Drew hardened his will, holding the animal to the
+trot. He knew that under saddle and blanket, sores were forming, that
+soon he would have no choice but a "trade" such as Hilders might be
+forcing now, though not at the expense of one of his own fellows.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby was reading sign on the other side of the road. His sudden hand
+signal brought Drew to join him. Hoofprints marked the softer verge.</p>
+
+<p>"Turned off not too long ago," Drew commented.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby nodded toward the brush. They were facing a small woodland into
+which a thin trace of path led. Good cover for trouble. Looping reins
+over his arm, Drew walked forward, Colt in hand, using scout tricks to
+cover the noise of his advance into the green shimmer of the trees.</p>
+
+<p>The trail led ahead without any attempt at concealment. The other two
+troopers must have tricked Boyd into taking that way; maybe they had
+even put a revolver on him once they were off the road. It was only too
+easy for a man to straggle from the company and not be missed until
+hours and miles later.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, sonny, there ain't no use makin' a big fuss...."</p>
+
+<p>Drew dropped the reins and slipped on.</p>
+
+<p>"You can see for yourself, boy, that m' hoss ain't gonna be able to git
+much farther. You can nurse him along an' take it easy. Them blue
+bellies ain't gonna be hard on a nice little boy like you&mdash;no, suh,
+they ain't&mdash;even if they find you. We jus' trade fair an' square. No
+trouble...."</p>
+
+<p>"'Course," another, harsher voice cut in, "if you want to make it rough,
+well, that's what you'll git! We're takin' that hoss, no matter what!"</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't!" There was a short snap of sound, the cocking of a hand gun.</p>
+
+<p>"Pull that on me, will you!"</p>
+
+<p>"I'll shoot! I'm warnin' you ... touch m' horse, and I'll shoot!" Boyd's
+voice scaled higher.</p>
+
+<p>Drew ran, his arm up to shield his face from the whip of branches. He
+came out at a small stream. Boyd was backed against a tree while the two
+others advanced on him from different directions.</p>
+
+<p>"That's enough!" Drew's Colt was pointed at Hilders. The man's head
+jerked around. "Get goin'," the scout ordered.</p>
+
+<p>Cambridge blinked stupidly, but Hilders took a step back to catch up the
+reins of a horse that stood dull-eyed, its head bent, pink foam roping
+from its muzzle as it breathed in heavy gasps.</p>
+
+<p>"I said&mdash;get!" Drew advanced, and Hilders gave ground again, towing the
+trembling horse.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, we don't want no trouble," Cambridge said hurriedly. "It woulda
+bin a fair trade.... Sonny, heah, ain't got place in the company
+anyhow&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Get!" Drew's weapon raised a fraction of an inch. Cambridge's protest
+thickened into a mumble and he went. When both men had disappeared, Drew
+turned to Boyd.</p>
+
+<p>"Put that away&mdash;" he flicked a finger at the other's Colt&mdash;"and mount
+up. We'll have to push to get back to the troop."</p>
+
+<p>He watched the other lead the bay away from the stream side. Kirby was
+right, the horse was in better condition than most of the others in the
+company, and sooner or later someone might again try to rank Boyd out of
+it. There were a good many in that hunted column who would see that in
+the same light as Hilders and Cambridge did and would say so, with the
+weight of public opinion to back them. Campbell had set their course for
+Calhoun&mdash;and in that town Boyd and the raiders must definitely part
+company.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c6" id="c6"></a>6</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Horse Trade</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"What's this heah Calhoun like?" Kirby watched Drew loosen the saddle
+blanket, lifting it from the gelding as gently as he could.</p>
+
+<p>"Not much&mdash;" Drew was beginning, then he sucked in his breath and stood
+staring at the nasty sight he had just uncovered. He slung the blanket
+to the ground as Boyd came up, leading the bay. It was the younger boy
+who spoke first.</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't goin' to try to ride him now, Drew!" That protest came
+spontaneously. Drew thought that Shawnee's end had put the last bit of
+steel over his feelings, but he had to agree with Boyd now: no one with
+any humanity could make the gelding carry so much as a blanket over that
+back, let alone saddle and rider.</p>
+
+<p>"Here!" Roughly, his face flushed, Boyd jerked on the reins of his own
+mount, bringing the bay sidling toward Drew. "You can take Bruce...."</p>
+
+<p>He stooped, reaching for Drew's saddlebags. "You have to ride scout.
+I'll walk this one a while. Maybe he can carry me later. I ride light."</p>
+
+<p>Drew shook his head. "Not that light," he commented dryly. "No, I guess
+this is where I do some tradin'&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"House-smoke yonder ..." Kirby pointed. They could see the thin trail of
+smoke rising steadily this windless morning. "Best make it fast&mdash;the
+cap'n is already thinkin' about pointin' up an' headin' out."</p>
+
+<p>Drew loosened his side arms in their holsters. He always hated this
+business, but it was part of a day's work in the cavalry now. He just
+hoped that he wouldn't have to do his impressing at gun point. He
+entrusted saddle and blanket to Boyd, but made the other wait outside
+the farmyard twenty minutes later as he shepherded the gelding into the
+enclosure where chickens squawked and ran witlessly and a dog hurled
+himself to the end of a chain, giving tongue like a hound on a hot
+scent.</p>
+
+<p>Drew skirted that defender, moving toward the barn. But he was still
+well away from the half-open door when a woman hurried out, a basket in
+her hands, her face picturing surprise and apprehension. She stopped
+short to stare at Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are you&mdash;what do you want?" Her two questions ran together in a
+single breathless sentence. Drew looked beyond her. No one else issued
+from the barn or came in answer to the dog's warning. He took off his
+hat.</p>
+
+<p>"I need a horse, ma'am." He said it bluntly, impatiently. After all, how
+could you make a demand like that more courteous or soft? The very fact
+that he had been driven to this made him angry.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and then her eyes
+shifted to the gelding. She came forward a step or two, and there was a
+blaze of anger in the gaze she directed once more to the man.</p>
+
+<p>"That horse's galled raw!" She accused.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think I know it?" he returned abruptly. "That's why I have to
+have another mount."</p>
+
+<p>A quick step back and she was between him and the door of the barn,
+holding the basket as a shield between them. It was full of eggs.</p>
+
+<p>"You won't get one here!" she snapped.</p>
+
+<p>"Ma'am"&mdash;Drew had his temper under control now&mdash;"I don't want to take
+your horse if you have one. But I'm under orders to keep up with the
+company. And I'm goin' to do what I have to...."</p>
+
+<p>He dropped the gelding's reins, walked forward, hoping she wouldn't make
+him push around her. But apparently she read the determination in his
+face and stood aside, her expression bleak now.</p>
+
+<p>"There's only King in there," she said. "And I wish you the joy of him,
+you thief!"</p>
+
+<p>King proved to be a stallion, stabled in a box stall. Drew hesitated.
+The stud might be mean, harder to handle even than the gelding. But it
+was either taking him or being put afoot. If he could back this one even
+as far as Calhoun tomorrow&mdash;or the next day&mdash;he might be able to make a
+better exchange in town. It would depend on just how hard the stallion
+was to control.</p>
+
+<p>Making soothing noises, he worked fast to bit and bridle the big
+chestnut. His experience with the Red Springs stud led him aright now.
+He came out of the barn leading the horse while the dog, its first
+incessant clamor stilled, growled menacingly from the end of its chain.
+The woman had disappeared, maybe into the fields beyond in search of
+help. Drew departed at a swift trot to where he had left Boyd.</p>
+
+<p>"That's all horse!" Boyd eyed Drew's trade excitedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Too much so, maybe. We'll see." He saddled quickly, glad that so far
+the chestnut had proved amiable. But how the stud might behave in troop
+company he had yet to learn. He mounted and waited for any signs of
+resentment, remembering the woman's warning. King snorted, pawed the
+dust a bit, but trotted on when Drew urged him.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby whistled from where he rode with the rear guard as they rejoined
+the company. But Captain Campbell frowned. And King put on a display of
+fireworks which almost shook Drew out of the saddle, rearing and pawing
+the air.</p>
+
+<p>"Makes like a horny one on the prod," commented the Texan. "That's
+stud's a lotta hoss to handle, amigo."</p>
+
+<p>"Too much," the captain echoed Drew's earlier misgivings. "Keep him away
+from the rest until you're sure he won't start anything!"</p>
+
+<p>But that order fitted in with Drew's usual scouting duties. And when he
+did bed down for one of the fugitives' limited halts he was careful to
+stake King away from the improvised picket lines.</p>
+
+<p>Drew was eating a mixture of hardtack and cold bacon, the last of their
+captured provision from Bardstown, when Driscoll sauntered over to the
+small mess Kirby, Boyd, and Drew had established without any formal
+agreement.</p>
+
+<p>"The boys are plannin' 'em a high old time," Driscoll announced.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby's left eyebrow slanted up in quizzical inquiry. Drew chewed
+energetically and swallowed. It was Boyd who asked, "What do you mean?"</p>
+
+<p>"Calhoun&mdash;that's what I mean, sonny." Driscoll squatted on his heels.
+"They 'low as how they're gonna do a little impressin' in Calhoun."</p>
+
+<p>"The town's not very big," Drew observed. "A couple of stores, a church,
+maybe a smithy...."</p>
+
+<p>Driscoll snickered. "Oh, the boys ain't particular 'long 'bout now. They
+won't be too choosy. Only thought I'd tell you fellas, seem' as how you
+been ridin' scout and ain't maybe heard the plans. If you want to load
+up, better git into town early. Some of them fast workers from B Company
+are gittin' set...."</p>
+
+<p>"The cap'n know about this?" asked Kirby.</p>
+
+<p>Driscoll shrugged. "He ain't deaf. But the cap'n also knows as how you
+can't be too big a gold-lace officer when you're behind the enemy lines
+with men on the run. We're gonna take Calhoun and take her good!" He
+grinned at the two veterans. "Jus' like we took Mount Sterlin'."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby was sober. "There was a take theah which warn't no good. Somebody
+cleaned out the bank, or else I wasn't hearin' too well afterward. I can
+see some impressin'&mdash;stuff an hombre can put in his belly as paddin',
+an' maybe what he can put on his back. That's fair an' square. The
+Yankees do it too. But takin' a gold watch or money outta a man's
+pants&mdash;now that's somethin' different again."</p>
+
+<p>Driscoll stood up. "Ain't nobody said anything about gold watches or
+money or banks," he replied stiffly. "There's stores in Calhoun, and
+there's men in this heah outfit what needs new shirts or new breeches.
+And since when have you seen any paymaster ridin' down the pike with his
+bags full of bills, not that you can use that paper stuff for anythin'
+like shoppin', anyway!"</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks for the tip," Drew cut in. "We take it kindly."</p>
+
+<p>Driscoll's ruffled feelings appeared soothed. "Jus' thought you boys
+oughta know. Me, I have in mind gittin' maybe two or three cans of them
+peaches like we got from the sutler's wagon. Them were prime eatin'.
+General store might jus' have some. Yankee crackers are right good, too.
+Say, that theah stud you got, Rennie, how's he workin' out?"</p>
+
+<p>"So far no trouble," Drew remarked. "Only I'm lookin' for a trade&mdash;maybe
+in town."</p>
+
+<p>"Trade? Why ever a trade?"</p>
+
+<p>"We got a couple of river crossin's comin' up ahead," the scout
+explained. "And one of them is a good big stretch of deep water&mdash;you
+don't go wadin' across the Tennessee. I don't want to beg for trouble,
+headin' a stud into somethin' as dangerous as that."</p>
+
+<p>Driscoll seemed struck by the wisdom of that precaution. "Now I heard
+tell," he chimed in eagerly, "as how a mule is a right sure-footed
+critter for a river crossin'. An' a good ridin' mule could suit a man
+fine&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"A mule!" Boyd exploded, outraged. But Drew considered the suggestion
+calmly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll keep a lookout in town. May be swappin' for that mule yet,
+Driscoll. You'll have to pick up my share of peaches if that's the way
+it's goin' to be."</p>
+
+<p>There were more plans laid for the taking of Calhoun as the hours passed
+and the harried company plodded or spurred&mdash;depending upon the nature of
+the countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their general
+state of energy at the time&mdash;southwest across the length of Kentucky.
+Days became not collections of hours they could remember one by one
+afterward, but a series of incidents embedded in a nightmare of hard
+riding, scanty fare, and constant movement. Not only horses were giving
+out now; they dropped men along the way. And some&mdash;like Cambridge and
+Hilders&mdash;vanished completely, either cut off when they went to "trade"
+mounts, or deserting the troop in favor of their own plans for survival.</p>
+
+<p>The remaining men burst into Calhoun as a cloud of locusts descending on
+a field of unprotected vegetation. Drew did not know how much Union
+sentiment might exist there, but he judged that their actions would not
+leave too many friends behind them. Jugs had appeared, to be passed
+eagerly from hand to hand, and the contents of store shelves were swept
+up and out before the outraged owners could protest.</p>
+
+<p>It had showered that morning, leaving puddles of mud and water in the
+unpaved streets. And at one place there was a mud fight in
+progress&mdash;laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the new
+clothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud's
+prancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitching
+rail before the largest store.</p>
+
+<p>A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching the
+excitement in the street. As Drew came up the man glanced at the scout,
+surveying his shabbiness, and his mouth took on the harsh line of a
+sneer.</p>
+
+<p>"Want a new suit, soldier?" he demanded. "Just help yourself! You're
+late in gettin' to it...."</p>
+
+<p>Drew leaned against the wall of the store front. He was so tired that
+the effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed,
+fought over selections, was too much to face. This was just another part
+of the never-ending nightmare which had entrapped them ever since they
+had fled from the bank of the Licking at Cynthiana. Listlessly he
+watched one trooper snatch a coat from another, drag it on triumphantly
+over a shirt which was a fringe of tatters. He plucked at the front of
+his own grimy shirt, and then felt around in the pocket he had so
+laboriously stitched beneath the belt of his breeches, to bring out one
+creased and worn bill. Spreading it out, he offered it to the man beside
+him. To loot an army warehouse was fair play as he saw it. Morgan's
+command had long depended upon Union commissaries for equipment,
+clothing, and food. And a horse trade was something forced upon him by
+expediency. But he still shrank from this kind of foraging.</p>
+
+<p>"A shirt?" he asked wearily.</p>
+
+<p>The man glanced from that crumpled bill to Drew's tired face and then
+back again. The sneer faded. He reached out, closed the scout's fingers
+tight over the money.</p>
+
+<p>"That's just wastepaper here, son. Come on!" Catching hold of Drew's
+sleeve so tightly that the worn calico gave in a rip, he guided the
+other into the store, drawing him along behind a counter until he
+reached down into the shadows and came up with a pile of shirts, some
+flannel, some calico, and one Drew thought was linen.</p>
+
+<p>"These look about your size. Take 'em! You might as well have them. Some
+of these fellows will just tear them up for the fun of it."</p>
+
+<p>Drew fumbled with the pile, a flannel, the linen, and two calico. He
+could cram that many into his saddlebags. But the store owner thrust the
+whole bundle into his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"Go ahead, take 'em all! They ain't goin' to leave 'em, anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks!" Drew clutched the collection to his chest and edged back along
+the wall, avoiding a spirited fight now in progress in the center of
+the store. Mud-spattered men came bursting back, wanting to change their
+now ruined clothing for fresh. Drew stiff-armed one reeling, singing
+trooper out of his path and was gone before the drunken man could resent
+such handling. With the shirts still balled between forearm and chest,
+he led King away from the store.</p>
+
+<p>"Ovah heah!"</p>
+
+<p>That hail in a familiar voice brought Drew's head around. Kirby waved to
+him vigorously from a doorway, and the scout obediently rehitched King
+to another rack, joining the Texan in what proved to be the village
+barber-shop.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby was stripped to the waist, using a towel freely sopped in a large
+basin to make his toilet. His face was already scraped clean of beard,
+and his hair plastered down into better order than Drew had ever seen
+it, while violent scents of bay rum and fancy tonics fought it out in
+the small room.</p>
+
+<p>"What you got there?" Boyd looked up from a second basin, a froth of
+soap hiding most of his face.</p>
+
+<p>"Shirts&mdash;" Drew dropped his bundle on a chair. He was staring, appalled,
+into the stretch of mirror confronting him, unable to believe that the
+face reflected there was his own. Skinning his hat onto a shelf, he
+moved purposefully toward the row of basins, ripping off his old shirt
+as he went.</p>
+
+<p>Where the barber had gone they never did know, but a half hour later
+they made some sweeping attempts to clean up the mess to which their
+efforts at personal cleanliness had reduced the shop, pleased once more
+with what they saw now in the mirror. They had divided the shirts, and
+while the fit was not perfect, they were satisfied with the windfall.
+Before he left the shop Kirby swept a half dozen cakes of soap into his
+haversack.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd was already balancing a bigger sack, full to the top.</p>
+
+<p>"Peaches, molasses, crackers, pickles," he enumerated his treasure trove
+to Drew. "We got us some real eats."</p>
+
+<p>"Hey, you&mdash;Rennie!" As they emerged from the barber-shop Driscoll
+trotted up. "The cap'n wants to see you. He's on the other side of
+town&mdash;at the smithy."</p>
+
+<p>Boyd and Kirby trailed along as Drew obeyed that summons. They found
+Campbell giving orders to the smith's volunteer aides, some engaged with
+the owner of the shop in shoeing the raiders' horses, others making up
+bundles of shoes to be slung from the saddles as they rode out.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie"&mdash;the captain waved him out of the rush and clamor of the
+smithy&mdash;"I want you to listen to this. You&mdash;Hart&mdash;come here!" One of the
+men bundling horseshoes dropped the set he was tying together and came.</p>
+
+<p>"Hart, here, comes from Cadiz. Know where that is?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew closed his eyes for a moment, the better to visualize the map he
+tried to carry in his head. But Cadiz&mdash;he couldn't place the town. "No,
+suh."</p>
+
+<p>"It's south, close to the Tennessee line and not too far from the big
+river. There's just one thing which may be important about it; it has a
+bank and Hart thinks that there are Union Army funds there. We still
+have a long way to go, and Union currency could help. Only," Campbell
+spoke with slow emphasis, "I want this understood. We take army funds
+only. This may just be a rumor, but it is necessary to scout in that
+direction anyway."</p>
+
+<p>"You want me to find out about the funds and the river crossin' near
+there?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's up to you, Rennie. Hart's willin' to ride with you."</p>
+
+<p>"I'll go." He thought the bank plan was a wild one, but they did have to
+have a safe route to the river.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll move out as soon as possible. We'll be on our way as soon as we
+have these horses shod."</p>
+
+<p>Drew doubted that. What he had seen in the streets suggested that it was
+not going to be easy to pry most of the company out of Calhoun in a
+hurry, but that was Campbell's problem. "I'll need couriers," he said
+aloud. It was an advance scout's privilege to have riders to send back
+with information.</p>
+
+<p>Campbell hesitated as if he would protest and then agreed. "You have men
+picked?"</p>
+
+<p>"Kirby and Barrett. Kirby's had scout experience; Barrett knows part of
+this country and rides light."</p>
+
+<p>"All right, Kirby and Barrett. You ready to ride, Hart?"</p>
+
+<p>The other trooper nodded, picked up a set of extra horseshoes, and went
+out of the smithy. Campbell had one last word for Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll angle south from here to hit the Cumberland River some ten miles
+north of Cadiz, Hart knows where. This time of year it ought to be easy
+crossin'. But the Tennessee&mdash;" he shook his head&mdash;"that is goin' to be
+the hard one. Learn all you can about conditions and where it's best to
+hit that...."</p>
+
+<p>Drew found Hart already mounted, Kirby and Boyd waiting.</p>
+
+<p>"Hart says we're ridin' out," the Texan said. "Goin' to cover the high
+lines?"</p>
+
+<p>"Scout, yes. South of here. River crossin's comin' up."</p>
+
+<p>"No time for shadin' in this man's war," Kirby observed.</p>
+
+<p>"Shadin'?" Boyd repeated as a question.</p>
+
+<p>"Sittin' nice an' easy under a tree while some other poor hombre prowls
+around the herd," Kirby translated. "It's a kinda restin' I ain't had
+much of lately. Nor like to...."</p>
+
+<p>They put Calhoun behind them, and Hart led them cross-country. But at
+each new turn of the back country roads Drew added another line or two
+on the map he sketched in on paper which Boyd surprisingly produced from
+his bulging sack of loot.</p>
+
+<p>The younger boy looked self-conscious as he handed it over. "Thought as
+how I might want to write a letter."</p>
+
+<p>Drew studied him. "You do that!" He made it an order. There had been no
+chance to leave Boyd in Calhoun. But there was still Cadiz as a
+possibility. He did not believe this vague story about Union gold in the
+bank. And the company might never enter the town in force at all. So
+that Boyd, left behind, would not attract the unfavorable attention of
+the authorities.</p>
+
+<p>It began to rain again, and the roads were mire traps. As they struggled
+on into evening Kirby found a barn which appeared to be out by itself
+with no house in attendance. The door was wedged open with a drift of
+undisturbed soil and Boyd, exploring into a ragged straggle of brush in
+search of a well, reported a house cellar hole. The place must be
+abandoned and so safe.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll be in Cadiz tomorrow," Hart said.</p>
+
+<p>"An' how do we ride in?" Kirby wanted to know. "Another
+bearer-of-the-flag stunt?"</p>
+
+<p>"Is Cadiz a Union town?" Drew asked Hart.</p>
+
+<p>The other laughed. "Not much, it ain't. This is tobacco country; you
+seen that for yourself today. An' there's guerrillas to give the Yankees
+trouble. They hole up in the Brelsford Caves, six or seven miles outta
+town. We can ride right in, and there ain't nobody gonna care."</p>
+
+<p>"Nice to know these things ahead'a time," Kirby remarked. "So we ride
+in&mdash;lookin' for what?"</p>
+
+<p>Hart glanced at Drew but remained silent. The scout shrugged.
+"Information about the rivers and any stray garrison news. You have kin
+here, Hart?"</p>
+
+<p>"Some." But the other did not elaborate on that.</p>
+
+<p>Drew was thinking about those guerrillas; their presence did not match
+Hart's story about the Yankee gold in the bank. Such irregulars would
+have been after that long ago. He didn't know why Hart had pitched
+Campbell such a tale, but he was dubious about the whole setup now.
+Better make this a quick trip in&mdash;and out&mdash;of town.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c7" id="c7"></a>7</h2>
+
+<h3><i>A Mule for a River</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>For a Confederate patrol, they looked respectable enough as they rode
+into Cadiz. Though they lacked the uniformity of a Yankee squad, their
+dark shirts, "impressed" breeches, and good boots gave an impression of
+a common dress, and Kirby had even acquired a hat.</p>
+
+<p>They slung their captured rifles before entering town and progressed at
+a quiet amble which suggested good will. But there was no mistaking the
+fact that they attracted attention, immediately and to some purpose. A
+small boy, balancing on a fence, put his fingers to his mouth and
+released a piercing whistle.</p>
+
+<p>King's response to that was vigorous. Rearing, until he stood almost
+upright on his hind feet, the stallion pawed the air. Drew barely kept
+his seat. He fought with all his knowledge of horsemanship to bring the
+stud back to earth and under control. And he could hear Kirby's laugh
+and Boyd calling out some inarticulate warning or advice.</p>
+
+<p>"Better git that mule&mdash;or run down this one's mainspring some," the
+Texan said when Drew had King again with four feet on the ground, though
+weaving in a sideways dance.</p>
+
+<p>"You men&mdash;what are you doing here?" A horseman looked over the heads of
+the crowd to the four troopers.</p>
+
+<p>"Passin' through, suh. Leastwise we was, until greeted&mdash;" Kirby answered
+courteously.</p>
+
+<p>Drew assessed the questioner's well-cut riding clothes, his good linen,
+and fine gloves. The rider was middle-aged, his authority more evident
+because of that fact. This was either one of the wealthy planters of the
+district or some important inhabitant of Cadiz. There was a wagon
+drawing up behind him, a span of well-cared-for mules in harness with a
+Negro driver.</p>
+
+<p>The mules held Drew's attention. King's reaction to that sudden whistle
+was a warning. He had no wish to ride such an animal into a picket
+skirmish. The sleekness of the mules appealed to his desire to rid
+himself of the unmanageable stud.</p>
+
+<p>Now he edged the sidling King closer to the wagon. The driver watched
+him with apprehension. Whether he guessed Drew's intention or whether he
+dreaded the near approach of the stallion was a question which did not
+bother the scout.</p>
+
+<p>"You there," Drew hailed the driver. "I'll take one of those mules!"</p>
+
+<p>As always, he hated these enforced trades and spoke in a peremptory way,
+wanting to get the matter finished.</p>
+
+<p>"You, suh&mdash;" the solid citizen turned his horse to face the scout&mdash;"what
+gives you the right to take that mule?"</p>
+
+<p>With a visible sigh of relief, the Negro relaxed on the driver's seat,
+willing to let the other carry on the argument.</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing, except I have to have a mount I can depend upon." Drew did not
+know why he was explaining, or even why he wanted the mule so acutely
+right now. Except that he was tired, tired of the days in the saddle, of
+being on the run, of these small Kentucky towns into which they rode to
+loot and ride off again. The Yankees in Bardstown had been fair game,
+and their bluff there had been an adventure. But Calhoun left a sour
+taste in his mouth, and he didn't like the vague order which had brought
+him to Cadiz. So his dislike boiled over, to settle into a sullen
+determination to rid himself of one irritation&mdash;this undependable horse.</p>
+
+<p>"Do I assume, suh, that you are part of General Morgan's command?" Sharp
+blue eyes studied Drew across the well-curried backs of the mules.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh."</p>
+
+<p>The man gave a nod, which might have been for some thought of his own.</p>
+
+<p>"We have heard some rumors of your coming, suh," the other continued.
+"You, Nelson," he spoke to the Negro, "take this team up to the livery
+stable and tell Mr. Emory I want Hannibal saddled! Then you bring him
+back here and give him to this gentleman!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh. Hannibal&mdash;wi' saddle&mdash;for this young gentlem'n."</p>
+
+<p>"Hannibal, suh," the man said to Drew, "is a mule, but a remarkable one,
+riding trained and strong. I think you will find him quite usable. Do I
+understand we are about to be favored by a visit from General Morgan?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew dismounted. Now he made a business of squinting up at the sun as if
+to tell time. "Not for a while, suh." He remained cautious; though he
+guessed that his questioner's sympathies were at least not openly Union.</p>
+
+<p>There was a stir in the gathering crowd. Hart was leaning from his
+saddle, talking earnestly to two men flanking him on either side.</p>
+
+<p>"May I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen. I am James Pryor, at your
+service&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Automatically Drew responded to the manners of Red Springs. "Drew
+Rennie, suh. Anson Kirby, Boyd Barrett...." He looked around for Hart,
+only to see the other disappearing into an alley with his two companions
+from the crowd.</p>
+
+<p>"Suh, that's a right heartenin' offer," Kirby said, smiling. "Trail dust
+sure does make a man's throat dryer'n an alkali flat!"</p>
+
+<p>"Mark Hale over here has just the answer for that difficulty, gentlemen.
+If you will accompany me&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>They left the glare of the sunlit street, following their host into a
+small shop where a quantity of strange smells fought for supremacy.
+Kirby stared about him puzzled, but his look changed to an expression of
+pure bafflement and outrage as Pryor gave his order to the smaller man
+who came from a back room.</p>
+
+<p>"Mark, these gentlemen need some of that good lemonade you make&mdash;if you
+have some cold and ready."</p>
+
+<p>Drew heard Kirby's muffled snort of protest and wanted so badly to laugh
+that the struggle to choke off that sound was a pain in his chest. Mr.
+Pryor smiled at them blandly.</p>
+
+<p>"M' boys, nothing better on a really hot day than some of Mark's
+lemonade. Nothing like it in this part of Kentucky. Ah, that looks like
+a draft fit for the gods, Mark, it certainly does!"</p>
+
+<p>Hale had bobbed out of his inner room again, shepherding before him a
+Negro boy who walked with exaggerated caution, balancing a tray on which
+stood four tall glasses, beaded with visible moisture. There was a
+sprig of green mint standing sentry in each.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink up, gentlemen." Under Mr. Pryor's commanding eye they each took a
+glass and a first sip.</p>
+
+<p>But it was good&mdash;cool as it went slipping down the throat bearing that
+blessed chill with it, tart on the tongue, and fresh. Drew had sipped,
+but now he gulped, and he noted over the rim of his own glass, that
+Kirby was following his example. Mr. Pryor consumed his portion at a
+more genteel rate of intake.</p>
+
+<p>"This allays that trail dust of yours, Mr. Kirby?" He inquired with no
+more than usual solicitude, but there was a faint trace of amusement in
+his small smile.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby met the challenge promptly. "Ably, suh, ably!" He raised his
+half-filled glass. "To your very good health, suh. I don't know when
+I've had me a more satisfyin' drink!"</p>
+
+<p>Pryor bowed. He was still smiling as he glanced at Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"You have business in Cadiz, suh? Beyond that of swapping that
+firebreather of yours for another mount, I mean? Perhaps I can be of
+service in some other way...."</p>
+
+<p>Drew cradled his glass in both hands. The condensing moisture made it
+slippery, but the chill was pleasant to feel.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you have any news about the Cumberland River, suh?" he asked. Pryor
+might have usable information, and there was no reason to disguise that
+part of their objective. Short of turning about and fighting their way
+through about a quarter of the aroused Yankee army, the fugitives did
+have to cross the Cumberland and the Tennessee, and do both soon.</p>
+
+<p>"The Cumberland, suh, is not apt to give you much trouble." Pryor sipped
+at his glass with a relish. "If, of course, you contemplate a try at the
+Tennessee&mdash;that will be a different matter. I trust your commander will
+be amply prepared for difficulties there. But General Morgan is not to
+be easily caught napping, or so his reputation stands. I wish you the
+best of luck."</p>
+
+<p>"Is that your horse out there, young man?" the proprietor of the
+drugstore addressed Drew. "That big stallion?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew put his glass on the counter and spun around. "What's he doin'
+now?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," Hale returned quickly. "Ransome!" Out of nowhere Hale's
+servant appeared. "Get the saddlebags from that horse."</p>
+
+<p>Surprised at this highhanded demand for his property, Drew waited for
+enlightenment. When Ransome returned with the bags, Hale took them,
+moved quickly to a cabinet, and unlocked it. By handfulls he took small
+boxes from the shelves inside, added some paper packets, and then
+buckled the straps tightly over the new bulge.</p>
+
+<p>"I understand," he said in his dry, precise voice, "there is a pressing
+need for quinine, morphine, and the like in the South?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew could only nod as Hale held out the bags.</p>
+
+<p>"Give this to your surgeon, young man, with my compliments. There is
+little enough we can do, but this is something."</p>
+
+<p>Drew stammered his thanks, knowing that those boxes and packets crammed
+into his bags meant a fortune to a blockade runner, but far more to men
+in the improvised hospitals behind the gray lines. Hale waved away
+Drew's thanks, adding only a last warning: "Keep your bags dry if you
+contemplate a river crossing! I would like to make sure that those drugs
+do reach the right hands intact."</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie!" Hart hailed him from the door. "There's a boy here with a
+mule; he says it's for you."</p>
+
+<p>Pryor put down his glass. "It's Hannibal. I think you will find him
+acceptable, suh. An even-tempered animal for the most part, and the
+surest-footed one I have ever ridden."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you do <i>ride</i> him?" Boyd spoke for the first time.</p>
+
+<p>"Naturally he has been ridden&mdash;by me. I would not offer him otherwise,
+suh!" Pryor's flash of indignation was quick. "Hannibal's dam was Dido,
+a fine trotting mare. He's an excellent mount."</p>
+
+<p>The mule stood in the street, ears slightly forward, eyeing King warily.
+He was a big animal, groomed until his gray coat shone under the sun,
+wearing a well rubbed and oiled saddle and trappings. As Drew approached
+he lowered his head, sniffing inquiringly at the scout.</p>
+
+<p>"Your new master, Hannibal," Pryor addressed the animal with the gravity
+of one making a formal introduction. "You are about to be mustered into
+the cavalry."</p>
+
+<p>Hannibal appeared to consider this and then shook his big head up and
+down in a vigorous nod. Boyd laughed and Kirby offered vocal
+encouragement.</p>
+
+<p>"Mount up an' see if you have to go smoothin' out any humps."</p>
+
+<p>"If you're goin' to ride that critter, git on!" Hart called. His tone
+expressed urgency as if he had learned something in town which should
+send them out of Cadiz in a hurry.</p>
+
+<p>Drew's previous experience with mules had not been as a rider. He had
+heard plenty about their sure-footedness, their ability to keep going as
+pack animals and wagon teams when horses gave out, their intelligence,
+as well as that stubbornness which lay on the darker side of the scales.
+He advanced on Hannibal now a little distrustfully, settling into the
+saddle on the animal's back with the care of one expecting some
+unpleasant reaction. But Hannibal merely swung his head about as if to
+make sure by sight, as well as pressure of weight on his back, that his
+rider was safely aloft.</p>
+
+<p>Relaxing, Drew saluted Pryor. "My thanks to you, suh."</p>
+
+<p>"Think nothing of it, young man. Luck to you&mdash;all of you."</p>
+
+<p>"That we can use, suh," Kirby returned. "Adios...."</p>
+
+<p>Hart's impatience was so patent that Drew had only hasty thanks for Hale
+before the trooper had them on their way out of town. When they were at
+a trot Kirby joined their guide.</p>
+
+<p>"How come you workin' on your critter's rump with a double of rope? Git
+sight of some blue belly hangin' out to dry-gulch us?"</p>
+
+<p>"We ain't too welcome hereabouts." Hart did look worried, and Drew was
+alert.</p>
+
+<p>"Yankees?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>Hart shook his head. "Just some of the boys; they don't want no
+attention pulled this way, not right now."</p>
+
+<p>The bank money&mdash;and the guerrillas. Yes, holding up the Cadiz bank if
+and when any gold reached there, would appeal to the local irregulars,
+who might be so irregular as to be on the cold side of the law, even in
+wartime with the enemy their victim. Drew fitted one piece to another
+and thought he could guess the full pattern.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby looked from one to the other. Boyd was completely at a loss. A
+moment later the Texan spoke again.</p>
+
+<p>"Me, I'm never one to argue with local talent, specially if they wear
+their Colts low and loose. Doin' that is apt to make a man wolf meat.
+Wheah to now&mdash;this heah river?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew nodded. The Cumberland must be scouted. And, after that, the more
+formidable barrier of the Tennessee. He had not needed Pryor's warning
+about the latter. Ever since they had left Bardstown and knew they were
+headed for that barrier, Drew had been carrying worry at the back of his
+mind.</p>
+
+<p>But Pryor was also right about the Cumberland. Hart agreed to ride back
+to the company with the information to direct them to the best crossing.
+While Drew, Kirby, and Boyd went on to the last barrier between them and
+eventual escape southwest.</p>
+
+<p>Here the Tennessee was a flood, a narrow lake more than a river. As they
+traveled its eastern bank Boyd halted now and again to study the waste
+of water dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>"It's wide," he said in a subdued voice. Kirby spat accurately at a leaf
+drifting just below.</p>
+
+<p>"Need us some fish fixin's heah," he agreed. "You swim?" he asked the
+other two.</p>
+
+<p>There had been ponds at home where both of them in childhood had paddled
+about with most of the young male populations of Red Springs and Oak
+Hill. But whether they could trust that somewhat limited skill to get
+them over this flood was another matter.</p>
+
+<p>"Some." Boyd appeared to have discovered caution.</p>
+
+<p>"Me, I'm not sayin' yet," Kirby commented. "Splashin' 'round some in a
+little-bitty wadin' pool, an' gittin' out in this, don't balance none.
+Ain't every hoss takes kindly to water, neither. I'd say we'd better see
+what's the chances of knockin' together a raft or somethin'. 'Less we
+can find us a boat."</p>
+
+<p>But boats were not to be found, unless they were willing to risk
+discovery by trying to cross near a well-settled district. And when
+Captain Campbell joined them that afternoon he insisted on the need of
+speed over a longer reconnaissance.</p>
+
+<p>"The Yankees are closing in," he told the trio by the river. "If we try
+to cross at a town, they'll have a point to center on. Rafts, yes, we
+can try to build rafts&mdash;have to ferry over the men who can't swim, and
+our gear. This is the time we must push&mdash;fast."</p>
+
+<p>The remote section of bank which Drew had chosen became a scene of
+activity as the company came in&mdash;a tight bunch&mdash;not long after Campbell.
+The stragglers came later, pushing beat-out horses, one or two riding
+double. They had no tools other than bowie knives, and their attempts at
+raft-building were not only awkward but in the most cases futile. When
+they did have a mat which would stick together after a fashion, they
+were determined to put it to the test at once.</p>
+
+<p>None of them had much practice in getting horses over such a wide body
+of water, and there were a great many freely voiced suggestions
+concerning the best methods.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby stood watching the first attempt, his face blank of expression, a
+sign Drew had come to recognize as the Texan's withdrawal from a
+situation or action of which he did not approve. There were five men
+squeezed together on the flimsy-looking raft and they had strung out
+their mounts in a line, the head of one horse linked by leading rope to
+the tail of the one before him.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't think it's goin' to work?" Drew asked Kirby.</p>
+
+<p>The Texan shrugged. "Maybe, only hosses don't think like men. An' a
+lotta hosses don't take kindly to gittin' wheah theah ain't no footin'.
+Me, I want to see a little more, 'fore I roll out&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby's misgivings were amply justified. For that first voyage was
+doomed to a tragic and speedy end. The second horse in line, losing
+footing as the river bed fell away beneath him, reared in fright, caught
+his forefeet over the rope linking him to his fellow, and so jerked his
+head underwater by his own frenzied struggles. Before the men on the
+wildly dipping raft were able to cut the now fright-maddened animals
+loose, three in that string had drowned themselves by their uncontrolled
+plunges, and the others were being dragged under.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd dived from the upper bank before Drew could stop him. It was
+madness to go anywhere near the struggling horses. But somehow Boyd's
+blond head broke water at the side of the last gasping animal. He took a
+grip on the water-logged mane, his body bobbing up and down with the
+jerks of the horse's forequarters, until he had sawed through the lead
+cord and was able to start the mount back toward the shore, swimming
+beside him.</p>
+
+<p>Drew was waiting with Kirby to give Boyd a hand up the bank.</p>
+
+<p>"You could have been pulled under!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd was grinning. "But I wasn't. And the horse's all right, too." He
+patted the wet haunch of the shivering animal. "That was bad&mdash;they
+pulled each other down."</p>
+
+<p>It was a disheartening beginning. But as the hours slipped by they had
+better success. One horse, two, three could be towed on separate ropes
+behind the raft. And in the morning there was a cockleshell of a boat
+oared in by one of the men who had found it downriver.</p>
+
+<p>They had ferried and crossed well into the dusk of the evening. And at
+the first dawn they were at it again. Drew tried to remember how many
+times he had made that trip, swimming or rowing, always with some mount
+as his special charge. More than half the company had sworn they could
+not swim, and so the burden of the transfer fell upon their fellows.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie&mdash;" That was Campbell climbing up from the raft after another
+weary passage across. "There's trouble on the other side. You've been
+using that mule of yours to get some of the horses over, haven't you?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew was so tired that words were too much trouble to shape. He nodded
+dully. Pryor had been right about Hannibal. The big mule had not only
+taken his own passage across the Tennessee as a matter-of-course
+proceeding, but had shouldered and urged along three horses as he went.
+And twice since then Drew had taken him back and forth to bring in
+skittish mounts causing trouble.</p>
+
+<p>"That horse of mine's running wild; he broke out of the water twice."
+The captain caught at Drew's bare arm so hard his nails cut. "Think you
+could get him over with the mule's help?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew wavered a little as he walked slowly to where he had picketed
+Hannibal after their last trip. He was tired, and although he had eaten
+earlier that morning, he was hungry again. It was warm and the sun was
+climbing, but the air felt chill against his naked body and he shivered.
+The one thing they were all getting out of this river business, Drew
+decided, were much-needed baths.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby, his body white save for tanned face and throat, sun-darkened
+hands and wrists, crouched on the raft as Drew brought Hannibal down to
+that unwieldy craft.</p>
+
+<p>"Tryin' for the cap'n's hoss?"</p>
+
+<p>"What's wrong with it?" Drew helped the Texan push off.</p>
+
+<p>"Reaches no bottom, an' then it plain warps its backbone tryin' to paw
+down the sky. Maybe that mule can git some sense into the loco critter.
+But I'm not buyin' no chips on his doin' it."</p>
+
+<p>Drew located Campbell's horse, a rangy, good-looking gray which reminded
+him a little of the colt he had seen at Red Springs, snorting and
+trotting back and forth along the path they had worn on the banks during
+their efforts of the past twenty-four hours. One of the rear guard held
+its lead rope and kept as far from the skittish animal as he could.</p>
+
+<p>"He's plumb mean," the guardian informed Drew. "When he jumps, get out
+from under&mdash;quick!"</p>
+
+<p>Yet when Drew, mounted on Hannibal now, brought the horse down to the
+water's edge, the horse appeared to go willingly enough. The scout
+tossed the lead rope to Kirby, waiting until the raft pushed off with
+its load of men and fringe of horses, then took to the river beside
+Campbell's horse. When they reached the deeper section he saw the gray
+go into action.</p>
+
+<p>Rearing, the horse appeared about to try to climb onto the raft. And the
+man holding its lead rope dropped it quickly. Drew, swimming, one hand
+on Hannibal's powerful shoulder, tried to guide the mule toward the
+horse that was still splashing up and down in a rocking-horse movement.
+But the mule veered suddenly, and Drew saw those threatening hoofs loom
+over his own head. He pushed away frantically, but too late to miss a
+numbing blow as one hoof grazed his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow, with his other hand outflung, he caught Hannibal's rope tail
+and held on with all the strength he had left, while the water washed in
+and out of a long raw gouge in the skin and muscles of his upper arm.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c8" id="c8"></a>8</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Happy Birthday, Soldier!</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"No water here either." Boyd climbed up the bank of what might once have
+been a promising stream. Carrying three canteens, he ran the tip of his
+tongue over his lips unhappily. "It sure is hot!"</p>
+
+<p>They had turned off the road, which was now filled with men, horses,
+men, artillery, and men, all slogging purposefully forward. They
+composed an army roused out before daylight, on the move toward another
+army holed in behind a breastworks and waiting. And over all, the
+exhausting blanket of mid-July heat which pressed to squeeze all the
+vital juices out of both man and animal.</p>
+
+<p>Drew touched his aching arm soothingly. It still hurt, although the
+rawness had healed during the weeks between that turbulent crossing of
+the Tennessee and this morning in Mississippi as they moved at the Union
+position on the ridge above the abandoned ghost town of Harrisburg. The
+remnant of Morgan fugitives, some eighty strong, had fallen in with
+General Bedford Forrest's ranging scouts at Corinth, and had ridden
+still farther southward to join his main army just on the eve of what
+promised to be a big battle.</p>
+
+<p>"Hot!" echoed Kirby. "A man could git hisself killed today an' never
+know no difference."</p>
+
+<p>They were reluctant to re-enter the stream progressing along the road.
+The dust was ankle-deep there, choking thick when stirred by feet and
+hoof to a powdery cloud. In contrast, there were no clouds in the sky,
+and the sun promised to be a ball of brass very soon.</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday had been as punishing. Men wilted in the road, overcome by
+heat and lack of water. If there ever had been any moisture in this
+country, it had long ago been boiled away. The very leaves were brittle
+and grayish-looking where they weren't inches deep in dust.</p>
+
+<p>As of last night, the Morgan men were an addition to Crossland's
+Kentuckians under General Buford. The speech of the blue grass was
+familiar, but nothing yet had made them a part of this new army with
+which they marched.</p>
+
+<p>Drew reached for one of the canteens. His worry over Boyd, dulled by the
+passing of time, stirred sluggishly. The other had kept up the grueling
+pace which had brought the fugitives across half of Kentucky, all of
+Tennessee, and into this new eddy of war, making no complaint after his
+first harsh introduction to action&mdash;which might be in part an adventure,
+but which was mostly something to be endured&mdash;with the dogged
+stubbornness of a seasoned veteran. And Boyd had manifestly toughened in
+that process. After Drew's mishap in the river, Boyd had accepted
+responsibility, helping to keep the scout in the saddle and riding, even
+when Drew had been bemused by a day or two of fever, unaware of either
+their enforced pace or their destination.</p>
+
+<p>No, somewhere along the line of retreat Drew had stopped worrying about
+Boyd. And now, with the youngster already appointed horse holder for the
+day's battle, he need not think of him engulfed in action. Though any
+fighting future was decided mainly by the capricious chance which struck
+one man down and allowed his neighbor to march on unscathed.</p>
+
+<p>"You men&mdash;over there&mdash;close up!" A officer, hardly to be distinguished
+from the men he rode among, waved them back to the column. Then they
+were dismounting. As Drew handed Hannibal over to Boyd's care, he was
+glad again that the other was safely behind the battle line moving up in
+the thin woods.</p>
+
+<p>During the night the enemy had thrown together the breastworks on the
+ridge, weaving together axed trees, timbers torn out of the abandoned
+houses of the village&mdash;anything the Union leader could commandeer for
+such use. And between that improvised fortification and the cover in
+which the Confederates now waited was a section of open ground, varying
+in width with the wanderings of a now dry river. Where the Kentuckians
+were stationed, there must have stretched about three hundred yards of
+that open, Drew estimated, and the woods bordering it on this side were
+so thin that any charge would take them into plain sight for five
+hundred yards of approach.</p>
+
+<p>Fieldpieces brought into line on the woods side, hidden above by the
+breastworks, opened up in a dull <i>pom-pom</i> duel. Drew saw a shell strike
+earth not far away, bounce twice, still intact, and roll on toward the
+Confederate lines.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>zip-zip</i> of the Mini&eacute;s had not yet begun. And this waiting was the
+hardest part of all. Drew tried to pin all his powers of concentration
+on a study of the ground immediately before him, the slope up which they
+would have to win in order to have it out with the now hidden enemy. He
+made himself calculate just which path to take when the orders to charge
+came. Although his arm prevented his using a carbine or rifle, his two
+Colts were loaded, and one was in his hand. He glanced around.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby? There was a Morgan trooper next&mdash;Drew tried to remember his name.
+Laswell ... Townstead ... no, Clinton! Tom Clinton. He'd done picket
+duty with Drew. And beyond Clinton&mdash;there was Kirby, his lips pulled
+tight in what might have been a grin, but which Drew thought was not.
+Then ... Boyd! But Boyd was back with the horses; he had to be!</p>
+
+<p>Drew edged forward a little, trying to see better. If it were Boyd, he
+had to wrench him out of that line and get the boy back. A hot emotion
+close to panic boiled up in Drew.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere, through the pound of the artillery, a bugle blared. And
+Drew's muscles obeyed that call, even as he still tried to see who was
+fourth in line from him.</p>
+
+<p>Slowly at first, they were on the move. The sun was up, shining directly
+into their faces. But in spite of the glare, they could still see the
+Union works and the flash of guns along it. They were moving faster,
+coming to a trot. Officers shouted here and there, trying to slow that
+steady advance&mdash;why?</p>
+
+<p>Then, drowning out the bugles, the mutter and roar of the artillery,
+came the Yell. Their shambling trot quickened. Men were running now,
+forming a great wave to lick up at the breastworks. Men in that line did
+not know&mdash;or care&mdash;that they were moving without the promised support on
+right and left; they did not hear the disturbed orders of the officers
+still striving to slow them, to wrench them back into a battle plan
+already too broken to mend. All they cared about now was the field clear
+for running, the weapons in their hands, the enemy waiting under the hot
+morning sun.</p>
+
+<p>Drew never remembered afterward that splendid useless charge except as
+chaos. He could not have told just when they were caught in a murderous
+crossfire which poured canister at their undefended flanks. A man went
+down before him, stumbling. The scout caught his foot against the
+writhing body, pitched head forward, and struck on his bad arm. For a
+moment or two the stabbing pain of that made the world red and black.
+Then Drew was up on one knee again, just in time to realize foggily that
+the Yankees were ripping at their flanks, that their charge was pocketed
+by lead and steel, being wiped out. He steadied his gun hand on the
+crook of his injured arm, tried to find some target, then fired
+feverishly without one, the gun's recoil sending shivers of pain through
+his whole shoulder and side.</p>
+
+<p>The first wave of men had great gaps torn in its length. But those
+remaining on their feet still ran up the slope, screaming their
+defiance. A handful reached the breastworks. Drew saw one man by some
+strange fortune scramble to the top of that timber wall, stand balanced
+for a moment in triumph to take aim at a target below as if he himself
+were invulnerable, and then plunge, as might a diver cleaving a pool,
+out of sight on the other side.</p>
+
+<p>Men faltered, the fire was breaking them, crumpling up the lines. All
+the Union might was concentrated in a lead-and-canister hail on the
+remnants of the brigade, making of the slope a holocaust in which
+nothing human could continue to advance.</p>
+
+<p>But new lines of gray-brown came steadily from the woodland, racing,
+yelling, steadfast in their determination to storm that barricade and
+pluck out the Yankees with their hands. They were wild men, with no
+thought of personal safety. A color bearer went down. His standard was
+seized by his right rank man before its red folds hit the churned,
+stained ground, the soldier flinging aside his rifle to take tight grip
+on the pole. The line came on at a run. Now broken squads of Kentuckians
+re-formed; a battered lacework of what had been companies, regiments,
+joined the newcomers.</p>
+
+<p>Drew was on his feet. Where Kirby or any others of the small Morgan
+contingent had vanished&mdash;whether Boyd <i>had</i> been with them&mdash;he did not
+know. He jammed his now empty Colt into its holster, drew its twin,
+still not wholly aware that the breastworks were too far away for small
+arms' fire to have any effect.</p>
+
+<p>Now the whole world was no larger than that stretch of open ground and
+the breastworks, the men in blue behind them. Only the flanking fire
+still withered the gray lines, curling them up as the sun had withered
+and curled the leaves on the shrubs by the dried stream bed. This was
+walking stiff-legged through a bath of fire&mdash;sun fire, lead-death
+fire&mdash;with no end except the hope of reaching the ridge top and the
+fight waiting there.</p>
+
+<p>But they could not reach that wall&mdash;except singly, or in twos and
+threes, then only to fall. And the waves of men no longer broke from the
+woods to lap up and recede sullenly down the slope. Out of nowhere, just
+as they fell back to the first fringe of trees, came an officer on a
+tall gray horse. His coat was gone, he rode in his shirt sleeves, and a
+bullet-torn tatter waved from one wide shoulder. Above prominent
+cheekbones, his eyes were hot and bright, his clipped beard pointed
+sharply from a jaw which must be grimly set, his face was flushed, and
+his energy and will was like a cloud to engulf the disheartened men as
+he bore down upon them.</p>
+
+<p>His galloping course threaded through the shattered groups of
+Kentuckians, men fast disintegrating into a mob as the realization of
+their failure on the slope began to strike home&mdash;no longer a portion of
+an army believing in itself. But, sighting him, they followed his route
+with a rising wave of cheers&mdash;cheers which even though they came from
+dry throats rose in force and violence to that inarticulate Yell which
+had raised them past all fear up the hill.</p>
+
+<p>From his saddle, the officer leaned to grab at a standard, whirling the
+flag aloft and around his head so that its scarlet length, crossed with
+the starred blue bands, made a tossing splotch of color, to hold and
+draw men's eyes. And now he was shouting, too, somehow his words
+carrying through the uproar in the woods.</p>
+
+<p>"Rally! Rally on colors!"</p>
+
+<p>"Forrest!" A man beside Drew whooped, threw his hat into the air. "The
+old man's here! Forrest!"</p>
+
+<p>They were pulled together about that rider and his waving standard.
+Lines tightened, death-made gaps closed. They steadied, again a fighting
+command and not a crowd of men facing defeat. And having welded that
+force, Forrest did not demand a second charge. He was furiously
+angry&mdash;not with them, Drew sensed&mdash;but with someone or something beyond
+the men crowding about him. It was not until afterward that rumor seeped
+out through the ranks; it had not been Forrest's kind of battle, not his
+plan. And he now had five hundred empty saddles to weight the scales
+after a battle which was not his.</p>
+
+<p>Drew leaned against a bullet-clipped tree. Men were at work with some of
+the same will as had taken them to attack, building a barricade of their
+own, expecting a counterthrust from the enemy. He wiped his sweaty face
+with the back of his hand. His throat was one long dry ache; nowhere had
+he seen a familiar face.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhere among this collection of broken units and scrambled companies
+of survivors he must find his own. He stood away from the tree, fighting
+thirst, weariness, and the shaking reaction from the past few hours, to
+move through the badly mauled force, afraid to allow himself to think
+what&mdash;or who&mdash;might still lie out on the ridge under the white heat of
+the sun.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew rounded a fieldpiece which had been manhandled off the firing line,
+one wheel shattered. He steadied himself against its caisson and turned
+his head with caution, fearing to be downed by the vertigo which seemed
+to strike in waves ever since he had retreated to the cover of the
+woods. He wanted to find the horse lines, to make sure that he had not
+seen Boyd on the field just before the bugle had lifted them all into
+that abortive charge.</p>
+
+<p>It was Driscoll who hailed him. He had a red-stained rag tied about his
+forearm and carried his hand tucked into the half-open front of his
+shirt. Drew walked toward him slowly, feeling oddly detached. He noted
+that the trooper's weathered face had a greenish shade, that his mouth
+was working as if he were trying to shape soundless words.</p>
+
+<p>"Where're the rest?" Drew asked.</p>
+
+<p>Driscoll's good hand motioned to the left. "Four ... five ... some
+there. Standish&mdash;he got it with a shell&mdash;no head ... not any more&mdash;" He
+gave a sound like a giggle, and then his hand went hastily to his mouth
+as he retched dryly.</p>
+
+<p>Drew caught the other's shoulder, shaking him.</p>
+
+<p>"The others!" he demanded more loudly, trying to pierce the curtain of
+shock to Driscoll's thinking mind.</p>
+
+<p>"Four ... five ... some&mdash;" Driscoll repeated. "Standish, he's dead. Did
+I tell you about Standish? A shell came along and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you told me about Standish. Now show me where the others are!"
+Still keeping his shoulder grip, Drew edged Driscoll about until the
+trooper was pointed in the general direction to which he had gestured.
+Now Drew gave the man a push and followed.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie!" That was Captain Campbell. He was kneeling by a man on the
+ground, a canteen in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>Drew lurched forward. He was so sure that that inert casualty was Boyd,
+and that Boyd was dead.</p>
+
+<p>"Boyd&mdash;" he murmured stupidly, refusing to believe his eyes. The man
+lying there had a brush of grayish beard on his chin, a mat of hair
+which moved up and down as he breathed in heavy, panting gasps.</p>
+
+<p>"Boyd?" This time the scout made a question of it.</p>
+
+<p>One of the men in that little group moved. "He got it&mdash;out there."</p>
+
+<p>Drew shifted his weight. He felt as if he were striving to move a body
+as heavy and as inert as that of an unconscious man. It took so long
+even to raise his hand. Before he could question the trooper further,
+another was before him.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby, his powder-blackened face only inches away from that of the man
+he had seized by a handful of shirt front, demanded: "How do you know?"</p>
+
+<p>The man pulled back but not out of Kirby's clutch. "He was right beside
+me. Went down on the slope before we fell back&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>So&mdash;Drew's thinking process was as slow as his weary body&mdash;he had been
+right back there on the field! Boyd had been in the first line, and he
+was still out there.</p>
+
+<p>Again, Drew made one of those careful turns to keep his unsteadiness
+under control. If Boyd was out there, he must be brought back&mdash;now!
+Hands closed on Drew's shoulders, jerking him back so that he collided
+with another body, and was held pinned against his captor.</p>
+
+<p>"You can't go theah now!" Kirby spoke so closely to his ear that the
+words were a roaring in his head. But they did not make sense. Drew
+tried to wrench loose of that hold, the pain in his half-healed arm
+answering. Then there was a period he could not account for at all, and
+suddenly the sun was fading and it was evening. Somebody pushed a
+canteen into his hand, then lifted both hand and canteen for him so that
+he could drink some liquid which was not clear water but thick and
+brackish, evil-tasting, but which moistened his dry mouth and swollen
+tongue.</p>
+
+<p>Through the gathering dusk he could see distant splotches of red and
+yellow&mdash;were they fires? And shells screamed somewhere. Drew held his
+head between his hands and cowered under that beat of noise which
+combined with the pulsation of pain just over his eyes. Men were moving
+around him, and horses. He heard tags of speech, but none of them were
+intelligible.</p>
+
+<p>Was the army pulling out? Drew tried to think coherently. He had
+something to do. It was important! Not here&mdash;where? The boom of the
+field artillery, the flickering of those fires, they confused him,
+making it difficult to sort out his memories.</p>
+
+<p>Again, a canteen appeared before him, but now he pushed it petulantly
+aside. He didn't want a drink; he wanted to think&mdash;to recall what it was
+he had to do.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew&mdash;!" There was a figure, outlined in part by one of those fires,
+squatting beside him. "Can you ride?"</p>
+
+<p>Ride? Where? Why? He had a mule, didn't he? Back in the horse lines.
+Boyd&mdash;he had left the mule with Boyd. Boyd! <i>Now</i> he knew what had to be
+done!</p>
+
+<p>He moved away from the outstretched hand of the man beside him, got to
+his feet, saw the blot of a mount the other was holding. And he caught
+at reins, dragged them from the other's hand before he could resist.</p>
+
+<p>"Boyd!" He didn't know whether he called that name aloud, or whether it
+was one with the beat in his head. Boyd was out on that littered field,
+and Drew was going to bring him in.</p>
+
+<p>Towing the half-seen animal by the reins, Drew started for the fires and
+the boom of the guns.</p>
+
+<p>"All right!" The words came to him hollowly. "But not that way, you're
+loco! This way! The Yankees are burnin' up what's left of the town; that
+ain't the battlefield!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew was ready to resist, but now his own eyes confirmed that. Fire was
+raging among the few remaining buildings of the ghost town, and shells
+were striking at targets pinned in that light, shells from Confederate
+batteries, taking sullen return payment for that disastrous July day.</p>
+
+<p>A lantern bobbed by his side, swinging to the tread of the man carrying
+it. And, as they turned away from the inferno which was consuming
+Harrisburg, Drew saw other such lights in the night, threading along the
+slope. This was the heartbreaking search, among the dead, for the
+living, who might yet be brought back to the agony of the field
+hospitals. He was not the only one hunting through the human wreckage
+tonight.</p>
+
+<p>"I've talked to Johnson," Kirby said. "It'll be like huntin' for a steer
+in the big brush, but we can only try."</p>
+
+<p>They could only try ... Drew thought he was hardened to sights, sounds.
+He had helped bring wounded away from other fields, but somehow this was
+different. Yet, oddly enough, the thought that Boyd could be&mdash;<i>must</i>
+be&mdash;lying somewhere on that slope stiffened Drew, quickened his muscles
+back into obedience, kept him going at a steady pace as he led Hannibal
+carefully through the tangle of the dead. Twice they found and freed the
+still living, saw them carried away by search parties. And they were
+working their way closer to the breastworks.</p>
+
+<p>"Ho&mdash;there&mdash;Johnny!"</p>
+
+<p>The call came out of the dark, out of the wall hiding the Yankee forces.</p>
+
+<p>Drew straightened from a sickening closer look at three who had fallen
+together.</p>
+
+<p>"Johnny!" The call was louder, rising over the din from the burning
+town. "One, one of yours&mdash;he's been callin' out some ... to your left
+now."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby held up the lantern. The circle of light spread, catching on a
+spurred boot. That tiny glint of metal moved, or was it the booted foot
+which had twitched?</p>
+
+<p>Drew strode forward as Kirby swung the lantern in a wider arc. The man
+on the ground lay on his back, his hands moving feebly to tear at the
+already rent shirt across his chest. There was a congealed mass of blood
+on one leg just above the boot top. Drew knew that flushed and swollen
+face in spite of its distortion; they had found what they had been
+searching for.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby pulled those frantic hands away from the strips of calico, the
+scratched flesh beneath, but there was no wound there. The leg injury
+Drew learned by quick examination was not too bad a one. And they could
+discover no other hurt; only the delirium, the flushed face, and the
+fast breathing suggested worse trouble.</p>
+
+<p>"Sun, maybe." Kirby transferred his hold to the rolling head, vising it
+still between his hands while Drew dripped a scanty stream of the
+unpalatable water from the Texan's canteen onto Boyd's crusted, gaping
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll mount Hannibal. You hold him!" Drew said. "He can't stay in the
+saddle by himself."</p>
+
+<p>Somehow they managed. Boyd's head, still rolling back and forth, moved
+now against Drew's sound shoulder. Kirby steadied his trailing legs,
+then went ahead with the lantern. Before they moved off, Drew turned his
+head to the breastworks.</p>
+
+<p>"Thanks, Yankee!" He called as loudly and clearly as his thirst-dried
+throat allowed. There was no answer from the hidden picket or sentry&mdash;if
+he were still there. Then Hannibal paced down the slope.</p>
+
+<p>"The Calhoun place?" Kirby asked.</p>
+
+<p>Hannibal stumbled, and Boyd cried out, the cry becoming a moan.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Anse ..." Drew added dully, "do you know ... this was his
+birthday&mdash;today. I just remembered."</p>
+
+<p>Sixteen today.... Maybe somewhere he could find the surgeon to whom last
+night he had turned over the drugs in his saddlebags. The doctor's
+gratitude had been incredulous then. But that was before the battle,
+before a red tide of broken men had flowed into the dressing station at
+the Calhoun house. The leg wound was not too bad, but the sun had
+affected the boy who had lain in its full glare most of the day. He must
+have help.</p>
+
+<p>The saddlebags of drugs, Boyd needing help&mdash;one should balance the
+other. Those facts seesawed back and forth in Drew's aching head, and he
+held his muttering burden close as Kirby found them a path away from the
+rending guns and the blaze of the fires.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c9" id="c9"></a>9</h2>
+
+<h3><i>One More River To Cross</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"The weather is sure agin this heah war. A man's either frizzled clean
+outta his saddle by the heat&mdash;or else his hoss's belly's deep in the mud
+an' he gits him a gully-washer down the back of his neck! Me&mdash;I'm a West
+Texas boy, an' down theah we have lizard-fryin' days an' twisters that
+are regular hell winds, and northers that'll freeze you solid in one
+little puff-off. But then all us boys was raised on rattlesnakes,
+wildcats, an' cactus juice&mdash;we're kinda hardened to such. Only I ain't
+seen as how this half of the country is much better. Maybe we shouldn't
+have switched our range&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew grinned at Kirby's stream of whispered comment and complaint as
+they wriggled their way forward through brush to look down on a Union
+blockhouse and stockade guarding a railroad trestle.</p>
+
+<p>"Weather don't favor either side. The Yankees have it just as bad, don't
+they?"</p>
+
+<p>The Texan made a snake's noiseless progress to come even with his
+companion's vantage point.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, but then they should ... they ought to pay up somehow for huntin'
+their hosses on somebody else's range. We'd be right peaceable was they
+to throw their hoofs outta heah. My, my, lookit them millin' round down
+theah. Jus' like a bunch of ants, ain't they? Had us one of Cap'n
+Morton's bull pups now, we could throw us a few shells as would make that
+nest boil right over into the gully!"</p>
+
+<p>"We'll do something when the General gets here," Drew promised.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby nodded. "Yes, an' this heah General Forrest, too. He sure can
+ramrod a top outfit. Jus' prances round the country so that the poor
+little blue bellies don't know when he's goin' to pop outta some bush,
+makin' war talk at 'em. You know, the kid's gonna be hoppin' to think he
+missed this heah show&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"At least we know where he is and what he's doin'."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby propped his chin on his forearm. "Jus' 'bout now he's sittin' down
+at the table back theah in Meridian with a sight of fancy grub lookin'
+back at him. How long you think he's gonna take to bein' corraled that
+way?"</p>
+
+<p>"General Buford gave him strict orders personally&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Nice to have a general take an interest in you," Kirby commented. "You
+Kaintuck boys, you're scattered all through this heah army. Want to stay
+with Boyd 'cause he's ailin', so you jus' find you a general from your
+home state an' talk yourself into a transfer&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Notice you wanted me to talk you into one, too."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, Missouri, Mississippi, an' Tennessee are a sight nearer Texas an'
+home than Virginia. Anyway, theah warn't much left of our old outfit,
+an' this heah Forrest is headin' up a sassy bunch. So I'm glad you did
+find you a general to sling some weight an' git us into his scouts jus'
+'cause he knew your grandpappy. Kaintucks stick together...."</p>
+
+<p>There was a second of silence through which they could both hear the
+faint sounds of life from the stockade.</p>
+
+<p>"M' father was a Texan," Drew said suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that's a right interestin' observation," Kirby remarked. "Heah I
+was all the time thinkin' you was one of these heah fast-ridin',
+fine-livin' gentlemen what was givin' some tone to the army. Not jus'
+'nother range drifter from the big spaces. What part of Texas you
+from&mdash;Brazos?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I wasn't born there. You had a war down that way, remember?"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean when Santa Anna came trottin' in with his tail high, thinkin'
+as how he could talk harsh to some of us Tejanos?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, later than that&mdash;when some of us went down to talk harsh in
+Mexico."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure. Only I don't recollect that theah powder-burnin' contest, m'self.
+M'pa went ... got him these heah fancy hoss ticklers theah." Kirby moved
+his hand toward the spurs he had taken off and tucked into his shirt for
+safekeeping to muffle the jingle while they were on scout. "Took 'em
+away from a Mex officer, personal. Me, I was too young to draw fightin'
+wages in that theah dust-up."</p>
+
+<p>"My father wasn't too young, and he drew his wages permanent. My
+grandfather went down to Texas and brought my mother back to Kentucky
+just in time for me to appear. My grandfather didn't like Texans."</p>
+
+<p>"An' maybe not your father, special?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew smiled, this time mirthlessly. "Just so. You see, m' father came up
+from Texas to get his schoolin' in Kentucky. He was studyin' to be a
+doctor at Lexington. And he was pretty young and kind of wild. He had
+one meetin'&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You mean one of them pistol duels?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. So my grandfather warned him off seein' his daughter. I never
+heard the rights of it, but it seems m' father didn't take kindly to
+bein' ordered around."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby chuckled. "That theah feelin' is borned right into a Texas boy. He
+probably took the gal an' ran off with her&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You're guessing right. At least that's the story as I've put it
+together. Mostly nobody would tell me anything. I was the blacksheep
+from the day I was born&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But your ma, she'd give you the right of it."</p>
+
+<p>"She died when I was born. That's another thing my grandfather had
+against me. I was Hunt Rennie's son, and I killed my mother; that's the
+way he saw it."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby rolled his head on his arm so that his hazel eyes were on Drew's
+thin, too controlled features.</p>
+
+<p>"Sounds like your grandpappy had a burr under his tail an' bucked it out
+on you."</p>
+
+<p>"You might see it that way. You know, Anse, I'd like to see Texas&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"After we finish up this heah war, compadre, we can jus' mosey down
+theah an' look it over good. Happen you don't take to Texas, why,
+theah's New Mexico, the Arizona territory ... clean out to California,
+wheah they dip up that theah gold dust so free. Ain't nothin' sayin' a
+man has to stay on one range all his born days&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Looks like the war ain't doin' too well." Drew was watching the
+activity in the stockade.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we lost us Atlanta, sure enough. An' every time we close up
+ranks, theah's empty saddles showin'. But General Forrest, he's still
+toughenin' it out. Me, I'll trail along with him any day in the week."</p>
+
+<p>"Hey!" Kirby was drawing a bead on a shaking bush. But the man edging
+through was Hew Wilkins, General Buford's Sergeant of Scouts. He crawled
+up beside them to peer at the blockhouse.</p>
+
+<p>"They're pullin' out!" The men in blue coats were lining up about a
+small wagon train.</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins used binoculars for a closer look. "Your report was right; those
+are Negro troops!"</p>
+
+<p>"No wonder they're clearin' out&mdash;fast."</p>
+
+<p>"Cheatin' us outta a fight," Kirby observed with mock seriousness.</p>
+
+<p>"All the better. Kirby, you cut back and tell the General they're givin'
+us free passage. We can get the work done here, quick."</p>
+
+<p>"Back to axes, eh, an' some nice dry firewood&mdash;an' see what we can do to
+mess up the railroads for the Yankees. Only, seems like we're messin' up
+a sight of railroads, all down in our own part of the country. I'd like
+to be doin' this up in one of them theah Yankee states like New York,
+say, or Indiana. Saw me some mighty fine railroads to cut up, that time
+General Morgan took us on a sashay through Indiana."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby got to his feet and stretched. Drew unwound his own lanky length
+to join the other.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe the old man will be leadin' us up there, too&mdash;" Wilkins put away
+the binoculars. "Rennie, we'll move on down there and see if we can pick
+up any information."</p>
+
+<p>Two months or a little more since Harrisburg. The brazen heat had given
+way to torrents in mid-August, and the rain had made quagmire traps of
+roads, forming rapids of every creek and river&mdash;bogging down horses,
+men, and guns. But it had not bogged down Bedford Forrest. And one
+section of his small force, under the command of General Buford leading
+the Kentuckians, had held the Union forces in check, while the other,
+under Forrest's personal leadership had swung past Smith and his blue
+coats in a lightning raid on Memphis.</p>
+
+<p>Now in September the rain was still falling in the mountains, keeping
+the streams up to bank level. And Forrest was also on the move. After
+the Memphis raid there had been a second honing of his army into razor
+sharpness, a razor to be brought down with its cutting edge across those
+railroads which carried the lifeblood of supplies to the Union army
+around Atlanta.</p>
+
+<p>Blockhouses fell to dogged attack or surrendered to bluff, the bluff of
+Forrest's name. The Kentucky General Buford was leading his division of
+the command up the railroad toward the Elk River Bridge and that was
+below the scouts now, being abandoned by the Union troopers.</p>
+
+<p>Two factors had brought Drew into Buford's Scouts. If Dr. Cowan,
+Forrest's own chief surgeon, had not been the medical officer to whom
+Drew had by chance delivered those saddlebags of drugs, and if Abram
+Buford had not been a division commander, Drew might not have been able
+to push through his transfer. But Cowan had spoken to Forrest, and
+General Buford had known both the Barretts and the Mattocks all his
+life.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd had recovered speedily from the leg wound, but his convalescence
+from heat exhaustion and the ensuing complications was still in
+progress, though he had reached the point that only General Buford's
+strict orders had kept him from this second raid into enemy territory.
+Now he was safe in a private home in Meridian, where he was being
+treated as a son of the house, and Drew had even managed to send a
+letter to Cousin Merry with that information. He only hoped that she had
+received it.</p>
+
+<p>As for the change in commands, Drew was content. Perhaps the more so
+since the news had come less than two weeks earlier that John Morgan was
+dead. He had gone down fighting, shooting it out with Yankee troopers in
+a rain-wet garden in Tennessee on a Sunday morning. Men were dying,
+dead ... and maybe a cause was dying, too. Drew's thought flinched away
+from that line now, trying to keep to the job before them. There was the
+abandoned stockade to destroy, the trestle and bridge to knock to
+pieces, and if they had time, the tracks to tear up, heat, and twist out
+of shape.</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins stood behind a pile of wood cut for engine fuel. "They are on
+the run, all right. Headin' toward Pulaski."</p>
+
+<p>"Think they'll make a stand there?"</p>
+
+<p>"One guess is as good as another. If they do, we'll smoke them out. Keep
+'em busy and chase 'em clean out of their hats and back to camp."</p>
+
+<p>The destruction of the blockhouse and the trestle could be left to the
+army behind; the scouts moved on again.</p>
+
+<p>"The boys are havin' themselves a time." Kirby returned to his post with
+the advance. "Tyin' bowknots in rails gits easier all the time. When
+this heah campaign is over, we'll know more 'bout takin' railroads apart
+then the fellas who make 'em know 'bout puttin' 'em together."</p>
+
+<p>"Trouble!" Drew reined in Hannibal and waved to Wilkins. "There's a
+picket up there...."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby's gaze followed the other's pointing finger. "Kinda green at the
+business," he commented critically. "Sorta makin' a sittin' target of
+hisself. Like to tickle him up with a shot. We don't git much action
+outta this."</p>
+
+<p>"I'd say we're plannin' to go in now."</p>
+
+<p>A squad of Buford's advance filtered up through the trees, and an
+officer, his insignia of rank two-inch strips of yellowish ribbon sewed
+to the collar of a mud-brown coat, was conferring with Wilkins. Then the
+clear notes of the bugle charge rang out.</p>
+
+<p>Forrest's men were as adept as Morgan's raiders in making a show of
+force seem twice the number of men actually in the field. They now
+whirled in and out of a wild pattern which should impress the Yankee
+picket with the fact that at least a full regiment was advancing.</p>
+
+<p>Three miles from Pulaski the Yankees made a stand, slamming back with
+all they had, but Buford was pushing just as hard and determinedly.
+Gray-brown boiled out of cover and charged, yelling. That electric spark
+of reckless determination which had taken the Kentucky columns up the
+slope at Harrisburg flashed again from man to man. Drew tasted the old
+headiness which could sweep a man out of sanity, send him plunging
+ahead, aware only of the waiting enemy.</p>
+
+<p>The Union lines broke under those shock waves; men ran for the town
+behind them. But there was no taking that town. By early afternoon they
+had them fenced in, held by a show of force. Only in the night, leaving
+their fires burning, the Confederates slipped away.</p>
+
+<p>Rains hit again; guns and wagons bogged. But they kept on into
+rough-and-rocky country. They had taken enough horses from the Union
+corrals at the blockhouses to mount the men who had tramped patiently
+along the ruts in just that hope. Better still, sugar and coffee from
+the rich Yankee supply depot at the Brown farm was now filling Rebel
+stomachs.</p>
+
+<p>Drew sat on his heels by a palm-sized fire, watching with weary content
+the tin pail boiling there. The aroma rising from it was one he had
+almost forgotten existed in this world of constant riding and poor
+forage.</p>
+
+<p>"Hope it kicks in the middle an' packs double." Kirby rested a tin cup
+on one knee, ready and waiting. "Me, I like mine strong enough to rest a
+horseshoe on ... gentlelike."</p>
+
+<p>"Yankees are obligin', one way or another." Drew licked his fingers
+appreciatively. He had been exploring the sugar supply. "I've missed
+sweetenin'."</p>
+
+<p>"Drink up, boys, and get ready to ride," Wilkins said, coming out of the
+dark. "We've marchin' orders."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby reached for the pot and poured its contents, with careful
+measurement, into each waiting cup. "Wheah to now, Sarge? Seems like
+we've covered most of this heah range already."</p>
+
+<p>"Huntsville. We have to locate a river crossin'."</p>
+
+<p>Drew looked up. "Startin' back, Sarge?"</p>
+
+<p>"Heard talk," Wilkins admitted. "Most of the blue bellies in these parts
+are turnin' lines to aim square at us. We can't take on all of Sherman's
+bully boys&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Got him riled, though, ain't we? All right." Kirby was energetically
+fanning the top of his steaming cup with his free hand. "Git this down
+to warm m' toes, Sarge, an' I'll stick them same toes in the stirrups
+an' jingle off. Come on, Drew, no man never joined up with the army to
+git hisself a comfortable life...."</p>
+
+<p>Certainly that last statement of the Texan's was proven correct during
+the next six days. A feint toward the Yankee garrison at Huntsville
+occupied the enemy until the wagon train and artillery moved on to the
+Tennessee River. And along its northern banks, Buford's Scouts ranged.
+Already high for the season the waters were still rising. And all the
+transportation they could collect were three ferry boats at Florence and
+a few skiffs, not enough to serve all the Confederate force pushing for
+that escape route.</p>
+
+<p>Athens, which Forrest had occupied on the upswing of the raid, was
+already back in Union hands, and the blue forces were closing in, in a
+countrywide sweep, backing the gray cavalry against the river.</p>
+
+<p>By the third of October Buford had the boats in action, ferrying across
+men, equipment, and artillery in a steady stream of night-and-day oar
+labor. The stout General, mounted on a big mule, a large animal to carry
+a large man, gave the scouts new orders.</p>
+
+<p>"Try downriver, boys. We're in a pinchers here, and they may be goin' to
+nip us&mdash;hard!" He rolled a big cheroot from a Yankee commissary store
+between his teeth, watching the wind whip the surface of the river into
+good-sized waves about the laboring boats. "Anything usable below
+Florence ... we want to know about it, and quick!"</p>
+
+<p>Wilkins led them out at a steady trot. "We'll take a look around
+Newport. Rough going, but I think I remember a place."</p>
+
+<p>However, the possibilities of Wilkins' "place" did not seem too
+promising to Drew when they came out on a steep bluff some miles down
+the Tennessee.</p>
+
+<p>"This is a heller of a river," Kirby expressed his opinion forcibly.
+"Always spittin' back in an hombre's face. We've had plenty of trouble
+with it before."</p>
+
+<p>They were on a bank above a slough which was not more than two hundred
+feet wide. And beyond that was an island thickly overgrown with cane,
+oak, and hickory. The upper end of that was sandy, matted with
+driftwood, some of it partially afloat again.</p>
+
+<p>"Use that for a steppin' stone?" Drew asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Best we're goin' to find. And if time's runnin' out, we'll be glad to
+have it. Rennie, report in. We'll do some more scoutin', just to make
+sure there'll be no surprises later."</p>
+
+<p>For more than thirty-six hours Buford had been ferrying. Artillery,
+wagons, and a large portion of his division were safely across. When
+Drew returned to the uproar along the river he found that the second
+half of the retreating forces, commanded by Forrest, were in town. And
+it was to Forrest that Drew was ordered to deliver his report.</p>
+
+<p>He would never forget the first glimpse he'd had of Bedford Forrest&mdash;the
+officer sitting his big gray charger in the midst of a battle, whirling
+his standard to attract a broken rabble of men, knitting out of them, by
+sheer force of personality, a refreshed, striking force. Now Drew found
+himself facing quite a different person&mdash;a big, quiet, soft-spoken man
+who eyed the scout with gray-blue eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"You're Rennie, one of that Morgan company who joined at Harrisburg."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh."</p>
+
+<p>"Morgan's men fought at Chickamauga ... good men, good fighters. Said so
+then, never had any reason to change that. Now what's this about an
+island downriver?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew explained tersely, for he had a good idea that General Forrest
+wanted no wasting of time. Then at request he drew a rough sketch of the
+island and its approaches. Forrest studied it.</p>
+
+<p>"Something to keep in mind. But I want to know that it's clear. You boys
+picket it. If there's any Union movement about, report it at once!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh."</p>
+
+<p>If Yankee scouts had sighted the island, either they had not reported it
+or their superiors had not calculated what its value might be for hunted
+men&mdash;and to a leader who was used to improvising and carrying through
+more improbable projects than the one the island suggested.</p>
+
+<p>At Shoal Creek a rear guard was holding off the Union advance which had
+started from Athens, the two pronged pinchers General Buford had
+foreseen. And now the island came into use.</p>
+
+<p>Saddles and equipment were stripped from horses and piled into the boats
+brought down from Florence. Then the mounts were driven to the top of
+the bluff and over into the water some twenty feet below. Leaders of
+that leap were caught by their halters and towed behind the boats, the
+others swimming after.</p>
+
+<p>Men and mounts burrowed back into the concealment of those thick
+canebrakes and were hidden along the southern shore of the overgrown
+strip of water-enclosed land. The Union pursuers came up on the bluff,
+but they did not see the ferrying from the south bank of the island,
+ferrying which kept up night and day for some forty-eight hours.</p>
+
+<p>"Cold!" Kirby and Drew crouched together behind a screen of cane on the
+north side of the island, watching the bank above for any hostile move
+on the part of the enemy.</p>
+
+<p>"General Forrest says no fires."</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah. You know, I jus' don't like this heah spread of water.
+This is the second time I've had to git across it with Old Man
+Death-an'-Disaster raisin' dust from my rump with a double of his
+encouragin' rope. Seems like the Tennessee ain't partial to raidin'
+parties."</p>
+
+<p>"Makes a good barrier when we're on the other side," Drew pointed out
+reasonably.</p>
+
+<p>"So&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew's Colt was already out, Kirby's carbine at ready. But the man who
+had cat-footed it through the cane was General Forrest himself.</p>
+
+<p>"I thought"&mdash;the General eyed them both&mdash;"I would catch some of you
+young fools loafin' back heah as if nothin' was goin' on. If you don't
+want to roost heah all winter, you'd better come along. Last boats are
+leavin' now."</p>
+
+<p>As they scrambled after their commander Drew realized that the General
+had made it his personal business to make sure none of the north side
+pickets were left behind in the last-minute withdrawal.</p>
+
+<p>They piled into one of the waiting boats, catching up poles. Forrest
+took another. Then he balanced where he stood, glaring toward the bow of
+the boat. A lieutenant was there, his hands empty.</p>
+
+<p>"You ... Mistuh&mdash;" Forrest's voice took on the ring Drew had heard at
+Harrisburg. "Wheah's your oar, Mistuh?"</p>
+
+<p>The man was startled. "As an officer, suh&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Still gripping his pole with one hand, the General swung out a long arm,
+catching the lieutenant hard on one cheek with enough force to send him
+over the gunwale into the river. The lieutenant splashed, flailing out
+his arms, until he caught at the pole Drew extended to him. As they
+hauled him aboard again, the General snorted.</p>
+
+<p>"Now you, Mistuh officer, take that oar theah and git to work! If I have
+to knock you over again, you can just stay in. We shall all pull out of
+this together!"</p>
+
+<p>The lieutenant bent to the oar hastily as they moved out into the full
+current of the river.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c10" id="c10"></a>10</h2>
+
+<h3><i>"Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"Drew!"</p>
+
+<p>He turned his head on the saddle which served him as a temporary pillow
+and was aware of the smell of mule, strong, and the smell of a wood
+fire, less strong, and last of all, of corn bread baked in the husk,
+and, not so familiar, bacon frying&mdash;all the aromas of camp&mdash;with the
+addition of food which could be, and had been on occasion, very
+temporary. Squinting his smarting eyes against the sun's glare, Drew sat
+up. With four days of hard riding by night and scouting by day only a
+few hours behind him, he was still extremely weary.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd squatted by his side, a folded sheet of paper in his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"... letter ..."</p>
+
+<p>Drew must have missed part during his awakening. Now he turned away from
+the sun and tried to pay better attention.</p>
+
+<p>"From who?" he asked rustily.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother. She got the one you sent from Meridian, Drew! And when Crosely
+went home for a horse she gave him these to bring back through the
+lines. Drew, your grandfather's dead...."</p>
+
+<p>Odd, he did not feel anything at all at that news. When he was little he
+had been afraid of Alexander Mattock. Then he had faced out his fear and
+all the other emotions bred in him during those years of being Hunt
+Rennie's son in a house where Hunt Rennie was a symbol of black hatred;
+he had faced up to his grandfather on the night he left Red Springs to
+join the army in '62. And then Drew had discovered that he was free. He
+had seen his grandfather as he would always remember him now, an old man
+eaten up by his hatred, soured by acts Drew knew would never be
+explained. And from that moment, grandfather and grandson were
+strangers. Now, well, now he wished&mdash;for just a fleeting second or
+two&mdash;that he did know what lay behind all that rage and waste and
+blackness in the past. Alexander Mattock had been a respected man. As
+hardly more than a boy he had followed Andy Jackson down to New Orleans
+and helped break the last vestige of British power in the Gulf. He had
+bred fine horses, loved the land, and his word was better than most
+men's sworn oaths. He had had a liking for books, and had served his
+country in Congress, and could even have been governor had he not
+declined the nomination. He was a big man, in many ways a great and
+honorable man. Drew could admit that, now that he had made a life for
+himself beyond Alexander Mattock's shadow. A great man ... who had hated
+his own grandson.</p>
+
+<p>"This is yours...." Boyd pulled a second sheet from the folds of the
+first. Drew smoothed it out to read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>My dear boy:</p>
+
+<p>Your letter from Meridian reached me just two days ago, having been
+many weeks on the way, and I am taking advantage of Henry Crosely's
+presence home on leave to reply. I want you to know that I do not,
+in any way, consider you to blame for Boyd's joining General organ's
+command. He had long been restless here, and it was only a matter of
+time and chance before he followed his brother.</p>
+
+<p>I know that you must have done all that you could to dissuade him
+after your aunt's appeal to you, but I had already accepted failure
+on this point. Just as I know that it was your efforts which
+established him under good care in Meridian. Do not, Drew, reproach
+yourself for my son's headstrong conduct. I know Boyd's
+stubbornness. There is this strain in all the Barretts.</p>
+
+<p>You may not have heard the news from Red Springs, though I know
+your aunt has endeavored to find a means of communicating it to
+you. Your grandfather suffered another and fatal seizure on the
+third of August and passed away in a matter of hours.</p>
+
+<p>I do not believe that it will come as any surprise to you, my dear
+boy, that he continued in his attitude toward you to the last,
+making no provision for you in his will. However, both Major Forbes
+and Marianna believe this to be unfair, and they intend to see that
+matters are not left so.</p>
+
+<p>If and when this cruel war is over&mdash;and the news we receive each
+day can not help but make us believe that the end is not far
+off&mdash;do, I beg of you, Drew, come home to us. Sheldon spoke once of
+some plan of yours to go west, to start a new life in new
+surroundings. But, Drew, do not let any bitterness born out of the
+past continue to poison the future for you.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps what I say may be of value since I have always held your
+welfare dear to me, and you have a place in my heart. Melanie
+Mattock Rennie was my dearest friend for all of her life, your
+father, my cousin. And you were Sheldon's playmate and comrade for
+his short time on this earth.</p>
+
+<p>Come home to us, I ask you to do this, my dear boy. We shall
+welcome you.</p>
+
+<p>I pray for you and for Boyd, that you may both be brought safely
+through all the dangers which surround a soldier, that you may come
+home to us on a happier day. Your concern for and care of Boyd is
+something which makes me most grateful and happy. He had lost a
+brother, one of his own blood, but I content myself with the belief
+that he has with him now another who will provide him with what
+guidance and protection he can give.</p>
+
+<p>Remember&mdash;we want you both here with us once more, and let it be
+soon.</p>
+
+<p>With affection and love,</p></div>
+
+
+<p>Drew could not have told whether her "Meredith Barrett" at the bottom of
+the page was as firmly penned as ever. To him it was now wavering from
+one misty letter to the next. Slowly he made a business of folding the
+sheet into a neat square of paper which he could fit into the safe
+pocket under his belt. A crack was forming in the shell he had started
+to grow on the night he first rode out of Red Springs, and he now feared
+losing its protection. He wanted to be the Drew Rennie who had no ties
+anywhere, least of all in Kentucky. Yet not for the world would he have
+lost that letter, though he did not want to read it again.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie! Double-quick it; the General's askin' for you!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd started up eagerly from his perch on another saddle. He was, Drew
+decided, like a hound puppy, so determined to be taken hunting that he
+watched each and every one of them all the time. He had been allowed to
+ride on this return visit to West Tennessee with the condition that he
+would act as one of Drew's scout couriers, a position which kept him
+under his elder's control and attached to General Buford's Headquarters
+Company.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby reached out a brown hand to catch Boyd by the sleeve and anchor
+him.</p>
+
+<p>"Now, kid, jus' because the big chief sends for him, it ain't no sign
+he's goin' to take the warpath immediately, if not sooner. Ease off, an'
+keep your moccasins greased!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew laughed. Nobody who rode with Forrest could complain of a lack of
+action. He had heard that some general in the East had said he would
+give a dollar or some such to see a dead cavalryman. Well, there had
+been sight of those at Harrisburg and some at the blockhouses. Forrest
+stated that Morgan's men could fight; he did not have to say that of his
+own.</p>
+
+<p>Now they were heading into another sort of war altogether. Drew hadn't
+figured out just how Bedford Forrest intended to fight river gunboats
+with horse soldiers, but the scout didn't doubt that his general had a
+plan, one which would work, barring any extra bad luck.</p>
+
+<p>They were setting a trap along the Tennessee right now, lying in the
+enemies' own back pasture to do it. South, downriver, was Johnsonville,
+where Sherman had his largest cache of supplies, from which he was
+feeding, clothing, equipping the army now slashing through the center of
+the South. They had been able to cripple his rail system partially on
+that raid two weeks earlier; now they were aiming to cut the river
+ribbon of the Yankee network.</p>
+
+<p>Buford's division occupied Fort Heiman, well above the crucial section.
+The Confederates also held Paris Landing. Now they were set to put the
+squeeze on any river traffic. Guns were brought into station&mdash;Buford's
+two Parrots, one section of Morton's incomparable battery with Bell's
+Tennesseeans down at the Landing. They had moved fast, covered their
+traces, and Drew himself could testify that the Yankees were as yet
+unsuspecting of their presence in the neighborhood.</p>
+
+<p>He found General Buford now and reported.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie, see this bend...." The General's finger stabbed down on the
+sketch map the scouts had prepared days earlier. "I've been thinkin'
+that a vedette posted right here could give us perhaps a few minutes of
+warning ahead when anything started to swim into this fishnet of ours.
+General Forrest wants some transports, maybe even a gunboat or two.
+We're in a good position to deliver them to him, but before we begin the
+game, I want most of the aces right here&mdash;" He smacked the map against
+the flat of his other palm.</p>
+
+<p>"A signal system, suh. Say one of those&mdash;" Drew pointed to the very
+large and very red handkerchief trailing from Buford's coat pocket.
+"Wave one of those out of the bushes: one wave for a transport, two for
+a gunboat."</p>
+
+<p>The General jerked the big square from his pocket, inspected it
+critically, and then called over his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Jasper, you get me another one of these&mdash;out of the saddlebags!"</p>
+
+<p>When the Negro boy came running with the piece of brilliant cloth,
+Buford motioned for him to give it to Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Mind you, boy," he added with some seriousness, "I want that back in
+good condition when you report in. Those don't grow handily on trees. I
+have only three left."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh," Drew accepted it with respect. "I'm to stay put until
+relieved, suh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Better take someone to spell you. I don't want any misses."</p>
+
+<p>Back at the scout fire Drew collected Boyd. This was an assignment the
+boy could share. And shortly they had hollowed out for themselves a
+small circular space in the thicket, with two carefully prepared
+windows, one on the river, the other for their signal flag.</p>
+
+<p>It was almost evening, and Drew did not expect any night travel. Morning
+would be the best time. He divided the night into watches, however, and
+insisted they keep watch faithfully.</p>
+
+<p>"Kinda cold," Boyd said, pulling his blanket about his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"No fire here." Drew handed over his companion's share of rations, some
+cold corn bread and bacon carefully portioned out of their midday
+cooking.</p>
+
+<p>"'Member how Mam Gusta used to make us those dough geese? Coffee-berry
+eyes.... I could do with some coffee berries now, but not to make eyes
+for geese!"</p>
+
+<p>Dough geese with coffee-berry eyes! The big summer kitchen at Oak Hill
+and the small, energetic, and very dark skinned woman who ruled it with
+a cooking spoon of wood for her scepter and abject obedience from all
+who came into her sphere of influence and control. Dough geese with
+coffee-berry eyes; Drew hadn't thought of those for years and years.</p>
+
+<p>"I could do with some of Mam Gusta's peach pie." He was betrayed by
+memory into that wistfulness.</p>
+
+<p>"Peach pie all hot in a bowl with cream to top it," Boyd added
+reverently. "And turkey with the fixin's&mdash;or maybe young pork! Seems to
+me you think an awful lot about eatin' when you're in the army. I can
+remember the kitchen at home almost better than I can my own room...."</p>
+
+<p>"Anse, he was talkin' last night about some Mexican eatin' he did down
+'long the border. Made it sound mighty interestin'. Drew, after this war
+is over and we've licked the Yankees good and proper, why don't we go
+down that way and see Texas? I'd like to get me one of those wild horses
+like those Anse's father was catchin'."</p>
+
+<p>"We still have a war on our hands here," Drew reminded him. But the
+thought of Texas could not easily be dug out of mind, not when a man had
+carried it with him for most of his life. Texas, where he had almost
+been born, Hunt Rennie's Texas. What was it like? A big wild land, an
+outlaws' land. Didn't they say a man had "gone to Texas" when the
+sheriff closed books on a fugitive? Yes, Drew had to admit he wanted to
+see Texas.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew, you have any kinfolk in Texas?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not that I know about." Not for the first time he wondered about that.
+There had been no use asking any questions of his grandfather or of
+Uncle Murray. And Aunt Marianna had always dismissed his inquiries with
+the plea that she herself had only been a child at the time Hunt Rennie
+came to Red Springs and knew very little about him. Odd that Cousin
+Merry had been so reticent, too. But Drew had pieced out that something
+big and ugly must have happened to begin all the painful tangle which
+had led from his grandfather's cold hatred for Hunt Rennie, that hatred
+which had been transferred to Hunt Rennie's son when the original target
+was gone.</p>
+
+<p>When Drew first joined the army and met Texans he had hoped that one of
+them might recognize his name and say:</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie? You any kin to the Rennies of-" Of where? The Brazos, the Rio
+country, West Texas? He had no idea in which part of that sprawling
+republic-become-a-state the Rennies might have been born and bred. But
+how he had longed in those first lonely weeks of learning to be a
+soldier to find one of his own&mdash;not of the Mattock clan!</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I would like to see Texas!" Boyd pulled the blanket closer about
+his shoulders, curling up on his side of their bush-walled hole. "Wish
+these fool Yankees would know when they're licked and get back home so
+we could do somethin' like that." He closed his eyes with a child's
+determination to sleep, and by now a soldier's ability to do so when the
+opportunity offered.</p>
+
+<p>Drew watched the river. The dusk was night now with the speed of the
+season. And the crisp of autumn hung over the water. This was the
+twenty-ninth of October; he counted out the dates. How long they could
+hold their trap they didn't know, but at least long enough to wrest from
+the enemy some of the supplies they needed far worse than Sherman's men
+did.</p>
+
+<p>General Buford had let four transports past their masked batteries today
+because they had carried only soldiers. But sooner or later a loaded
+ship was going to come up. And when that did&mdash;Drew's hand assured him
+that the General's red handkerchief was still inside against his ribs
+where he had put it for safekeeping.</p>
+
+<p>In the early morning Drew slipped down to the river's edge behind a
+screen of willow to dip the cold water over his head and shoulders&mdash;an
+effective way to clear the head and banish the last trace of sleep.</p>
+
+<p>The sun was up and it must have been shortly before eight when they
+sighted her, a Union transport riding low in the water, towing two
+barges. A quick inspection through the binoculars he had borrowed from
+Wilkins told Drew that this was what the General wanted. He passed the
+signal to Boyd.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Mazeppa</i>," he read the name aloud as the ship wallowed by their post.
+She was passing the lower battery now, and there was no sign of any
+gunboat escort. But when their quarry was well in the stretch between
+the two lower batteries, they opened fire on her, accurately enough to
+send every shell through the ship. The pilot headed her for the opposite
+shore, slammed the prow into the bank, and a stream of crew and men
+leaped over at a dead run to hunt shelter in the woods beyond.</p>
+
+<p>Men were already down on the Confederate-held side of the river, trying
+to knock together a raft on which to reach their prize. When that broke
+apart Drew and Boyd saw one man seize upon a piece of the wreckage and
+kick his way vigorously into the current heading for the stern of the
+grounded steamer. He came back in the <i>Mazeppa's</i> yawl with a line, and
+she was warped back into the hands of the waiting raiders.</p>
+
+<p>There was a wave of gray pouring into the ship, returning with bales,
+boxes, bundles. Then Drew, who had snatched peeps at the activity
+between searching the upper waters for trouble, saw the gunboats
+coming&mdash;three of them. Again Boyd signaled, but the naval craft made
+better speed than the laden transport and they were already in position
+to lob shells among the men unloading the supply ships, though the
+batteries on the shore finally drove them off.</p>
+
+<p>In the end they fired the prize, but she was emptied of her rich cargo.
+Shoes, blankets, clothing&mdash;you didn't care whether breeches and coats
+were gray or blue when they replaced rags&mdash;food.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby came to their sentry post, his arms full, a beatific smile on his
+face.</p>
+
+<p>"What'll you have, amigos&mdash;pickles, pears, Yankee crackers, long
+sweetenin'&mdash;" He spread out a variety of such stores as they had almost
+forgotten existed. "You know, seein' some of the prices on this heah
+sutlers' stuff, I'm thinkin' somebody's sure gittin' rich on this war.
+It ain't nobody I know, though."</p>
+
+<p>They kept their trap as it was through the rest of the day and the
+following night without any more luck. When the next fish swam into the
+net it approached from the other side and not past the scout post. The
+steamer <i>Anna</i> progressed from Johnsonville, ran the gantlet of the
+batteries, and in spite of hard shelling, was not hit in any vital spot,
+escaping beyond. But when the transport <i>Venus</i>, towing two barges and
+convoyed by the gunboat <i>Undine</i>, tried to duplicate that feat they were
+caught by the accurate fire of the masked guns. Trying to turn and steam
+back the way they had come, they were pinned down. And while they were
+held there, another steamer entered the upper end of the trap and was
+disabled. Guns moved by sweat, force, will and hand-power, were wrestled
+around the banks to attend to the <i>Undine</i>. And after a brisk duel her
+officers and crew abandoned her.</p>
+
+<p>"We got us a navy," Kirby announced when he brought their order to
+leave the picket post. "The Yankees sure are kind, presentin' us with a
+couple of ships jus' outta the goodness of their hearts."</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Undine</i> and the <i>Venus</i>, manned by volunteers, did steam with the
+caution of novice sailors upriver when on the first of November troops
+and artillery started to Johnsonville.</p>
+
+<p>"Hi!" One of the new Horse Marines waved to the small party of scouts,
+weaving in and out to gain their position at the head of the column.
+"Want to leave them feed sacks for us to carry?"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby put a protecting hand over his saddle burden of extra and choice
+rations.</p>
+
+<p>"This heah grub ain't gonna be risked out on no water," he called back.
+"Nor blown up by no gunboat neither."</p>
+
+<p>Those fears were realized, if not until two days later, when the scouts
+were too far ahead to witness the defeat of Forrest's river flotilla.
+The <i>Undine</i>, outfought by two Yankee gunboats, was beached and set
+afire. The same fate struck the <i>Venus</i> a day afterward. But by that
+time the raiders had reached the bank of the river opposite Johnsonville
+and were making ready to destroy the supply depot there.</p>
+
+<p>Drew, Kirby, and Wilkins, with Boyd to ride courier, had already
+explored the bank and tried to estimate the extent of the wealth lying
+in the open, across the river.</p>
+
+<p>"Too bad we jus' can't sorta cut a few head outta that theah herd,"
+Kirby said wistfully. "Heah we are so poor our shadows got holes in 'em,
+an' lookit all that jus' lyin' theah waitin' for somebody to lay a hot
+iron on its hide&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"More likely to lay a hot iron on your hide!" countered Drew. But he
+could not deny that the river landing with its thickly clustered
+transports, gunboats and barges, the acres of shoreline covered with
+every kind of army store, was a big temptation to try something
+reckless.</p>
+
+<p>They had illustrious company during their prowling that afternoon.
+Forrest himself and Captain Morton, that very young and very talented
+artillery commander, were making a reconnaissance before placing the
+batteries in readiness. And during the night those guns were moved into
+position. At midafternoon the next day the reduction of Johnsonville
+began.</p>
+
+<p>Smoke, then flame, tore holes in those piles of goods. Warehouses
+blazed. By nightfall for a mile upriver and down they faced a solid
+sheet of fire, and they smelled the tantalizing odor of burning bacon,
+coffee, sugar, and saw blue rivers of blazing liquid running free.</p>
+
+<p>"I still say it's a mighty shame, all that goin' to waste," commented
+Kirby sadly.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, anyway it ain't goin' into the bellies of Sherman's men," Drew
+replied.</p>
+
+<p>The Confederate force was already starting withdrawal, battery by
+battery, as the wasteland of the fire lighted them on their way. And now
+the Yankee gunboats were burning with explosions of shells, fired by
+their own crews lest they fall into Rebel hands. It was a wild scene,
+giving the command plenty of light by which to fall back into the
+country they still dominated. The reduction of the depot was a complete
+success.</p>
+
+<p>Scouts stayed with the rear guard this time, so it was that Drew saw
+again those two who had so carefully picked the gun stands only
+twenty-four hours before. General Forrest and his battery commander came
+down once more to survey the desolation those guns had left as a
+smoking, stinking scar.</p>
+
+<p>Drew heard the slow, reflective words the General spoke:</p>
+
+<p>"John, if you were given enough guns, and I had me enough men, we could
+whip old Sherm clean off the face of the earth!"</p>
+
+<p>And then the scout caught Kirby's whisper of assent to that. "The old
+man ain't foolin'; he could jus' do it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe he could," Drew agreed. He wished fiercely that Morton did have
+his guns and Forrest all the men who had been wasted, who had melted
+away from his ranks&mdash;or were buried. A man had to have tools before he
+could build, but their tools were getting mighty few, mighty old,
+and.... He tried to close his mind to that line of thought. They were on
+the move again, and Forrest had certainly proven here that though
+Atlanta might be gone, there was still an effective Confederate Army in
+the field, ready and able to twist the tail of any Yankee!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c11" id="c11"></a>11</h2>
+
+<h3><i>The Road to Nashville</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>Sleet drove at the earth with an oblique, knife-edged whip. The
+half-ice, half-rain struck under water-logged hat brims, found the neck
+opening where the body covering, improvised from a square of
+appropriated Yankee oilcloth, lay about the shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm thinkin' we sure have struck a stream lengthwise." Kirby's Tejano
+crowded up beside Hannibal. "Can't otherwise be so many bog holes in any
+stretch of country. An' if we ever do come across those dang-blasted
+ordnance wagons, we won't know 'em from a side of 'dobe anyway."</p>
+
+<p>They had reined in on the edge of a mud hole in which men sweated&mdash;in
+spite of the sleet which plastered thin clothing to their gaunt
+bodies&mdash;swore, and put dogged endurance to the test as they labored with
+drag ropes and behind wheels encrusted with pendulous pounds of mud, to
+propel a supply wagon out of the bog into which it had sunk when the
+frozen crust of the rutted road had broken apart. The Army of the
+Tennessee, now fighting storms, winter rains, snow and hail, was also
+fighting men as valiantly, engaged in General Hood's great gamble of an
+all-out attack on Nashville. They had a hope&mdash;and a slim chance&mdash;to
+sweep through the Union lines back up into Tennessee and Kentucky, and
+perhaps to wall off Sherman in the south and repair the loss of Atlanta.</p>
+
+<p>Hannibal brayed, shifting his weary feet in the churned-up muck of the
+field edge. The ground, covered with a scum of ice at night, was a trap
+for animals as well as vehicles. Breaking through that glassy surface to
+the glutinous stuff beneath, they suffered cuts deep enough to draw
+blood above hoof level.</p>
+
+<p>Drew called to the men laboring at the stalled wagon.</p>
+
+<p>"Ordnance? Buford's division?"</p>
+
+<p>He didn't really expect any sort of a promising answer. This was worse
+than trying to hunt a needle in a stack of hay, this tracing&mdash;through
+the fast darkening night&mdash;the lost ordnance wagons, caught somewhere in
+or behind the infantry train. But ahead, where Forrest's cavalry was
+thrusting into the Union lines at Spring Hill, men were going into
+battle with three rounds or less to feed their carbines and rifles.
+Somehow the horse soldiers had pushed into a hot, full-sized fight and
+the scouts had to locate those lost wagons and get them up to the front
+lines.</p>
+
+<p>A living figure of mud spat out a mouthful of that viscous substance in
+order to answer.</p>
+
+<p>"This heah ain't no ordnance&mdash;not from Buford's neither! Put your backs
+into it now, yo' wagon-dogs! Git to it an' push!"</p>
+
+<p>Under that roar the excavation squad went into straining action. Oxen,
+their eyes bulbous in their skulls from effort, set brute energy against
+yokes along with the men. The mud eventually gave grip, and the wagon
+moved.</p>
+
+<p>Drew rode on, the two half-seen shapes which were Boyd and Kirby in his
+wake. A dripping branch flicked bits of ice into his face. The dusk was
+a thickening murk, and with the coming of the November dark, their
+already pitiful chance of locating the wagons dwindled fast.</p>
+
+<p>There was a distant crackle of carbine and rifle fire. The struggle must
+still be in progress back there. At least the stragglers about them were
+still moving up. No retreat from Spring Hill, unless the Yankees were
+making that. All Drew's party could do was to continue on down the road,
+asking their question at each wagon, stalled in the mud or traveling at
+a snail's pace.</p>
+
+<p>"D'you see?" Boyd cried out. "Those men were barefoot!" Involuntarily he
+swung one of his own booted feet out of the stirrup as if to assure
+himself that he still had adequate covering for his cold toes.</p>
+
+<p>"It ain't the first time in this heah war," Kirby remarked. "They'll
+ketch 'em a Yankee. The blue bellies, they're mighty obligin' 'bout
+wearin' good shoes an' such, an' lettin' themselves be roped with all
+their plunder on. Some o' 'em, who I had the pleasure of surveyin'
+through Sarge's glasses this mornin', have overcoats&mdash;good warm ones.
+Now that's what'd pleasure a poor cold Texas boy, makin' him forgit his
+troubles. You keep your eyes sighted for one of them theah overcoats,
+Boyd. I'll be right beholden to you for it."</p>
+
+<p>Hannibal brayed again and switched his rope tail. His usual stolid
+temperament showed signs of wear.</p>
+
+<p>"Airin' th' lungs that way sounds like a critter gittin' set to make war
+medicine. A hardtail don't need no hardware but his hoofs to make a man
+regret knowin' him familiar-like&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew had reached another wagon.</p>
+
+<p>"Ordnance? Buford's?" He repeated the well-worn question without hope.</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah, what about it?"</p>
+
+<p>For a moment the scout thought he had not heard that right. But Kirby's
+crow of delight assured him that he had been answered in the
+affirmative.</p>
+
+<p>"What about it?" Boyd echoed indignantly. "We've been huntin' you for
+hours. General Buford wants...."</p>
+
+<p>The man who had answered Drew was vague in the dusk, to be seen only in
+the limited light of the lantern on the driver's seat. But they did not
+miss the pugnacious set of knuckles on hips, nor the truculence which
+overrode the weariness in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>"Th' General can want him a lotta things in this heah world, sonny. What
+the Good Lord an' this heah mud lets him have is somethin' else again.
+We've been pushin' these heah dang-blasted-to-Richmond wagons along,
+mostly with our bare hands. Does he want 'em any faster, he can jus'
+send us back thirty or forty fresh teams, along with good weather&mdash;an'
+we'll be right up wheah he wants us in no time&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The boys are out of ammunition," Drew said quietly. "And they are
+tryin' to dig out the Yankees."</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't tellin' me nothin', soldier, that I don't know or ain't
+already heard." The momentary flash of anger had drained out of the
+other's voice; there was just pure fatigue weighting the tongue now.
+"We're comin', jus' as fast as we can&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You pull on about a quarter mile and there's a turnout; that way you'll
+make better time," Drew suggested. "We'll show you where."</p>
+
+<p>"All right. We're comin'."</p>
+
+<p>In the end they all pitched to, lending the pulling strength of their
+mounts, and the power of their own shoulders when the occasion demanded.
+Somehow they got on through the dark and the cold and the mud. And close
+to dawn they reached their goal.</p>
+
+<p>But that same dark night had lost the Confederate Army their chance of
+victory. The Union command had not been safely bottled up at Spring
+Hill. Through the night hours Schofield's army had marched along the
+turnpike, within gunshot of the gray troops, close enough for Hood's
+pickets to hear the talk of the retreating men. Now they must be pursued
+toward Franklin. The Army of the Tennessee was herding the Yankees right
+enough, but with a kind of desperation which men in the ranks could
+sense.</p>
+
+<p>Buford's division held the Confederate right wing. Drew, acting as
+courier for the Kentucky general, saw Forrest&mdash;with his tough,
+undefeated, and undefeatable escort&mdash;riding ahead.</p>
+
+<p>They had Wilson's Cavalry drawn up to meet them. But they had handled
+Wilson before, briskly and brutally. This was the old game they knew
+well. Drew saw the glitter of sabers along the Union ranks and smiled
+grimly. When were the Yankees going to learn that a saber was good for
+the toasting of bacon and such but not much use in the fight? Give him
+two Colts and a carbine every time! There was a fancy dodge he had seen
+some of the Texans use; they strung extra revolver cylinders to the
+saddle horn and snapped them in for reloading. It was risky but sure was
+fast.</p>
+
+<p>"They've got Springfields." He heard Kirby's satisfied comment.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm goin' to get me one of those," Boyd began, but Drew rounded on him
+swiftly.</p>
+
+<p>"No, you ain't! They may look good, but they ain't much. You can't
+reload 'em in the saddle with your horse movin', and all they're good
+for in a mixup is a fancy sort of club."</p>
+
+<p>The Confederate infantry were moving up toward the Union breastworks,
+part of which was a formidable stone wall. And now came the orders for
+their own section to press in. They pushed, hard and heavy, while swirls
+of blue cavalry fought, broke, re-formed to meet their advance, and
+broke again. They routed out pockets of blue infantry, sending some
+pelting back toward the Harpeth.</p>
+
+<p>A wave of retreating Yankees crossed the shallow river. Forrest's men
+dismounted to fight and took the stream on foot, the icy water splashing
+high. It was wild and tough, the slam of man meeting man. Drew wrested a
+guidon from the hold of a blue-coated trooper as Hannibal smashed into
+the other's mount with bared teeth and pawing hoofs. Waving the trophy
+over his head and yelling, he pounded on at a knot of determined
+infantry, aware that he was leading others from Buford's still-mounted
+headquarter's company, and that they were going to ride right over the
+Yankee soldiers. Men threw away muskets and rifles, raised empty hands,
+scattered in frantic leaps from that charge.</p>
+
+<p>Then they were rounding up their blue-coated prisoners and Drew, the
+pole of the captured guidon braced in the crook of his elbow as he
+reloaded his revolver, realized that the shadows were thickening, that
+the day was almost gone.</p>
+
+<p>"Rennie!" Still holding the guidon, Drew obeyed the beckoning hand of
+one of the General's aides. He put Hannibal to a rocking gallop to come
+up with the officer.</p>
+
+<p>"Withdrawin'&mdash;behind the river. Pass the word to gather in!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew cantered back to wave in Kirby, Boyd, and the others who had made
+that charge with him. It was retreat again, but they did not know then
+that Franklin had cost them Hood's big gamble. Forty-five hundred men
+swept out of the gray forces&mdash;killed, wounded, missing, prisoners. Five
+irreplaceable generals were dead; six more, wounded or captured. The
+Army of the Tennessee was slashed, badly torn ... but it was not yet
+destroyed.</p>
+
+<p>That night the cavalry was on the march, driven by Forrest's tireless
+energy. They hit skirmishers at a garrisoned crossroads, using Morton's
+field batteries to cut them a free path. And through the bitter days of
+early December they continued to show their teeth to some purpose.</p>
+
+<p>Blockhouses along the railroads and along the Cumberland were taken,
+with Murfreesboro their goal. Life was a constant alert, a plugging away
+of weary men, worn-out horses, bogged-down wagons, relieved now and then
+from the morass of exhaustion by sharp spurts of fighting, the
+satisfaction of rounding up a Yankee patrol or blockhouse squad, the
+taking of some supply train and finding in its wagons enough to give
+them all mouthfuls of food.</p>
+
+<p>Murfreesboro was strongly garrisoned by the enemy, too strong to be
+stormed. But on the morning of the seventh a Yankee detachment came out
+of that fort and Forrest's men deployed to entice them farther afield.
+Buford's command was lying in wait&mdash;let the blue bellies get far enough
+from the town and they could cut in between, perhaps even overrun the
+remaining garrison and accomplish what Forrest himself had believed
+impossible, the taking of Murfreesboro.</p>
+
+<p>They made part of that ... fought their way into the town. Drew pounded
+along in a compact squad led by Wilkins. He saw the sergeant sway in the
+saddle, dropping reins, his face a clay-gray which Drew recognized of
+old. Snatching at the now trailing rein, Drew jerked the other's mount
+out of the main push.</p>
+
+<p>The sergeant's head turned slowly; his mouth looked almost square as he
+fought to say something. Then he slumped, tumbling from the saddle into
+the embrace of an ornamental bush as his horse clattered along the
+sidewalk. Drew knew he was already dead.</p>
+
+<p>Buford's men went into Murfreesboro right enough, well into its heart.
+But they could not hold the town. Only that thrust was deep and well
+timed; it saved the whole command. For, though they did not know it yet,
+on the pike the infantry had broken. For the first time Forrest had seen
+men under his orders run from the enemy in panic-stricken terror. Only
+the cavalry had saved them from a wholesale rout.</p>
+
+<p>Drew trudged over the stubble of a field, leading Hannibal and Wilkins'
+mount. There had been no way of bringing the sergeant's body out of
+town, and Drew had reported the death to Lieutenant Traggart, who
+officered the scouts. He felt numb as he headed for the spark of fire
+which marked their temporary camp, numb not only with cold and hunger,
+but with all the days of cold, hunger, fighting, and marching which lay
+behind. It seemed to him that this war had gone on forever, and he found
+it very hard to remember when he had slept soundly enough not to arouse
+to a quick call, when he had dared to ride across a field or down a
+road without watching every bit of cover, every point on the landscape
+which could mask an enemy position or serve the same purpose for the
+command behind him.</p>
+
+<p>As he came up to the fire he thought that even the flames looked
+cold&mdash;stunted somehow&mdash;not because there had not been enough wood to
+feed them, but because the fire itself was old and tired. Blinking at
+the flames, he stood still, unaware of the fact that he was swaying on
+feet planted a little apart. He could not move, not of his own volition.</p>
+
+<p>Someone coughed in the shadow fringe beyond the light of those tired
+flames. It was a short hard cough, the kind which hurt Drew's ears as
+much as its tearing must have hurt the throat which harbored it. He
+turned his head a fraction to see the bundle of blankets housing the
+cougher. Then the reins of mule and horse were twisted from his stiff
+fingers, and Kirby's drawl broke through the coughing.</p>
+
+<p>"You, Larange, take 'em back to the picket line, will you?"</p>
+
+<p>The Texan's hands closed about Drew's upper arms just below the arch of
+his shoulders, steered him on, and then pressed him down into the
+limited range of the fire's heat. From somewhere a tin plate
+materialized, and was in Drew's hold. He regarded its contents with eyes
+which had trouble focusing.</p>
+
+<p>A thick liquid curled stickily back and forth across the surface of the
+plate as he strove to hold it level with trembling hands. Into the
+middle of that lake Kirby dropped white squares of Yankee crackers, and
+the pungent smell of molasses reached Drew's nostrils, making his mouth
+water.</p>
+
+<p>Snatching at the crackers, he crammed his mouth with a dripping square
+coated with molasses. As he began to chew he knew that nothing before
+that moment had ever tasted so good, been so much an answer to all the
+disasters of the day. The world shrank; it was now the size of a
+battered tin plate smeared with molasses and the crumbs of stale
+crackers.</p>
+
+<p>Drew downed the mass avidly. Kirby was beside him again, a steaming tin
+cup ready.</p>
+
+<p>"This ain't nothin' but hotted water. But maybe it can make you think
+you're drinkin' somethin' more interestin'."</p>
+
+<p>With the tin cup in his hands, Drew discovered he could pay better
+attention to his surroundings. He glanced around the small circle of men
+who messed together. There was Larange, coming back from the horse
+lines, Webb, the Tennesseean from the mountains, Croff and Weatherby,
+Cherokees of the Indian Nations, and Kirby, of course. But&mdash;Drew was
+searching beyond the Texan for the other who should be there.</p>
+
+<p>Absently he sipped the hot water, almost afraid to ask a question. Then,
+just because of his inner fears, he forced out the words: "Where's
+Boyd?"</p>
+
+<p>When Kirby did not answer, Drew's head lifted. He put down his cup and
+caught the Texan's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"He made it out of town; I know that. But where <i>is</i> he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Ovah theah." Kirby nodded at the blanket-wrapped figure in the shadows.
+"Seems like he ain't feelin' too well...."</p>
+
+<p>Drew wasted no time in getting to his feet. On his hands and knees, he
+scrambled across the space separating him from the roll of blankets. His
+questing hand smoothed across a ragged bullet tear in the top one,
+recognizing it to be Kirby's by that mark. The pale oval of Boyd's face
+turned toward him.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the matter, boy?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew could hear the other's harsh, fast breathing just as he had when
+they had found the injured boy at Harrisburg. Drew's fingers touched a
+burning-hot cheek.</p>
+
+<p>"Got ... me ... sniffles." Boyd's mumble ended in another bout of those
+sharp coughs. "'Member&mdash;sniffles? Hot soup an' bricks in bed, an' onion
+cloth for the throat...." He repeated all the Oak Hill remedies for a
+severe cold.</p>
+
+<p>Bricks to warm the bed, hot soup of Mam Gusta's expert concocting, a
+thick onion poultice to ease the pain in throat and chest and draw out
+inflammation: every one of those were as far beyond reach now as Oak
+Hill itself! For a moment Drew was gripped with a panic born of utter
+frustration.</p>
+
+<p>"Shelly? You there, Shelly?" Boyd's hoarse voice came from the dark.
+"I'm sure thirsty, Shelly!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew turned his head. Kirby had been behind him, but now the Texan was
+back to the fire, ladling more hot water out of the pot. When he
+returned, Weatherby was with him. Drew slipped his arm under that
+restlessly turning head to support the boy while the Texan held the tin
+cup to Boyd's lips. They got a few mouthfuls into him before he turned
+his head away with a ghost of some of his old petulance.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm hungry, Shelly. Tell Mam Gusta...."</p>
+
+<p>Weatherby squatted down on the other side of Boyd's limp body and put
+his hand to the boy's forehead.</p>
+
+<p>"Fever."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes." Drew knew that much.</p>
+
+<p>"There's a farmhouse two miles that way." Weatherby nodded to the south.
+"Maybe nobody there, but it will be cover&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You can find it?" Drew demanded.</p>
+
+<p>The Cherokee scout answered quickly. "Yes. You tell the lieutenant, and
+we'll go there."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby's hand rested on Drew's shoulder for a moment. "I'll track down
+Traggart. You and Weatherby here get the kid into that cover as quick as
+you can. This ain't no weather for an hombre with a cough to be out
+sackin' in the bush."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby was back again before they had rigged a blanket stretcher between
+two horses.</p>
+
+<p>"The lieutenant says to stay with th' kid till mornin'. He'll send the
+doc along as soon as he can find him. Trouble is, we may have to ride on
+tomorrow...."</p>
+
+<p>But Drew put that worry out of his mind. No use thinking about tomorrow;
+the present moment was the most important. With Weatherby as their
+guide, they started off at a walk, heading into the night across
+ice-rimmed fields while the rising wind brought frost to bite in the air
+they pulled into their lungs.</p>
+
+<p>There was no light showing in the black bulk of the house to which
+Weatherby steered them. It was small, hardly better than a cabin, but
+the door swung open as Kirby knocked on it; and they could smell the
+cold, stale odor of a deserted and none-too-clean dwelling. But it was
+shelter, and exploring in the dark, Kirby announced that there was
+firewood piled beside the hearth.</p>
+
+<p>By the light of the blaze Weatherby brought alive they found an old
+bedstead backed against the wall, a tangle of filthy quilts cascading
+from it. One look at them assured Drew that Boyd would be far better
+left in his blankets on the floor itself.</p>
+
+<p>The Cherokee scout prowled the room, looking into the rickety wall
+cupboards, venturing through another door into a second smaller room,
+really a lean-to, and then going up the ladder into a loft.</p>
+
+<p>"They left in a hurry, whoever lived here," he reported. "They left
+this&mdash;" He held out a dried, shrunken piece of shriveled salt beef.</p>
+
+<p>"We can boil it," Kirby suggested. "Make a kinda broth; it might help
+the kid. Any sign of a pot&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>There was a pot, encrusted with corn-meal remains. Weatherby took it
+outside and returned, having scrubbed its interior as clean as possible,
+and filling it with a cup or so of water. "There's a well out there."</p>
+
+<p>Boyd was asleep, or at least Drew hoped it was sleep. The boy's face was
+flushed, his breathing fast and uneven. But he hadn't coughed for some
+time, and Drew began to hope. If he could have a quiet day or two here,
+he might be all right. Or else the surgeon could send him along on one
+of the wagons for the sick and wounded&mdash;the wagons already on the move
+south. If the doctor would certify that Boyd was ill....</p>
+
+<p>Weatherby was busily shredding the wood-hard beef into the pot of water.
+His busy fingers stopped; his dark eyes were now on the outer door. Drew
+stiffened. Kirby's fingers closed about the butt of a Colt.</p>
+
+<p>"What&mdash;" Drew asked in the faintest of whispers.</p>
+
+<p>The Cherokee dropped the remainder of the uncut beef into the pot. Knife
+in hand, he moved with a panther's fluid grace to the begrimed window
+half-covered with a dusty rag.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c12" id="c12"></a>12</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Guerrillas</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>Boyd stirred. "Shelly?" His call sounded loud in the now silent room.
+Drew set his hand across the boy's mouth, dividing his attention between
+Boyd and Weatherby. They had no way of putting out the fire, whose light
+might be providing a beacon through the dark. The Indian moved back a
+little from the window.</p>
+
+<p>"Riders ... coming down the lane." His whisper was a thread.</p>
+
+<p>Now Drew could hear, too, the ring of hoofs on the iron-hard surface of
+the ground. A horse nickered&mdash;one of those which had brought Boyd's
+stretcher, or perhaps one of the newcomers.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby whipped about the door and was now lost in the shadows of the next
+room. Weatherby looked to Drew, then to the loft ladder against the far
+wall. In answer to that unspoken question, Drew nodded.</p>
+
+<p>As the Cherokee swung up into the hiding place, Drew eased one of his
+Colts out of the holster, pushing it under the folds of the blankets
+around Boyd. Then he swung the pot, with its burden of beef and water,
+out over the fire&mdash;to hang on its chain to boil.</p>
+
+<p>"Shelly?" Boyd asked again. His eyes were open, too bright, and he
+stared about him, plainly puzzled. Then he looked up at his nurse, and
+his forehead wrinkled with effort. "Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>But Drew was listening to those oncoming hoofs. The strangers would see
+two horses. If they came in, they would find two men&mdash;it was as simple
+as that. And if they wore the wrong color uniforms, Weatherby above, and
+Kirby in the lean-to, would be ready and waiting for trouble. Drew laid
+fresh wood on the fire. Since he could not hide, he felt he'd better get
+as much light as possible in case of future trouble. The last they had
+heard the Yankees were concentrating at Murfreesboro and Nashville. But
+scouts would be out, dogging the flanks of the Confederate forces, just
+as he had done the opposite during the past few days.</p>
+
+<p>There was silence now in the lane, a suspicious quiet. Drew deduced that
+the riders had dismounted and might be closing in about the cabin. A
+prickle of chill climbed his spine. He touched the lump under the
+blanket which was his own insurance.</p>
+
+<p>The door burst open, sent banging inward by a booted foot. And at the
+same time a small pane in an opposite window shattered, the barrel of a
+rifle thrust in four inches, covering him. Drew remained where he was,
+his left arm thrown protectingly across Boyd.</p>
+
+<p>"Now ain't this somethin'?" The man who had booted in the door was
+grinning down at the two on the hearth. He wore a blue coat right
+enough, but it was slick with old grease across the chest, stained on
+one shoulder, and his breeches were linsey-woolsey, his boots old and
+scuffed. And his bush of unkempt hair was covered with a battered hat
+topping a woolen scarf wound about ears and neck.</p>
+
+<p>The chill on Drew's spine was a band of ice. This was no
+Union trooper. The scout could identify a far worse threat
+now&mdash;bushwhacker ... guerrilla, one of the jackals who hung on the
+fringe of both armies, looting, killing, and changing sides when it
+suited their purposes. Such a man was a murderer who would kill another
+for a pair of boots, a whole shirt, or the mere whim of the moment.</p>
+
+<p>"Come in, Simmy, we's got us a pair o' Rebs," the man bawled over his
+shoulder, and then turned to Drew. "Don't you go gittin' no ideas,
+sonny. Jas' thar, he's got a bead right on yuh, an' Jas' he's mighty
+good with that rifle gun. Now, you jus' pull out that Colt o' yourn an'
+toss it here. Make it fast, too, boy. I'm a mighty unpatient man&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew pulled free the Colt still in its holster, tossing it across the
+floor so that it spun against the fellow's boot. The big hairy hand
+scooped it up easily and tucked the weapon barrel down in his belt.</p>
+
+<p>A second man, smaller, with a thin face which had an odd lopsided look,
+squeezed through the door and sidled along the wall of the room, his
+rifle pointed straight at Drew's head. He spat a blotch of tobacco juice
+on the hearth, spattering the edge of the top blanket which covered
+Boyd.</p>
+
+<p>"What's th' matter wi' him?" he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"He's sick," Drew returned. "You Union?"</p>
+
+<p>The big man grinned. "Shore, sonny, shore. We is Union ... scouts ...
+Union scouts." He repeated that as if pleased by the sound. "An' you is
+Rebs, which makes you our prisoners. So he's sick, eh? What's the
+matter?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know." Drew's fingers were only inches away from the Colt under
+the blanket. But he could dare no such move with that rifle covering him
+from the window.</p>
+
+<p>"Jas', any sign out thar?" the big man called.</p>
+
+<p>"Petey ain't seen any, jus' two horses." The words came from behind the
+still ready rifle.</p>
+
+<p>"Wai, tell him to look round some more. An' you kin come in, Jas'. These
+here Rebs ain't gonna be no trouble&mdash;is you, sonny?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew shook his head. Luck appeared to be on his side. Once Jas' was in
+here, they could hope to turn tables on the three of them, with
+Weatherby and Kirby taking them by surprise.</p>
+
+<p>Jas' appeared in the doorway a moment or so later. He was younger than
+his two companions, younger and more tidy. His coat was also blue, and
+he wore a forage cap pulled down over hair very fair in the firelight.
+There was a fluff of young beard on his chin, and he carried himself
+with the stance of a drilled man. Deserter, thought Drew.</p>
+
+<p>The newcomer surveyed Drew and Boyd expressionlessly, his eyes oddly
+shallow, and tramped past them to hold his hands to the blaze on the
+hearth, keeping his rifle between his knees. Then he reached up with his
+weapon, hooked the barrel in the chain supporting the pot, and pulled
+that to him, sniffing at the now bubbling contents.</p>
+
+<p>"You, Reb"&mdash;the big man towered over Drew&mdash;"git this friend o' yourn an'
+drag him over thar. Us wants to git warm."</p>
+
+<p>"Drew?" Boyd looked up questioningly, his feverish gaze passing on to
+the guerrilla. "Where's Shelly?"</p>
+
+<p>The big man's grin faded. His big boot came out, caught Drew's leg in a
+vicious prod.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's this here Shelly? Whar at is he?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shelly was his brother," Drew said, nodding at Boyd. "He's dead."</p>
+
+<p>"Dead, eh? How come sonny boy here's askin' for him then?" He leaned
+over them, and his fingers grabbed and twisted at the front of Drew's
+threadbare shell jacket. "I ask yuh, Reb, whar at is this heah Shelly?"
+He seemed only to flick his wrist, but the strength behind that move
+whirled Drew away from Boyd, brought him part way to his feet, and
+slammed him against the wall&mdash;where the big man held him pinned with
+small expenditure of effort.</p>
+
+<p>"Shelly's dead." Somehow Drew kept his voice even. Kirby ... Weatherby
+... They were there. "Boyd's out of his head with fever."</p>
+
+<p>Jas' let the pot swing back over the fire, moving toward Boyd to lean
+over and stare at the boy's flushed face.</p>
+
+<p>"Might be so," Jas' remarked. "Two horses, two men. Neither one much to
+bother about."</p>
+
+<p>"Better be so!" The big man held Drew tight to the wall and cuffed him
+with his other hand. Dazedly, his head ringing, Drew slipped to the
+floor as the other released him. "Now"&mdash;that boot prodded Drew
+again&mdash;"git your friend over thar, Reb."</p>
+
+<p>Drew stumbled back and went on his knees beside Boyd. His fingers groped
+under the edge of the blanket, closing on the Colt. Jas' was inspecting
+the pot again, and Simmy had moved forward to share the warmth of the
+hearth. With the revolver still in his hand, though concealed by the
+blanket, Drew pulled Boyd away from the fire as best he could, aware
+the big man was watching closely.</p>
+
+<p>Jas' reached up to the crude mantel shelf, brought down a wooden spoon,
+and wiped it on a handkerchief he pulled from an inner pocket.</p>
+
+<p>"This ain't fancy grub," he observed to the room at large, "but it's
+better than nothin'. You want Simmy to bring in Petey, Hatch?"</p>
+
+<p>"Th' cap'n's comin'." Simmy's remark was made in a tone of objection.</p>
+
+<p>Hatch swung his head around to eye the smaller man.</p>
+
+<p>"You bring Petey in!" he ordered. "Now!" he added.</p>
+
+<p>For a second or two it appeared that Simmy might rebel, but Hatch stared
+him down. Jas' scooped out a spoonful of the pot's contents and blew
+over it.</p>
+
+<p>"You fixin' on havin' a showdown with the captain, Hatch?" he asked.</p>
+
+<p>The big man laughed. "I has me a showdown with anyone what gits too big
+for his breeches, Jas'. You, Reb&mdash;" he indicated Drew, with a thumb
+poking through a ragged glove&mdash;"supposin' you jus' show us what you got
+in them pockets o' yourn."</p>
+
+<p>Jas' laughed. "Don't figure to find anything worth takin' on a Reb do
+you, Hatch? Most of 'em are poorer'n dirt."</p>
+
+<p>"Now that's whar you figger wrong, Jas'." Hatch shook his head as might
+one deploring the stupidity of the young. "Lotsa them little Reb boys
+has got somethin' salted 'way, a nice watch maybe, or a ring or such.
+Them what comes from th' big houses kinda hold on to things from home.
+What you got, Reb?"</p>
+
+<p>"A gun&mdash;in your back!"</p>
+
+<p>Jas' spun in a half crouch, his rifle coming up. There was the explosion
+of a shot, making a deafening clap of thunder in the room. The younger
+bushwhacker cried out. His rifle lay on the floor, and he was holding a
+bloody hand. Kirby stood in the doorway, a Colt in each hand. And now
+Drew produced his own hidden weapon, centering it on Hatch.</p>
+
+<p>The door burst open for the second time as Simmy was propelled through
+it, his hands shoulder high, palm out, and empty. Weatherby came behind
+him, a gun belt slung over one shoulder, two extra revolvers thrust into
+his own belt.</p>
+
+<p>"They got Petey," Simmy gabbled. "Got him wi' a knife!" His forward rush
+brought him against the wall, and he made no move to turn around to face
+them. He could only plaster his body tight to that surface as if he
+longed to be able to ooze out into safety through one of its many
+cracks.</p>
+
+<p>"Shuck th' hardware!" Kirby ordered.</p>
+
+<p>Hatch's grin was gone. The fingers of his big hands were twitching, and
+the twist of his mouth was murderous.</p>
+
+<p>"Lissen&mdash;" the Texan's tone was frosty&mdash;"I've a finger what cramps on m'
+trigger when I git riled, an' I'm gittin' riled now. You loose off that
+theah fightin' iron, an' do it quick!"</p>
+
+<p>Hatch's hand went to his gun. He jerked it from the holster and slung it
+across the floor.</p>
+
+<p>"Now th' one you got holdin' up your belly ... an' your knife!"</p>
+
+<p>The Colt that Hatch had taken from Drew and a bowie with a long blade
+joined the armament already on the boards. Drew made a fast harvest of
+all the weapons.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, we sure got us some bounty hunter's bag," Kirby observed as he
+and Weatherby finished using the captives' own belts to pinion them.</p>
+
+<p>"There may be more comin'; they talked about some captain." Drew brought
+Boyd back to the warmth of the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Weatherby nodded. "I'll scout." He disappeared out the door.</p>
+
+<p>Jas' was rocking back and forth, holding on one knee the injured hand
+Kirby had roughly bandaged; his other arm was fastened behind him. There
+were tears of pain on his cheeks, but after his first outcry he had not
+uttered a sound. Hatch, on the other hand, had been so foul-mouthed that
+Kirby had torn off a length of the bed covering and gagged him.</p>
+
+<p>Simmy sat now with his back against the wall, watching their every move.
+Of the three, he seemed the likeliest to talk. Kirby appeared to share
+in Drew's thoughts on that subject, for now he bore down on the small
+man.</p>
+
+<p>"You expectin' some friends?" Compared to his tone of moments earlier,
+the Texan's voice was now mildly friendly. "We'd like to know, seein' as
+how we're thinkin' some hospitable thoughts 'bout entertainin' them
+proper."</p>
+
+<p>Simmy stared up at him, bewildered. Kirby shook his head, his expression
+one of a man dealing with a stubbornly stupid child.</p>
+
+<p>"Lissen, hombre, me&mdash;I'm from West Texas, an' that theah's Comanche
+country, leastwise it was Comanche country 'fore we Tejanos moved in.
+Now Comanches, they're an unfriendly people, 'bout the unfriendliest
+Injuns, 'cept 'Paches, a man can meet up with. An' they have them some
+neat little ways of makin' a man talk, or rather yell, his lungs out. It
+ain't too hard to learn them tricks, not for a bright boy like me, it
+ain't. You able to understand that?"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby did not scowl, he did not even touch the little man. But as one
+drawling word was joined to the next, Simmy held his body tighter
+against the wall, as if to escape by pushing.</p>
+
+<p>"I ain't done nothin'!" he cried.</p>
+
+<p>"That's what I said, little man. You ain't done nothin'. But you're
+goin' to do somethin'&mdash;talk!"</p>
+
+<p>Simmy's pale tongue swept across working lips. "What ... you
+want&mdash;wantta ... know?" he stuttered.</p>
+
+<p>"You expectin' to meet some friends heah?"</p>
+
+<p>"Th' rest o' the boys an' th' cap'n; they may be ketchin' up."</p>
+
+<p>"How many 'boys'?"</p>
+
+<p>Simmy's tongue tripped again. He swallowed. Drew thought he was trying
+to produce a crumb of defiance. Kirby reached out, selecting Hatch's
+bowie knife from the cache of captured weapons. He weighed it across the
+palm of his hand as if trying its balance and then, with deceptive ease,
+flipped it. The point thudded into the wall scant inches away from
+Simmy's right ear, and the little man's head bobbed down so that his
+nose hit one of his hunched-up knees.</p>
+
+<p>"How many 'boys'?" Kirby repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Depends...."</p>
+
+<p>"On what?"</p>
+
+<p>"On how good th' raidin' is. After a fight thar's always some pickin's."</p>
+
+<p>Drew was suddenly sick. What Simmy hinted at was the vulture work among
+the dead and the wounded too enfeebled to protect themselves from being
+plundered. He saw Kirby's lips set into a thin line.</p>
+
+<p>"Kinda throw a wide rope, don't you, little man? How many 'boys'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe five ... six...."</p>
+
+<p>"An' this heah cap'n?"</p>
+
+<p>"He tells us wheah thar's good pickin's." For a moment the man produced
+a spark of spite. "He's a Reb, like you&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Have you used this place before?" Drew broke in. If this were either a
+regular or temporary rendezvous for this jackal pack, the quicker they
+were away, the better.</p>
+
+<p>"No, the cap'n said to meet here tonight."</p>
+
+<p>"I don't suppose he said <i>when</i>?" Kirby's question was answered by a
+shake of Simmy's unkempt head.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd suddenly moved in his cocoon of blankets, struggling to sit up, and
+Drew went to him.</p>
+
+<p>He was coughing again with a strangling fight for breath which was
+frightening to watch. Drew steadied him until the attack was over and he
+lay in the other's arms, gasping. The liquid in the pot on the fire was
+cooked by now. Perhaps if Boyd had some of that in him.... But dared
+they stay here?</p>
+
+<p>Kirby squatted back on his heels as Drew settled Boyd on his blankets
+and went to unhook the pot. Then the Texan supported the younger boy as
+Drew ladled spoonfuls of the improvised broth into his mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"Th' doc'll come," Kirby murmured. "Croff promised to guide him heah.
+But this gang business&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how we can move him now...." Drew was feeding the broth
+between Boyd's lips, trying to ease the cough, his wits too dulled to
+tackle any problem beyond that.</p>
+
+<p>"Which means we gotta keep company from movin' in. If we could raise us
+a few of the boys now...." Kirby was speculative.</p>
+
+<p>"If you went back to camp, gave the alarm. Traggart doesn't want a gang
+like this runnin' loose around here. They say they're Union; maybe they
+do have some connection with the Yankees."</p>
+
+<p>"With a Reb cap'n throwin' in with 'em? Most of these polecats play both
+sides of the border when it'll git them anythin' they want. An' they
+could try an' pay their way with the Yankees by tellin' 'bout our
+movements heah."</p>
+
+<p>"Could you make it to camp, fast?"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby grunted. "Sure, easy as driftin' downriver on one of them theah
+steamers. But leavin' you heah with that mess of skunks is somethin'
+else."</p>
+
+<p>"Weatherby's out there. Anything or anyone gettin' by him would have to
+come in on wings."</p>
+
+<p>"An' wings don't come natural to this breed of critter! All right, I
+don't see how theah's much else we can do. We can't go pullin' the kid
+'round any more. I'll give Weatherby the high sign an' make it back as
+quick as I can. Let's see if these heah ropes is staked out tight."</p>
+
+<p>He made a careful inspection of their three captives' bonds, and Drew
+laid the assorted armament to hand. But Kirby hesitated by the door.</p>
+
+<p>"You keep your eyes peeled, amigo. Weatherby&mdash;he can pull that
+in-and-out game through the loft like he did before. But one man can't
+be all over the range at once."</p>
+
+<p>"I know." Drew studied the remnants of battered furniture about the
+room. He thought he could pull the bed frame across the outer door, and
+shove the table and bench in front of the door to the lean-to. And
+there was a section of wall right under the broken window which could
+not be seen by anyone outside. "I've some precautions in mind."</p>
+
+<p>"I'm ridin' then. See you." Kirby was gone with a wave of hand.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd was quiet again. The broth must have soothed him. Drew shifted the
+other's body to the floor on the spot of safety under the window. As he
+returned to gather up the arms he noted that Jas' was watching him.</p>
+
+<p>Some of the first shock of his wound had worn off so that the guerrilla
+was not only aware of his present difficulties but was eyeing Drew in a
+manner which suggested he had not accepted the change in their roles as
+final. Drew hesitated. He could tie back that wounded hand, too, but he
+was sure the other could not use it to any advantage, and Drew could not
+bring himself to cause the extra pain such a move would mean. Not that
+he had any illusions concerning the bushwhacker's care for him, had
+their situation been reversed.</p>
+
+<p>Simmy, once Kirby had gone, moved against the wall, holding up his head
+with a sigh of relief. He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. And
+when the scout did not pay any attention to him he spoke. "Wotcha gonna
+do wi' us, Reb?"</p>
+
+<p>Hatch's eyes, over the gag, were glaring evil; Jas' was watching the two
+Confederates with an intent measuring stare; but Simmy wilted a little
+when Drew looked at him directly.</p>
+
+<p>"You're prisoners of war. As Union scouts...."</p>
+
+<p>Simmy wriggled uncomfortably, and Drew continued the grilling.</p>
+
+<p>"You <i>are</i> Union scouts?"</p>
+
+<p>"Shore! Shore! We's Union, ain't we, Jas'?" he appealed eagerly to his
+fellow.</p>
+
+<p>Jas' neither answered nor allowed his gaze to wander from Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Then you'll get the usual treatment of a prisoner." Drew was short,
+trying to listen for any movement beyond the squalid room. Weatherby was
+out there, and Drew put a great deal of trust in the Cherokee's ability.
+But what if the "captain" and the remaining members of this outlaw gang
+arrived before Kirby returned with help? Seeing that Boyd appeared to be
+asleep, Drew once again inspected his weapons, checking the loading of
+revolvers and rifle.</p>
+
+<p>Jas's rifle was one of the new Spencers. The Yankees loaded those on
+Sunday and fired all week, or so the boys said. It was a fine piece, new
+and well cared for. He examined it carefully and then looked up to meet
+Jas's flat stare, knowing that the guerrilla's hate was the more bitter
+for seeing his prized weapon in the enemy's hands.</p>
+
+<p>The Spencer, Simmy's Enfield, old and not very well kept, five Colts
+beside his own, Hatch's bowie knife and another, almost as deadly
+looking, which had been found on Jas', equipped Drew with a regular
+arsenal. But it was not until he settled down that Drew knew he faced a
+far more deadly enemy&mdash;sleep. The fatigue he had been able to battle as
+long as he was on the move, hit him now with the force of a clubbed
+rifle. He knew he dared not even lean back against the wall or relax any
+of his vigilance, not so much over the prisoners and Boyd, as over
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>Somehow he held on, trying to move. The pile of wood by the hearth was
+diminishing steadily. He would soon have to let the fire die out. To
+venture out of the house in quest of more fuel was too risky. And
+always he was aware of Jas's tight regard. Simmy had fallen asleep, his
+thin, weasel face hidden as his head lolled forward on his chest.
+Hatch's eyes were also closed.</p>
+
+<p>Drew straightened with a start, conscious of having lost seconds&mdash;or
+moments&mdash;somewhere in a fog. He jerked aside, perhaps warned by his
+scout's sixth sense more than any real knowledge of danger. There was a
+searing flash beside his head, the bite of fire on his cheek. If he had
+not moved, he would have received that blazing brand straight between
+the eyes. Now he rolled, snapping out a shot.</p>
+
+<p>A man shouted hoarsely and Drew strove to avoid a kick, struggling to
+win to his feet, unable to tell just what was happening.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c13" id="c13"></a>13</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Disaster</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>Simmy's animallike howling filled the room. Jas', his hand bleeding
+afresh, sopping through the bandage his captors had twisted about the
+wound, sprawled forward, clawing with those reddened fingers for the
+Spencer. While Hatch, eyes and upper portions of his hair-matted cheeks
+bulging over the gag, kicked out, striving to come at Drew with the
+frenzy of a man making a last desperate play.</p>
+
+<p>The brand Jas' had hurled was smoldering on Boyd's blankets. Drew sent
+it flying with the toe of his boot and made a quick movement to stamp
+out a small spurt of flame. Then he kicked it again, spinning the
+Spencer back against the wall.</p>
+
+<p>Simmy's cry died to a whimper. A wide stain spread over his nondescript
+coat just above the belt, and Drew knew that his first shot had found
+that target. But he was in charge of the situation once again. Both
+Hatch and Jas' had subsided, the one eyeing the threat of Drew's weapon,
+the other again nursing his hand, his face drawn into a grin of agony.</p>
+
+<p>The smell of burning cloth was a sour stench. Drew moved to beat out a
+new blaze in the bedcovers. He coughed in acrid smoke and felt the
+smart of the burn along his neck and jaw where the brand had hit him.
+Simmy rolled on the floor, bent double.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew!" Boyd was struggling free of his blankets, up on one elbow,
+staring about him as one who had wakened into a nightmare rather than
+having come out of such a dream.</p>
+
+<p>"It's all right...."</p>
+
+<p>But was it? Hatch had subsided. Jas' was quiet; there was nothing to
+fear from Simmy. Only that same sense which was part of any scout's
+equipment nagged at Drew, warning him that the crisis was not over.</p>
+
+<p>He went down on one knee beside Simmy, endeavoring to roll him over to
+examine his wound. The guerrilla's mouth was slackly open, his small,
+predator's eyes were oddly bewildered, as if he could not comprehend
+what had happened to him or why. As Drew fumbled with his clothing to
+lay bare the wound, Simmy twisted, his legs pulling up a little. Then
+his head rolled, and Drew sat back on his heels. There was no longer any
+need for aid.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd still rested on his elbow, listening. He could hear Hatch's thick
+breathing and Jas's, a crack of charred wood breaking on the hearth, a
+slashing against the broken window ... the storm had begun again. Only
+those were not the sounds they were listening for.</p>
+
+<p>Drew visited in turn each of the flimsy barricades he had erected after
+Kirby left. He had no way of telling time. How long had it been since
+the Texan left? It could not be too far from morning now, yet the sky
+outside the windows was still as black as night.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew!" Boyd pulled his other hand free, pointing to the ceiling over
+their heads.</p>
+
+<p>The loft! And the route Weatherby had made use of when he had gone up
+that ladder, dropped out of a window above, and returned with his
+prisoner through the front door. But if the Cherokee had come back to
+the cabin, surely the disturbance in the room below would have brought
+him down. Unless he was otherwise occupied.... How? And by whom?</p>
+
+<p>Drew went to the foot of the ladder, not looking up to show his
+suspicion, but only to listen. He was certain he heard a scraping sound.
+Was it someone making his way through a small window? No one who had
+been weeks in Weatherby's company could believe that the Indian would
+betray his movements in that manner.</p>
+
+<p>Drew left the ladder, collected the Spencer, and joined Boyd. The rest
+of the weapons lay at hand, and Drew sorted them out swiftly, piling
+them between Boyd and his own post. From here, as he had earlier
+planned, they had both doors, two windows, and the ladder to the loft
+under surveillance. The other window was over the level of their heads.
+As long as they kept below its sill, anyone shooting through it could
+not touch them.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd hitched his shoulders higher against the wall. He was still
+flushed, his eyes too bright, but he was certainly more himself than he
+had been any time since they had brought him here. Now he reached for
+one of the Colts, resting it on his body at chest level.</p>
+
+<p>"Who are they?" he whispered, glancing at the prisoners.</p>
+
+<p>"Guerrillas," Drew replied.</p>
+
+<p>"More company comin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"Might be. Anse went for the boys."</p>
+
+<p>But Boyd's chin lifted an inch or two, a slight gesture to indicate the
+ceiling again. He brought his other hand up, and using both, cocked the
+Colt, that click carrying with almost a shot's sharp twang through the
+room.</p>
+
+<p>Jas' was again staring at Drew, his lips a silent snarl. But the scout
+believed that as long as he was alert, weapons in hand, he had nothing
+more to fear from his prisoners. They had made their reckless gamble and
+had lost.</p>
+
+<p>The opening at the top of the ladder was a square of dark, hardly
+touched by the flickering light of the dying fire.</p>
+
+<p>"You theah...." The barking hail came from without, strident, startling.
+"We have you surrounded."</p>
+
+<p>It was the voice of an educated man with the regional softening of
+vowels. Simmy's cap'n? What then had happened to Weatherby? Boyd braced
+the barrel of his Colt on a bent knee, its sights centered on the front
+door. But Drew still watched the loft opening.</p>
+
+<p>"Last chance ... come out with your hands up!" The voice was very close
+now. And the unknown apparently knew at least part of the situation in
+the cabin. Which meant either very clever scouting, or that they had
+taken Weatherby. But Drew, knowing the habits of the guerrillas, dared
+not follow that last thought far. He tried to locate the man outside; he
+was in front all right, but surely not directly in line with the door.</p>
+
+<p>"Cap'n!" Jas' called, his gaze daring Drew to shoot. "There's only two
+of 'em, and one's sick."</p>
+
+<p>There was a flicker of movement in the trap opening. Drew fired, to be
+answered by a yelp of pain and surprise. Perhaps he had not entirely
+removed one of the attackers from the effective list, but the fellow
+would be more cautious from now on.</p>
+
+<p>There was only a short second between his shot and an answering
+fusillade from outside. The panes in the other windows shattered and
+Hatch, gurgling incoherently behind his gag, kicked to roll himself
+behind the flimsy protection of the bedstead.</p>
+
+<p>"You almost got one of your own men then!" Drew called. Feverishly he
+tried to think of a way to play for time. Weatherby might be dead, but
+Kirby could have reached the headquarters camp and already be well on
+his way back with reinforcements.</p>
+
+<p>Hatch's gurgling was louder. And now Jas' had transferred his attention
+to the broken windows and what might be beyond them. There was a
+creaking above. Drew tried to deduce from those sounds whether one man
+or two moved overhead. The fire was dying fast. Should he try to urge it
+into new life with the last of the wood, or would the dark be more to
+his benefit?</p>
+
+<p>Shots again, but not crashing through the windows now; these were
+outside. A man screamed shrilly. Then a horse cried in pain. Drew heard
+the pounding of hoofs, and in the loft a quick shuffling. More shots....</p>
+
+<p>Boyd laughed hysterically, and then coughed, until he bent over the Colt
+he still grasped, gasping. Drew steadied him against his shoulder,
+trying to picture for himself what was happening outside. It sounded
+very much as if Kirby's relief force had arrived and that the "cap'n"
+and his gang were in retreat.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew! Everythin' all right?" There was no mistaking Kirby's voice.</p>
+
+<p>He had brought not only four other scouts from the camp, but also
+Lieutenant Traggart and the doctor. And as the major portion of that
+relief force crowded into the room Drew leaned back against the wall,
+very glad to let other authority take over.</p>
+
+<p>"Guerrilla scum," was the lieutenant's verdict on their prisoners. "They
+say they're Union ... or ours, whichever works best at the time. There's
+another one dead out there, and he's wearing one of <i>our</i> cavalry
+jackets!"</p>
+
+<p>"Officer's?" Drew wondered if they had picked off the "cap'n."</p>
+
+<p>"No, you thinkin' he was this renegade officer Kirby was talkin' about?
+I don't think this is the one. He's a pretty nasty-lookin' specimen,
+though. Four of 'em at least got away. We'll take these two into camp
+and see what they can tell us. The General will be interested. I'd say
+this one's a Yankee deserter." He studied Jas'.</p>
+
+<p>The young man in the blue jacket spat, and one of the scouts hooked his
+fingers in the other's collar, jerking him roughly to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>"Mount and start back with them!" Traggart ordered. "How's the boy,
+suh?"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd had wilted back into his blankets when the stimulation of the fight
+was gone. He was still conscious, but his coughing shook his whole body.</p>
+
+<p>"Lung fever, unless he gets the right care." The surgeon was going about
+his business with dispatch. "I hate to move him, but there's no sense in
+remaining here as a target for more of this trash." He glanced at Jas'
+and Hatch impersonally. "Lucky we brought the wagon. Tell Henderson to
+bring it up. We'll take him to the Letterworth house for now&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Reeling a little when he tried to walk, Drew found himself sharing the
+accommodation of the wagon with Boyd, a canvas slung across them to keep
+off the gusts of rain. He fell asleep as they bumped along, unable to
+fight off exhaustion any longer.</p>
+
+<p>Twenty-four hours later he was back on duty with the advance. Boyd was
+housed in such comfort as any could hope to find, and the cavalry was on
+the move. Buford's men were to picket along the Cumberland River. There
+was a new feel to the army. Drew sensed it as he rode with the small
+headquarters detachment. Empty saddles, too many of them, and the
+growing belief&mdash;evidenced in mutters passed from man to man&mdash;that they
+were engaged in a nearly hopeless bid.</p>
+
+<p>Franklin, which for Drew had been a wild gallop across some fields, a
+strip of cloth seized from the enemy to set beneath a guidon of their
+own, had been a major disaster for the Army of the Tennessee. Forrest's
+energy and drive kept the cavalry a sharp-edged weapon, still to be used
+with telling effect. But they all sensed the clouds gathering over their
+heads, not those laden with the eternal chill rain, but ones which
+carried with them a coming night.</p>
+
+<p>It was so cold that men had to use both hands to cock their revolvers.
+And Drew saw Croff swing from the saddle, draw his belt knife to cut the
+hoof from a dead horse. The Cherokee glanced up as he looped his grisly
+trophy to his saddle horn.</p>
+
+<p>"Need the shoe," he explained briefly. "Runner has one worn pretty
+thin." He patted the drooping neck of his mount.</p>
+
+<p>Hannibal walked around the dead horse carefully. The mule was only a
+skeleton copy of the sturdy, well-cared-for animal Drew had ridden out
+of Cadiz. But he would keep going until he dropped, and his rider knew
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"Any trace of Weatherby?" Drew asked. The disappearance of the other
+Cherokee scout at the cabin battle had continued as a mystery for their
+own small company. None of those who had known him could credit the
+Indian being taken unawares by the guerrilla force. He had vanished
+somewhere in the dark of the night, and none of their searching a day
+later, interrupted by orders to move, had turned up a clue.</p>
+
+<p>"Not yet," Croff answered. "He may have made too wide a circle and run
+into a Yankee picket. Someday, perhaps, we shall know. Look there!"</p>
+
+<p>From their screen of cover they watched a blue cavalry patrol trot along
+a lane.</p>
+
+<p>"Headin' for th' home corral, an' lookin' twice over each shoulder while
+they do it," commented Kirby. "Was we to let out a yell now, they'd drag
+it so fast they'd dig their hoofs in clear down to the stirrup
+leathers."</p>
+
+<p>Drew shook his head. "Those are General Wilson's men ... can't be sure
+with them that they wouldn't come poundin' up, sabers out, tryin' to
+take a prisoner or two. Anyway, we don't stir them up, that's orders."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby sighed. "Too bad. Cold as it is, a little fightin' would warm an
+hombre up some. You know, for sure, the only way we're gonna git outta
+this heah war is to fight our way out."</p>
+
+<p>Croff reined his patient mount around. "The big fight is comin'&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Nashville?" Drew asked, aware of a somber shadow closing in on them
+all.</p>
+
+<p>The Cherokee shrugged. "Nashville? Maybe. The signs are not good."</p>
+
+<p>"It's when the signs ain't good," Kirby observed, "that fellas lean on
+their hardware twice as hard. Heard tell of gunfighters knotchin' their
+irons for each man they take in a shootout. Me, I'm kinda workin' the
+same idea for battles. An' I have me a pretty good tally&mdash;Shiloh,
+Lebanon, Chickamauga, Cynthiana twice, Harrisburg, an' a mixed herd o'
+little ones. Gittin' pretty long, that line o' knotches." His voice
+trailed away as he watched the disappearing Yankee cavalrymen, but
+somehow Drew thought he was seeing either more or less than blue-coated
+men riding under a sullen December sky.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, a long tally of battles, and all those small fights in between
+which sometimes a man could remember better than the big ones, remember
+too often and too well.</p>
+
+<p>"The wagons pulled out of the Letterworth place this mornin'," Drew
+said. "They were gone when I stopped by at noon&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' south? Any news of the kid?"</p>
+
+<p>"They took him along." There was a faint ray of comfort in the thought
+that Boyd had been judged well enough to be moved with the rest of the
+sick and wounded up from the temporary hospitals and shelters in the
+neighborhood. The seriously ill certainly could not be moved. But he
+wished he could have seen the boy; there was no telling when and where
+they would meet again.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Kirby pointed out, "if the doc took him, it means they thought
+he was able to make it. He's young an' tough. Bet he'll be back in line
+soon."</p>
+
+<p>"They'll travel slow," Croff added. "Drivin' hogs and cattle and all
+those wagons, they ain't goin' to push."</p>
+
+<p>Forrest, along with his prisoners, wagons, sick and wounded, the
+barefoot, and dismounted men, was driving four-footed supplies south on
+his way to the Tennessee River, and he was not likely to risk or
+relinquish any of the spoil. Buford's Kentuckians lay in wait along the
+Cumberland, hoping perhaps to echo, if only faintly, their earlier
+successes against the gunboats and supply transports. And at Nashville a
+battle was shaping....</p>
+
+<p>Drew had ridden in to report when the first of the new retreat orders
+came. General Buford, who had invited Drew up to the fire, sat listening
+as the scout held his stiff hands to the blaze and listed the sum total
+of the day's comings and goings as far as Yankee patrols were concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"No sign of that missin' scout?" the General asked when Drew's account
+was finished. "Pour yourself a cup of that, boy! It ain't coffee. In
+fact, I don't inquire too deeply into what Lish does bring me to drink
+nowadays. But it's kind of comfortin' to have something warm under your
+belt in this weather. Blame-coldest, wettest winter I ever did see! No
+sign of Weatherby?" he repeated as Drew sipped from the tin cup his
+superior had pushed into his hands, not only grateful for the warmth
+spreading through his insides, but also for the heat of the container he
+cupped between his palms.</p>
+
+<p>"No, suh, no sign at all."</p>
+
+<p>"Hmm. That's strange." The General edged his solid bulk forward on his
+stool, which creaked as his weight shifted. He poured himself a cup of
+the same brew he had urged upon the scout. "Those were guerrillas right
+enough. Scum from both sides, just out like buzzards to pick up what
+they could. Only they were too far into our lines ... and bolder than
+most. Doesn't fit somehow."</p>
+
+<p>"Might be cover for Union scouts after all, suh?"</p>
+
+<p>Buford shrugged. "Not very likely. If Weatherby does report in, send him
+to me! Oh, by the way, Rennie, you're promoted to sergeant to take
+Wilkins' place." The General sat gazing into the cup he held, but it was
+plain his thoughts were far from the current substitute for coffee.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, suh."</p>
+
+<p>Buford glanced up. "Thank&mdash;? Oh, the sergeant business. Lieutenant
+Traggart put you in for the first openin' some time ago. You had your
+trainin' with Morgan, and you learned well. John Morgan ... hard to
+think of him dead now. And Pat Cleburne ... and all the rest. We have to
+close ranks and do double duty for all of them." Again he was speaking
+his thoughts, Drew was sure. "Well, Sergeant Rennie, we will, we will!"</p>
+
+<p>The courier who stumbled into the room, lurched against the rude wooden
+table, almost rebounding from it to fall. He was nearly out on his feet,
+feet where broken boots were mired within inches of their tops. Drew put
+down his cup and jumped up to steady the man.</p>
+
+<p>"General Forrest's compliments, suh. Will you bring up the division to
+join General Chalmers? The battle's on at Nashville, and it may be
+necessary to form a rear guard for a retreat&mdash;" He got the message out
+mechanically in a croak.</p>
+
+<p>So they went to start the first move in a vast job of salvage. Buford's
+men marched fast to come between a broken army and the full force of
+enemy pursuit. For Franklin, having bled the Army of the Tennessee of
+its strength, was only the beginning of chaos. Nashville crushed the
+remains, and the remnants fled, a crippled despairing flight of the
+defeated. The big gamble was totally lost.</p>
+
+<p>It was Forrest who commanded that hastily formed rear guard. Its stiff
+spine was his cavalry, with the addition of two brigades of
+infantry&mdash;Alabama and Georgia troops. Snapping at them was Union
+cavalry in full force. Not snapping at their heels, for it was fang to
+fang; the Confederates only gave ground fighting. Day darkened on the
+field and they were in hand-to-hand assault. A man marked musket or
+carbine flash to sight on the enemy.</p>
+
+<p>And as time became a nightmare of almost continuous battle, the rain
+lashed at the struggling men with a whip of icy water. Fighters crouched
+behind rail fences while the Union cavalry charged across black fields,
+hoofs drumming on the ground, and the sputtering fire of carbines making
+an uneven kind of lightning along the improvised wood barricades. Black
+tree trunks gleamed greasily in the wet; and here and there, out of
+defiance, the war whoop of the Yell cut eerily through the melee.</p>
+
+<p>After evacuating Columbia, they closed ranks and stiffened again,
+knowing that they must be the wall between the disorganized rabble of
+the army and the thrust of the Yankee forces coming confidently to
+finish them off. Cavalry, volunteers from the infantry, fragments of
+commands all, but still with enough cohesion behind a commander they
+trusted to fall back in fighting order ... and fighting&mdash;even to
+countercharge when the need and the occasion offered.</p>
+
+<p>Drew, Kirby, Croff, and Webb circled around a wagon, bringing the driver
+to a halt, his mule team standing with drooping heads, blowing and
+puffing so that their ribs showed as bony bars through their wet hides.</p>
+
+<p>"Git!" The driver raised his whip as a weapon of offense until he saw
+where Croff's carbine was aimed. A little pale, he sank back on the
+seat. A bush of whiskers hid most of his dirty face, and there was
+something about him which reminded Drew of the guerrilla Simmy.</p>
+
+<p>"Watta yuh want?" he whined.</p>
+
+<p>"Orders," Drew told him shortly. "Pull over there and dump your load!"</p>
+
+<p>"Whose orders?" The driver bristled, still fingering his whip.</p>
+
+<p>"General Forrest's. Now get to it!" Drew put snap in that. "All right,
+boys," he called to the patiently waiting line of infantrymen, "here's
+another one ready to carry you as soon as you empty it."</p>
+
+<p>The ragged half company fanned forward, bearing down upon the wagon as
+if it were a Yankee stronghold. They swarmed over and in it, pitching
+the contents out on the ground in spite of the futile protests of the
+driver.</p>
+
+<p>"Lordy! Lordy!" One of the willing unloaders paused, his arms about a
+box. He was staring into its interior, bemused. "Lookit what's heah! I
+ain't seen such a lovely, lovely sight since I had me a chance on the
+river at that blue-belly supply ship!"</p>
+
+<p>He placed the box with exaggerated care on the ground and dived into it,
+coming up with a can in each hand. "Boys, we has us a treasure; we sure
+enough has!" He was immediately the core of a group eager to share in
+his find. The driver half raised his whip. Kirby brought his horse
+closer to the wagon, caught at the lash, pulling the stock out of the
+other's hands with a quick jerk.</p>
+
+<p>"Reckon the boys must have lighted on your own private cache, eh, fella?
+Don't hump your tail none 'bout it. They ain't in no mood to listen to
+any palaver on the subject. Better ride it out peaceablelike."</p>
+
+<p>"Much obliged, Sarge." The original finder of the treasure trove broke
+from the circle and handed Drew some crackers. "The boys want you should
+have a taste, too."</p>
+
+<p>Drew laughed and began sharing the windfall with the scouts.</p>
+
+<p>"Better break it up, soldiers. The General wants us on the move."</p>
+
+<p>They were already busy throwing the last articles out of the wagon,
+settling in. Barefoot, cold, hungry, until the last few minutes, they
+were Forrest's indomitable rear guard, riding between brisk spats with
+the enemy.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby tested the edge of a cracker between his teeth as they trotted on
+in search for another wagon to turn over to the infantry.</p>
+
+<p>"This heah army is bound to git mounted, one way or the other," he
+commented. "Hope we have some more luck like that in the next wagon,
+too."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c14" id="c14"></a>14</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Hell in Tennessee</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"At least we have that river between us now," Drew said. Behind them was
+Columbia, where Forrest had bought them precious hours of traveling time
+with his truce to discuss a prisoner exchange. Along the banks of the
+now turbulent Duck River not a bridge or boat remained to aid their
+pursuers. Buford's Scouts had had a hand in that precaution.</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah, an' Forrest's waitin' for the Yankees to try an' smoke him out.
+It's 'bout like puttin' your hand in a rattler's den to git him by the
+tail, I'd say. But I'd feel a mite safer was theah an ocean between us.
+Funny, a man is all randy with his tail up when he's doin' the chasin',
+but you git mighty dry-mouthed an' spooky when the cards is slidin' the
+other way 'crost the table. Seems like we has been chased back an' forth
+over these heah rivers so much, they ought to know us by now. An' be a
+little more obligin' an' do some partin', like in that old Bible
+story&mdash;let us through on dry land. Man, how I could do with some <i>dry</i>
+land!" Kirby spoke with unusual fervor.</p>
+
+<p>Croff laughed. "No use hopin' for that. Anyways, we have business
+ahead."</p>
+
+<p>Just as they had rounded up wagons to transport the infantry between
+skirmishes, so now they were on the hunt for oxen to move the guns. The
+bogs&mdash;miscalled "roads" on their maps&mdash;demanded more animal power than
+the worn-out horses and mules of the army could supply. Oxen had to be
+impressed from the surrounding farms for use in moving the wagons and
+fieldpieces relay fashion, with those teams sometimes struggling belly
+deep. Having pulled one section to a point ahead, they were driven back
+to bring up the rear of the train.</p>
+
+<p>"Not enough ice on the ground; it's rainin' it now!" Kirby's shoulders
+were hunched, his head forward between them as if, tortoisewise, he
+wanted to withdraw into a nonexistent protecting shell.</p>
+
+<p>"Just be glad," Drew answered, "you ain't walkin'. I saw an ox fall back
+there a ways. Before it was hardly dead the men were at it, rippin' off
+the hide to cover their feet&mdash;bleedin' feet!"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm not complainin'," the Texan said. "M'boots still cover me,
+anyway. Me, I'm thankful for what I got&mdash;can even sing 'bout it."</p>
+
+<p>His soft, clear baritone caroled out:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And now I'm headin' southward, my heart is full of woe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm goin' back to Georgia to find my Uncle Joe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You may talk about your Beauregard an' sing of General Lee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the gallant Hood of Texas played Hell in Tennessee."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Some sardonic Texan, anonymous in the defeated forces, had first chanted
+those words to the swinging march of his western command&mdash;"The Yellow
+Rose of Texas"&mdash;and they had been passed from company to company, squad
+to squad, by men who had always been a little distrustful of Hood, men
+who had looked back to the leadership of General Johnston as a good time
+when they actually seemed to be getting somewhere with this
+endless-seeming war.</p>
+
+<p>There was a soft echo from somewhere&mdash;"...played Hell in
+Tennessee-ee-ee."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure did," Webb commented. "But this country comin' up now ain't gonna
+favor the blue bellies none."</p>
+
+<p>He was right. Both sides of the turnpike over which the broken army
+dragged its way south were heavily wooded, and the road threaded through
+a bewildering maze of narrow valleys, gorges, and ravines&mdash;just the type
+of territory made for defensive ambushes to rock reckless Yankees out of
+their saddles. The turnpike was to be left for the use of the rear guard
+of fighting men, while the wagon trains and straggling mass of the
+disorganized Army of the Tennessee split up to follow the dirt roads
+toward Bainbridge and the Tennessee River.</p>
+
+<p>"Know somethin'?" Webb demanded suddenly, hours later, as they were on
+their way back with their hard-found quota of oxen and protesting owners
+and drivers. "This heah's Christmas Eve&mdash;tomorrow's Christmas! Ain't had
+a chance to count up the days till now."</p>
+
+<p>"Sounds like we is gonna have us a present&mdash;from the Yankees. Hear that,
+amigos?" Kirby rose in his stirrups, facing into the wind.</p>
+
+<p>They could hear it right enough, the sharp spatter of rifle and musket
+fire, the deeper sound of field guns. It was a clamor they had listened
+to only too often lately, but now it was forceful enough to suggest that
+this was more than just a skirmish.</p>
+
+<p>Having seen their oxen into the hands of the teamsters, they settled
+down to the best pace they could get from their mounts. But before they
+reached the scene of action they caught the worst of the news from the
+wounded men drifting back.</p>
+
+<p>"... saw him carried off myself," a thin man, with a bandaged arm thrust
+into the front of his jacket, told them. "Th' Yankees got 'cross
+Richland Creek and flanked us. General Buford got it then."</p>
+
+<p>Drew leaned from his saddle to demand the most important answer. "How
+bad?" Abram Buford might not have had the dash of Morgan, the electric
+personality of Forrest, but no one could serve in his headquarters
+company without being well aware of the steadfast determination, the
+regard for his men, the bulldog courage which made him Forrest's
+dependable, rock-hard supporter in the most dangerous action.</p>
+
+<p>"They said pretty bad. General Chalmers, he took command."</p>
+
+<p>"Christmas present," Kirby repeated bleakly. "Looks like Christmas ain't
+gonna be so merry this year."</p>
+
+<p>They had lost Buford and they were forced back again, disputing
+savagely&mdash;hand to hand, revolver against saber, carbine against
+carbine&mdash;to Pulaski. Seven miles, and the enemy made to pay dearly for
+every foot of that distance.</p>
+
+<p>It was Christmas morning, and Drew chewed on a crust of corn pone, old
+and rock-hard. He wondered dully if his capacity to hold more than a few
+crumbs had completely vanished. And he allowed himself for one or two
+long moments to remember Christmas at Oak Hill&mdash;where he had managed to
+spend a more festive day than at Red Springs in the chilly neighborhood
+of his grandfather. Christmas at Oak Hill ... Sheldon, Boyd, Cousin
+Merry, Cousin Jeff, too, before he died back in '59.</p>
+
+<p>Drew opened his eyes and saw a fire, not the flames of brandy flickering
+above a plum pudding, or the quiet, welcoming fire on a hearth, but
+rather a violent burst of yellow-and-red destruction punctured by bursts
+of exploding ammunition. These were the stores Forrest had ordered
+destroyed because the men could transport them no further.</p>
+
+<p>The word was out that they were going to make a firm stand near
+Anthony's Hill, again to the south. And they had been hard at work there
+to fashion a stopper which would either suck the venturesome enemy into
+a bad mauling, as Forrest hoped, or else just hold him to buy more time.</p>
+
+<p>There the turnpike descended sharply with a defile between two ridges,
+ridges which now housed Morton's battery, ready to blast road and hollow
+below. Felled timber, rails, stones, anything which could shelter a man
+from lead and steel long enough for him to shoot his share back, had
+been woven together, and a mounted reserve waited behind to prevent
+flanking. A good stout trap&mdash;the kind Forrest had used to advantage
+before and which had enough teeth in it to crush the unwary.</p>
+
+<p>"Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed," Drew repeated to himself that tag
+from some childhood rhyme or story as he waited at the mouth of the
+gorge to play his own part in the action to come. A small force of
+mounted men, scouts, and volunteers from various commands were bait. It
+was their job to make a short stiff resistance, then fly in headlong
+retreat, enticing the Union riders into the waiting ambush.</p>
+
+<p>"Who's this heah Dilly?" Kirby wanted to know. "Some Yankee?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew laughed. "Might be." He sagged a little in the saddle. Sleep during
+the past ten days had come in small snatches. Twice he had caught naps
+lying in stalled wagons waiting for fresh teams to arrive, and both
+times he had been awakened out of dreams he did not care to remember, to
+ride with gummy eyelids and a sense of being so tired that there was a
+fog between him and most of the world. It was two days now since Buford
+had been wounded. The news was that the big Kentucky general would
+recover. And it was a whole twenty-four hours since he watched the
+Christmas fires Forrest had lit in Pulaski, the fires which had devoured
+what they no longer had the animal power to save.</p>
+
+<p>Here in the mouth of the gorge the silence was almost oppressive. He
+heard a smothered cough from one of the waiting men, a horse blow in a
+kind of wheeze. Then came the call of a bugle from down the road.</p>
+
+<p>Theirs, not ours, Drew thought. Hannibal shook his head vigorously, as
+if bitten by a sadly out-of-season fly. The captain commanding their
+company of bait signaled an advance. And they followed the familiar
+pattern of weaving in and out of cover to enlarge the appearance of
+their force.</p>
+
+<p>Firing rent the quiet of a few minutes earlier. Drew snapped a shot at
+the Yankee guidon bearer, certain he saw the man flinch. Then, with the
+rest, he sent Hannibal on the best run the mule could hold, back into
+the waiting mouth of the hollow. They pounded on, eager to present such
+a picture of wholesale rout that the Union men would believe a soft
+strike, perhaps an important bag of prisoners, lay ahead, needing only
+to be scooped in.</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps it was the reputation for wiliness Forrest had earned which put
+the Yankee commander on his guard. There was no headlong chase down the
+ambush valley as they had hoped and planned to intercept. Instead,
+dismounted men came at a careful, suspicious pace, cored around a single
+fieldpiece, a small answer to their trap.</p>
+
+<p>But when that blue stream funneled into the hollow, the jaws snapped
+away. Canister from Morton's guns laid a scythe along the Union advance,
+cutting men to ground level. The Yell shrilled along the slopes, and men
+jumped trees and rail barricades, pouring down in an assault wave not to
+be turned aside. The Yankee gun, its eight-horse team, men who stood now
+with their hands high, horses for riders who were no longer to need
+them. Three hundred of those horses from the lines behind the dismounted
+skirmishers&mdash;far more valuable than any inanimate treasure to men who
+had lost mounts&mdash;one hundred and fifty prisoners.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby rode back from the eddy in the road, his mouth a wide grin
+splitting his skin-and-bone face. He had a length of heavy blue cloth
+across the saddle before him and was smoothing it lovingly with one
+chilblained hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Got me one of them theah overcoats," he announced. "Sure fine, like to
+thank General Wilson for it personal. If I could git me in ropin'
+distance of him to do that."</p>
+
+<p>The small success of the venture was not a complete victory. His
+dismounted cavalry overrun or thrust back, Wilson brought up infantry,
+and they settled down to a dogged attack on the entrenched Confederates
+on the ridges.</p>
+
+<p>Union forces bored in steadily, slamming the weight of regiments against
+the flanks of the defenders. And slowly but inexorably, that turning
+movement pushed the Confederates in and back. Drew, riding courier,
+brought up to the ridge where Forrest sat on the big gray King Phillip,
+statue-still, immovable.</p>
+
+<p>"General, suh, the enemy is in our rear&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Forrest turned his head abruptly, the statue coming to life. And there
+was impatience in the answer which was certainly meant for all the
+doubters at large and not to one sergeant of scouts relaying a message.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, ain't we in theirs?"</p>
+
+<p>General Armstrong, his men out of ammunition, made his own plea to fall
+back. But the orders were to hold. Hood was at Sugar Creek with the
+army; he must have time to cross. It was late afternoon when Forrest at
+last ordered the withdrawal, and they made it in an orderly fashion.</p>
+
+<p>Through the night the rear guard toiled on and a little after midnight
+they reached the Sugar in their turn. Drew splashed cold water on his
+face, not only to keep awake, but to rinse off the mud and grime of days
+of riding and fighting. He could not remember when he had had his
+clothes off, had bathed or worn a clean shirt. Now he smeared his jacket
+sleeve across his face in place of a towel and tramped wearily back to
+the fire where his own small squad had settled in for what rest they
+could get.</p>
+
+<p>Croff was sniffing the air, hound fashion.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't gonna do you no good," Webb told him sourly. "Theah ain't nothin'
+in the pot, nor no pot neither&mdash;'less Kirby 'membered to stow it last
+time. Lordy, m' back an' m' middle are clean growed together, seems
+like."</p>
+
+<p>"Feast your eyes, man! Jus' feast your eyes!" Kirby unrolled his prized
+coat. In its folds was a greasy package which did indeed give up a
+treasure&mdash;a good four-inch-thick slab of bacon squeezed in with a block
+of odd, brownish-yellow stuff.</p>
+
+<p>They crowded around, dazzled by the sight of bacon, real bacon. Then
+Drew pointed at the accompanying block.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that? New kind of hardtack?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nope. That theah's vegetables." Kirby spoke with authority.</p>
+
+<p>"Vegetables?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah. These heah Yankee commissaries bin workin' out new tricks all th'
+time. They takes a lot of stuff like turnips, carrots, beets, all such
+truck, an' press it into cakes like this. 'Course you have to be
+careful. I heard tell as how one blue belly, he chawed the stuff dry an'
+then drank water; it bloated him up like a cow in green cane. Poor
+fella, he jus' natchelly suffered from bein' so greedy. But you drop it
+in water an' give it a boil...."</p>
+
+<p>"Looks like hay," Drew commented without enthusiasm. He picked it up and
+sniffed dubiously.</p>
+
+<p>"Man," Webb said, "if the Yankees can eat hay, then we can too. An' I'm
+hungry 'nough to chaw grass, were you to show me a tidy patch an' say go
+to it! How come you know all 'bout this hay-stuff, Anse?"</p>
+
+<p>"We found some of it on the <i>Mazeppa</i>. The lieutenant told us how it
+worked&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The <i>Mazeppa</i>!" Webb breathed reverently, and there was a moment of
+silence as they all recalled the richness of that capture. "We shore
+could do with another boat like that one. Too bad this heah crick ain't
+big 'nough to float a nice bunch of supplies in, right now."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby produced the pail dedicated to the preparation of coffee. But
+since coffee was so far in the past they could not even remember its
+smell or taste, no one protested his putting the vegetable block to the
+test by setting it boiling in the sacred container.</p>
+
+<p>"Don't look like much." Webb fanned away smoke to peer into the pail.
+Kirby had also produced a skillet, made from half of a Yankee canteen,
+into which he was slicing the bacon.</p>
+
+<p>"It's fillin'," he retorted sharply. "An' you didn't pay for it, did
+you? A man who slangs th' cook&mdash;an' the grub&mdash;now maybe he ain't gonna
+find his plate waitin' when it's time to eat&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Webb drew back hurriedly. "I ain't sayin' nothin', nothin' at all!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew grinned. "That's being wise, Will. Times when a man can talk
+himself right out of a good piece of luck. It's hot and fillin', and you
+got bacon to give it some taste...."</p>
+
+<p>With hot food under their belts, a fire, and no sign of orders to move,
+they were content. Kirby and Croff followed the old Plains trick of
+raking aside the fire, leaving a patch of warmed earth on which all four
+could curl up together, two men sharing blankets. As the Texan squirmed
+into place beside him Drew felt the added warmth of the plundered coat
+Kirby pulled over them. This had not been too bad a day after all, or
+rather yesterday had not; it was now not too far before dawn. They had
+made their play at Anthony's Hill and had come out of it with horses,
+some food, and a few incidental comforts like this coat. Now after
+eating, they had a chance to sleep. It seemed that Forrest was going to
+pull it off neatly again. Drowsily Drew watched the rekindled fire. They
+would make it, after all.</p>
+
+<p>He awoke to find a thick white cotton of fog enfolding the bivouac. The
+preparations they had made again of rail and tree breastworks to greet
+the Union advance were no easier to see than the men crouched in their
+shadows. It would be a blind battle if Wilson's pursuit caught up before
+this cleared; one would only be able to tell the enemy by his position.</p>
+
+<p>But there was no hanging back on the part of the Yankees that morning.
+Slowly, maybe blindly, but with determination, they were picking their
+way ahead, reaching the creek bank. If they could cut through Forrest's
+present lines, thrust straight ahead, they could smash the demoralized
+straggle of Hood's main command, and the Army of the Tennessee would
+cease to exist.</p>
+
+<p>The blue coats were shadows in the fog, the first advance wading the
+creek now, their rifles held high. And as that line closed up and
+solidified into a wall of men, a burst of flame met them face-on. It was
+brutal, almost one-sided. The Yankees were on their feet, pacing into a
+country they could not clearly distinguish. While their opponents had
+"picked trees" and were firing from shelter with accuracy to tear huge
+gaps in that line.</p>
+
+<p>Men stopped, fired, then broke, running back to the creek for the safety
+which might lie beyond that wash of icy water. And as they went, ranks
+of the defenders rose and raced after them, hooting and calling as if on
+some holiday hunt. Now the cavalry moved in in their turn, cutting
+savagely at the Union flanks, herding the dismounted Yankees back
+through the lines of their horse holders as the Morgan men had been
+driven at Cynthiana. Wild with fright, horses lunged, reared, tore free
+from men, and raced in and out, many to be caught by the gray coats. It
+was a rout and they pushed the Union troops back, snapping up
+prisoners, horses, equipment&mdash;whipping out like a thrown net to sweep
+back laden with spoil.</p>
+
+<p>These attackers were the rear guard of a badly beaten army, but they did
+not act that way. They rode, fought, and out-maneuvered their enemies as
+if they were the fresh advance of a superior invading force. And the
+swift, hard blows they aimed bought not only time for those they
+defended, but also the respect, the irritated concern of the men they
+turned time and time again to fight against.</p>
+
+<p>Having pushed Wilson's troopers well back, the Confederates withdrew
+once more to the creek, waiting for what might be a second assault. They
+ate, if they were lucky enough to have rations, and rested their horses.
+Corn was long gone, so mounts were fed on withered leaves pulled from
+field shocks, from any possible forage a man could find.</p>
+
+<p>Drew led the gaunt rack of bones that was Hannibal to the creek, letting
+the mule lip the water. But it was plain the animal was failing. Drew
+shifted his saddle from that bony back to one of the horses they had
+gathered in during the morning. But the Yankee gelding was little
+improvement. In the mud, constantly cut by ice, too wet most of the
+time, a horse's hoofs rotted on its feet. And the dead animals, many of
+them put out of their misery by their riders, marked with patches of
+black, brown, gray, the path of the army. A man had to harden himself to
+that suffering, just as he had to harden himself to all the other
+miseries of war.</p>
+
+<p>War was boredom, and it was also quick, exciting action such as they had
+had that morning. It was fighting gunboats along the river; it was the
+heat and horror of that slope at Harrisburg, the cold and horror of
+Franklin. It was riding with men such as Anson Kirby, being a part of a
+fluid weapon forged and used well by a commander such as Bedford
+Forrest. It was a way of life....</p>
+
+<p>The scout's hand paused in his currying of Hannibal as that idea struck
+him for the first time. Now he thought he could understand why Red
+Springs and all it stood for was so removed and meaningless, was lost in
+the dim past. To Drew Rennie now, the squad, his round of duties, the
+army&mdash;these were home, not a brick house set in the midst of green
+fields and smooth paddocks. The house was empty of what he had found
+elsewhere&mdash;acceptance of Drew Rennie as a person in his own right,
+friendship, an occupation which answered the restlessness which had
+ridden him into rebellion. He stood staring at nothing as he thought
+about all that.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby startled him out of his self-absorption. "Butt your saddle, amigo!
+We're hittin' the trail again."</p>
+
+<p>As he swung up on the Yankee horse and took Hannibal's lead halter, Drew
+asked a question:</p>
+
+<p>"Ever seem to you, Anse, like the army's home? Like it's always been,
+and you've always been a part of it?"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby shot him a quick glance. "Guess we all kinda feel that sometimes.
+Gits so you can hardly remember how it was 'fore you joined up. Me, I
+sometimes wonder if I jus' dreamed Texas outta m' head. Only I keep
+remindin' myself that someday I can go back an' see if it's jus' the way
+I dreamed it. Kinda nice to think 'bout that."</p>
+
+<p>They cut away from the main line of march, ranging out and ahead.
+Stragglers from the army must be moved forward, directed. And they came
+upon one of those, a tall man, limping on feet covered with strips of
+filthy rag. But he still had his musket, and on its bayonet was stuck a
+goodly portion of ham. He had been sitting on a tree trunk, but at the
+approach of the scouts he moved to meet them.</p>
+
+<p>"Howdy, fellas," he spoke in a hoarse voice, and wiped a running nose on
+his sleeve. "What command you in?"</p>
+
+<p>"Forrest's Cavalry ... Scouts&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Forrest's!" He took another eager step forward. "Now theah's a command!
+Ain't bin for you boys, th' blue bellies woulda gulped us right up!
+Nairy a one of us'd got out of Tennessee."</p>
+
+<p>"You ain't rightly out yet, amigo," Kirby pointed out. "Kinda lost,
+ain't you?"</p>
+
+<p>The man shrugged and grinned wryly. "Feet ain't too good. But I'm makin'
+it, fast as I can."</p>
+
+<p>"Can you fork a mule?" Drew asked. "This one is for ridin'. We'll take
+you to one of the wagons&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Now that's right kind of you boys, right kind." The man hobbled up to
+Hannibal as if he feared they might withdraw their offer. "Say, you
+hungry? Git us wheah we can light a spell, an' I'll divide my rations
+with you." He waved the musket with its impaled ham.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe we'll do jus' that," Kirby promised.</p>
+
+<p>Drew dismounted to give the straggler a leg up on Hannibal before they
+headed on toward the Tennessee and the promise of a breathing space.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c15" id="c15"></a>15</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Independent Scout</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"What did the doc say?" Kirby, his blue overcoat a splotch of color
+against the general drabness of the winter scene, came up towing
+Hannibal and his own mount.</p>
+
+<p>"Doesn't think he should try it." Drew made a lengthy business of
+pulling on the knitted gloves he had acquired only that morning as a
+swap for a captured Yankee Colt.</p>
+
+<p>The infantry, back under the solid security of Joe Johnston's
+leadership, had marched on into North Carolina&mdash;to face Sherman's
+destructive sweep there. In the west, the only effective Confederate
+force still in the field east of the Mississippi was Forrest's Cavalry.
+And they had been granted twenty days' furlough to return home if they
+could get there, and gather clothing and fresh horses. The sun was far
+down the western horizon of the Confederacy, but to the men who rode
+with Forrest it had not yet set.</p>
+
+<p>"Th' kid wants to go...."</p>
+
+<p>That was the worst of it. When they listened to Boyd's eager talk, saw
+him make the effort to get on his feet again, they were almost convinced
+that the youngster could make the trip back through enemy-held territory
+to Oak Hill. Kirby, though he had no ties in Kentucky, was willing to
+chance the journey to help Boyd home. But those miles between, where
+they must skulk and maybe even fight their way&mdash;living out, eating very
+light&mdash;Boyd could not stand that. The surgeon's verdict was that such an
+idea was utter folly.</p>
+
+<p>"I'll try to get a letter through with one of the boys," Drew said.
+"Major Forbes ought to be able to furnish Cousin Merry with safe conduct
+on that side; we could have the General take care of it from this end.
+Then she could take him home with her when he was able to travel."</p>
+
+<p>"You write the letter fast. The Kaintucks are makin' tracks today&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew swung into the saddle, and they headed back to camp.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that we ain't headin' north, you thinkin' of joinin' Croff an'
+Webb?"</p>
+
+<p>Men on furlough had been given their orders to collect supplies from
+home, but also to devil the Yankees when and where they could. They were
+to fire into transports along the rivers and rout and capture any Union
+patrols small enough to be attacked when and where they came across
+them. The Cherokee scout and others who could not return home asked for
+their own type of furlough, determined to hunt the district below
+Franklin. Since such men could be of great nuisance value well within
+the enemy lines, they were granted permission and were even now
+preparing to move out.</p>
+
+<p>Drew, who had held off from committing himself to the expedition until
+he had the final verdict on Boyd, knew that Kirby was eager to go. And
+Drew felt that old restlessness, which gripped him whenever he thought
+of spending days in camp. He could do nothing for Boyd, but they might
+be able to accomplish something in Tennessee.</p>
+
+<p>"All right." He saw Kirby grin at his answer. The plan was one after the
+Texan's heart, and Drew knew what it had meant to him to hold back from
+it.</p>
+
+<p>"You tell the kid?"</p>
+
+<p>"Dr. Fairfax did." At least he had not had to deliver that blow, a small
+relief which did not, however, lighten his sense of responsibility.</p>
+
+<p>"How'd he take it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Quiet&mdash;on the surface."</p>
+
+<p>The Boyd who once would have fought stubbornly to get his own way, the
+Boyd who would have pulled himself out of that big rocker and announced
+fiercely that he was riding home whether the doctor said Yes or No&mdash;that
+Boyd was gone. Perhaps this new acceptance of hard facts was a matter of
+growing up. Drew clung to that. There was little he could do, except not
+go home without him.</p>
+
+<p>"The kid's gonna be all right?"</p>
+
+<p>"Doc hopes so, if he takes it easy."</p>
+
+<p>"Ever feel like this heah war's runnin' down?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how we can keep on much longer."</p>
+
+<p>"Some of the boys are talkin' Texas. Git us down theah an' we can go
+off&mdash;be a republic again. Wouldn't be the first time the Tejanos stood
+up all by themselves. Supposin' this fightin' heah stops ... you ridin'
+for Texas?"</p>
+
+<p>"I might."</p>
+
+<p>Kirby slapped his hand on the horn of his Mexican saddle. "Now that's
+what an hombre wants to hear. You change pasture on a good colt, makes
+him even fatter! Come blue bellies all ovah this heah territory, we jus'
+shift range. An' nobody gonna take Texas! Even the horny toads would
+spit straight in a Yankee's eye&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"How 'bout it, Sarge?" They were at the cluster of rail-walled huts
+where the scouts had established a temporary headquarters. Webb hailed
+them from the door of one of those dwellings where he was rolling up the
+rubber cloth laid over corn husks to form the floor. "You Kaintuck
+bound?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. Ridin' with you boys. Doc thinks Boyd can't try it."</p>
+
+<p>"Good enough, Sarge. We're pullin' out soon as Injun draws us some
+travelin' rations. Jus' enough to get us theah. We can eat off the
+Yankees later."</p>
+
+<p>Since 1861 the clothing of the Confederate Army at large had never
+matched the colorful sketches hopefully issued by the Quartermaster
+General's department. Perhaps in Richmond or some state capitol the
+gold-lace exponents did appear in tasteful and well-tailored gray with
+the proper insignia of rank. Forrest's men, equipped from the first by
+the unwilling enemy, wore blue, a blue tempered tactfully and
+ingeniously by butternut shirts, dyed breeches&mdash;when there was time to
+do any dyeing&mdash;and slouch hats. But as Drew rode out with his squad he
+might have been leading a Union rather than a Rebel patrol, which, of
+course, was part of the necessary cover for venturing into the jaws of a
+very alert lion.</p>
+
+<p>Parts of West Tennessee were still Confederate-held and through those
+they rode openly. But the countryside could offer them nothing in the
+way of forage. Two armies had stripped it bare during the past few
+months. Sometimes foraging parties on opposite sides had been known to
+combine forces under a private truce, or had fought brisk, bitter
+skirmishes to decide which would collect the spoils. If there remained a
+hog or chicken still running loose, it certainly possessed the power of
+invisibility.</p>
+
+<p>They slipped across the river in one of the boats kept by local contacts
+acting in the scouts' service. Drew questioned the boy who owned their
+transportation.</p>
+
+<p>"Sure they's bummers-out. Yankees say they's ourn, but they ain't!" he
+returned indignantly. "They ain't ridin' for nobody but their own
+selves. Cut off a Yankee an' shoot him for the boots on his feet&mdash;do the
+same if they want a hoss. Git ketched an' they tell as how they's
+scouts, workin' secret-like. Scouts o' ourn&mdash;if we ketch 'em;
+Yankees&mdash;do the blue bellies take 'em. But they ain't nothin' but
+lowdown trash as nobody wants, for sure!" He dug his pole into the water
+as if he were impaling a guerrilla on it. "They's mean, plenty mean,
+suh. Don't go foolin' 'round them!"</p>
+
+<p>"Any special place they hang out?" Drew wanted to know.</p>
+
+<p>The boy shook his head. "Oh, they holes up now an' then somewheahs. But
+they's a lotta empty houses 'bout nowadays. An' the bummers kin hide out
+good without no one knowin' they be theah&mdash;till they git ready to jump.
+Cut off a supply wagon or raid a farm or somethin' like that."</p>
+
+<p>"Ridin' the south side of the law." Kirby settled his gun belt in a more
+comfortable circle about his thin middle. "Bet they know all the tricks
+of hoppin' back an' forth 'cross the border ahead of the sheriff, too.
+Time somebody collected bounty on those wolves' scalps."</p>
+
+<p>Ridding the country of such vermin was indeed a worthy occupation. And
+their private quest for an answer to Weatherby's fate might be a part of
+that. But their first duty was to the army: The gathering of
+information, and any discomfort they could deal the Yankees, must be
+their primary project.</p>
+
+<p>Croff brought them into a camping site he had chosen for just such use.
+It lay at the head of a small rocky ravine down the center of which ran
+an ice-sealed thread of stream. It was not quite a cave, but provided
+shelter for them and their mounts. It was a clear night, and the ground
+was reasonably hard.</p>
+
+<p>They ate hard salt beef and cold army bread made with corn meal, grease,
+and water the night before.</p>
+
+<p>"Leave here in the early mornin'." The Cherokee outlined his
+suggestions. "There's a road leadin' to the turnpike that's three or
+four miles from here. Last I heard, a bridge had washed out on the pike.
+Anybody ridin' from Pulaski to Columbia has to turn out and take this
+other way&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Good cover on it?" Drew asked.</p>
+
+<p>"The best."</p>
+
+<p>"I jus' got me one question," Kirby interrupted. "Say we was to gobble
+us up a bunch of strayin' Yankees along this road, what're we gonna do
+with 'em after? Four of us don't make no army, an' we ain't gonna be
+able to detach no prisoner guard. 'Course theah are them what's said
+from the first that the only good Yankees are them laid peacefullike in
+their graves. But I don't take natural to shootin' men what are holdin'
+up the sky with both hands."</p>
+
+<p>"Orders are to spread confusion," Drew observed. "I'd say if we hit
+quick and often, take a prisoner's boots, maybe, and his horse, and his
+gun&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Also," Webb added, "his rations an' his overcoat, be he wearin' one."</p>
+
+<p>"Then turn him loose, after parolin' him&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"The Yankees don't honor a parole no more," Kirby objected.</p>
+
+<p>"What if they don't? A lot of men comin' in sayin' they've been paroled
+will stir up trouble. Remember, from what we've heard, a lot of the
+Yankees ain't any happier about fightin' on and on than we are. So we
+take prisoners, get their gear, keep what we can use, destroy the rest,
+and turn the men loose. If we can move around enough, maybe we can draw
+some of Wilson's men out of that big army he's supposed to be gatherin'
+to hit us south. It's the old game Morgan played."</p>
+
+<p>Croff grunted. "It may be old, but I've seen it work. All right, we
+parole prisoners and light out cross-country after a strike."</p>
+
+<p>"I've been thinkin'&mdash;" Kirby was checking the loading of his Colts&mdash;"if
+we start heah, we can sorta work our way in, coyote right up close to
+Franklin. They'll be expectin' us to light out for the home range, not
+go jinglin' in to wheah they've forted up. Might raise a sight of smoke
+that way. Git Wilson's boys on the prod, for sure."</p>
+
+<p>"Franklin&mdash;?" Croff repeated.</p>
+
+<p>"Little below, maybe. From what that boy said, those bushwhackers move
+around pretty free," Drew reminded him, certain the Cherokee was back to
+the desire to search for Weatherby.</p>
+
+<p>"We'll see what kind of luck we have along this road, Injun-scouted. You
+take first watch, Injun?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah." Drew heard rather than saw the Cherokee leave their camp, bound
+for a lookout point. The other three bedded down, anxious to snatch as
+much rest as possible.</p>
+
+<p>Long before dawn they were on the move again, threading through the
+winter-seared woods. Croff brought them out unerringly behind a sagging
+rail fence well masked with the skeleton brush of the season. There was
+equally good cover on the other side of the road. Kirby climbed the
+fence, investigating a dark splotch on the surface of the lane.</p>
+
+<p>"Fresh droppin's. Been a sight of trailin' 'long heah recent."</p>
+
+<p>The rest was elementary. There was no need for orders. Croff and Webb
+holed up on one side of the lane well apart; Drew and Kirby did the same
+on the other. Waiting would be sheer boredom and in this weather the
+height of discomfort.</p>
+
+<p>The gray of early morning sharpened the land about them. Boyd would have
+enjoyed this game of tweaking a wildcat's tail. Drew chewed his lower
+lip, tasting the salt of sweat, the grit of road dust. Just now was no
+time to think of Boyd; he must concentrate on the business before him.</p>
+
+<p>He heard the sharp chittering of an aroused squirrel, repeated in two
+shrill bursts. But his own ear close to the ground told him they were to
+expect company. There was the regular thud of horses' hoofs, the sound
+of mounts ridden in company and at an even pace. The only remaining
+question was whether it was a Union patrol and small enough for the four
+of them to handle.</p>
+
+<p>One, two ... two more ... five of them, topping a small rise. A cavalry
+patrol ... and the odds were not too impossible.</p>
+
+<p>Drew sighted sergeant's stripes on the leader's jacket. It would depend
+upon how alert that noncom was. Wilson was drawing in new levies, so
+these men could be new to the district, even green in the army.</p>
+
+<p>The Yankee sergeant was past Kirby's post now, and after him the first
+two of his squad. He paid no attention to the bushes.</p>
+
+<p>Webb's carbine and Kirby's Colts cracked in what seemed like a single
+spat of sound. One of the troopers in the rear shouted, grabbing at a
+point high on his shoulder, the other one was thrown as his horse
+reared, its upraised forefeet striking another man from the saddle as he
+endeavored to turn his mount.</p>
+
+<p>Drew fired, and saw the sergeant's carbine fall as he caught at the
+saddle horn, his arm hanging limp.</p>
+
+<p>"Surrender!" As Drew shouted that order into the tangle below, he leaped
+to the right. A single shot clipped through the bushes where he had
+been, answered by a blast from Webb.</p>
+
+<p>Then hands were up, men stared white-faced and sullen at the fence
+behind which might be a whole company of the enemy. Drew came into the
+open, the Spencer he had taken from Jas' covering the sergeant. For the
+expression on the noncom's face suggested that, wounded as he was, he
+would like nothing better than to carry on the struggle&mdash;with Drew as
+his principal target.</p>
+
+<p>"Go ahead, get it over with!" He spat at Drew.</p>
+
+<p>For a second Drew was bewildered, and then he suddenly guessed that the
+Union soldier expected to be shot out of hand.</p>
+
+<p>His anger was hot. "We don't shoot prisoners!"</p>
+
+<p>"No? The evidence is not in favor of that statement," the Yankee spoke
+dryly, his accent and choice of words that of an educated man.</p>
+
+<p>"What brand you think we're wearin', fella?" Kirby had come out of
+concealment, his Colt steady on the captives.</p>
+
+<p>"Guerrillas, I'd say," the sergeant returned hardily. Drew realized then
+that their mixture of clothing must have stamped them as the very
+outlaws they wanted to hunt down, as far as the Union troopers were
+concerned.</p>
+
+<p>"Now that's wheah you're sure jumpin' your fences," Kirby's half grin
+vanished. "We're General Forrest's men, not guerrillas. Or ain't you
+never heard tell of Forrest's Cavalry? Seems like anyone wearin' blue
+an' forkin' a hoss ought to know who's been chasin' him to Hell an' gone
+over most of Tennessee. Lucky I ain't in a sod-pawin' mood, hombre, or I
+might jus' want to see how a blue-belly sarge looks without an ear on
+his thick skull, or maybe try a few Comanche tricks of hair trimmin'!
+Guerrillas&mdash;!"</p>
+
+<p>The Union sergeant glanced from Kirby and Drew to his own men. One was
+sitting on the edge of the road, nursing his head between his hands.
+Another had his hand to his shoulder, and the sticky red of fresh blood
+showed between his fingers. The two others, very young, stood nervously,
+their hands high. If the Yankee noncom was thinking of trying something,
+his material was not promising. Drew broke the moment of silence with a
+warning.</p>
+
+<p>"You're surrounded, subject to fire from both sides, Sergeant! I suggest
+surrender. You will be treated as prisoners of war and given parole. We
+<i>are</i> from General Forrest's command. We're scouts. Believe me, if we
+had wished to, we could have shot every one of you out of the saddle
+before you knew we were here. Guerrillas would have done just that."</p>
+
+<p>The logic of that argument reached the Union sergeant. He still eyed
+Drew straightly, but there was a ruefulness rather than hostile defiance
+in his voice as he asked:</p>
+
+<p>"What do you plan to do with us?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing." Drew was crisp. "Give us your parole, leave your arms, your
+horses, your rations&mdash;if you are carrying any. Then you are free to go."</p>
+
+<p>"We've been ordered not to take parole," the sergeant objected.</p>
+
+<p>"General Forrest hasn't given any orders not to grant it," Drew
+countered. "As far as I am concerned, you can take it, we'll accept your
+word."</p>
+
+<p>"All right." The other dismounted awkwardly, and with one hand unbuckled
+his saber, dropping his belt and gun.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby went among the men gathering up their weapons. Then he and Drew
+tended the slight wounds of their enemies.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll both do until you can get to town," Drew told them. "And you've
+a road and plenty of daylight to help you foot it...."</p>
+
+<p>To Drew's surprise, the sergeant suddenly laughed. "This ain't going to
+sit well with the captain. He swore all you Rebs were run out of here a
+couple of weeks ago."</p>
+
+<p>"You can assure him he's wrong." Drew saw a chance to confuse the enemy.
+"We're very much around. You'll be seem' a lot of us from now on, a lot
+more."</p>
+
+<p>They watched the squad in blue, now afoot, plod on down the road. When
+they were out of sight around a bend, Webb and Croff came out of hiding
+to inspect the spoil. Unfortunately the Yankees had not possessed
+rations, but their opponents acquired five horses, five Springfields,
+four sabers, and three Colts, as well as welcome rounds of ammunition&mdash;a
+fine haul.</p>
+
+<p>Croff methodically smashed the stocks of the Springfields against a rock
+and pitched the ruined weapons back of the fence. They had seen during
+the retreat just how useless those rifles were for mounted men. The
+sabers were broken the same way, but the rest of the plunder was shared.</p>
+
+<p>Webb appropriated one of the captured mounts. They stripped the others
+of their gear, taking what they wanted in the way of blankets and saddle
+equipment, and were putting the horses on leading ropes when a volley of
+shots ripping through the early morning froze them. Croff whirled to
+face the road down which the Yankees had vanished.</p>
+
+<p>"Came from that direction&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>They mounted, taking not the open road but a cross route the Cherokee
+indicated. Coming out on the crest of a slope, they were above another
+of those hollows through which the road ran. And in that way lay still
+blue figures. Drew's carbine swung up as men broke from ambush and
+headed toward those forms. No Confederate force would have wantonly
+butchered unarmed and wounded men, nor would the Yankees. Which left the
+scum they both hated&mdash;the bushwhackers!</p>
+
+<p>Just as the crack of the murder guns had earlier torn the quiet, so did
+the Confederate answer come now. Three of those advancing on their
+victims dropped. One more cried out, staggering toward the concealing
+bush. Then more broke from cover beyond, going into flight up the other
+rise.</p>
+
+<p>"Croff! Webb! After them!" The Cherokee scout was already booting his
+horse into a run.</p>
+
+<p>Drew and Kirby reached the road together. Slipping from Hannibal, Drew
+knelt by the Union sergeant, turning the man over as gently as he could.
+But there was no hope. The Yankee's eyes opened; he stared up with a
+cold and terrible hate.</p>
+
+<p>"Shot us ... after all ... murder&mdash;" he mouthed.</p>
+
+<p>"No!" Drew cried his protest. "Not us&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>But that head rolled on his arm, and Drew was forced to swallow the fact
+that the other had died believing that treachery. Kirby arose from the
+examination of the rest of the bodies.</p>
+
+<p>"Got 'em all. Musta bin as easy as shootin' weanlin's. They didn't have
+a chance! We got three&mdash;" He made a circle about one of the dead
+guerrillas&mdash;"but that don't balance none."</p>
+
+<p>Drew lowered the dead sergeant to the surface of the road.</p>
+
+<p>"It sure doesn't!" he said bleakly. "We'll go after them&mdash;if we have to
+ride clear to the Ohio!"</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c16" id="c16"></a>16</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Missing in Action</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"I've counted twenty at least," Webb said over his shoulder. The scouts
+were belly-flat in cover, looking down into a scene of some activity. It
+almost resembled the cavalry camp they had left behind them to the
+south. There were the same shelters ingeniously constructed of brush and
+logs and a picket line for horses and mules. This hole must harbor a
+high percentage of deserters from both armies.</p>
+
+<p>"Only four of us," Kirby remarked. "'Course I know we're the tall men of
+the army, but ain't this runnin' the odds a mite high?"</p>
+
+<p>Croff chuckled. "He's got a point there, Sarge."</p>
+
+<p>"Seein' as how what happened back there on the road could be pinned on
+us, we have to do something," Drew returned. This whole section of
+country would boil over when those bodies were discovered. "And we ain't
+the only ones. Any of our boys comin' through here on furlough are like
+to be jumped for it if the Yankees catch them."</p>
+
+<p>"That's the truth if you ever spoke it, Sarge. I can see some hangin's
+comin' out of that ambush."</p>
+
+<p>"Theah's still twenty hombres down theah, an' four of us. We can pick
+off a few from up heah, but they ain't gonna wait around to git sniped.
+So, how we gonna spread ourselves&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>Kirby's was the unanswerable question. They had trailed the fugitives
+from the ambush back to this tangled wilderness with infinite caution,
+bypassing two sentries so well posted and concealed they had been forced
+to judge that the motley collection of guerrillas were as experienced at
+this trade as the scouts. There was no time to try to round up any other
+bands of homing Confederates or prowling scouts, even if they knew where
+they could be located. This was really a Yankee problem partly as well.</p>
+
+<p>Because of that murderous ambush, the local Union commander should be
+out for blood. But how could they get into enemy hands the information
+about this rats' nest?</p>
+
+<p>"We can't take 'em ourselves, and we've no time to round up any of the
+boys who might be passin' through."</p>
+
+<p>"So we jus' leave heah an' forgit it?" Webb demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"There's another way&mdash;risky, but it might work. Take the Yankees off our
+trail and put them to doing something for us...."</p>
+
+<p>"Sic 'em in heah, eh?" Kirby was watching Drew with dancing eyes. "How?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yeah, how? Ride up to their camp an' say, 'We know wheah at theah's
+some bushwhackers, come'n see'?" Webb asked scornfully. "After this
+mornin' they won't even listen to a truce flag, I'm thinkin'."</p>
+
+<p>Croff nodded. "That's right."</p>
+
+<p>"Supposin' those sentries we passed back there were knocked out and two
+of us took their places and the other two then laid a trail leadin'
+here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Showin' themselves for bait, plainlike?" Kirby asked.</p>
+
+<p>"If we have to. The alarm will have gone out. I'm bettin' there're
+patrols thick on that road."</p>
+
+<p>"Any blue bellies travelin' theah now are gonna be bunched an' ready to
+shoot at anything movin'."</p>
+
+<p>"So," Croff cut in over Webb's instant objection, "you get some Yankees
+a-hittin' it up after you, and you run for here. They're not all dumb
+enough to ride right into this kind of country."</p>
+
+<p>"We'll have to work it so they'll keep comin'. When you see them headin'
+into the gorge after us, you move out of the sentry posts back across
+this ridge and start cuttin' this camp down to size&mdash;pick off those
+horses and put 'em afoot. That'll keep them here till the Yankees come."</p>
+
+<p>"You know," Kirby said, "it's jus' crazy enough to work. Lordy&mdash;if it
+was summer, I'd say we all had our brains sun-cured, but I'm willin' to
+try it. Who does what?"</p>
+
+<p>"Croff and Webb'll take out the sentries. We'll go hunt us up some
+Yankees." As Kirby said, it was a wild plan anchored here and there on
+chance alone. But the scouts were familiar with action as rash as this,
+which <i>had</i> worked. And they still had a few hours of daylight left in
+which to try it.</p>
+
+<p>They let a supply train go by on the road undisturbed. It was, Drew
+noted, well guarded and the guard paid special attention to the woods
+and fields flanking them. The word had certainly gone out to expect dire
+trouble along that section of countryside.</p>
+
+<p>"Have to be kinda hopin' for the right-sized herd," Kirby observed.
+"Need a nice patrol. Too bad we ain't able to rope in, to order, jus'
+what we need."</p>
+
+<p>He went to a post farther south along the pike, and Drew settled
+himself in his own patch of cover, with Hannibal close at hand. The
+passing of time was a fret, but one they were used to. Drew thought over
+the plan. Improvisation always had to play a large part in such a
+project, but he believed they had a chance of success.</p>
+
+<p>A bird note, clear and carrying, broke the silence of the winter
+afternoon. Drew cradled the Spencer close to him. That was Kirby's
+signal that around the bend he had sighted what they wanted.</p>
+
+<p>It was a patrol, led by a bearded officer with a captain's bars on his
+shoulders&mdash;quite an impressive turnout, consisting of some thirty men
+and two officers. Watching them ride toward him, Drew's mouth went dry,
+a shiver ascending his spine. To play fox to this pack of hounds was
+going to be more of a task than he had anticipated. But it had to be
+done.</p>
+
+<p>He fired, carefully missing the captain by a small margin, as he saw the
+spark his bullet struck from a roadside stone. Then he pumped one shot
+after another over the heads of the startled men. As he mounted Hannibal
+he caught a glimpse of Kirby cutting across the slope. The Texan rode
+Indian fashion with most of his mount between him and the return fire
+from the road. Drew kicked Hannibal into a leap, taking him half way out
+of range and out of sight.</p>
+
+<p>Then, with Kirby, he was pounding away. A branch was bullet-clipped over
+his head, and he heard the whistle of shots. Unless he was very lucky,
+this might be one piece of recklessness he would pay for dearly. But he
+also heard what he had hoped for&mdash;the shouts of the hunters, the thud of
+hoofs behind.</p>
+
+<p>Now it was a game, much the same as the one they had played to lead the
+Union troops into the cavalry trap at Anthony's Hill. They showed
+themselves, to fire and fall back, riding a crisscross pattern which
+would confuse the Yankees as to whether they were pursuing two men or
+more. Drew watched for the landmarks to guide them back. Less than half
+a mile would bring them to the gorge. Then they must ride fast to put a
+bigger gap between them and the enemy so they could go to cover before
+they struck the valley of the guerrilla camp.</p>
+
+<p>They must depend upon Croff and Webb having successfully taken over the
+sentry posts. But Drew faced those heights with some apprehension.
+Kirby, on one of his cross runs, pulled near.</p>
+
+<p>"They're laggin'. Better give 'em somethin' to try an' bite on!" He
+brought his bay to a complete stop and aimed. When his carbine barked, a
+horse neighed and went down. Then Kirby flinched, his weapon fell from
+his hand, and he caught quickly at the horn of his saddle. From the
+foremost of the blue riders there was a wild yell of exultation.</p>
+
+<p>Drew whirled Hannibal and brought him at a run to the Texan's side.</p>
+
+<p>"How bad?"</p>
+
+<p>"Jus' creased me." But Kirby's expression gave the lie to his words.
+"Git goin' ... don't be a dang-blasted fool!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew scooped up the reins the other had let fall. Kirby must not be
+allowed to lag. To be captured now was to lose all hope of being taken
+as an ordinary prisoner of war. He booted Hannibal into the rocking
+gallop the big mule was capable of upon occasion, and pulled the bay
+along. Kirby was clinging to the horn, his language heated as he
+alternately ordered or tried to abuse Drew into leaving him.</p>
+
+<p>The Texan's plight had applied any spur the pursuers might have needed.
+Confident they were now going to gather in at least two bushwhackers,
+the shouting behind took on a premature shrilling of triumph. There was
+a blast of shooting, and Drew marveled that neither man nor horse was
+hit again.</p>
+
+<p>He was into the mouth of the gorge, still leading Kirby's horse, but a
+glance told him that the Texan would not be able to hold on much longer.
+He was gray-white under his tan, and his head bobbed from side to side
+with the rocking of the horse's running stride.</p>
+
+<p>Their pursuers pulled pace a little, maybe fearing a trap. Drew gained a
+few precious seconds by the headlong pace he had set from the time Kirby
+had been wounded. But they dared not try to get up the steep sides of
+the cut now.</p>
+
+<p>He dared not erupt into the bushwhacker campsite, or could he? If Croff
+and Webb were now making their way to the heights above, ready to fire
+into the camp as they had planned, wouldn't that keep the men there busy
+and cover his own break into the valley?</p>
+
+<p>He heard firing again; this time the sound was ahead of him. Croff and
+Webb were starting action, which meant that the Yankees would be drawn
+on to see what was up. Kirby's horse was running beside Hannibal. The
+Texan's eyes were closed, his left shoulder and upper sleeve bloody.</p>
+
+<p>Riding neck and neck, they burst out of the gorge as rifle bullets
+propelled from a barrel. The impetus of that charge carried them across
+an open strip. There were yells ... shots.... But Drew's attention was
+on keeping Kirby in the saddle.</p>
+
+<p>Hannibal hit a brush wall and tore through it. Branches whipped back at
+them with force enough to throw riders.</p>
+
+<p>Kirby was swept off, gone before Drew could catch him. Then Hannibal
+gave a wild bray of pain and terror. He reared and Drew lost grasp of
+the bay's reins. The riderless horse drove ahead while Drew tried to
+control the mule and turn him.</p>
+
+<p>Tossing his head high, Hannibal brayed again. A man scuttled out of the
+brush, and Drew only half saw the figure snap a shot at him.</p>
+
+<p>He was aware of the sickening impact of a blow in his middle, of the
+fact that suddenly he could pull no air into his straining lungs. The
+reins were out of his hands, but somehow he continued to cling to the
+saddle as the mule leaped ahead. Then under Hannibal's hoofs the ground
+gave way, both of them tumbling into the icy stream. And for Drew there
+was instant blackness, shutting out the need for breath, the terrible
+agony which shook him.</p>
+
+<p>"... dead. Get on after the others!"</p>
+
+<p>The words made no sense. He was cold, wet, and there was a throbbing
+pain beating through him with every thrust of blood in his veins. But he
+could breathe again and if he lay very still, his nausea eased.</p>
+
+<p>Then he heard it&mdash;not quite a bray, but a kind of moaning. The sound
+went on and on&mdash;shutting everything else out of his ears&mdash;to hurt not
+flesh, but spirit. He could stand it no longer.</p>
+
+<p>With infinite labor, Drew turned his head. He felt the rasp of grit on
+the skin of his burned cheek, and that small pain became a part of the
+larger. He opened his eyes, setting his teeth against a wave of nausea,
+and tried to understand what had happened to him.</p>
+
+<p>Water washed over his legs and boots, numbing him to the waist. But his
+arms, shoulders, and head were above its surface as he lay on his side,
+half braced against a rock. And he could see across the stream to the
+source of that mournful sound.</p>
+
+<p>Hannibal was struggling to get to his feet. There was a wound in his
+flank, a red river rilling from it to stain the water. And one of his
+forelegs was caught between two rocks. Throwing his head high, the mule
+bit at the branches of a willow. Several times he got hold and pulled,
+as if he could win to his feet with the aid of the tooth-shredded wood.
+Shudders ran across his body, and the sound he uttered was almost a
+human moan of pain and despair.</p>
+
+<p>Drew moved his arm, dully glad that he could. His fingers seemed
+stiff&mdash;as if his muscles were taking their own time to obey his
+will&mdash;but they closed on one of the Colts which had not been shaken free
+from his holster when he fell. He pulled the weapon free, biting his lip
+hard against the twinges that movement cost him.</p>
+
+<p>Steadying the weapon on his hip, he took careful aim at Hannibal's head
+and fired. The recoil of the heavy revolver brought a small, whistling
+cry of pain out of him. But across the stream, the mule's head fell from
+the willows, and he was mercifully still.</p>
+
+<p>The sky was gray. Drew heard a snap of shots, but they seemed very far
+away. And the leaden cold of the water crept farther up his body,
+turning the throb into a cramp. He tried not to cry out; for him there
+would be no mercy shot.</p>
+
+<p>The rising tide of cold brought lethargy with it. He felt as if all his
+strength had drained into the water tugging at him. Again, the dark
+closed in, and he was lost in it.</p>
+
+<p>Warm ... he was warm. And the painful spasms which had torn at him were
+eased. He still had a dull ache through his middle, but there was warm
+pressure over it, comforting and good. He sighed, fearful that a sudden
+movement might cause the sharp pains to return.</p>
+
+<p>Then he was moved, his head was raised, and something hard pressed
+against his lower lip so that he opened his mouth in reflex. Hot liquid
+lapped over his tongue. He swallowed and the warmth which had been on
+the outside was now within him as well, traveling down his throat into
+his stomach.</p>
+
+<p>More warmth, this time on his forehead. Drew forced his eyes open.
+Memory stirred, too dim to be more than a teasing uneasiness. Action was
+necessary, important action. He focused his eyes on a brown face bearing
+a scruff of beard on cheeks and chin.</p>
+
+<p>"Webb...." It was very slow, that process of matching face to name. But
+once he had done it, memory brightened.</p>
+
+<p>"What happened&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>They had ridden into the guerrilla camp site, he and Kirby, with the
+Yankees on their heels. Painfully he could recall that. Then, later he
+had been lying half in, half out of a creek, sicker than he had ever
+been in his life. And Hannibal ... he had shot Hannibal!</p>
+
+<p>Webb's hand came out of the half dark, holding the tin cup to his mouth
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"Drink up!" the other ordered sharply.</p>
+
+<p>Drew obeyed. But he was not so far under, now. Objects around him took
+on clarity. He was lying on the ground, not too far from a fire, and
+there were walls. Was he in a cabin?</p>
+
+<p>There had been a cabin before, but he had not been the sick one then.
+The guerrillas!</p>
+
+<p>"Bushwhackers?" He got that out more clearly. A shadow which had
+substance, moved behind Webb. Croff's strongly marked features were
+lined by the light.</p>
+
+<p>"Dead ... or the Yankees have them."</p>
+
+<p>Webb was making him drink again. With the other supporting his head and
+shoulders, Drew was able to survey his body. A blanket was wrapped
+tightly about his legs, and over his chest and middle a wet wad of
+material steamed. When Webb laid him flat again, the two men, working
+together, wrung out another square of torn blanket, and substituted its
+damp heat for the one which had been cooling against him.</p>
+
+<p>"What's the ... matter&mdash;? Shot?"</p>
+
+<p>Croff reached to bring into the firelight a belt strap. Dangling it, he
+held the buckle-end in Drew's line of vision. The plate was split, and
+embedded in it was an object as big as Drew's thumb and somewhat
+resembling it in shape.</p>
+
+<p>"We took this off you," the Cherokee explained. "Stopped a bullet plumb
+center with that."</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't seen nothin' like it 'fore," Webb added, patting the compress
+gently into place. "Like to ripe you wide open if it hadn't hit the
+buckle! You got you a bruise black as charcoal an' big as a plate right
+across your guts, but the skin's only a little broke wheah the plate cut
+you some. An' if you ain't hurt inside, you're 'bout the luckiest fella
+I ever thought to see in my lifetime!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew moved a hand, touching the buckle with a forefinger. Then he filled
+his lungs deeply and felt the answering pinch of pain in the region of
+the bruise Webb described.</p>
+
+<p>"It sure hurts! But it's better than a hole."</p>
+
+<p>A hole! Kirby! Drew's hand went out to brace himself up, the compress
+slid down his body, and then Webb was forcing him down again.</p>
+
+<p>"What you tryin' to do, boy? Pass out on us agin? You stay put an' let
+us work on you! This heah district's no place to linger, an' you can't
+fork a hoss 'til we git you fixed up some."</p>
+
+<p>Drew caught at the hand which pinned his shoulder. "Will, where's Anse?
+You got him here too?" He rolled his head, trying to see more of the
+enclosure in which he lay, but all he faced was a wall of rough stone.
+Webb was wringing out another compress, preparing to change the
+dressing.</p>
+
+<p>"Where's Anse?" Drew demanded more loudly, and there was a faint echo of
+his voice from overhead.</p>
+
+<p>Croff flipped off the cooling compress as Webb applied the fresh one.
+But Drew was no longer lulled by that warmth.</p>
+
+<p>"He ain't here," replied the Cherokee.</p>
+
+<p>"Where then?" Drew was suddenly silent, no longer wanting an answer.</p>
+
+<p>"Looky heah, Drew"&mdash;Webb hung over him, peering intently into his
+face&mdash;"we don't know wheah he is, an' that's Bible-swear truth! We saw
+you two come out into the valley, but we was busy pickin' off hosses so
+them devils couldn't make it away 'fore the Yankees caught up with 'em.
+Then the blue bellies slammed in fast an' hard. They jus' naturally went
+right over those bushwhackers. Maybe so, they captured two or three, but
+most of them was finished off right theah. We took cover, not wantin'
+to meet up with lead jus' because we might seem to be in bad company.
+When all the shootin' was over an' you didn't come 'long, me and Injun
+did some scoutin' 'round.</p>
+
+<p>"We found you down by that crick, an' first&mdash;I'm tellin' it to you
+straight&mdash;we thought you was dead. Then Injun, he found your heart was
+still beatin', so we lugged you up heah an' looked you over. Later,
+Injun, he went back for a look-see, but he ain't found hide nor hair of
+Anse&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"He was hit bad&mdash;in the shoulder&mdash;" Drew looked pleadingly from one to
+the other&mdash;"when we smashed into that brush he was pushed right out of
+the saddle, not far from that crick where you found me. Injun, he could
+still be out there now ... bleedin'&mdash;hurt...."</p>
+
+<p>Croff shook his head. "I backtracked all along that way after we found
+you. There was some blood on the grass, but that could have come from
+one of the bushwhackers. There was no trace of Anse, anywhere."</p>
+
+<p>"What if he was taken prisoner!" Neither one of them would meet his eyes
+now, and Drew set his teeth, clamping down on a wild rush of words he
+wanted to spill, knowing that both men would have been as quick and
+willing to search for the Texan as they had to bring Drew, himself, in.
+No one answered him.</p>
+
+<p>But Croff stood up and said quietly: "This is a pretty well-hidden cave.
+The Yankees probably believe they've swept out this valley. You stay
+holed up here, and you're safe for a while. Then when you're ready to
+ride, Sarge, we'll head back south."</p>
+
+<p>He stopped to pick up his carbine by its sling.</p>
+
+<p>"Where're you going?"</p>
+
+<p>"Take a look-see for Yankees. If they got Anse, there's a slim chance we
+can learn of it and take steps. Leastwise, nosing a little downwind
+ain't goin' to do a bit of harm." He moved out of the firelight with his
+usual noiseless tread and was gone.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c17" id="c17"></a>17</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Poor Rebel Soldier....</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>"Sergeant Rennie reporting suh, at the General's orders." Drew came to
+attention under the regard of those gray-blue eyes, not understanding
+why he had been summoned to Forrest's headquarters.</p>
+
+<p>"Sergeant, what's all this about bushwhackers?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew repeated the story of their adventure in Tennessee, paring it down
+to the bald facts.</p>
+
+<p>"That nest was wiped out by the Yankee patrol, suh. Afterward Private
+Croff found a saddlebag with some papers in it, which was in the remains
+of their camp. It looks like they'd been picking off couriers from both
+sides. We sent those in with our first report."</p>
+
+<p>The General nodded. "You stayed near-by for a while after the camp was
+taken?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, I was hurt, suh."</p>
+
+<p>He saw that General Forrest was smiling. "Sergeant, that theah story
+about your belt buckle has had a mightly lot of repeatin' up and down
+the ranks. You were a lucky young man!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh!" Drew agreed. "While I was laid up, Privates Croff and Webb
+took turns on scout, suh. They located some of our men hidin'
+out&mdash;stragglers from the retreat. They also rounded up a few of the
+bushwhackers' horses and mules."</p>
+
+<p>Forrest nodded. "You returned to our lines with some fifteen men and ten
+mounts, as well as information. Your losses?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew stared at the wall behind the General's head.</p>
+
+<p>"One man missin', suh."</p>
+
+<p>"You were unable to hear any news of him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, suh." The old weariness settled back on him. They had hunted&mdash;first
+Croff and Webb&mdash;and then he, too, as soon as he was able to sit a
+saddle. It was Weatherby's fate all over again; the ground might have
+opened and gulped Kirby down.</p>
+
+<p>"How old are you, Sergeant?"</p>
+
+<p>Drew could not see what his age had to do with Kirby's disappearance,
+but he answered truthfully: "Nineteen&mdash;I had a birthday a week ago,
+suh."</p>
+
+<p>"And you volunteered when&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"In May of '62, suh. I was in Captain Castleman's company when they
+joined General Morgan&mdash;Company D, Second Kentucky. Then I transferred to
+the scouts under Captain Quirk."</p>
+
+<p>"The big raids ... you were in Ohio, Rennie? Captured?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, suh. I was one of the lucky ones who made it across the river
+before the Yankees caught up&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"At Chickamauga?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh."</p>
+
+<p>"Cynthiana"&mdash;but now Forrest did not wait for Drew's affirmative
+answer&mdash;"and Harrisburg, Franklin.... It's a long line of battles, ain't
+it, boy? A long line. And you were nineteen last week. You know,
+Rennie, the Union Army gives medals to those they think have earned
+them."</p>
+
+<p>"I've heard tell of that, suh."</p>
+
+<p>The General's hand, brown, strong, went to the officer's hat weighing
+down a pile of papers on the table. With a quick twist, Forrest ripped
+off the tassled gold cord which distinguished it, smoothing out the loop
+of bullion between thumb and forefinger.</p>
+
+<p>"We don't give medals, Sergeant. But I think a good soldier might just
+be granted a birthday present without any one gittin' too excited about
+how military that is." He held out the cord, and Drew took it a bit
+dazedly.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, suh. I'm sure proud...."</p>
+
+<p>A wave of Forrest's hand put a period to his thanks.</p>
+
+<p>"A long line of battles," the General repeated, "too long a line&mdash;an end
+to it comin' soon. Did you ever think, boy, of what you were goin' to do
+after the war?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, there's the West, suh. Open country out there&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Forrest's eyes were bright, alert. "Yes, and we might even hold the
+West. We'll see&mdash;we'll have to see. Your report accepted, Sergeant."</p>
+
+<p>It was plainly a dismissal. As Drew saluted, the General laid his hat
+back on the tallest pile of papers. Busy at the table, he might have
+already forgotten Drew. But the Kentuckian, pausing outside the door to
+examine the hat cord once more, knew that he would never forget. No,
+there were no medals worn in the ragged, thin lines of the shrinking
+Confederate Army. But his birthday gift&mdash;Drew's fist closed about the
+cord jealously&mdash;that was something he would have, always.</p>
+
+<p>Only, nowadays, how long was "always"?</p>
+
+<p>"That's a right smart-lookin' mount, Sarge!" Drew looked at the pair of
+lounging messengers grinning at him from the front porch of
+headquarters. He loosened the reins and led the bony animal a step or
+two before mounting.</p>
+
+<p>Shawnee, nimble-footed as a cat, a horse that had known almost as much
+about soldiering as his young rider. Then Hannibal, the mule from Cadiz,
+that had served valiantly through battle and retreat, to die in a
+Tennessee stream bed. And now this bone-rack of a gray mule with one lop
+ear, a mind of his own, and a gait which could set one's teeth on edge
+when you pushed him into any show of speed. The animal's long,
+melancholy face, his habit of braying mournfully in the moonlight&mdash;until
+Westerners compared him unfavorably with the coyotes of the Plains&mdash;had
+earned him the name Croaker; and he was part of the loot they had
+brought out of the bushwhackers' camp.</p>
+
+<p>As unlovely as he appeared, Croaker had endurance, steady nerves, and a
+most un-mulelike willingness to obey orders. He was far from the ideal
+cavalry mount, but he took his rider there and back, safely. He was
+sure-footed, with a cat's ability to move at night, and in scout circles
+he had already made a favorable impression. But he certainly was an
+unhandsome creature.</p>
+
+<p>"Smart actin's better than smart lookin'," Drew answered the disparagers
+now. "Do as well yourselves, soldiers, and you'll be satisfied."</p>
+
+<p>Croaker started off at a trot, sniffling, his good ear twitching as if
+he had heard those unfriendly comments and was storing them up in his
+memory, to be acted upon in the future.</p>
+
+<p>January and February were behind them now. Now it was March ...
+spring&mdash;only it was more like late fall. Or winter, with the night
+closing in. Drew let Croaker settle to the gait which suited him best.
+He would visit Boyd and then rejoin Buford's force.</p>
+
+<p>The army, or what was left of it hereabouts, was, as usual, rumbling
+with rumor. The Union's General Wilson had assembled a massive hammer of
+a force, veterans who had clashed over and over with Forrest in the
+field, who had learned that master's tricks. Seventeen thousand mounted
+cavalrymen, ready to aim straight down through Alabama where the war had
+not yet touched. Another ten thousand without horses, who formed a
+backlog of reserves.</p>
+
+<p>In the Carolinas, Johnston, with the last stubborn regiments of the Army
+of the Tennessee, was playing his old delaying game, trying to stop
+Sherman from ripping up along the coast. And in Virginia the news was
+all bad. The world was not spring, but drab winter, the dying winter of
+the Confederacy.</p>
+
+<p>Wilson's target was Selma and the Confederate arsenal; every man in the
+army knew that. Somehow Bedford Forrest was going to have to interpose
+between all the weight of that Yankee hammer and Selma. And he had done
+the impossible so often, there was still a chance that he <i>could</i> bring
+it off. The General had a free hand and his own particular brand of
+genius to back it.</p>
+
+<p>Drew's fingers were on the front of his short cavalry jacket, pressing
+against the coil of gold cord in his shirt pocket. No, the old man
+wasn't licked yet; he'd give Wilson and every one of those twenty-seven
+thousand Yankees a good stiff fight when they came poking their long
+noses over the Alabama border!</p>
+
+<p>"He gave you what?" Boyd sat up straighter. His face was thin and no
+longer weather-beaten, and he'd lost all of that childish arrogance
+which had so often irritated his elders. In its place was a certain
+quiet soberness in which the scout sometimes saw flashes of Sheldon.</p>
+
+<p>Now Drew pulled the cord from his pocket, holding it out for Boyd's
+inspection. The younger boy ran it through his fingers wonderingly.</p>
+
+<p>"General Forrest's!" From it he looked to the faded weatherworn hat Drew
+had left on a chair by the door. Boyd caught it up and pulled off the
+leather string banding its dented crown. Carefully he fitted on
+Forrest's gift and studied the result critically. Drew laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"Like puttin' a new saddle on Croaker; it doesn't fit."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, it does," Boyd protested. "That's right where it belongs."</p>
+
+<p>Drew, standing by the window, felt a pinch of concern. He found it
+difficult nowadays to deny Boyd anything, let alone such a harmless
+request.</p>
+
+<p>"The first lieutenant comin' along will call me for sportin' a general's
+feathers on a sergeant's head," he protested. "Nothin' from Cousin Merry
+yet? Maybe Hansford didn't make it through with my letter. He hasn't
+come back yet.... But&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Think I'd lie to you about that?" Boyd's eyes held some of the old
+blaze as he turned the hat around in his hands. "And what I told you is
+the truth. The surgeon said it won't hurt me any to ride with the boys
+when you pull out. General Buford's ordered to Selma and Dr. Cowan's
+sister lives there. He has a letter from her sayin' I can rest up at her
+house if I need to. But I won't! I haven't coughed once today, that's
+the honest truth, Drew. And when you go, the Yankees are goin' to move
+in here. I don't want to go to a Yankee prison, like Anse&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew's shoulders hunched in an involuntary tightening of muscles as he
+stared straight out of the window at nothing. Boyd had insisted from the
+first that the Texan must be a prisoner. Drew schooled himself into the
+old shell, the shell of trying not to let himself care.</p>
+
+<p>"General Buford said I was to ride in one of the headquarters wagons. He
+needs an extra driver. That's doin' something useful, not just sittin'
+around listenin' to a lot of bad news!" The boy's tone was almost raw in
+protest.</p>
+
+<p>And some of Boyd's argument made sense. After the command moved out he
+might be picked up by a roving Yankee patrol, while Selma was still so
+far behind the Confederate lines that it was safe, especially with
+Forrest moving between it and Wilson.</p>
+
+<p>"Mind you, take things easy! Start coughin' again, and you'll have to
+stay behind!" Drew warned.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew, are things really so bad for us?"</p>
+
+<p>The scout came away from the window. "Maybe the General can hold off
+Wilson ... this time. But it can't last. Look at things straight, Boyd.
+We're short on horses; more'n half the men are dismounted. And more of
+them desert every day. Men are afraid they'll be sent into the Carolinas
+to fight Sherman, and they don't want to be so far from home. The women
+write or get messages through about how hard things are at home. A man
+can march with an empty belly for himself and somehow stick it out, but
+when he hears about his children starvin' he's apt to forget all the
+rest. We're whittled 'way down, and there's no way under Heaven of
+gettin' what we need."</p>
+
+<p>"I heard some of the boys talkin' about drawin' back to Texas."</p>
+
+<p>"Sure, we've all heard that big wishin', but that's all it is, just
+wishin'. The Yankees wouldn't let up even if they crowded us clear back
+until we're knee-deep in the Rio Grande. It's close to the end now&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, it ain't!" Boyd flared, more than a shade of the old stubbornness
+back in his voice. "It ain't goin' to be the end as long as one of us
+can ride and hold a carbine! They can have horses and new boots, their
+supplies, and all their men. We ain't scared of any Yankee who ever rode
+down the pike! If you yell at 'em now, they'd beat it back the way they
+came."</p>
+
+<p>Drew smiled tiredly. "Guess we're on our way now to do some of that
+yellin'." The end was almost in sight; every trooper in or out of the
+saddle knew it. Only some, like Boyd, would not admit it. "Remember what
+I say, Boyd. Take it slow and ride easy!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd picked up Drew's hat again, holding it in the sunlight coming
+through the window. The cord was a band of raw gold, gleaming brighter,
+perhaps, because of the shabbiness of the hat it now graced.</p>
+
+<p>"You don't ride easy with the General," he said softly. "You ride tall
+and you ride proud!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew took the hat from him. Out of the direct sunbeam, the band still
+seemed to hold a bit of fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Maybe you do," he agreed soberly.</p>
+
+<p>Now Boyd was smiling in turn. "You carry the General's hatband right up
+so those blue bellies can get the shine in their eyes! We'll lam 'em
+straight back to the Tennessee again&mdash;see if we don't!"</p>
+
+<p>But almost three weeks later the Yankees were not back at the Tennessee;
+they were dressing their lines before the horseshoe bend of the
+defending breastworks of Selma. Everything which could have gone wrong
+with Forrest's plans had done just that. A captured courier had given
+his enemies the whole framework of his strategy. Then the cavalry had
+tried to hold the blue flood at Bogler's Creek by a tearing frantic
+battle, whirling Union sabers against Confederate revolvers in the hands
+of veterans. It had been a battle from which Forrest himself broke free
+through a lane opened by the action of his own weapons and the
+concentrated fury of his escort.</p>
+
+<p>Out of the city had steamed the last train while a stream of civilian
+refugees had struggled away on foot, the river patrolled by pickets of
+cavalry ordered to extricate every able-bodied man from the throng and
+press him into the struggle. Forrest's orders were plain: Every male
+able to fight goes into the works, or into the river!</p>
+
+<p>Now Drew and Boyd were with the Kentuckians, forming with Forrest's
+escort a small reserve force behind the center of that horseshoe of
+ramparts. Veterans on either flank, and the militia, trusted by none, in
+the middle. Thin lines stretched to the limit, so that each dismounted
+trooper in that pitiful fortification was six or even ten feet from his
+nearest fellow. And gathering under the afternoon sun a mass of blue, a
+vast, endless ocean....</p>
+
+<p>The enemy was dismounted, too, coming in on a charge as fearless and
+reckless as any the Confederates had delivered in the past. With the
+sharpness of one of their own sabers, they slashed out a trotting arc of
+men, cutting at Armstrong's veterans in the earthworks to be curled
+back under a withering fire, losing a general, senior officers, and men.
+But the rebuff did not shake them.</p>
+
+<p>A second Union attack was aimed at the center, and the militia broke.
+Bugles shrilled in the small reserve, who then pushed up to meet that
+long tongue of blue licking out confidently toward the city. This time
+there was no stopping the Yankee advance. The reserve neither broke nor
+followed the shambling panic-striken flight of the militia, but were
+pushed back by sheer weight of numbers to the unfinished second line of
+the city's defenses.</p>
+
+<p>Blue&mdash;a full tidal wave of it in front and wedges of blue overlapping
+the gray flanks and appearing here and there even to the rear&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>Having thrown away his rifle, Drew was now firing with both Colts, never
+sure any of his bullets found their targets. He stood shoulder to
+shoulder with Boyd in a dip of half-finished earthwork when the bugle
+called again, and down the ragged line of gray snapped an order unheard
+before&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"Get out! Save yourselves!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd fired, then threw his emptied Colt into the face of a tall man
+whose blue coat bore a sergeant's stripes. His own emptied guns placed
+in their holsters, Drew caught up the carbine the Yankee had dropped. He
+gave Boyd a shove.</p>
+
+<p>"Run!"</p>
+
+<p>They dodged in and out of a swirling mass of fighting men, somehow
+reaching the line of horse holders. Drew found Croaker standing stolidly
+with dragging reins, got into the saddle, and reached down a hand to aid
+Boyd up behind him. In the early dusk he saw General Forrest&mdash;his own
+height and the proportions of his charger King Phillip distinguishable
+even in that melee&mdash;gathering about him a nucleus of resistance as they
+battled toward the city. And Drew headed Croaker in the General's
+direction.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd pawed at his shoulder as they burst into a street at the
+bone-shaking gallop which was the mule's fastest gait. A blue-coated
+trooper sat with his back against the paling of a trim white fence, one
+lax hand still holding the reins of a horse. Drew pulled Croaker up so
+Boyd could slip down. As he pulled loose the reins the Yankee slid
+inertly to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>A squad of blue coats turned the corner a block away, heading for them.
+Somewhere ahead, the company led by the General was fighting its way
+through Selma. Drew was driven by the necessity of catching up. The two
+armies were so mingled now that the wild disorder proved a cover for
+escaping Confederates.</p>
+
+<p>Twilight was on them as they hit the Burnsville road, coming into the
+tail end of the command of men from a dozen or more shattered regiments,
+companies, and divisions, who had consolidated in some order about
+Forrest and his escort. These were all veterans, men tough enough to
+fight their way out of the city and lucky enough to find their mounts or
+others when the order to get out had come. They were part of the
+striking force Forrest had built up through months and years&mdash;tempered
+with his own particular training and spirit&mdash;now peeled down to a final
+hard core.</p>
+
+<p>In the darkness their advance tangled with a Union outpost, snapping up
+prisoners before the bewildered Yankees were aware that they, too, were
+not Wilson's men. And the word passed that a Fourth United States
+Regulars' scouting detachment was camped not too far away.</p>
+
+<p>"We can take 'em, suh." Drew caught the assurance in that.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall, we certainly shall!" Forrest's drawl had sharpened as if he
+saw in the prospect of this small engagement a chance to redeem the
+futile shame of those breaking lines at Selma.</p>
+
+<p>"Not you, suh!"</p>
+
+<p>That protest was picked up, echoed by every man within hearing. Finally
+the General yielded to their angry demands that he not expose himself to
+the danger of the night attack.</p>
+
+<p>They moved in around the house, and somehow confidence was restored by
+following the old familiar pattern of the surprise attack&mdash;as if in this
+small action they were again a part of the assured troops who had fought
+gunboats from horseback, who had tweaked the Yankees' tails so often.</p>
+
+<p>Drew and Boyd were part of the detachment sent to approach the
+fire-lighted horse lot, coming from a different angle than the main body
+of the force. It was the old, old game of letting a dozen do the work of
+fifty. But before they had reached the rail fence about that enclosure,
+there was a ripple of spiteful Yankee fire.</p>
+
+<p>"Come on!" The officer outlined against one of the campfires, lurched
+and caught at the rails as the men he led crawled over or vaulted that
+obstruction, overrunning the Union defenders with the vehemence of men
+determined to make up for the failure of the afternoon. It was a sharp
+skirmish, but one from which they came away with prisoners and a renewed
+belief in themselves. Though they did not know it then, they had fought
+the last battle of the war for the depleted regiments of cavalry of the
+Army of the Tennessee. The aftertaste of Selma had been bitter, but the
+small, sharp flurry at the Godwin house left them no longer feeling so
+bitter.</p>
+
+<p>"Where're we goin'?" Boyd pushed his horse up beside Croaker as they
+swung on through the dark.</p>
+
+<p>"Plantersville, I guess." But something inside Drew added soundlessly:
+On to the end now.</p>
+
+<p>"We're not finished&mdash;" Boyd went on, when Drew interrupted:</p>
+
+<p>"We're finished. We were finished months ago." It was true ... they had
+been finished at Franklin, their cause dead, their hopes dead,
+everything dead except men who had somehow kept on their feet, with
+weapons in their hands and a dogged determination to keep going. Why?
+Because most of them could no longer understand any other way of life?</p>
+
+<p>There was that long line of battles General Forrest had named.... And
+marching backward through weeks, months, and years a long line of men,
+growing more and more shadowy in memory. Among them was Anse&mdash;Drew tried
+not to think about that.</p>
+
+<p>Now, out of the dark there suddenly arose a voice, singing. Others
+picked up the tune, one of the army songs. Just as Kirby had sung to
+them on the big retreat, so this unknown voice was singing them on to
+whatever was awaiting at Plantersville. The end was waiting and they
+would have to face it, just as they had faced carbine, saber, field gun
+and everything else the Yankees had brought to bear against them.</p>
+
+<p>Drew joined in and heard Boyd's tenor, high but on key, take up the
+refrain:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"On the Plains of Manassas the Yankees we met,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We gave them a whipping they'll never forget:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I ain't got no money, nor nothin' to eat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm afraid that tonight I must sleep in the street."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The Army of the Tennessee hadn't seen the Plains of Manassas, maybe, but
+they had seen other fields and running Yankees in their time.</p>
+
+<p>Drew found himself slapping the ends of his reins in time to the tune.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm a poor Rebel soldier, and Dixie's my home&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Croaker brayed loudly and with sorrowful undertone, and Drew heard a
+laugh, which could only have come from General Forrest, floating back to
+him through the dawn of a new morning.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="c18" id="c18"></a>18</h2>
+
+<h3><i>Texas Spurs</i></h3>
+
+
+<p>The soft wind curled languidly in through the open church window,
+stirring the curly lock which Boyd now and then impatiently pushed away
+from his eyes ... was a delicate fingertip touch on Drew's cheek. A
+subdued shuffle of feet could be heard as the congregation arose. It was
+Sunday in Gainesville, and a congregation such as could only have
+gathered there on this particular May 7, 1865. Rusty gray-brown,
+patched, and with ill-mended tears, which no amount of painstaking
+effort could ever convert again into more than dimly respectable
+uniforms, a sprinkling of civilian broadcloth and feminine bonnets. And
+across the church a smaller block of once hostile blue....</p>
+
+<p>As the recessional formed, prayer books were closed to be slipped into
+pockets or reticules. The presiding celebrate moved down from the altar,
+his surplice tugged aside by the wandering breeze revealing the worn
+cavalry boots of a chaplain.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"For the beauty of the earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the beauty of the skies,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the love which from our birth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Over and around us lies."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Men's voices, hesitant and rusty at first, then rose confidently over
+the more decorous hum of the regular church-goers as old memories were
+renewed.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Lord of all, to Thee we raise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This our Hymn of grateful praise."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>The hymn swelled, a mighty, powerful wave of sound. Drew's hard,
+calloused hands closed on the back of the pew ahead. Hearing Boyd's
+voice break, Drew knew that within them both something had loosened. The
+apathy which had held them through these past days was going, and they
+were able to feel again.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew&mdash;" Boyd's voice quavered and then steadied, "let's go home...."</p>
+
+<p>They had shared the talk at camp, the discussion about slipping away to
+join Kirby Smith in Texas, and some had even gone before the official
+surrender of Confederate forces east of the Mississippi three days
+earlier. But when General Forrest elected to accept Yankee terms, most
+of the men followed his example. Back at camp they were making out the
+paroles on the blanks furnished by the Union Command, but so far no
+Yankee had appeared in person. The cavalry were to retain their horses
+and mules, and whole companies planned to ride home together to
+Tennessee and Kentucky. Drew and Boyd could join one of those.</p>
+
+<p>As they moved toward the church door now three of the Union soldiers who
+had attended the service were directly ahead of them in the aisle. Boyd
+caught urgently at Drew's arm.</p>
+
+<p>"Those spurs&mdash;look at his spurs!" He pointed to the heels of the middle
+Yankee. Sunlight made those ornate disks of silver very bright. Drew's
+breath caught, and he took a long stride forward to put his hand on the
+blue coat's shoulder. The man swung around, startled, to face him.</p>
+
+<p>"Suh, where did you get those spurs?" Drew's tone carried the note of
+one who expected to be answered promptly&mdash;with the truth.</p>
+
+<p>The Yankee had straight black brows which drew together in a frown as he
+stared back at the Confederate.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't see how that's any business of yours, Reb!"</p>
+
+<p>Drew's hand went to his belt before he remembered that there wasn't any
+weapon there, and no need for one now. He regained control.</p>
+
+<p>"It's this much my business, suh. Those spurs are Mexican. They were
+taken from a Mexican officer at Chapultepec, and the last time I saw
+them they were worn by a very good friend of mine who's been missing
+since February! I'd like very much indeed to know just how and where you
+got them."</p>
+
+<p>Lifting one booted foot, the Yankee studied the spurs as if they had
+somehow changed their appearance. When his eyes came back to meet Drew's
+his frown was gone.</p>
+
+<p>"Reb, I bought these from a fella in another outfit, 'bout two or three
+weeks ago. He was on sick leave and was goin' home. I gave him good hard
+cash for 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Did he say where he got them?" pressed Drew.</p>
+
+<p>The other shook his head. "He had a pile of stuff&mdash;mostly Reb&mdash;buckles,
+spurs, and such. Sold it all around camp 'fore he left."</p>
+
+<p>"What outfit are you?" Boyd asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Trooper, any trouble here?" A Yankee major bore down on them from one
+side, a Confederate captain from the other.</p>
+
+<p>"No, suh," Drew replied quickly. "I just recognized a pair of spurs this
+trooper is wearin'. They belonged to a friend of mine who's been missin'
+for some time. I hoped maybe the trooper knew something about him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, do you?" the major demanded of his own man.</p>
+
+<p>"No, sir. Bought these in camp from a fella goin' on furlough. I don't
+know where he got 'em."</p>
+
+<p>"Satisfied, soldier?" the officer asked Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, suh." Before he could add another word the major was shepherding
+his men away.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm sorry." The Confederate captain shook his head. "Pity he didn't
+have any more definite information for you." He glanced at Drew's set
+face. "But, Sergeant, the news wasn't all bad&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"No, suh. Only Anse never would have parted with those while he was
+alive and could prevent it&mdash;never in this world!"</p>
+
+<p>"Where was your friend when he was reported missin'?"</p>
+
+<p>"We were on scout in Tennessee, and both of us were wounded. I was found
+by our men, but he wasn't. There was just a chance he might have been
+taken prisoner."</p>
+
+<p>"Men'll be comin' back from their prisons now. What's his name and
+company, Sergeant? I'll ask around."</p>
+
+<p>"Anson Kirby. He was with Gano's Texans under Morgan, and then he
+transferred with me into General Buford's Scouts. He's about nineteen or
+twenty, has reddish hair and a scar here&mdash;" With a forefinger Drew
+traced a line from the left corner of his mouth to his left temple. "He
+was shot in the left shoulder pretty bad when we were separated."</p>
+
+<p>The captain nodded. "I'll keep a lookout. A lot of Texans pass through
+here on their way home."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, suh. Should you have any news, I'd be obliged to hear it. My
+name's Drew Rennie, suh, and you can address a message care of the
+Barrett's, Oak Hill. That's in Fayette County, Kentucky."</p>
+
+<p>But the chance of ever receiving any such news was, Drew thought, very
+improbable. That afternoon when he tried to find Boyd, he, too, was
+missing and none of the headquarters company knew where the boy had
+gone.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't pulled out though," Webb assured. "Said as how you two were
+plannin' to head north with the Kaintuck boys right after the old man
+says good-bye. Guess I'll trail 'long with you for a spell. You gotta
+cross Tennessee to git to Kaintuck."</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' home, Will?"</p>
+
+<p>"Guess so. Heard tell as how they burned out m' old man. Dunno, that
+theah's sure hard-scrabble ground; we never did make us a good crop on
+it. Maybe so, we'll try somewheah's else now. Sorta got me an itchin'
+foot. Maybe won't tie down anywheah for a spell."</p>
+
+<p>"What about you, Injun?" Drew turned to Croff.</p>
+
+<p>"Goin' back to the Nations. Guess they had it hard there too, General
+Watie and the Union 'Pins' raidin' back and forth. They'll need schools
+though, and someone to teach 'em&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You a teacher, Injun?" Webb was plainly startled.</p>
+
+<p>"Startin' to be one, before the bands started playin' Dixie so loud,"
+Croff said, smiling. "Maybe I've forgotten too much, though. I have to
+see if I can fit me in behind a desk again."</p>
+
+<p>"Heah's th' kid&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew looked up at Webb's hail. Boyd walked toward them, his saddlebags
+slung over one shoulder, under his arm the haversack for rations which
+normally hung from any forager's saddle horn. He dropped them by the
+fire and held two gleaming objects out to Drew.</p>
+
+<p>"Anse's spurs! How did you get them?"</p>
+
+<p>"Sold m' horse to the sutler at the Yankee camp. Then bought 'em. That
+trooper gave 'em to me for just what he paid: five dollars hard money.
+Said as how he could understand why you wanted to have them&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"But your horse!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd grinned. "Looky here, Drew, more'n half of this heah Reb army is
+footin' it home. I guess I can cross two little states without it
+finishin' me off&mdash;leastwise I reckon anyone who has toughened it out
+with General Forrest can do that much."</p>
+
+<p>Drew turned the spurs around in hands which were a little shaky. "We got
+Croaker, and we'll take turns ridin'. No, two states ain't too far for a
+couple of troopers, specially if they have them a good stout mule into
+the bargain!"</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>A hot copper sun turned late Kentucky May into August weeks ahead of
+season. Thunder muttered sullenly beyond the horizon. And a breeze
+picked up road dust and grit, plastering it to Croaker's sweating hide,
+their own unwashed skin.</p>
+
+<p>"Better ... ride...." Licking dust from his lips, Drew watched the
+weaving figure on the other side of the mule with dull concern. They
+were steadying themselves by a tight grip on the stirrups, and Croaker
+was supporting and towing them, rather than their steering him.</p>
+
+<p>Boyd's head lifted. "Ride yourself!" He got a ghost of his old defiance
+into that, though his voice was hardly more than a harsh croak of
+whisper. "I ain't givin' in now!"</p>
+
+<p>He leased his stirrup hold, staggering forward a step or two, and would
+have gone face-down on the turnpike if Drew had not made a big effort to
+reach him. But the other's weight bore him along, and they both sprawled
+on the road. Croaker came to a halt, his head hanging until he could
+have nuzzled Drew's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>They had made a brave start from Alabama, keeping up with the company
+they joined until they were close to the Kentucky-Tennessee border. Then
+a blistered heel had forced Drew into the rider's role for two days, and
+they had fallen behind. The rations they had drawn had been stretched as
+far as they would go. Even though there were people along the way
+willing to feed a hungry soldier, there were too many hungry soldiers.
+The farther north they traveled there was also a growing number of
+places where a blue coat might be welcome, but a gray one still
+signified "enemy."</p>
+
+<p>Drew moved, and raised Boyd's head and shoulders to his knee. If he
+could summon enough energy to reach the canteen hanging from Croaker's
+saddle.... Somehow he did, recklessly spilling a cupful of its contents
+on Boyd's face, and turning road dust into flecks of mud which freckled
+the gaunt cheeks.</p>
+
+<p>"Ain't goin' t' ride&mdash;" Boyd's eyes opened and he took up the argument
+again.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," Drew lashed out, "I can't carry you! Or do you expect to be
+dragged?"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd's face crumpled and he flung up his arms to hide his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"All right."</p>
+
+<p>With the aid of a sloping bank and an effort which left them both weakly
+panting, Boyd was mounted and they started their slow crawl once more.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew!"</p>
+
+<p>He raised his head. Boyd had straightened in the saddle and was pointing
+ahead, though his outstretched hand was shaking. "We made it&mdash;there's
+home!"</p>
+
+<p>Beyond was the green of trees, a whole line of trees curving along a
+gravel carriage drive. But somehow Drew could not match Boyd's joy. He
+was tired, so tired that he was aware of nothing really but the aching
+weariness of his body.</p>
+
+<p>They turned into the drive, the gravel crunching into his holed boots
+while the tree shadows made a green twilight. Croaker came to a stop,
+and Drew's eyes raised from the gravel to the line of one step and then
+another. His gaze finally came to a broad veranda ... to someone who had
+been sitting there and who was now on her feet, staring wide-eyed back
+at the three of them. Then the gravel came up in a wave and he was
+swallowed up in it and darkness&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The sun, warm through the window, awoke a glint of reflection from the
+top of the chest of drawers where rested a round cord of bullion with
+two tassels and a pair of fancy spurs. The wink of light was reflected
+again from the mirror before which Drew stood.</p>
+
+<p>"Jefferson's shirt has long enough sleeves, but all these billows!"
+Cousin Merry's tongue clicked against her teeth in exasperation. Her
+hand was in the middle of Drew's back, gathering up a good pleating of
+linen, but he still had extra folds of cloth to spare over his ribs.
+Four days of rest and plenty of food was not sufficient to restore any
+padding to his frame. "You certainly grew one way, but not the other!"</p>
+
+<p>Boyd, established in the big chair by the window, laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"I could take a few tucks," Drew offered.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>You</i> could take a few tucks!" Her astonished face showed in the glass
+above his shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, I'm not too bad with a needle. Did you note those neat patches on
+my breeches&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"I noted nothing about those breeches; they went straight into the fire!
+Such rags...."</p>
+
+<p>"Miss Merry, ma'am&mdash;" small Hetty showed an eager face around the corner
+of the door&mdash;"Majuh Forbes and Missus Forbes&mdash;they's downstairs."</p>
+
+<p>Drew faced away from the mirror. "Why?" he demanded with almost hostile
+emphasis.</p>
+
+<p>Meredith Barrett untied the strings of her sewing apron. "Hetty, tell
+Mam Gusta to set out some of the English biscuits and make tea." Then
+she turned back to face Drew. "Why, Drew? Rather&mdash;why not? They're your
+kin, and I think that Marianna feels it deeply that you came here and
+not to Red Springs. Not to go home...."</p>
+
+<p>"Home?" There was heat in that. "You, if anyone, know that Red Springs
+was never really my home. And Forbes is an officer in the Union Army.
+This is no time for a Reb to camp out in his house. My grandfather
+wanted the place to be just Aunt Marianna's, didn't he?" He paused by
+the chest of drawers, his hand going out to the spurs, the gold cord.
+Three years&mdash;in a way a small lifetime&mdash;all to be summed up now by a
+slightly tarnished cord from a general's hat, a pair of spurs a young
+Texan had jauntily worn.</p>
+
+<p>But it <i>was</i> a lifetime. He was not a boy any more, to have to endure
+his elders making decisions for him. His future was his own, and he had
+earned the right to that. Drew did not know that his face had hardened,
+that he suddenly looked a stranger to the woman who was watching him
+with concern.</p>
+
+<p>"Please, Drew, you mustn't allow yourself to be so bitter&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Bitter? About Red Springs, you mean? Lord, I never wanted the place. I
+hate every brick of it, and I think I always have. But I don't hate
+Forbes or Aunt Marianna if that's what you're afraid of. It's just that
+I have no place there any more."</p>
+
+<p>Her mouth tightened. "But you have! You owe it to Marianna to listen to
+her now. This is important, Drew, more important than you can guess. No,
+Boyd&mdash;" her gesture checked her son as he arose from the chair&mdash;"this is
+none of your affair. Come with me, Drew!"</p>
+
+<p>He picked up a borrowed coat, also much too wide for him, pulled it on
+over the bunchiness of his shirt, and followed her, swallowing what he
+knew to be a useless protest.</p>
+
+<p>The parlor was as bright with sun as the upper room had been. As Drew
+entered a pace or two behind Cousin Merry, the officer in blue strode
+away from the hearth to meet them. But Aunt Marianna forestalled her
+husband's greeting, rising suddenly from a chair, her crinoline rustling
+across the carpet. She held out her hands, and then hesitated, studying
+Drew's face, looking a little daunted, as if she had expected something
+she did not find. The assurance she had displayed at their last meeting
+on the Lexington road was missing.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew?"</p>
+
+<p>He bowed, conscious that he must present an odd figure in the
+ill-fitting clothing of Meredith Barrett's long dead husband.</p>
+
+<p>Major Forbes held out his hand. "Welcome home, my boy."</p>
+
+<p>My boy. Consciously or unconsciously the major's tone strove to thrust
+Drew into the past, or so he believed. The major might almost be
+considering Drew an unruly schoolboy now safely out of some scrape,
+welcome indeed if he would settle down quietly into the conventional
+mold of Oak Hill or Red Springs. But he was no schoolboy, and at that
+moment the parlor of Oak Hill, for all its luxury and warmth, was a box
+sealing him in stifling confinement which he could no longer endure.
+Drew held tight control over that resurgence of his old impatience,
+knowing that his first instinct had been right: the old life fitted him
+now no better than his coat. But he answered civilly:</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you, suh."</p>
+
+<p>His proper courtesy apparently reassured his aunt. She came to him, her
+hands on his shoulders as she stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. "Drew,
+come home with us, dear&mdash;please!"</p>
+
+<p>He shook his head. "I don't belong at Red Springs, ma'am. I never did."</p>
+
+<p>"Nonsense!" Major Forbes put the force of a field officer's authority
+into that denial. "I do not and never did agree with many of Alexander
+Mattock's decisions. I do so even less when they pertain to your
+situation, my boy. You have every right to consider Red Springs your
+home. You must come to us, resume your interrupted education, take your
+proper place in the family and the community&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Drew shook his head again. The major paused. He had been studying Drew,
+and now there was a faint shadow of uneasiness in his own expression. He
+might be slowly realizing that he was not fronting a repentant schoolboy
+rescued from a piece of regrettable youthful folly. A veteran was being
+forced against his will to recognize the stamp of his own experience on
+another, if much younger, man.</p>
+
+<p>"What are your plans?" he asked in another tone of voice entirely.</p>
+
+<p>"Drew&mdash;" Major Forbes waved aside that tentative interruption from
+Cousin Merry.</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know. But I can't stay here." That much he was sure of, Oak
+Hill, Red Springs, all of this was no longer necessary to him any more
+than the outgrown toys of childhood could hold the interest of a man.
+Once, hurt and seeking for freedom, he had thought of the army as home.
+Now he knew he had yet to find what he wanted or needed. But there was
+no reason why he could not go looking, even if he could not give a name
+to the object of such a search. "I might go west. It's all new out
+there, a good place to start on my own."</p>
+
+<p>There was a catch of breath from Aunt Marianna. The look she gave Cousin
+Merry held something of accusation. "You told him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Told me what, ma'am?"</p>
+
+<p>"That your father is alive...." She saw his surprise.</p>
+
+<p>"Is that true, suh?" Drew appealed to the major.</p>
+
+<p>Forbes scowled, tugging at the belt supporting his saber. "Yes. We found
+some letters among your grandfather's papers after his death. Your
+father wasn't killed; he was in a Mexican prison during the war. When he
+escaped and returned to Texas, your grandfather had already been there
+and taken your mother away. Hunt Rennie was too ill to follow
+immediately. Before he had recovered enough to travel, he was informed
+his wife was dead, and he was allowed to believe that you died with
+her&mdash;at birth."</p>
+
+<p>"But why?" Alexander Mattock had disliked, even hated his grandson. So
+why should he have lied to keep Drew with him at Red Springs?</p>
+
+<p>"Because of Murray," Cousin Merry said slowly, sadly. "It was a cruel
+thing to do, so cruel. Alexander Mattock was a hard man. He couldn't
+bear opposition; it made him go close to the edge of sanity, I truly
+believe. I know we are not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I
+can't forgive him for what he did to those two. Melanie and Hunt were so
+young, young and in love. And your Uncle Murray deliberately pushed that
+quarrel on Hunt. Jefferson was there; he tried to stop it. The duel was
+<i>not</i> Hunt's fault&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Uncle Murray and my father fought a duel?" Drew demanded.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Murray was badly wounded, and for a time his life was despaired
+of. Your grandfather swore out a warrant against Hunt for attempted
+murder! So he and Melanie ran away. They were so pitifully young!
+Melanie was just sixteen and Hunt two years older, though he seemed a
+man, having lived such a hard life on the frontier. They went back to
+Texas, and she was very happy there&mdash;I had some letters from her. Yes,
+she was happy until the War with Mexico began. Then Hunt was reported
+killed, his father, too. And she was left all alone with distant kin of
+theirs. So your grandfather went down to fetch her home. I'll always
+believe he really wanted to punish her for going against his will. She
+died&mdash;" her voice broke&mdash;"she died, because she had no will to live, and
+<i>then</i> he was sorry. But just a little, not enough to blame himself any.
+Oh, no&mdash;it was still all Hunt's wickedness, he said, every bit of it! He
+was a hard man...." Cousin Merry faced Aunt Marianna with her chin up as
+if daring the other to object what she'd just said.</p>
+
+<p>Drew returned to the news he still found difficult to believe. "So my
+father's alive, Major. Well, that gives me some place to go&mdash;Texas...."</p>
+
+<p>"Hunt Rennie's not in Texas." Cousin Merry spoke with such certainty
+that all three of them gave her their full attention.</p>
+
+<p>"I married Jefferson Barrett six months after Melanie eloped. We went to
+Europe then for almost two years of traveling. Part of our mail must
+have been lost. Hunt surely wrote to me! He liked Jefferson in spite of
+the differences in their ages. If I had only had the chance to tell him
+the truth about you, Drew. But I never knew he was alive either. You
+remember Granger Wood, Justin?"</p>
+
+<p>Major Forbes nodded. "He went out to California in '50."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, and when the war broke out he rode back across the Arizona and New
+Mexico territories with General Johnston to enlist in the Confederate
+forces. A month ago he came back here and he called to tell me he saw
+Hunt in Arizona in '61. He had a horse-and-cattle ranch there, also some
+mining holdings."</p>
+
+<p>"Drew"&mdash;Aunt Marianna caught his arm&mdash;"you won't be so foolish as to go
+out into that horrible wilderness hunting a man who doesn't even know
+you're alive&mdash;who's a perfect stranger to you? You must be sensible. We
+know that Father's will was very unjust, and we are not going to abide
+by its terms&mdash;half of Red Springs will be yours."</p>
+
+<p>Gently Drew released himself from her hold. "Maybe Hunt Rennie doesn't
+know I exist; maybe we won't even like each other if and when we do
+meet&mdash;I don't know. But Red Springs ain't my kind of world any more. And
+I won't take anything my grandfather grudged givin' me. I may be young,
+only in another way, I'm old, too. Too old to come under a schoolin'
+rein again." He glanced across her shoulder, noticing that his speech
+had registered with the major.</p>
+
+<p>"You're not goin' to start out this very afternoon, are you?" Forbes
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>Drew relaxed and laughed a little self-consciously, knowing that his
+uncle had ceded him the victory in this first skirmish.</p>
+
+<p>"No, suh. You know, I brought two things home from the army&mdash;and one of
+them was a pair of Texas spurs. A mighty good man wore those. You'd have
+to ride proud and tall in the saddle to match him. I told him once I was
+goin' to see Texas, and he said there was nothing to make a man stay on
+the range where he had been born. Since I've always wanted to know what
+kind of a man Hunt Rennie was&mdash;is&mdash;now maybe I'm goin' to do just that."</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 65%;' />
+
+
+<h3><a name="By_Andre_Norton" id="By_Andre_Norton"></a>BY ANDRE NORTON</h3>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Storm Over Warlock<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Galactic Derelict<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Time Traders<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Star Born<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yankee Privateer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Stars Are Ours!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h3>EDITED BY ANDRE NORTON</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Space Pioneers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Space Service<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Ride Proud, Rebel!, by Andre Alice Norton
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,8512 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ride Proud, Rebel!, by Andre Alice Norton
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Ride Proud, Rebel!
+
+Author: Andre Alice Norton
+
+Release Date: November 26, 2007 [EBook #23624]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDE PROUD, REBEL! ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            RIDE PROUD, REBEL!
+
+                               ANDRE NORTON
+
+[Transcriber Note: This is a rule 6 clearance. Extensive research did
+not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was
+renewed.]
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
+CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK
+
+_Published by_ The World Publishing Company
+2231 West 110th Street, Cleveland 2, Ohio
+
+_Published simultaneously in Canada by_
+Nelson, Foster & Scott Ltd.
+
+Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 61-6657
+_First Edition_
+
+HC361
+Copyright (C) 1961 by Andre Norton
+
+Printed in the United States of America.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+To those Reconstructed Rebels ERNESTINE and WILLIAM DONALDY _with no
+apologies from a damnyankee_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The author wishes to express appreciation to Mrs. Gertrude Morton
+Parsley, Reference Librarian, Tennessee State Library and Archives, for
+her aid in obtaining use of the unpublished memoirs of trooper John
+Johnson, concerning the escape of the Morgan company after Cynthiana.
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+1. Ride with Morgan
+
+2. Guns in the Night
+
+3. On the Run--
+
+4. The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry
+
+5. Bardstown Surrenders
+
+6. Horse Trade
+
+7. A Mule for a River
+
+8. Happy Birthday, Soldier!
+
+9. One More River To Cross
+
+10. "Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"
+
+11. The Road to Nashville
+
+12. Guerrillas
+
+13. Disaster
+
+14. Hell in Tennessee
+
+15. Independent Scout
+
+16. Missing in Action
+
+17. Poor Rebel Soldier....
+
+18. Texas Spurs
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+FROM GENERAL N. BEDFORD FORREST'S FAREWELL TO HIS COMMAND, MAY 9, 1865,
+GAINESVILLE, ALABAMA.
+
+_The cause for which you have so long and so manfully struggled, and for
+which you have braved dangers, endured privations and sufferings, and
+made so many sacrifices, is today hopeless...._
+
+_Civil war, such as you have passed through naturally engenders feelings
+of animosity, hatred and revenge. It is our duty to divest ourselves of
+all such feelings; and, as far as in our power to do so, to cultivate
+friendly feelings toward those with whom we have so long contended, and
+heretofore so widely, but honestly, differed...._
+
+_... In bidding you farewell, rest assured that you carry with you my
+best wishes for your future welfare and happiness. Without, in any way,
+referring to the merits of the cause in which we have been engaged, your
+courage and determination, as exhibited on many hard-fought fields, have
+elicited the respect and admiration of friend and foe. And I now
+cheerfully and gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to the officers
+and men of my command, whose zeal, fidelity and unflinching bravery have
+been the great source of my success in arms._
+
+_I have never, on the field of battle, sent you where I was unwilling to
+go myself; nor would I now advise you to a course which I felt myself
+unwilling to pursue. You have been good soldiers; you can be good
+citizens. Obey the laws, preserve your honor, and the Government to
+which you have surrendered can afford to be, and will be, magnanimous._
+
+N. B. FORREST, _Lieutenant General_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+1
+
+_Ride with Morgan_
+
+
+The stocky roan switched tail angrily against a persistent fly and
+lipped water, dripping big drops back to the surface of the brook. His
+rider moved swiftly, with an economy of action, to unsaddle, wipe the
+besweated back with a wisp of last year's dried grass, and wash down
+each mud-spattered leg with stream water. Always care for the mount
+first--when a man's life, as well as the safety of his mission, depended
+on four subordinate legs more than on his own two.
+
+Though he had little claim to a thoroughbred's points, the roan was as
+much a veteran of the forces as his groom, with all a veteran's ability
+to accept and enjoy small favors of the immediate present without
+speculating too much concerning the future. He blew gustily in pleasure
+under the attention and began to sample a convenient stand of spring
+green.
+
+His mount cared for, Drew Rennie swung up saddle, blanket, and the
+meager possessions which he had brought out of Virginia two weeks ago,
+to the platform in a crooked tree overhanging the brook. He settled
+beside them on the well-seasoned timbers of the old tree house to
+rummage through his saddlebags.
+
+The platform had been there a long time--before Chickamauga and the Ohio
+Raid, before the first roll of drums in '61. Drew pulled a creased shirt
+out of the bags and sat with it draped over one knee, remembering....
+
+Sheldon Barrett and he--they had built it together one hot week in
+summer--had named it Boone's Fort. And it was the only thing at Red
+Springs Drew had really ever owned. His dark eyes were fixed now on
+something more than the branches about him, and his mouth tightened
+until his face was not quite sullen, only shuttered.
+
+Five years ago--only five years? Yes, five years next month! But the
+past two years of his own personal freedom--and war--those seemed to
+equal ten. Now there was no one left to remember the fort's existence,
+which made it perfect for his present purpose.
+
+The warmth of the sun, beating down through yet young leaves, made Drew
+brush his battered slouch hat to the flooring and luxuriate in the heat.
+Sometimes he didn't think he'd ever get the bite of last winter's cold
+out of his bones. The light pointed up every angle of jaw and cheekbone,
+making it clear that experience--hard experience--and not years had
+melted away boyish roundness of chin line, narrowed the watchful eyes
+ever alert to his surroundings. A cavalry scout was wary, or he ceased
+to be a scout, or maybe even alive.
+
+Shirt in hand, Drew dropped lightly to the ground and with the same
+dispatch as he had cared for his horse, made his own toilet, scrubbing
+his too-thin body with a sigh of content as heartfelt as that the roan
+had earlier voiced.
+
+The fresh shirt was a dark brown-gray, but the patched breeches were
+Yankee blue, and the boots he pulled on when he had bathed were also
+the enemy's gift, good stout leather he'd been lucky enough to find in a
+supply wagon they had captured a month ago. Butternut shirt, Union pants
+and boots--the unofficial standard uniform of most any trooper of the
+Army of the Tennessee in this month of May, 1864. And he had garments
+which were practically intact. What was one patch on the seat nowadays?
+
+For the first time Drew grinned at his reflection in the small mirror he
+had been using, when he scraped a half week's accumulation of soft beard
+from his face. Sure, he was all spruced up now, ready to make a polite
+courtesy call at the big house. The grin did not fade, but was gone in a
+flash, leaving no hint of softness now about his gaunt features, no
+light in the intent, measuring depths of his dark gray eyes.
+
+A call at Red Springs was certainly the last thing in the world for him
+to consider seriously. His last interview within its walls could still
+make him wince when he recalled it, word by scalding word. No, there was
+no place for a Rennie--and a Rebel Rennie to make matters blacker--under
+the righteous roof of Alexander Mattock!
+
+Hatred could be a red-hot burning to choke a man's throat, leaving him
+speechless and hurting inside. Since he had ridden out of Red Springs he
+had often been cold, very often hungry--and under orders willingly,
+which would have surprised his grandfather--but in another way he had
+been free as never before in all his life. In the army, the past did not
+matter at all if one did one's job well. And in the army, the civilian
+world was as far away as if it were conducted in the cold chasms of the
+moon.
+
+Drew leaned back against the tree trunk, wanting to yield to the soft
+wind and the swinging privacy of the embowered tree house, wanting to
+forget everything and just lie there for a while in the only part of the
+past he remembered happily.
+
+But he had his orders--horses for General Morgan, horses and information
+to feed back to that long column of men riding or trudging westward on
+booted, footsore feet up the trail through the Virginia mountains on the
+way home to Kentucky. These were men who carried memories of the Ohio
+defeat last year which they were determined to wipe out this season,
+just as a lot of them had to flush with gunsmoke the stench of a
+Northern prison barracks from their nostrils.
+
+And there were horses at Red Springs. To mount Morgan's men on Alexander
+Mattock's best stock was a prospect which had its appeal. Drew tossed
+his haversack back to the platform and added his carbine to it. The army
+Colts in his belt holsters would not be much hindrance while crawling
+through cover, but the larger weapon might be.
+
+He thumped a measure of dust from his hat, settled it over hair as black
+as that felt had once been, and crossed the brook with a running leap.
+The roan lifted his head to watch Drew go and then settled back to
+grazing. This, too, followed a pattern both man and horse had practiced
+for a long time.
+
+Drew could almost imagine that he was again hunting Sheldon as a
+"Shawnee" on the warpath while he dodged from one bush to the next. Only
+Chickamauga stood between the past and now--and Sheldon Barrett would
+never again range ahead, in play or earnest.
+
+The scout came out on a small rise where the rails of the fence were
+cloaked on his side by brush. Drew lay flat, his chin propped upon his
+crooked arm to look down the gradual incline of the pasture to the
+training paddock. Beyond that stood the big house, its native brick
+settling back slowly into the same earth from which it had been molded
+in 1795.
+
+In the pasture were the brood mares, five of them, each with an
+attendant foal, all long legs and broom tail, still young enough to be
+bewildered by so large and new a world. In the paddock.... Drew's head
+raised an inch or so, and he pressed forward until his hat was pushed
+back by the rail. The two-year-old being schooled in the paddock was
+enough to excite any horseman.
+
+Red Springs' stock right enough, of the Gray Eagle-Ariel breed, which
+was Alexander Mattock's pride. Born almost black, this colt had shed his
+baby fur two seasons ago for a dark iron-gray hide which would grow
+lighter with the years. He had Eclipse's heritage, but he was more than
+a racing machine. He was--Drew's forehead rasped against the weathered
+wood of the rail--he was the kind of horse a man could dream about all
+his days and perhaps find once in a lifetime, if he were lucky! Give
+that colt three or four more years and there wouldn't be any horse that
+could touch him. Not in Kentucky, or anywhere else!
+
+He was circling on a leading strap now, throwing his feet in a steady,
+rhythmic pattern around the hub of a Negro groom who was holding the
+strap and admiring the action. Mounted on another gray--a mare with a
+dainty, high-held head--was a woman, her figure trim in a habit almost
+the same shade of green as the fields.
+
+Drew pulled back. Then he smiled wryly at his instinctive retreat. His
+aunt, Marianna Forbes, had abilities to be respected, but he very much
+doubted if she could either sense his presence or see through the leafy
+wall of his present spy hole. Yet caution dictated that he get about his
+real business and inspect the fields where the horses he sought should
+be grazing.
+
+He halted several times during his perimeter march to survey the
+countryside. And the bits of activity he spied upon began to puzzle him.
+Aunt Marianna's supervision of the colt's schooling had been the
+beginning. And he had seen her later, riding out with Rafe, the
+overseer, to make the daily rounds, a duty which had never been
+undertaken at Red Springs by any one other than his grandfather.
+
+Aunt Marianna had every right to be at Red Springs. She had been born
+under its roof, having left it only as a bride to live in Lexington. The
+war had brought her back when her husband became an officer in the
+Second Kentucky Cavalry--Union. But now--riding with Rafe, watching in
+the paddock--where was Alexander Mattock?
+
+Red Springs was his grandfather. Drew found it impossible to think of
+the house and the estate without the man, though in the past two years
+he had discovered very few things could be dismissed as impossible.
+Curiosity made him want to investigate the present mystery. But the
+memory of his last exit from that house curbed such a desire.
+
+Drew had never been welcome there from the day of his birth within those
+walls. And the motive for his final flight from there had only provided
+an added aggravation for his grandfather. A staunch Union supporter
+wanted no part of a stubborn-willed and defiant grandson who rode with
+John Hunt Morgan. Drew clung to his somewhat black thoughts as he made
+his way to the pasture. The escape he had found in the army was no
+longer so complete when he skulked through these familiar fields.
+
+But there were only two horses grazing peacefully in the field dedicated
+by custom to the four- and five-year-olds, and neither was of the best
+stock. One could imagine that Red Springs had already contributed to the
+service.
+
+Of course, Morgan's men were not the only riders aiming to sweep good
+horseflesh out of Kentucky blue grass this season, and here the Union
+cavalry would be favored.
+
+There was a slim chance that a few horses might be in the stables. He
+debated the chance of that against the risk of discovery and continued
+debating it as he started back to the tree house.
+
+Drew had known short rations and slim foraging for a long time, but the
+present pinch in his middle sharpened when he sighted the big house,
+with its attendant summer kitchen showing a trail of chimney smoke.
+
+Alexander Mattock might have considered his grandson an interloper at
+Red Springs; certainly the old man never concealed the state of his
+feelings on that subject. But neither had he, in any way, slighted what
+he deemed to be his duty toward Drew.
+
+There had been plenty of good clothing--the right sort for a Mattock
+grandson--and the usual bounteous table set by hospitable Kentucky
+standards. Just as there had been education, sometimes enforced by the
+use of a switch when the tutor--imported from Lexington--thought it
+necessary to impress learning on a rebellious young mind by a painful
+application in another portion of the body. Education, as well as a
+blooded horse in the stables, and all the other prerequisites of a young
+blue-grass grandee. But never any understanding, affection, or sympathy.
+
+That cold behavior--the cutting, weighing, and judgment of every act of
+childish mischief and boyish recklessness--might have crushed some into
+a colorless obedience. But it had made of Drew a rebel long before he
+tugged on the short gray shell jacket of a Confederate cavalryman.
+
+Drew had forgotten the feel of linen next to his now seldom clean skin,
+the set of broadcloth across the shoulders. And he depended upon the
+roan's services with appreciation which had nothing to do with boasted
+bloodlines, having discovered in the army that a cold-blooded horse
+could keep going on rough forage when a finer bred hunter broke down.
+But today the famed dinner table at Red Springs was a painful memory to
+one facing only cold hoecake and stone-hard dried beef.
+
+He had circled back to the brush screening the brook and the tree house.
+Now he stood very still, his hand sliding one of the heavy Colts out of
+its holster. The roan was still grazing, paying no attention to a figure
+who was kneeling on the limb-supported platform and turning over the
+gear Drew had left piled there.
+
+The scout flitted about a bush, choosing a path which would bring him
+out at the stranger's back. That same warm sun, now striking from a
+different angle into the tree house, was bright on a thick tangle of
+yellow hair, curly enough to provide its owner with a combing problem.
+
+Drew straightened to his full height. The sense of the past which had
+dogged him all day now struck like a blow. He couldn't help calling
+aloud that name, even though the soberer part of his brain knew there
+could be no answer.
+
+"Shelly!"
+
+The blond head turned, and blue eyes looked at him, startled, across a
+bowed shoulder. Drew's puzzlement was complete. Not Sheldon, of course,
+but who? The other's open surprise changed to wide-eyed recognition
+first.
+
+"Drew!" The hail came in the cracked voice of an adolescent as the other
+jumped down to face the scout. They stood at almost eye-to-eye level,
+but the stranger was still all boy, awkwardly unsure of strength or
+muscle control.
+
+"You must be Boyd--" Drew blinked, something in him still clinging to
+the memory of Sheldon, Sheldon who had helped to build the tree house.
+Why, Boyd was only a small boy, usually tagging his impatient elders,
+not this tall, almost exact copy of his dead brother.
+
+"Sure, I'm Boyd. And it's true then, ain't it, Drew? General Morgan's
+coming back here? Where?" He glanced over his shoulder once more as if
+expecting to see a troop prance up through the bushes along the stream.
+
+Drew holstered the revolver. "Rumors of that around?" he asked casually.
+
+"Some," Boyd answered. "The Yankee-lovers called out the Home Guard
+yesterday. What sort of a chance do they think they'll have against
+_General Morgan_?"
+
+Drew moved toward the roan's picket rope. As his fingers closed on that
+he thought fast. Just as the Mattocks and the Forbeses were Union, the
+Barretts were, or had been, Southern in sympathy. Most of Kentucky was
+divided that way now. But what might have been true two years ago was
+not necessarily a fact today. One took no chances.
+
+"You come back to see your grandfather, Drew?"
+
+"Any reason why I should?" The whole countryside must know very well
+the state of affairs between Alexander Mattock and Drew Rennie.
+
+"Well, he's been sick for so long.... Didn't you know about that?" Boyd
+must have read Drew's answer in his face, for he spilled out the news
+quickly. "He had some kind of a fit when he heard Murray was killed----"
+
+Drew dropped the picket rope. "Uncle Murray ... dead?"
+
+Boyd nodded. "Killed at Murfreesboro in sixty-two, but the news didn't
+come till about a week after the battle. Mr. Mattock was in town when
+Judge Hagerstorm told him ... just turned red in the face and fell down
+in the middle of the street. They brought him home, and sometimes he
+sits outdoors. But he can't walk too good and he talks thick; you can
+hardly understand him."
+
+"So that's why Aunt Marianna's in charge." Drew thought of Uncle Murray
+swept away by time and the chances of war as so many others--and no
+emotion stirred within him. Murray Mattock had firmly agreed with his
+father concerning the child who was the result of a runaway match
+between his sister Melanie and a despised Texan. But Uncle Murray's
+death must indeed have been a paralyzing blow for the old man at Red
+Springs, with all his pride and his plans for his only son.
+
+"Yes, Cousin Marianna runs Red Springs," Boyd assented, "she and Rafe.
+They sell horses to the army--the blue bellies." He used the term with
+the concentration of one determined to say the right thing at the right
+time.
+
+Drew laughed. And with that spontaneous outburst, years fell away from
+his somber face. "I take it that you do not approve of blue bellies,
+Boyd?"
+
+"'Course not! Me, I'm goin' to join General Morgan now. Ain't nobody
+goin' to keep me from doin' that!" Again his voice scaled up out of
+control, and he flushed.
+
+"You're rather young----" Drew began, when the other interrupted him
+with something close to desperation in his voice.
+
+"No, I ain't too young! That's all I ever hear--too young to do this,
+too young to be thinkin' about things like that! Well, I ain't much
+younger than you were, Drew Rennie, when you joined up with Captain
+Castleman and rode south to join General Morgan--you and Shelly. And you
+know that, too! I'll be sixteen on the fifteenth of this July. And this
+time I'm goin'! Where's the General now, Drew?"
+
+The scout shrugged. "Movin' fast. Your rumors probably know as much as I
+do. They plant him half a dozen places at once. He might be in any one
+of them or fifty miles away; that's how Morgan rides."
+
+"But you're goin' to join him, and you'll take me with you, won't you,
+Drew?"
+
+The lightness was gone from the older boy's eyes, his mouth set in
+controlled anger. "I am not goin' to do anything of the kind, Boyd
+Barrett." He spoke the words slowly, in an even tone, with a fraction of
+pause between each. Men of the command had once or twice heard young
+Rennie speak that way. Although difficult to know well, he had the
+general reputation of being easy to get along with. But a few times he
+had erupted into action as might a spring uncoiling from tight pressure,
+and that action was usually preceded by just such quiet statements as
+the one he had just made to Boyd.
+
+Boyd, however, was never one to be defeated in a first skirmish of
+wills. "Why not?" he demanded now.
+
+"Because," Drew offered the first argument he could think of which might
+be acceptable to the other, "I'm on scout in enemy-held territory. If
+I'm taken, it's not good. I have to ride light and fast, and this is
+duty I've been trained to do. So I can't afford to be hampered by a
+green kid----"
+
+"I can ride just as fast and hard as you can, Drew Rennie, and I have
+Whirlaway for my own now. He's certainly better than that nag!" With an
+arrogant lift of the chin, Boyd indicated the roan, who had raised his
+head and was chewing rather noisily, regarding the two by the tree house
+with mild interest.
+
+"Don't underrate Shawnee." For an instant Drew rose to the roan's
+defense and then found himself irritated at being so drawn from the main
+argument. "And I wouldn't care if you had Gray Eagle, himself, under
+you, boy--I'm not taking you with me. Let us be snapped up by the
+Yankees, and you'd be in bigger trouble than I would." He gestured to
+his shirt and breeches. "I'm in uniform; you ain't."
+
+"No blue bellies could drop on us," Boyd pushed. "I know where all the
+garrisons are round here--all about their patrols. I could get us
+through quicker'n you can, yourself. I ain't no green kid!"
+
+Drew slapped the blanket down on Shawnee's back, smoothed it flat with a
+palm stroke, and jerked his saddle from the platform. He could not stay
+right here now that Boyd had smoked him out--maybe nowhere in the
+neighborhood with this excitable boy dogging him.
+
+The scout was driven to his second line of defense. "What about Cousin
+Merry?" he asked as he tightened the cinch. "Have you talked this over
+with her--enlistin', I mean?"
+
+Boyd's lower lip protruded in a child's pout. His eyes shifted away from
+Drew's direct gaze.
+
+"She never said No----"
+
+"Did you ask her?" Drew challenged.
+
+"Did you ask your grandfather when you left?" Boyd tried a
+counterattack.
+
+This time Drew's laughter was harsh, without humor. "You know I didn't,
+and you also know why. But I didn't leave a mother!"
+
+He was being purposefully brutal now, for a good reason. Sheldon had
+ridden away before; Boyd must not go now. In Drew's childhood, his
+father's cousin, Meredith Barrett, had been the only one who had really
+cared about him. His only escape from the cold bleakness of Red Springs
+had been Barrett's Oak Hill. There was a big debt he owed Cousin Merry;
+he could not add to it the burden of taking away her second son.
+
+Sure, he had been only a few months older than this boy when he had run
+away to war, but he had not left anyone behind who would worry about
+him. And Alexander Mattock's cold discipline had tempered his grandson
+into someone far more able to take hard knocks than Boyd Barrett might
+be for years to come. Drew had met those knocks, thick and fast,
+enduring them as the price of his freedom.
+
+"You were mad at your grandfather, and you ran away. Well, I ain't mad
+at Mother, but I ain't goin' to sit at home with General Morgan comin'!
+He needs men. They've been recruitin' for him on the quiet; you know
+they have. And I've got to make up for Sheldon----"
+
+Drew swung around and caught Boyd's wrist in a grip tight enough to
+bring a reflex backward jerk from the boy. "That's no way to make up for
+Sheldon's death-runnin' away from home to fight. Don't give me any
+nonsense about goin' to kill Yankees because they killed him! When a man
+goes to war ... well, he takes his chances. Shelly did at Chickamauga.
+War ain't a private fight, just one man up against another--"
+
+But he was making no impression; he couldn't. At Boyd's age you could
+not imagine death as coming to you; nor were you able to visualize the
+horrors of an ill-equipped field hospital. Any more than you could
+picture all the rest of it--the filth, hunger, cold, and boredom with
+now and then a flash of whirling horses and men clashing on some road or
+field, or the crazy stampede of other men, yelling their throats raw as
+they charged into a hell of Minie balls and canister shot.
+
+"I'm goin' to ride with General Morgan, like Shelly did," Boyd repeated
+doggedly, with that stubbornness which seasons ago had kept him
+eternally tagging his impatient elders.
+
+"That's up to you." Suddenly Drew was tired, tired of trying to find
+words to pierce to Boyd's thinking brain--if one had a thinking brain at
+his age. Slinging his carbine, Drew mounted Shawnee. "But I do know one
+thing--you're not goin' with me."
+
+"Drew-Drew, just listen once...."
+
+Shawnee answered to the pressure of his rider's knees and leaped the
+brook. Drew bowed his head to escape the lash of a low branch. There was
+no going back ever, he thought bitterly, shutting his ears to Boyd's
+cry. He'd been a fool to ride this way at all.
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+_Guns in the Night_
+
+
+There were sounds enough in the middle of the night to tell the
+initiated that a troop was on the march--creak of saddle leather, click
+of shod hoof, now and then the smothered exclamation of a man shaken out
+of a cavalryman's mounted doze. To Drew's trained ears all this was loud
+enough to send any Union picket calling out the guard. Yet there was no
+indication that the enemy ahead was alert.
+
+Near two o'clock he made it, and the advance were walking their horses
+into the fringe of Lexington--this was home-coming for a good many of
+the men sagging in the saddles. Morgan's old magic was working again.
+Escaping from the Ohio prison, he had managed to gather up the remnants
+of a badly shattered command, weld them together, and lead them up from
+Georgia to their old fighting fields--the country which they considered
+rightfully theirs and in which during other years they had piled one
+humiliating defeat for the blue coats on another. General Morgan could
+_not_ lose in Kentucky!
+
+And they already had one minor victory to taste sweet: Mount Sterling
+had fallen into their hold as easily as it had before. Now
+Lexington--with the horses they needed--friends and families waiting to
+greet them.
+
+Captain Tom Quirk's Irish brogue, unmistakable even in a half whisper,
+came out of the dark: "Pull up, boys!"
+
+Drew came to a halt with his flanking scout. There was a faint drum of
+hoofs from behind as three horsemen caught up with the first wave of
+Quirk's Scouts.
+
+"Taking the flag in ..." Drew caught a snatch of sentence passed between
+the leader of the newcomers and his own officer. He recognized the voice
+of John Castleman, his former company commander.
+
+"... worth a try ..." that was Quirk.
+
+But when the three had cantered on into the mouth of the street the
+scout captain turned his head to the waiting shadows. "Rennie, Bruce,
+Croxton ... give them cover!"
+
+Drew sent Shawnee on, his carbine resting ready across his saddle. The
+streets were quiet enough, too quiet. These dark houses showed no signs
+of life, but surely the Yankees were not so confident that they would
+not have any pickets posted. And Fort Clay had its garrison....
+
+Then that ominous silence was broken by Castleman's call: "Bearer of
+flag of truce!"
+
+"... Morgan's men?" A woman called from a window up ahead, her voice so
+low pitched Drew heard only a word or two. Castleman answered her before
+he gave the warning:
+
+"Battery down the street, boys. Take to the sidewalks!"
+
+A lantern bobbed along in their direction. Drew had a glimpse of a
+blue-uniformed arm above it. A moment later Castleman rode back. One of
+his companions swerved close-by, and Drew recognized Key Morgan, the
+General's brother.
+
+"They say, 'No surrender.'"
+
+Perhaps that was what they said. But the skirmishers were now drifting
+into town. Orders snapped from man to man through the dark. The crackle
+of small-arms fire came sporadically, to be followed by the heavier
+_boom-boom_ as cannon balls from Fort Clay ricocheted through the
+streets, the Yankees being forced back into the protection of that
+stronghold. Riders threaded through alleys and cross streets; lamps
+flared up in house windows. There was a pounding on doors, and shouted
+greetings. Fire made a splash of angry color at the depot, to be
+answered with similar blazes at the warehouses.
+
+"Spur up those crowbaits of yours, boys!" Quirk rounded up the scouts.
+"We're out for horses--only the best, remember that!"
+
+Out of the now aroused Lexington just as daylight was gray overhead,
+they were on the road to Ashland. If Red Springs might have proved poor
+picking, John Clay's stables did not. One sleek thoroughbred after
+another was led from the stalls while Quirk fairly purred.
+
+"Skedaddle! Would you believe it? Here's Skedaddle, himself, just aching
+to show heels to the blue bellies, ain't you?" He greeted the great
+racer. "Now that's the sort of stuff we need! Give us another chase
+across the Ohio clean up to Canada with a few like him under us. Sweep
+'em clean and get going! The General wants to see the catch before
+noon."
+
+Drew watched the mounts being led down the lane. Beautiful, yes, but to
+his mind not one of them was the equal of the gray colt he had seen at
+Red Springs. Now that was a horse! And he was not tempted now to strip
+his saddle off Shawnee and transfer to any one of the princes of equine
+blood passing him by. He knew the roan, and Shawnee knew his job. Knows
+more about the work than I do sometimes, Drew thought.
+
+"You, Rennie!"
+
+Drew swung Shawnee to the left as Quirk hailed him.
+
+"Take point out on the road. Just like some stubborn Yankee to try and
+cut away a nice little catch like this."
+
+"Yes, sir." Drew merely sketched a salute; discipline was always free
+and easy in the Scouts.
+
+The day was warm. He was glad he had managed to find a lightweight shirt
+back at the warehouse in town. If they didn't win Lexington to keep, at
+least all of the raiders were going to ride out well-mounted, with boots
+on their feet and whole clothing on their backs. The Union
+quartermasters did just fine by Morgan's boys, as always.
+
+Shawnee's ears went forward alertly, but Drew did not need that signal
+of someone's approaching. He backed into the shadow-shade of a tree and
+sat tense, with Colt in hand.
+
+A horse nickered. There was the whirr of wheels. Drew edged Shawnee out
+of cover and then quickly holstered his weapon, riding out to bring to a
+halt the carriage horse between the shafts of an English dogcart.
+
+He pulled off his dust-grayed hat. "Good mornin', Aunt Marianna."
+
+Such a polite greeting--the same words he would have used three years
+ago had they met in the hall of Red Springs on their way to breakfast.
+He wanted to laugh, or was it really laughter which lumped in his
+throat?
+
+Her momentary expression of outrage faded as she leaned forward to study
+his face, and she relaxed her first half-threatening grip on her whip.
+Though Aunt Marianna had never been a beauty, her present air of
+assurance and authority became her, just as the smart riding habit was
+better suited to her somewhat angular frame than the ruffles and bows of
+the drawing room.
+
+"Drew!" Her recognition of his identity had come more slowly than
+Boyd's, and it sounded almost wary.
+
+"At your service, ma'am." He found himself again using the graces of
+another way of life, far removed from his sweat-stained shirt and
+patched breeches. He shot a glance over his shoulder, making sure they
+were safely alone on that stretch of highway. After all, one horse among
+so many would be no great loss to his commander. "You'd better turn
+around. The boys'll have Lady Jane out of the shaft before you get into
+Lexington if you keep on. And the Yankees are still pepperin' the place
+with round shot." He wondered why she was driving without a groom, but
+did not quite dare to ask.
+
+"Drew, is Boyd here with you?"
+
+"Boyd?"
+
+"Don't be evasive with me, boy!" She rapped that out with an officer's
+snap. "He left a note for Merry--two words misspelled and a big
+blot--all foolishness about joining Morgan. Said you had been to Red
+Springs, and he was going along. Why did you do it, Drew? Cousin
+Merry ... after Sheldon, she can't lose Boyd, too! To put such a wild
+idea into that child's head!"
+
+Drew's lips thinned into a half grimace. He was still cast in the role
+of culprit, it seemed. "I didn't influence Boyd to do anything, Aunt
+Marianna. I told him I wouldn't take him with me, and I meant it. If he
+ran away, it was his own doin'."
+
+She was still measuring him with that intent look as if he were a
+slightly unsatisfactory colt being put through his paces in the training
+paddock.
+
+"Then you'll help me get him back home?" That was more a statement than
+a question, delivered in a voice which was all Mattock, enough to awaken
+by the mere sound all the old resistance in him.
+
+He nodded at the Lexington road. "There are several thousand men ahead
+there, ma'am. Hunting Boyd out if he wants to hide from me--and he
+will--is impossible. He's big enough to pass a recruiter; they ain't too
+particular about age these days. And he'll stay just as far from me as
+he can until he is sworn in. He already knows how I feel about his
+enlistin'."
+
+Her gloved hands tightened on the reins. "If I could see John Morgan
+himself--"
+
+"_If_ you could get to Lexington and find him--"
+
+"But Boyd's just a child. He hasn't the slightest idea of war except the
+stories he hears ... no idea of what could happen to him, or what this
+means to Merry. All this criminal nonsense about being a soldier--sabers
+and spurs, and dashing around behind a flag, the wrong flag, too--" She
+caught her breath in an unusual betrayal of emotion. And now she studied
+Drew with some deliberation, noting his thinness, itemizing his
+shabbiness.
+
+He smiled tiredly. "No, I ain't Boyd's idea of a returnin' hero, am I?"
+he agreed with her unspoken comment. "Also, we Rebs don't use sabers;
+they ain't worth much in a real skirmish."
+
+She flushed. "Drew, why did you go? Was it all because of Father? I know
+he made it hard for you."
+
+"You know--" Drew regarded a circling bird in the section of sky above
+her head--"some day I hope I'll discover just what kind of a no-account
+Hunt Rennie was, to make his son so unacceptable. Most of the Texans
+I've ridden with in the army haven't been so bad; some of them are
+downright respectable."
+
+"I don't know." Again she flushed. "It was a long time ago when it all
+happened. I was just a little girl. And Father, well, he has very strong
+prejudices. But, Drew, for you to go against everything you'd been
+taught, to turn Rebel--that added to his bitterness. And now Boyd is
+trying to go the same way. Isn't there something you can do? I can't
+stand to see that look in Merry's eyes. If we can just get Boyd home
+again----"
+
+"Don't hope too much." Drew was certain that nothing Marianna Forbes
+could do was going to lead Boyd Barrett back home again. On the other
+hand, if the boy had not formally enlisted, perhaps the rigors of one of
+the General's usual cross-country scrambles might be disillusioning.
+But, having tasted the quality of Boyd's stubbornness in the past, Drew
+doubted that. For long months he had been able to cut right out of his
+life Red Springs and all it stood for; now it was trying to put reins on
+him again. He shifted his weight in the saddle.
+
+"He's been restless all spring," his aunt continued. "We might have
+known that, given an opportunity like this, the boy would do something
+wild. Only the waste, the sinful waste! I can't go back and face Merry
+without trying something--anything! Can't you ... Drew?"
+
+"I don't know." He couldn't harden himself to tell her the truth. "I'll
+try," he promised vaguely.
+
+"Drew--" A change in tone brought his attention back to her. She looked
+disturbed, almost embarrassed. "Have you had a hard time? You look
+so ... so thin and tired. Is there anything you need?"
+
+He flinched from any such attack on the shell he had built against the
+intrusion of Red Springs, for a second or two feeling once more the rasp
+across raw nerves. "We don't get much time for sleep when the General's
+on the prod. Horse stealin' and such keeps us a mite busy, accordin' to
+your Yankee friends. And we have to pay our respects to them, just to
+keep them reminded that this is Morgan country. I'll warn you again,
+Aunt Marianna, keep Lady Jane out of Lexington today--if you want to
+keep _her_." He gathered up his reins. "Boyd told me about Grandfather,"
+he added in a rush. "I'm sorry." And he was, he told himself, sorry for
+Aunt Marianna, who had to stay at Red Springs now, and even a little in
+an impersonal way for the old man, who must find inactivity a worse
+prison than any stone-walled room. But it was being polite about a
+stranger. "Major Forbes ... he's all right?"
+
+"Yes. Only, Drew--" Again the urgency in her voice held him against his
+will, "Boyd...."
+
+He was saved further evasion by a carrying whistle from down the road,
+the signal to pull in pickets. Pursing his own lips, he answered.
+
+"I have to go. I'll do what I can." He set Shawnee pounding along the
+pike, and he did not look back.
+
+If he were ever to fulfill his promise to locate Boyd, that would have
+to come later. Quirk's horse catch delivered, the scouts were on the
+move again, on the Georgetown road, riding at a pace which suggested
+they must keep ahead of a boiling wasp's nest of Yankees. There was an
+embarrassment of blue-coat prisoners on the march between two lines of
+gray uniforms, and pockets of the enemy such as that at Fort Clay were
+left behind. The strike northward took on a feverish drive.
+
+Georgetown with its streets full of women and cheering males, too old or
+too young to be riding with the columns. Mid-afternoon, Friday, and the
+heat rising from the pavement as only June heat could. Then they reached
+the Frankfort road, and the main command halted. The scouts ate in the
+saddle as they fanned out along the Frankfort pike, pushing toward
+Cynthiana. Sam Croxton strode back from filling his canteen at a
+farmyard well and scowled at Drew, who had dismounted and loosened cinch
+to cool Shawnee's back.
+
+"Cynthiana, now. I'm beginnin' to wonder, Rennie, if we know just which
+way we are goin'."
+
+Drew shrugged. "Might be a warm reception waitin' us there. Drake
+figures about five hundred Yankees on the spot, and trains comin' in
+with more all the time."
+
+Sighing, Croxton rubbed his hand across his freckled face, smearing road
+dust and sweat into a gritty mask. "Me--I could do with four or five
+hours' sleep, right down here in the road. Always providin' no blue
+belly'd trot along to stir me up. Seems like I ain't had a ten minutes'
+straight nap since we joined up with the main column. Scoutin' ahead a
+couple weeks ago you could at least fill your belly and rest up at some
+farm. Them boys pushin' the prisoners back there sure has it tough. Bet
+some of 'em been eatin' dust most all day--"
+
+"Be glad you're not ridin' in one of the wagons nursin' a hole in your
+middle." Drew wet his handkerchief, or the sad gray rag which served
+that purpose, and carefully washed out Shawnee's nostrils, rubbing the
+horse gently down the nose and around his pricked ears.
+
+Croxton spat and a splotch of brown tobacco juice pocked the roadside
+gravel. "Now ain't you cheerful!" he observed. "No, I've no hole in my
+middle, or my top, or my bottom--and I don't want none, neither. All I
+want is about an hour's sleep without Quirk or Drake breathin' down my
+back wantin' to know why I'm playin' wagon dog. The which I ain't gonna
+have very soon by the looks of it. So...." He mounted, spat again with
+accuracy enough to stun a grasshopper off a nodding weed top, which feat
+seemed to restore a measure of his usual good nature. "Got him! You
+comin', Rennie?"
+
+The hours of Friday afternoon, evening, night, crawled by--leadenly, as
+far as the men in the straggling column were concerned. That dash which
+had carried them through from the Virginia border, through the old-time
+whirling attack on Mount Sterling only days earlier, and which had
+brought them into and beyond Lexington, was seeping from tired men who
+slept in the saddle or fell out, too drugged with fatigue to know that
+they slumped down along country fences, unconscious gifts for the enemy
+doggedly drawing in from three sides. There was the core of veterans who
+had seen this before, been a part of such punishing riding in Illinois,
+Ohio, and Kentucky. The signs could be read, and as Drew spurred along
+that faltering line of march late that night, carrying a message, he
+felt a creeping chill which was not born of the night wind nor a warning
+of swamp fever.
+
+Before daylight there was another halt. He had to let Shawnee pick his
+own careful path around and through groups of dismounted men sleeping
+with their weapons still belted on, their mounts, heads drooping,
+standing sentinel.
+
+Saturday's dawn, and the advance had plowed ahead to the forks of the
+road some three miles out of Cynthiana. One brigade moved directly
+toward the town; the second--with a detachment of scouts--headed down
+the right-hand road to cross the Licking River and move in upon the
+enemies' rear. From the hill they could sight a stone-fence barricade
+glistening with the metal of waiting musket barrels. Then, suddenly, the
+old miracle came. Men who had clung through the hours to their saddles
+by sheer will power alone, tightened their lines and were alertly alive.
+
+The ear-stinging, throat-scratching Yell screeched high over the pound
+of the artillery, the vicious spat of Minie balls. A whip length of
+dusty gray-brown lashed forward, flanking the stone barrier. Blue-coated
+men wavered, broke, ran for the bridge, heading into the streets of the
+town. The gray lash curled around a handful of laggards and swept them
+into captivity.
+
+Then the brigade thundered on, driving the enemy back before they could
+reform, until the Yankees holed up in the courthouse, the depot, a
+handful of houses. Before eight o'clock it was all over, and the
+confidence of the weary raiders was back. They had showed 'em!
+
+Drew had the usual mixture of sharp scenes to remember as his small
+portion of the engagement while he spurred Shawnee on past the blaze
+which was spreading through the center of the town, licking out for more
+buildings no one seemed to have the organization nor the will to save.
+He was riding with the advance of Giltner's brigade, double-quicking it
+downriver to Keller's Bridge. In town the Yankees were prisoners, but
+here a long line, with heavy reserves in wedges of blue behind, strung
+out across open fields.
+
+Once more the Yell arose in sharp ululating wails, and the ragged line
+swept from the road, tightening into a semblance of the saber blades
+Morgan's men disdained to use ... clashed.... Then, after what seemed
+like only a moment's jarring pause, it was on the move once more while
+before it crumpled motes of blue were carried down the slope to the
+riverbank, there to steady and stand fast.
+
+Drew's throat was aching and dry, but he was still croaking hoarsely,
+hardly feeling the slam of his Colts' recoils. They were up to that blue
+line, firing at deadly point-blank range. And part of him wondered how
+any men could still keep their feet and face back to such an assault
+with ready muskets. By his side a man skipped as might a marcher trying
+to catch step, then folded up, sliding limply to the trampled grass.
+
+Men were flinging up hands holding empty cartridge boxes along the
+attacking line--too many of them. Others reversed the empty carbines, to
+use them in clubbing duels back and forth. The Union troops fell back,
+firing still, making their way into the railroad cut. Now the river was
+a part defense for them. Bayonets caught the sunlight in angry flashing,
+and they bristled.
+
+"You ... Rennie...."
+
+Drew lurched back under the clutch of a frantic hand belonging to an
+officer he knew.
+
+"Get back to the horse lines! Bring up the holders' ammunition, on the
+double!"
+
+Drew ran, panting, his boots slipping and scraping on the grass as he
+dodged around prone men who still moved, or others who lay only too
+still. A horse reared, snorted, and was pulled down to four feet again.
+
+"Ammunition!" Drew got the word out as a squawk, grabbing at the boxes
+the waiting men were already tossing to him. Then, through the haze
+which had been riding his mind since the battle began, he caught a clear
+sight of the fifth man there.... And there was no disguising the blond
+hair of the boy so eagerly watching the struggle below. Drew had found
+Boyd--at a time he could do nothing about it. With his arms full, the
+scout turned to race down the slope again, only to sight the white flag
+waving from the railroad cut.
+
+More prisoners to be marched along, joining the other dispirited ranks.
+Drew heard one worried comment from an officer: they would soon have
+more prisoners than guards.
+
+He went back, trying to locate Boyd, but to no purpose. And the rest of
+the day was more confusion, heat, never-ending weariness, and always the
+sense of there being so little time. Rumors raced along the lines, five
+thousand, ten thousand blue bellies on the march, drawing in from every
+garrison in the blue grass. And those who had been hunted along the Ohio
+roads a year before were haunted by that old memory of disaster.
+
+Once more they made their way through the streets of Cynthiana, where
+the acrid smoke of burning caught at throats, adding to the torturous
+thirst which dried a man's mouth when he tore cartridge paper with his
+teeth. Drew and Croxton took sketchy orders from Captain Quirk, their
+eyes red-rimmed with fatigue above their powder-blackened lips and
+chins. Fan out, be eyes and ears for the column moving into the Paris
+pike.
+
+Croxton's grin had no humor in it as they turned aside into a field to
+make better time away from the cluttered highway.
+
+"Looks like the butter's spread a mite thin on the bread this time," he
+commented. "But the General's sure playin' it like he has all the aces
+in hand. Which way to sniff out a Yankee?"
+
+"I'd say any point of the compass now----"
+
+"Listen!" Sam's hand went up. "Those ain't any guns of ours."
+
+The rumble was distant, but Drew believed Croxton was right. Through the
+dark, guns were moving up. The wasps were closing in on the disturbers
+of their nest, and every one of them carried a healthy stinger. He
+thought of what he had seen today: too many empty cartridge boxes,
+Enfield rifles still carried by men who would not, in spite of orders,
+discard them for the Yankee guns with ammunition to spare. Empty guns,
+worn-out men, weary horses ... and Yankee guns moving confidently up
+through the night.
+
+
+
+
+3
+
+_On the Run----_
+
+
+"They're comin'! Looks like the whole country's sproutin' Yankees outta
+the ground."
+
+They were, a dull dark mass at first and then an arc of one ominous
+color advancing in a fast, purposeful drive, already overrunning the
+pickets with only a lone shot here and there in defiance. They rode up
+confidently, dismounted, and charged--to be thrown back once. But there
+were too many of them, and they moved with the precision of men who knew
+what was to be done and that they could do it. Confederates were trapped
+before they could reach their horses; there was a wild whirling scramble
+of a fight flowing backward toward the river.
+
+Men with empty guns turned those guns into clubs, fighting to hold the
+center. But the enemy had already cut them off from the Augusta road and
+the bridge, and the river was at their backs. Water boiled under a lead
+rain. Drew saw an opening between two Union troopers. Flattening himself
+as best he could on Shawnee's back, he gave the roan the spur. What good
+could be accomplished by the message he carried now--to bring up half
+the horse holders as reinforcements--was a question.
+
+However, he was never to deliver that message, for the horse lines had
+been stampeded by the first wave of flying men. Here and there a holder
+or two still tried to control at least one wild horse of the four he was
+responsible for, but there were no reserves for the fighting line.
+And--Drew glanced back--no battle to lead them into if there were.
+
+Men and horses were struggling, dying in the river. The bridge ... he
+gaped at the horror of that bridge ... horses down, kicking and dying,
+barring an escape route to their riders. And the blue coats everywhere.
+Like a stallion about to attack, Shawnee screamed suddenly and reared,
+his front hoofs beating the air. A spurting red stream fountained from
+his neck; an artery had been hit.
+
+Drew set teeth in lip, and plugged that bubbling hole with his thumb.
+Shawnee was dying, but he was still on his feet, and he could be headed
+away from the carnage in that water. Drew, his face sick and white,
+turned the horse toward the railroad tracks.
+
+"Drew!"
+
+Croxton? No, but somehow Drew was not surprised to see Boyd trying to
+keep his feet, being dragged along by two plunging horses, their eyes
+white-rimmed with terror. The only wonder was that the scout had heard
+that call through the din of screaming and shouting, the wild neighs of
+the horses, and the continual crackle of small arms' fire.
+
+"Mount! Mount and ride!" He mouthed the order, not daring to pull up
+Shawnee, already past Boyd and his horses. The roan's hoofs spurned
+gravel from the track line now. And Boyd drew level with him and mounted
+one of the horses, continuing to lead the other. There was a cattle
+guard ahead to afford some protection from the storm churning along the
+river.
+
+"Where?" Boyd called.
+
+Drew, his thumb still planted in the hole which was becoming Shawnee's
+death, nodded to the guard. They made it, and Drew kneed the roan closer
+to the extra horse Boyd led, slinging his saddlebags across to the other
+mount. Then he dismounted, releasing his hold on the roan's wound. For
+the second time Shawnee cried, but this time it was no warrior's protest
+against death; it was the nicker of a question. The answering shot from
+Drew's Colt was lost in the battle din. He was upon the other horse
+before Shawnee had stopped breathing.
+
+"Come on!" Drew's voice was strident as he spurred, herding Boyd before
+him. Two of them, then three, four, as they came out on the bank of a
+millpond. Across that stretch of water there was safety, or at least the
+illusion of safety.
+
+"Drew!" For the second time he was hailed. It was Sam Croxton, holding
+onto the saddle horn with both hands, a stream of red running from a
+patch of blood-soaked hair over one ear. He swayed, his eyes wide open
+as those of the frightened horses, but fastened now on Drew as if the
+other were the one stable thing in a mad world.
+
+"Can you stick on?" Drew leaned across to catch the reins the other had
+dropped.
+
+A small spark of understanding awoke in those wide eyes. "I'll stick,"
+the words came thickly. "I ain't gonna rot in that damned prison
+again--never!"
+
+"Boyd ... on his other side! We'll try gettin' him across together."
+
+"Yes, Drew." Boyd's voice sounded unsteady, but he did not hesitate to
+bring his own mount in on Croxton's right.
+
+"You'd best let me take that theah jump first, soldier." The stranger
+sent his horse in ahead of Drew's. "It don't necessarily foller that
+because that's water a man can jus' natcherly git hisself across in one
+piece. I'll give it a try quicker'n you can spit and holler Howdy."
+
+As if he were one with the raw-boned bay he bestrode, he jumped his
+mount into the waiting pond. Still threshing about in the welter of
+flying water, he glanced back and raised a hand in a come-ahead signal.
+
+"Bottom's a mite missin', but the drop ain't so much. Better make it
+'fore them fast-shootin' hombres back theah come a-takin' you."
+
+Though they did not move in the same reckless fashion as their guide,
+somehow they got across the pond and emerged dripping on the other side.
+The determination which had made Croxton try the escape, seemed to fade
+as they rode on. He continued to hold to the horn, but he slumped
+further over in a bundle of misery. Their pond guide took Boyd's station
+to the right, surveying the half-conscious man critically.
+
+"This hoorawin' around ain't gonna do that scalpin' job no good," he
+announced. "He can't ride far 'less he gits him a spell of rest an'
+maybe has a medicine man look at that knock--"
+
+Croxton roused. "I stick an' I ride!" He even got a measure of firmness
+into his tone. "I don't go to no Yankee prison...." He tried to reach
+for the reins, but Drew kept them firmly to hand.
+
+There was a shot behind them, three or four more fugitives plunged down
+to the millpond, and the last one in line fired back at some yet unseen
+pursuer.
+
+"Then we git!" But across Croxton's bowed shoulders the other shook his
+head warningly at Drew.
+
+He was young and as whipcord thin and tough as most of those over-weary
+men from the badgered and now broken command, but he was not tense,
+riding rather with the easy adjustment to the quickened pace of a man
+more at home in the saddle than on foot. His weather-browned face was
+seamed with a scar which ran from left temple to the corner of his
+mouth, and his hair was a ragged, unkempt mop of brown-red which tossed
+free as he rode, since he was hatless.
+
+With Croxton boxed between them, Drew and the stranger matched pace at
+what was a lope rather than a gallop as Boyd ranged ahead. Another
+flurry of shots sounded from behind, and they cut across a field, making
+for the doubtful cover of a hedge. There was no way, Drew decided after
+a quick survey, for them to get back into town and join the general
+retreat. The Yankees must be well between them and any of the force
+across the Licking.
+
+When they had pushed through the hedge they were faced by a lane running
+in the general northwest direction. It provided better footing, and it
+led away from the chaos at Cynthiana. With Croxton on their hands it was
+the best they could hope for, and without more than an exchange of
+glances they turned into it, the wounded man's horse still between them.
+
+The cover of the hedge wall provided some satisfaction and Drew dared to
+slow their pace. Under his tan Sam was greenish-white, his eyes half
+closed, and he rode with his hands clamped about the saddle horn as if
+his grip upon that meant the difference between life and death. But
+Drew knew he could not hope to keep on much longer.
+
+There might be Confederate sympathizers in the next farmhouse who would
+be willing to take in the wounded scout. On the other hand, the
+inhabitants could just as well be Union people. It was obvious that Sam
+could not keep going, and it was just as obvious to Drew that they--or
+at least he--could not just ride on and leave him untended by the side
+of the road.
+
+"Boyd!" So summoned, the youngster reined in to wait for them. "You ride
+on! You, too!" Drew addressed the stranger.
+
+Boyd shook his head, though he glanced at the winding road ahead. "I
+ain't leavin' you!" His lip was sticking out in that stubborn pout.
+
+At that moment Drew could have lashed out at him and enjoyed it, or at
+least found a satisfaction in passing on some of his own exasperation
+and frustration.
+
+"We got a far piece to travel," commented the stranger. "An' I guess
+I'll string along with you, 'less, of course, this heah is a closed game
+an' you ain't sellin' any chips 'cross the table. Me, I'm up from Texas
+way--Anson ... Anse Kirby, if you want a brand for the tally book. An'
+most all a Yankee's good for anyway is to be shucked of his boots." He
+freed one foot momentarily from the stirrup and surveyed a piece of very
+new and shiny footware with open admiration. It was provided with a
+highly ornate silver spur, not military issue but Mexican work, Drew
+guessed.
+
+"You from Gano's Company?" the scout asked.
+
+Kirby nodded. "Nowadays, but it was Terry's Rangers 'fore I stopped me a
+saber with this heah tough old head of mine an' was removed for a
+while. That Yankee almost fixed me so m' own folks wouldn't know me from
+a fresh-skinned buffala--not that I got me any folks any more." He
+grinned and that expression was a baring of teeth like a wolf's
+uninhibited snarl. "You one of Quirk's rough-string scout boys, ain't
+you? We sure raised hell an' put a chunk under it back theah. Them
+Yankees are gonna be as techy as teased rattlers. An' I don't see as how
+we can belly through the brush with this heah hombre. He's got him a
+middle full of guts to stick it this far. Long 'bout now he must have
+him a horse-size headache...."
+
+Croxton swayed and only Drew's crowding their horses together kept the
+now unconscious scout from falling into the road dust. Kirby steadied
+the limp body from the other side.
+
+"Keep pullin' him 'round this way, amigo, an' he'll be planted
+permanent, all neat an' pretty with a board up at his head."
+
+"There's a house--back there." Boyd pointed to the right, where a narrow
+lane angled away from their road, a small house to be seen at its end.
+
+Drew, Croxton's weight resting against his shoulder, studied the house.
+The distant crackle of carbine fire rippled across the fields and came
+as a rumble of warning. It was plain that Croxton could not ride on, not
+at the pace they would have to maintain in order to outdistance pursuit;
+nor could he be left to shift for himself. To visit the house might be
+putting them straight into some Yankee's pocket, but it was the only
+solution open now.
+
+"Hey, those mules!" Boyd had already ventured several horse lengths down
+the lane. Now he jerked a forefinger at two animals, heads up, ears
+pointed suspiciously forward, that were approaching the fence at a
+rocking canter. "Those are Jim Dandy's! You remember Jim Dandy, Drew?"
+
+"Jim Dandy--?" the other echoed. And then he did recall the little
+Englishman who had been a part of the Lexington horse country since long
+before the war. Jim Dandy had been one of the most skillful jockeys ever
+seen in the blue grass, until he took a bad spill back in '59 and
+thereafter set himself up as a consultant trainer-vet to the comfort of
+any stable with a hankering to win racing glory.
+
+To a man like Jim Dandy politics or war might not be all-important. And
+the fact that he had known the households of both Oak Hill and Red
+Springs could count for a better reception now. At least they could try.
+
+"No use you gettin' into anything," Drew told the Texan. "You and Boyd
+go on! I'll take Croxton in and see if they'll take care of him."
+
+Kirby looked back down the road. "Don't see no hostile sign heah
+'bouts," he drawled. "Guess we can spare us some time to bed him down
+proper on th' right range. Maybeso you'll find them in theah as leery of
+strangers as a rustler of the sheriff--"
+
+The Texan's references might be obscure, but he helped Drew transfer
+Croxton from the precarious balance in the wounded man's own saddle to
+Drew's hold, and then rode at a walking pace beside the scout while Boyd
+trailed with the led horse.
+
+There was a pounding of hoofs on the road behind. A half dozen riders
+went by the mouth of the land at a distance-eating gallop. In spite of
+the dust which layered them Drew saw they were not Union.
+
+"Them boys keep that gait up," Kirby remarked, "an' they ain't gonna
+make it far 'fore their tongues hang out 'bout three feet an' forty
+inches. That ain't no way to waste good hoss flesh."
+
+"Got a good hold on him?" he asked Drew a moment later. At the other's
+nod he rode forward into the yard at the end of the lane.
+
+"Hullo, the house!" he called.
+
+A man came out of the stable, walking with a kind of hop-skip step. His
+blond head was bare, silver fair in contrast to Boyd's corn yellow, and
+his features were thin and sharp. It was Jim Dandy, himself.
+
+"What's all this now?" he asked in that high voice Drew had last heard
+discussing the virtues of rival horse liniments at Red Springs. And he
+did not look particularly welcoming.
+
+"Mr. Dandy--" Drew walked his horse on, Croxton sagging in his hold, his
+weight a heavy pull on his bearer's tired arms--"do you remember me?
+Drew Rennie, of Red Springs." He added that quickly for what small
+guarantee of respectability the identification might give. Certainly in
+his present guise he did not look Alexander Mattock's grandson.
+
+Dandy rested his weight on his good leg and swung his shorter one a
+little ahead. And his hand went to the loose front of his white shirt.
+
+"Now that's a right unfriendly move, suh. I take it right unfriendly to
+show hardware 'fore you know the paint on our faces--"
+
+The smaller man's hand fell away from his concealed weapon, but Kirby
+did not reholster the Colt which had appeared through some feat of
+lightning movement in his grip.
+
+"You're not going to take _my_ horses!" Even if there was no gun in
+Dandy's hand, his voice stated a fact they could not doubt he meant.
+
+"Nobody's takin' hosses," the Texan answered. "This heah soldier's got
+him a mighty sore head, an' he needs some fixin'. We ain't too popular
+round heah right now, an' he can't ride. So--"
+
+Boyd pushed up. "Mr. Dandy, you know me--Boyd Barrett. And this _is_
+Drew Rennie. We have Yankees after us. And you never said you were
+Union--"
+
+Dandy shrugged. "No matter to me what you wear ... blue ... gray--you're
+all a bunch of horse thieves, like as not. You, Mr. Boyd, what you doing
+riding with these here Rebs? And what's the matter with that man? Got
+him a lick on the head, eh? Well--" he crossed with his lurching walk to
+stand by Drew, studying the now unconscious Croxton--"all right." His
+voice was angry, as if he were being pushed along a path he disliked.
+"Get him into the stable. I ain't yet took sides in this here bloody
+war, and I ain't going to now. But the man's hurt. Unload him and don't
+tell me what he's been doing back there to get him that knock. I don't
+want to know."
+
+He led the way into the stable, and moments later Croxton was as easy as
+they could make him on an improvised bed of straw and clean horse
+blankets. Dandy turned to them with Croxton's gun belt swinging free in
+his hand, still weighted down with two revolvers.
+
+"You want these?"
+
+Drew glanced at his two companions. His own carbine was gone; he had
+dropped it at the verge of the millpond when he had taken charge of
+Croxton. Boyd was without any weapons, and Kirby had only side arms.
+Drew started to reach for the belt and then shook his head. If Sam was
+able to ride soon, he would need those. And the rest of them could take
+their chances at getting more arms. Boyd opened his mouth as if to
+protest, but he did not say anything as Drew refused the Colts.
+
+"You keep 'em--for him."
+
+The ex-jockey nodded. "Better be riding on, Mr. Rennie. They'll come
+looking, and I don't fancy having any fight here. With luck we'll get
+your friend on his feet all right and tight, and he can slip south when
+the dust is down a bit. But you'd better keep ahead of what can come
+down the pike now."
+
+Kirby moved, the spurs jangling musically on his boots. "I've been
+thinkin' 'bout that theah road," he announced. "Any other trail outta
+heah we can take?"
+
+"Cross the pasture--" Dandy directed with a thumb--"then a cornfield,
+and you'll hit the pike again. Cuts off about a mile."
+
+"That sounds right invitin'." The Texan led the way back to the yard and
+their waiting mounts. "Obliged to you, suh. Now," he spoke to Drew, "I'd
+say it's time to raise some dust. Ain't far to sundown, an' we oughta
+git some countryside between us an' them rip-snortin' javalinas--"
+
+"Javalinas?" Drew heard Boyd repeat inquiringly.
+
+"Kid--" the Texan reined his bay--"there is some mean things in this
+heah world. Theah is Comanches an' Apaches, an' a longhorn cow with a
+calf hid out in a thicket, an' a rattler, what's feelin' lowdown in his
+mind. An' theah's javalinas, the wild boars of the Rio country. Then
+theah's men what have had to ride fast on a day as hot as this,
+swallerin' dust an' thinkin' what they're gonna do when they catch up to
+them as they're chasin'; an' those men're 'bout as mean as the boars--"
+
+Drew lifted his hand to Jim Dandy and followed the other two through the
+pasture gate. Now he grinned.
+
+"You sound like one speakin' from experience--of bein' chased, that is."
+
+Kirby chuckled. "I'm jus' a poor little Texas boy, suh. 'Course we do a
+bit of fast ridin'. Mostly though I've been on the other end, _doin'_
+the chasin'. An' I know how it feels to eat dust an' git a mite riled
+doin' it. I'd say we could maybe help ourselves a bit though."
+
+"How?" Boyd asked eagerly.
+
+"You"--Drew rounded on him--"can cut cross-country and get home!" There
+was nothing in Boyd's clothing or equipment to suggest that he had been
+a part of the now scattered raiders. "If the Yankees stop you," Drew
+continued, "you can spin them a tale about riding out to see the fight.
+And Major Forbes's name ought to help."
+
+Boyd's scowl was a black cloud on his grimy young face. "I'm one of
+General Morgan's men."
+
+"Only a fool," remarked Kirby, "stops to argue with a mule, a skunk, a
+cook, or a boy what's run away to join the army. You figgerin' to take
+this kid home personal?"
+
+"You'll have to tie me to a horse to do it!" Boyd flared up.
+
+"No thanks for your help." Drew frowned at Kirby, then turned to Boyd
+again. "No, I can't take you back now. But I'll see that you do go
+back!"
+
+Boyd laughed, high, with a reckless note. "I'm comin' along."
+
+"As I was sayin'," Kirby returned to his half suggestion of moments
+before, "we can see 'bout helpin' ourselves. Them Yankees are mighty
+particular 'bout their rigs; they carry 'nough to outfit a squad right
+on one trooper."
+
+Drew had already caught on. "Stage an ambush?"
+
+"Well, now, let's see." Kirby looked down at his own gear, then
+critically inspected Drew and Boyd in turn. "We could do with carbines.
+Them blue bellies had them some right pretty-lookin' hardware--leastways
+them back by the river did. An' I don't see no ration bags on them
+theah hosses you two are ridin'. Yes, we could do with grub, an'
+rifle-guns ... maybe some blue coats.... Say as how we was wearin' them
+we could ride up to some farm all polite an' nice an' maybe git asked in
+to rest a spell an' fill up on real fancy eats. I 'member back on the
+Ohio raid we came into this heah farm ... wasn't nobody round the place
+at all. We sashayed into the kitchen an' theah, jus' sittin' easylike an'
+waitin' right on the table, was two or three pies! Ain't had me a taste
+since as good as them theah pies. But maybe with a blue coat on us we
+could do as well heah 'bouts."
+
+There was merit in the Texan's suggestion. Drew, from past experience,
+knew that. His only hesitation was Boyd. The youngster was right. Short
+of subduing him physically and taking him back tied to his saddle
+through the spreading Union web, Drew had no chance of returning Boyd to
+Oak Hill. But to lead him into the chancy sort of deal Kirby had
+outlined was entirely too dangerous.
+
+"You mean--we hold up some Yankees and just take their uniforms an'
+carbines an' things?" It was already too late. Boyd had seized upon what
+must have seemed to him an idea right out of the dashing kind of war he
+had been imagining all these past weeks.
+
+"It has been done, kid," the Texan affirmed. "'Course we got to find us
+two or three poor little maverick blue bellies lost outta the herd like.
+Then we cut 'em away from the trail an' reason with 'em."
+
+"That ought to be easy." Boyd's enthusiasm was at the boiling point.
+"The Yankees are all cowards--"
+
+Kirby straightened in his saddle, the lazy good humor gone from his
+face.
+
+"Kid, don't git so lippy 'bout what you ain't rightly learned yet.
+Yankees can fight--they can fight good. You saw 'em do that today. And
+don't you ever forgit it!"
+
+Boyd was disconcerted, but he clung doggedly to his belief. "One of
+Morgan's men can take on five Yankees."
+
+Drew laughed dryly. "You saw _that_ happen just this mornin', Boyd. And
+what happened? We ran. They fight just as hard and as long, and most of
+them just as tough as we do. And don't ever think that the man facin'
+you across a gun is any less than you are; maybe he's a little better.
+Keep that in mind!"
+
+"Yes, you read the aces an' queens in your hand 'fore you spreads your
+money out recklesslike," Kirby agreed. "So, if we find the right setup,
+we move, but--"
+
+Drew swung up one hand in the horseman's signal of warning.
+"Something--or someone--_is_ on the move ... ahead there!" he warned.
+
+
+
+
+4
+
+_The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry_
+
+
+They had worked their way around the edge of the cornfield, and now they
+could look out on a hard-surfaced road which must be the pike. Riding
+along that in good order were a company of men--thirty, Drew counted.
+And four of those had extra horses on leading reins. He also saw ten
+carbines ... and the owners of those were alert.
+
+"Stand where you are!" The slight man leading that skeleton troop posted
+ahead. His shell jacket had the three yellow bars of a captain on its
+standing collar, and Drew saluted. This was the first group of fugitives
+he had seen who were more than frightened men running their horses and
+themselves into exhaustion.
+
+"Rennie, Private, Quirk's Scouts," Drew reported himself.
+
+Kirby's salute was delivered with less snap but as promptly. "Kirby,
+Private, Gano's."
+
+"Captain William Campbell," the officer identified himself crisply. "Any
+more of you?" He looked to Boyd and then at the cornfield beyond.
+
+"Barrett's a volunteer," Drew explained. This was no time to clarify
+Boyd's exact status. "There're just the three of us."
+
+"You headin' somewheah special, Cap'n?" the Texan asked. "Or jus'
+travelin' for your continued health?"
+
+Campbell laughed. "You might call it that, Kirby. But if we stick
+together, I think all of us may stay healthy."
+
+Kirby turned his horse into the pike. "Sounds like a good argument to
+me, suh. You have any idea wheah at we are, or wheah we could be
+headin'?"
+
+"Northwest is the best I can say. If we strike far enough to the west,
+we may be able to flank the troops spread out to keep us away from the
+river. Best plan for now, anyway. And the more men we can pick up, the
+better."
+
+"Scattered some, ain't we?" Kirby assented. "You give the orders, Cap'n,
+suh. We ain't licked complete yet."
+
+There was a low growl arising from the company on the pike as the
+Texan's comment reached them. They might have run and gone on running
+most of that long day, but they were no longer running; they were moving
+in reasonable order and to some purpose, with a direction in view and a
+form of organization, no matter how patched together they were. Campbell
+spoke directly to Drew: "You know anything about this section of the
+country?"
+
+"Some, but it's been almost three years since I was here. I know nothin'
+about any Union garrison--"
+
+"Those we'll have to worry about as they come. But you ride advance for
+us now. Send in any stragglers you come across. The night is almost
+here, and that's in our favor."
+
+So Drew and Kirby, with Boyd trailing, ranged ahead of the small troop.
+And pick up more stragglers they did--some twenty men in the last hour
+before twilight closed down.
+
+"I'm hungry," Boyd said, approaching Drew. "There're farms around. Why
+can't we get something to eat?"
+
+"Here." Drew fumbled in the saddlebags he had transferred from Shawnee
+to this new mount back by the river. He handed over a piece of hardtack,
+flinty-surfaced and about as appetizing as a stone. "That's the best
+you'll get for a while."
+
+Boyd stared at it in dismay. "You can't eat a thing like this! It's a
+piece of rock." Indignantly he hurled it away.
+
+"You get down and pick that up! Now!"
+
+Boyd, flushed and hot-eyed, gazed at Drew for a long moment. The flush
+faded and he moved uneasily in his saddle, but not out of the range of
+Drew's attention. At length, unhappily, he dismounted and went to pick
+the gray-white chunk out of a weed tangle. Holding it gingerly, he came
+back to his horse.
+
+"If you don't want it--give!" Drew held out his hand.
+
+Boyd, realizing the other meant just what he said, fingered the hardtack
+and finally dropped it into that waiting palm.
+
+"You eat hard and you sleep on the soft side of a board--if you're lucky
+enough to find a board. You ride till your seat is blistered and until
+you can sleep in the saddle. You drink mud green with scum if that's all
+you can find to drink, and you think it's mighty fine drinkin', too.
+This ain't--" Drew's thoughts flitted back to his meeting with Aunt
+Marianna on the Lexington road--"all saber wavin' and chargin' the enemy
+and playin' hero to the home folks; this is sweatin' and dirt on you and
+your clothes, goin' mighty hungry, and cold and wet--when it's the
+season for goin' cold and wet. It's takin' a lot of the bad, with not
+much good. And if you don't cut off home now, you'll ride our way,
+keepin' your mouth shut and doin' as you're told!"
+
+Boyd swallowed visibly. "All right." But there was a firmness in that
+short answer which surprised Drew. The other sounded as if he meant it,
+as if he were swearing the oath of allegiance to the regiment. But
+_could_ he take it? A few days on the run, and Boyd would probably quit.
+Maybe if they got into some town and the Yankees didn't smoke them out
+right away, Drew could send a telegram and Boyd would be collected. Drew
+tried to console himself with that thought all the time another part of
+him was certain that Boyd intended to prove he could stick through all
+the rigors Drew had just outlined for him.
+
+But in any event the boy's introduction to war was going to be as
+unromantic as anyone could want, short of being thrown cold and
+untrained into a major battle. They must be prepared for a bad time
+until they made it out of the Union lines and south again.
+
+The night closed down, dark and moonless, with a heaviness in the air
+which was oppressive. Campbell had to grant men and horses a breathing
+period. He put out pickets, leaving the rest of them to lie with their
+mounts saddled and to hand. Drew loosened the girth, stripped off saddle
+and blanket, and wiped down the sweaty back of his new mount. But he
+dared not leave the gelding free. So, against all good practice, he
+re-equipped the tired beast. No mount was going to be able to take that
+kind of treatment for long. They had a half dozen spare horses, and
+undoubtedly they could "trade" worn-out mounts for fresh ones along the
+way. But such ceaseless use was cruel punishment, and no man wanted to
+inflict it. War was harder on horses than men. At least the men could
+take their chances and had a fraction of free will in the matter.
+
+Drew awoke at a tug of his sleeve, flailed out his arm, and struck home.
+Kirby laughed in the gray dawn.
+
+"Now that theah, kid, is no way to go 'round wakin' up a soldier. He may
+take you for a blue belly as has come crawlin' into his dreams. It's all
+right, amigo--jus' time to git on the prowl again."
+
+Feeling as if he had been beaten, Drew slowly got to his feet. Men were
+moving, falling into line. And one was arguing with Captain Campbell.
+
+"It could work, Cap'n," the trooper urged. "Ain't a lot of the boys
+wearin' Yankee truck they took outta the warehouses? Them what ain't can
+act like prisoners. Jus' say we're the Eleventh Ohio--they's stationed
+near Bardstown and it would seem right, them ridin' down to take them
+some prisoners. The old man, he's got a rich farm and sets a powerful
+good table. Might even give us a right smart load of provisions into the
+bargain. It's worth a try, suh...."
+
+"Rennie!" So summoned, Drew reported to their new commander.
+
+"Know anything about a Thomas McKeever livin' in this section?"
+
+Drew's memory produced a picture of a round-faced, cheerful man who
+liked to play chess and admired Lucilla's pickled watermelon rind to the
+point of begging a crock of it every time he visited Red Springs.
+
+"Yes, suh. He's Union--got two sons with Colonel Wolford. Owns a big
+farm and raises prime mules--"
+
+"You know him personally?"
+
+"Yes, suh. He's a friend of my grandfather; they used to visit back and
+forth a lot."
+
+"Then he'd know you." Campbell's fingernails rasped through the stubble
+on his chin.
+
+"So Rennie heah could be one of our prisoners, suh. That theah might
+convince Mistuh McKeever we's what we say--" the trooper pressed his
+point.
+
+"Could be. It's gospel truth we ain't goin' to get far with our bellies
+flat on our backbones. And it might work. Now, all of you men,
+listen...." Campbell explained, gave orders, and put them through a
+small drill. A dozen men without any Union uniform loot to distinguish
+them were told to play the role of prisoners; the others exchanged and
+drew out of saddlebags pieces of blue clothing to make their appearance
+as the Eleventh Ohio.
+
+"They ain't gonna expect too much." The trooper who had first urged the
+plan was optimistic. "We can pass as close to militia----"
+
+"You hope!" Kirby was in the prisoner's section, and it was plain he did
+not relish a role which meant that he had to strip himself of weapons.
+"You--" he fixed his attention on the man to whom he must hand his Colts
+when the time came--"keep right 'longside, soldier. If I want to get
+those six-guns, I want 'em fast an' I want 'em sure--not 'bout ten yards
+away wheah I can't git my hands on 'em!"
+
+Their gnawing hunger drove them all into agreeing to the masquerade.
+Drew could not recall his last really full meal. Just thinking about
+food made a warm, sickish taste rise in his mouth. He brought out the
+hardtack which Boyd had so indignantly rejected the night before, and
+holding the chunk balanced on his saddle horn, rapped it smartly with
+the butt of a revolver. It broke raggedly across, and then he was able
+to crack it again between his fingers.
+
+"Here--" He held out a two-inch piece to Boyd, and this time there was
+no refusal. The younger boy's cheek showed a swollen puff as he sucked
+away at the fragment.
+
+Drew offered a bite to the Texan.
+
+"Right neighborly, amigo," Kirby observed. "'Bout this time, me, I'm
+ready to exercise m' teeth on a stewed moccasin, Comanche at that, were
+anybody to ask me to sit down an' reach for the pot."
+
+They rode on at a comfortable pace and for some reason met no other
+travelers on the pike. Drew found his new mount had no easy shuffle like
+Shawnee's. The gelding was a black with three white feet and a proudly
+held head--might even be Denmark stock--but for some reason he didn't
+relish moving in company. And, left without close enough supervision
+from his rider, he tended either to trot ahead or loiter until he was
+out of line. Drew was continually either reining him in or urging him
+on.
+
+"Kinda a raw one," Kirby commented critically. "He ain't no
+rockin'-chair hoss, that's for sure. If I was you, I'd look round for
+somethin' better to slap m' tree on--"
+
+Drew pulled rein for the tenth time, his exasperation growing. "I might
+do just that." Shawnee had been worth fifty of this temperamental
+blooded hunter.
+
+"You take Tejano heah. He's a rough-coated ol' snorter--nothin' to make
+an hombre's eyes bug out--but he takes you way over yonder, an' then he
+brings you back ... nothin' more you can ask."
+
+Drew agreed. "Lost my horse back at the river," he said briefly. "This
+was a pickup--"
+
+"Tough luck!" Kirby was sincerely sympathetic. "Funny about you Kaintuck
+boys ... mostly you want a high-steppin' pacer with a chief's feathers
+sproutin' outta his head. They has to have oats an' corn an' be treated
+like they was glass. I'd'ruther have me a range hoss. You can ride one
+of 'em from Hell to breakfast--an' maybe a mile or two beyond--an' he
+never knows the difference. Work him hard all day, an' maybe the next
+mornin' when you're set to fork leather again, he shows you a bellyfull
+of bedsprings an' you're unloaded for fair. A hoss like that has him
+wind an' power to burn--"
+
+"You raised horses before the war?"
+
+Kirby swallowed what must have been the last soggy crumb of hardtack.
+"Well, we had a mind to try that. M'pa, he started him a spread down
+Pecos way. He had him a good stud-quarter hoss--one of Steel Dust's git.
+Won two or three races, that stud did. Called him Kiowa. Pa made a deal
+with a Mex mustanger; he got some prime stuff he caught in the
+Panhandle. One mare, I 'member--she was a natcherel pacer. Yeah, you
+might say as how we was gittin' a start at a first-rate string. Me an'
+m' brothers, we was breakin' some right pretty colts..."
+
+His voice trailed into silence. Drew reined in the black again and asked
+another question:
+
+"What happened ... the war?"
+
+"What happened? Well, you might say as how Comanches happened. Me, I was
+trailin' 'long with this Mex mustanger to learn some of his tricks. When
+I came back, theah jus' warn't nothin'--nothin' a man wants to remember
+after. Someday I'm gonna hunt me Comanches. Gonna learn me some tricks
+in this heah war I can use in that business!" There was no change in
+his expression. If anything, his drawl was a little softer and lazier,
+but the deadly promise in it reached Drew as clearly as if the other had
+burst out with the Rebel Yell.
+
+"This is it!" Captain Campbell rode back along their line. It was a
+larger company; they had gathered in more fugitives this morning and had
+no stragglers. All they lacked was adequate arms to present a rather
+formidable source of trouble behind the Union lines. "We're goin' into
+the McKeever place. You men--remember, you're prisoners!"
+
+Very reluctantly those in that unhappy role unbuckled gun belts, passing
+their side arms over to their "captors." There was a graveled drive
+branching out of the pike to their right with a grove of trees arching
+over it, so they rode into a restful green twilight out of the punishing
+sun.
+
+Fields rippled lushly beyond that border of trees. There was a
+cleanness, a contentment, a satisfaction about this place which was no
+part of them or any men who passed so, armed, restless, tearing apart
+just such peace as enfolded them here. They rode out of urgency when the
+gravel of that well-raked drive shifted under the hoofs of their mounts.
+
+"I'm sayin' one thing loud an' clear," Kirby announced to those in his
+immediate vicinity as they neared a big brick house. "I may be playin'
+prisoner to you boys, but I ain't settlin' for no prisoner's rations. We
+all eat full plates in heah, let that be understood from the start."
+
+Campbell laughed. "Noted, Kirby. We'll see that you desperate Rebs get
+all that's comin' to you."
+
+"Now that, Cap'n, is jus' what I'm afraid of. We git all that's
+_comin'_--that sounds a right smart better!"
+
+"Company ahead, Cap'n!" The trooper who had suggested this action,
+indicated a man walking down the drive to meet their cavalcade.
+
+"That's Mr. McKeever." Drew identified their host for Campbell.
+
+But the captain was already moving ahead to meet the older man. He
+touched fingers to kepi--a neat blue kepi--in a smart salute.
+
+"Chivers, Captain, Eleventh Ohio, sir. We'd like to make our noon halt
+here if you'll grant permission."
+
+Thomas McKeever beamed. "No reason not, suh. Take your men over in the
+orchard, Captain. We can add a little something to your rations. Glad,
+always glad to entertain our boys." His attention wandered to the score
+of "prisoners" in the center of the troop.
+
+"Prisoners, Captain?"
+
+"Some of Morgan's horse thieves." Campbell glanced back at the shabby
+exhibit. "You've heard the news, of course, sir? We smashed 'em proper
+over at Cynthiana--"
+
+"You did? Now that's good hearin', Captain. It deserves a regular
+celebration; it surely does. Morgan smashed! Was he taken too? Next time
+I trust they'll put him in something stronger than that jail you Ohio
+boys had him in last time; he's a slippery one."
+
+"Haven't heard about that, sir. But his men are pretty well scattered.
+These aren't going to trouble any one for a while."
+
+McKeever nodded. "I've a stout barn you're welcome to use for a
+temporary lockup, Captain. Though I must say they don't display much
+spirit, do they? Look pretty well beat."
+
+Drew rubbed his hand across his face, hoping the grime there--a mixture
+of road dust, sweat, and powder blacking--was an effective disguise. No
+use recalling the old days for Mr. McKeever. Allowing his shoulders to
+slump dispiritedly as he was herded by his file guard, he rode sullenly
+on to the orchard.
+
+They stripped their saddles and allowed the horses freedom for the first
+time in hours, an act which was against prudence but which McKeever
+would expect of Union troops. Drew lay full length under the curving
+limbs of an apple tree, his head pillowed on saddlebags.
+
+"Now I wonder"--Kirby dropped down, to sit with his back against the
+tree trunk--"why they always say a fella is dog-tired. A dog, he ain't
+got him much to do 'cept chase around on his own business.
+Soldier-tired--now that's another matter. How 'bout it, kid? You ready
+to ride right outta heah an' chase General Grant clean back to Lake
+Erie?"
+
+Boyd had stretched out only a hand's length from Drew. There were dark
+smudges under his closed eyes, hardly to be told from the smears of dirt
+on his round cheeks, but there. He rolled his head on a hammock of grass
+and scowled at Kirby.
+
+"General Grant can--" he added a remark which surprised Drew into
+opening his eyes. Kirby shook his head reprovingly.
+
+"Now that ain't no way for a growin' boy to talk. An' it sits on your
+tongue as easy as a fly on a mule's ear, too. What kinda company you bin
+keepin', kid? Rennie, this heah colt ain't got no reason to cram grammar
+into a remark that way."
+
+Drew stretched, folded his arms under his head, and answered, in a voice
+he tried to make as blighting as possible: "Thinks it makes him sound
+like a man, probably. He's findin' out the army ain't quite what he
+expected."
+
+"You shut up--!" Boyd might have added something to that, but Drew had
+moved. He leaned over the youngster, his hand hard and heavy on Boyd's
+shoulder. And it was plain that, much as he wanted to, the other did not
+quite dare to move or shake off that grip.
+
+"I've had about enough," Drew said quietly. "The next town we hit you're
+goin' to stay there, until someone comes from back home to collect you.
+Nobody knows you're with us, and you can go back to Oak Hill without any
+trouble from Union troops."
+
+Boyd's eyes blazed. His mouth wasn't shaping a small boy's pout this
+time; it was an ugly line tight against his teeth.
+
+"I ain't goin' home! I said you can't make me, 'less you tie me on a
+horse and keep me tied all the way. And I don't think you can do that,
+Drew Rennie. I'd like to see you try it; I sure would!"
+
+"He's got you on a stand-off, I'd say," Kirby remarked. "My, ain't he
+the tough one though, horns sticking up an' haired all over!
+Gentlemen--" he had glanced over their shoulder and was watching
+whatever was there--"company comin'. Mind your manners!"
+
+Drew looked around. His hand clamped tighter on Boyd, keeping him pinned
+on his back. If he only had time ... but there was no way of disguising
+the younger boy. And Thomas McKeever, strolling with Captain Campbell,
+had already sighted them, stopped short, and now was moving swiftly in
+their direction.
+
+"Boyd Barrett!"
+
+Drew had to release his hold and Boyd sat up, brushing bits of grass
+from his shirt sleeves even as he returned Mr. McKeever's stare with
+composure.
+
+"Yes, suh?" Boyd was on his feet now, making his manners with the speed
+of one harboring a guilty conscience.
+
+"What are you doing with this gang of cutthroats and banditti?" Mr.
+McKeever had an excellent voice to deliver such an inquiry; it could
+rattle the unaware into confusion, and sometimes even into quick
+confession, as he undoubtedly knew.
+
+"I'm with General Morgan, Mr. McKeever." Boyd did not appear too
+ruffled.
+
+"I refuse to believe that even that unprincipled ruffian is robbing
+cradles to fill up his ranks, depleted as they may be--"
+
+Boyd reddened. "General Morgan ain't no ... no unprincipled ruffian!"
+
+"Yeah," Kirby drawled. As the other two, he had risen to his feet on the
+approach of the older man. "Them's pretty harsh words, suh. Cutthroat
+now--I ain't never slit me a throat in all my born days. What about you,
+Rennie? You done any fancy work with a bowie lately?"
+
+Mr. McKeever favored the Texan with a passing frown; then his attention
+settled on Drew. "Rennie," he repeated, and then said the name again
+with the emphasis of one making a court identification. "Drew Rennie!"
+
+"Yes, suh." As Boyd had done, Drew answered to the indictment of being
+where he was and who he was.
+
+"I am most unhappy to see Alexander Mattock's grandson and Meredith
+Barrett's son in such company. Surely"--he turned to Captain
+Campbell--"these boys are not your regular prisoners--"
+
+Campbell shook his head gravely. "Unfortunately, sir, they are indeed
+troopers with Morgan. And, as such, they are subject to the rules of war
+governing prisoners--"
+
+"That does not prevent my seeing what I can do for both of you," their
+host said quickly. "At least, Boyd, you are young enough to be released
+by the authorities. Be sure I shall do all I can to bring that about."
+
+As Boyd opened his mouth to protest, Drew spoke quickly:
+
+"Thank you, suh. I know Cousin Merry will appreciate that."
+
+With a last assurance of his intention to help them, Mr. McKeever left.
+Boyd grinned.
+
+"He did help me," he observed. "He knows now I'm with Morgan, and nobody
+can say that's not so!"
+
+Kirby laughed. "Reckon that's true, kid. You locked yourself right into
+the corral along with the rest of us bad men. Look's like you've been
+outfought this time, Rennie."
+
+Drew threw himself back under the tree. So Boyd had won this round--they
+were still in Kentucky and not too far from Oak Hill.
+
+
+
+
+5
+
+_Bardstown Surrenders_
+
+
+"Now that's what I call true hospitality, gentlemen, true hospitality."
+Kirby caressed his middle section gently with both hands, smiling
+dreamily into the lacing of apple boughs over his head. "I ain't had me
+a feed like that since we took that sutler's wagon back outside Mount
+Sterlin'. 'Mos' forgot theah was such vittles lyin' 'bout to be sampled.
+An' you got us most of the cream, too, 'cause you're poor little
+misguided boys a-runnin' 'way to be with us desperate characters. Git me
+a bowie knife, an' I'll show you how to cut throats--all free, too."
+
+Drew laughed, but Boyd did not appear amused. They had been favored with
+a short but pungent lecture from Mr. McKeever, served along with food,
+which to Drew made it worth the return of listening decorously to a
+listing of their sins.
+
+"I ain't goin' home," Boyd repeated stubbornly.
+
+"Well," Kirby pointed out, "if he rides up to the Yankee prison camp, he
+ain't gonna find you neither. So what's the difference? I think we
+oughta be movin' on, seein' as how we ain't really on speakin' terms
+with the law heah 'bouts."
+
+It would appear that Captain Campbell agreed with that. The order came
+to saddle up and move out. But they went with provision sacks slung from
+their saddles, a portion of McKeever's bounty stowed away against
+tomorrow. And once they were past the house, the word came down the line
+for Drew to quit his prisoner's role and join their commander.
+
+Campbell held a fragment of map as he let his mount's pace fall to a
+slow walk. "There are about a hundred Union infantry stationed at
+Bardstown, according to Mr. McKeever. Know anything about the town?"
+
+"I was there once. My cousin went to St. Joseph's for a term."
+
+"Remember enough to find your way around?"
+
+"I don't know, suh. But if there's a Union garrison--?" He ended the
+sentence with an implied question.
+
+"What are we going to do there?" The captain grinned. "We're going to
+collect some arms, I hope. Supposing you were a Yankee commander,
+Rennie, and a bold, bad raider like General Morgan was to ride clean up
+to your door with a regiment or two tailing him and say: 'Your guns,
+suh, or your life!' What would you do, especially if your troops were
+mostly militia and green men who hadn't ever been in a real fight?"
+
+Drew understood. "Probably, suh, I'd tell General Morgan that he could
+have his guns, providin' he kept his side of the bargain."
+
+"As far as the Yankees in Bardstown may know, General Morgan could be
+headed their way right now with a regiment. I don't think they've had
+time yet to learn just how badly we were scattered back there by the
+Licking River. You willing to take the flag in when we get there,
+Rennie? Pick a couple of outriders to go with you!"
+
+It was risky, but no more risky than bluffs he had seen work before. And
+they did need the weapons. Cutting westward now only kept them well
+inside Union territory. Somehow they would have to skulk or fight their
+way down through the southern part of Kentucky and then probably all the
+way across Tennessee--a tall order, but one which was just possible of
+accomplishment.
+
+"I'll do it, suh." Riding into Bardstown was no worse than riding over
+the rest of this countryside where any moment they might be swept up by
+the enemy.
+
+It was lucky they had brought rations with them from McKeever's, for
+they took no more chances of trying for such supplies again. Once more
+they altered their advance, riding the pikes at night, hiding out by
+day.
+
+Hills then, and among them Bardstown. Drew borrowed a carbine, stringing
+a dubiously white strip of shirt tail from its barrel, and flanked by
+Kirby and Driscoll, a trooper Campbell had appointed, rode slowly up the
+broad street opening from the pike. Great trees arched overhead, almost
+as they had across the drive of the McKeever place, and the houses were
+fine, equal to the best about Lexington.
+
+A carriage pulled to the side, its two feminine occupants leaning
+forward a little under the tilt of dainty parasols, eyes wide. While
+their coachman stared open-mouthed at the three dirty, tattered
+cavalrymen riding with an assumption of ease, though armed, down the
+middle of the avenue.
+
+"You, suh." It was the coachman who hailed Drew. "You soldier men?"
+
+Drew reined in the black, who this time obeyed without protest. The
+weary miles had taught the gelding submission if not perfect manners.
+Transferring his reins to the hand which also steadied the butt of his
+carbine against his thigh so that his "flag" was well in evidence, Drew
+swept off his dust-grayed hat and bowed to the ladies in the carriage.
+
+"General Morgan's compliments, ladies," he said, loud enough for his
+words to carry beyond the vehicle to the townspeople gathering on the
+walk. "Flag of truce comin' in, ma'am." He spoke directly to the elder
+of the two in the carriage. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to
+where I may find the Union commander?"
+
+"You're from John Hunt Morgan, young man?" She shut her parasol with a
+snap, held it as if she was considering its use as a weapon.
+
+"Yes, ma'am. General Morgan, Confederate Army--"
+
+She sniffed. "You'll find their captain at the inn, probably. Yankees
+and whiskey apparently have an affinity for one another. So John
+Morgan's coming to pay us a visit?"
+
+"Maybe, ma'am. And where may I find the inn?"
+
+"Straight ahead," the girl answered. "You really are Morgan's men?"
+
+Kirby did not have a hat to doff, but his bow in the saddle was as
+graceful as Drew's.
+
+"That's right, ma'am. My, did we know what we'd find in Bardstown now,
+we'd bin ridin' in right sooner!"
+
+"Suh! ... Louisa!" The elder lady's intimidating glare was divided, but
+Drew thought that Louisa got more than a half share of it.
+
+"No offense meant, ma'am. It's jus' that ridin' 'bout the way we do an'
+all, we don't git us a chance to say Howdy to ladies." The Texan's
+expression was properly contrite; his voice all diffidence.
+
+"The inn, young men, is on down the street. Drive on, Horace!" she
+ordered the coachman. But as the carriage started, she pointed her
+parasol at Drew as a teacher might point an admonishing ruler at a
+pupil. "I hope you'll find what you're looking for, young man. In the
+way of Yankees...."
+
+"We generally do, ma'am," Kirby commented. "For us Yankees jus' turn up
+bright an' sassy all over the place."
+
+Drew laughed. "Bright and sassy, then on the run!" For the success of
+his present mission and all those listening ears he ended that boast in
+as fervent a tone as he could summon.
+
+"See that you keep them that way!" She enforced that order with a snap
+of parasol being reopened as the carriage moved from the shade back into
+the patch of open sunlight.
+
+"That sure was a pretty girl," observed Driscoll as Drew and the Texan
+wheeled back into line with him. "Wish we could settle down heah for say
+two or three days. Git some of the dust outta our throats and have a
+chance to say Howdy to some friendly folks--"
+
+"You'd be more likely sayin' Howdy to a Yankee prison guard if you did
+that," Drew replied. "Let's find this inn and the garrison commander."
+
+"That's the proper way of layin' it out--the inn an' _then_ business.
+Yankees an' whiskey go together; that's what she said, ain't it? I maybe
+don't weah no blue coat regular, but whiskey sounds sorta refreshin',
+don't it, now?"
+
+"Just so you only think that, Anse, and don't try any tastin'," Drew
+warned. "We make our big talk to this captain, and then we move
+out--fast. You boys know the drill?"
+
+"Sure," Driscoll repeated. "We're the big raiders come to gobble up all
+the blue bellies, 'less they walk out all nice an' peaceful, leavin'
+their popguns behind 'em for better men to use. I'd say that theah was
+the inn, Rennie--"
+
+They saw their first Yankees, a blot of blue by the horse trough at the
+edge of the center square. And Drew, surveying the enemy with a critical
+and experienced eye, was sure that he was indeed meeting either green
+troops or militia. They were as wide-eyed in their return stare as the
+civilians on the streets around.
+
+Kirby chuckled. "Strut it up, roosters," he urged from the corner of his
+mouth. "Cutthroats, banditti, hoss thieves--jus' downright bad hombres,
+that's us. They expect us to be on the peck, all horns an' rattles.
+Don't disappoint 'em none! Their tails is half curled up already, an'
+they're ready to run if a horny toad yells Boo!"
+
+To the outward eye the three riding leisurely down the middle of the
+Bardstown street had no interest in the soldiers by the trough. Drew in
+the middle, the white rag dropping from the barrel of his carbine,
+brought the black a step or two in advance. Just so had Castleman ridden
+into Lexington earlier, and that had been at night with a far more wary
+and dangerous enemy to face. The scout's confidence rose as he watched,
+without making any show of his surveillance, the uneasy men ahead.
+
+One of them broke away from the group, and ran into the inn.
+
+"Wonder who's roddin' this outfit," Kirby remarked. "That fella's gone
+to rout him out. Do your talkin' like a short-trigger man, Drew."
+
+They pulled rein in front of the inn and sat their horses facing the
+door through which the soldier had disappeared. His fellows edged
+around the trough and stood in a straggling line to front the
+Confederates.
+
+"You!" Drew caught the eye of the nearest. "Tell your commanding officer
+General Morgan's flag is here!"
+
+The Yankee was young, almost as young as Boyd, but he had less assurance
+than Boyd. Now the boy stammered a little as he answered:
+
+"Yes ... yes, sir." Then he added in a rush, "General who, sir?"
+
+"General John Hunt Morgan, Confederate Cavalry, Army of the Tennessee,
+detached duty!" Drew made that as impressive as he could, whether it was
+worded correctly according to military protocol or not. It was, he
+thought with satisfaction, a nicely rounded, important-sounding speech,
+although a bit short.
+
+"Yes, sir!" The boy started for the door, but he was too late.
+
+The man who erupted from that portal was short and stout, his face a
+dramatic scarlet above the dark blue of his unbuttoned coat. He stopped
+short a step or two into the open and stood staring at the three on
+horseback, that scarlet growing more dusky by the second.
+
+"Who ... are ... you?" His demand was expelled in heavy puffs of breath.
+
+"Flag from General Morgan," Drew repeated. Then to make it quite plain,
+he added kindly, "General John Hunt Morgan, Confederate Cavalry, Army of
+the Tennessee, detached duty."
+
+"But, but Morgan was defeated ... at Cynthiana. He was broken--"
+
+Slowly Drew shook his head. "The General has been reported defeated
+before, suh. No, he's right here outside Bardstown. And I wouldn't
+rightly say he was broken either, not with a couple of regiments behind
+him--"
+
+"Couple of regiments!" The man was buttoning his coat, his red jowls
+sagging a little, almost as if Drew had used the carbine across his
+unprotected head. "Couple of regiments ... Morgan ..." he repeated
+dazedly. "Well," sullenly he spoke to Drew, "what does he want?"
+
+"You're a captain," Drew spoke crisply. "You'll return with us to
+discuss surrender terms with an officer of equal rank!"
+
+"Surrender!" For a moment some of the sag went out of the other.
+
+"Two regiments--an' you have maybe eighty or ninety men." Kirby gazed
+with critical disparagement at such Union forces as were visible.
+
+"One hundred and twenty-five," the officer repeated mechanically and
+then glared at the Texan.
+
+"One hundred and twenty-five then." Kirby was willing to be generous.
+"All ready to hold this heah town. I don't see no artillery neither." He
+rose in his stirrups to view the immediate scene. "Goin' to fight from
+house to house maybe--?"
+
+"General Morgan," Drew remarked to the company at large, "is not a
+patient man. But it's your decision, suh. If you want to make a fight of
+it." He shrugged.
+
+"No! Well, I'll talk ... listen to your terms anyway. Get my horse!" he
+roared at the nearest soldier.
+
+They escorted the captain with due solemnity out of Bardstown to meet
+Campbell, a well-armed guard in evidence strung out on the pike. The
+Union officer picked up enough assurance to demand to see the General
+himself, but Campbell's show of surprised hauteur at the request was an
+expert's weapon in rebuttal; and the other not only subsided but agreed
+without undue protest to Campbell's statement of terms.
+
+The Union detachment in town were to stack their arms in the square,
+leaving in addition their rations. They were to withdraw, unarmed, to a
+field outside and there await the patroling officer who would visit them
+in due course. Having agreed, the Union captain departed.
+
+Campbell was already signaling the rest of the company out of cover.
+
+"This is where we move fast. You all know what to do."
+
+But much had to be left to chance. Drew and Kirby surrendered their
+borrowed carbines to the rightful owners and prepared to join the first
+wave of that quick dash.
+
+_"Yahhhh-aww-wha--"_ There were no words in that, just the war cry which
+might have torn from an Indian warrior's throat, but which came instead
+from between Kirby's lips: the famous Yell with all its yip of victory
+as only an uninhibited Texan could deliver it. Then they were rushing,
+yelping in an answering chorus, four and five abreast, down the street
+under the shade of the trees, answered by screams and cries as the walks
+emptied before them.
+
+Blue ranks broke up ahead, leaving rifles stacked, provisions in
+knapsacks. And the ragged crew struck at the spoil like a wave, lapping
+up arms, cartridge boxes, knapsacks. For only moments there was a
+milling pandemonium in the heart of Bardstown. Then once again that Yell
+was raised, echoed, and the pound of hoofs made an artillery barrage of
+sound. Armed, provisioned, and very much the masters of the scene,
+Morgan's men were heading out of town on the other side, leaving
+bewilderment behind.
+
+They pushed the pace, knowing that the telegraph wires or the couriers
+would be spreading the news. Perhaps the reputation of their commander
+might slow the inevitable pursuit, but it would not deter it entirely.
+They must put as much distance between themselves and the out-foxed
+Union garrison as they could. And Campbell continued to point them
+westward instead of south, since any enemy force would be marching in
+the other direction to cut them off.
+
+Even if men could stand that dogged pace, driven by determination and
+fear of capture, horses could not. And through the next two days the
+inference was very clear: fall behind at your own risk; there will be no
+waiting for laggards to catch up. Nor any mounts furnished; you must
+provide your own.
+
+Drew discovered the black gelding an increasing problem, but at least
+the horse provided transportation, and he tried to save the animal as
+best he could. Though when it was impossible to unsaddle, when one had
+to ride--and did--some twenty hours out of twenty-four, there was not
+much the most experienced horseman could do to relieve his mount.
+
+Drew pulled up beside Kirby as he returned from a flank scout. The Texan
+had dropped to the rear of the small troop, holding his horse to not
+much more than a walk. Now and then he glanced to the receding length of
+the road as if in search of someone.
+
+"Where's Boyd?" Drew had ridden along the full length of the company and
+nowhere had he seen that blond head.
+
+"Jus' what I'm wonderin'." Kirby came to a complete halt. "I came back
+a little while ago, and nobody's seen him."
+
+Drew pulled in beside the other. His horse's head hung low as the
+gelding blew in gusty snorts. He tried to remember when he had seen Boyd
+last and when he did, that memory was not too encouraging.
+
+"With Hilders ... and Cambridge ..." he said softly.
+
+"Yeah." Kirby's thought seemed to match his. "Hilder's mare is jus'
+about beat, an' Boyd rides light; that bay he got is holdin' up like a
+corn-fed stud."
+
+"They were talkin' to him when I went out on point." Drew followed his
+own line of thought. "And he won't listen to me--"
+
+"It don't foller that because you advise a hombre for his own good, he's
+goin' to take kindly to your interest in him," the Texan observed. "You
+tell him Hilders an' Cambridge are wearin' skunk stripes, an' he's apt
+to claim 'em both as compadres. Suppose he don't come in when we bed
+down; he coulda jus' cut his picket rope an' drifted, as far as we can
+prove."
+
+"Not if his bay turns up with one of them on top," Drew replied.
+
+"Them two are of the curly wolf breed." Kirby shifted his newly acquired
+Enfield. "No tellin' as how they would join up with us again did they
+make such a switch; might figure as how they could make it better time
+driftin' on their own."
+
+The Texan had put his own fear into words. Drew pointed the gelding back
+down the road and booted the animal into a trot. A moment later he heard
+more drumming hoofs behind him; Kirby was following.
+
+"This ain't your trouble," Drew reminded him.
+
+"No, maybe it ain't. But then, me, I'm jus' a rough string rider from
+way back, an' this may end in a smoke-up. Odds seem a mite one-sided
+now--Hilders is easy on the trigger. He won't take kindly to anyone
+tryin' to hang up his hide for dryin'--"
+
+Drew studied the hoof-churned dust of the road. He could only hold a
+very slim hope of some trace along its margin. The gelding stumbled and
+tried to cut pace. Drew hardened his will, holding the animal to the
+trot. He knew that under saddle and blanket, sores were forming, that
+soon he would have no choice but a "trade" such as Hilders might be
+forcing now, though not at the expense of one of his own fellows.
+
+Kirby was reading sign on the other side of the road. His sudden hand
+signal brought Drew to join him. Hoofprints marked the softer verge.
+
+"Turned off not too long ago," Drew commented.
+
+Kirby nodded toward the brush. They were facing a small woodland into
+which a thin trace of path led. Good cover for trouble. Looping reins
+over his arm, Drew walked forward, Colt in hand, using scout tricks to
+cover the noise of his advance into the green shimmer of the trees.
+
+The trail led ahead without any attempt at concealment. The other two
+troopers must have tricked Boyd into taking that way; maybe they had
+even put a revolver on him once they were off the road. It was only too
+easy for a man to straggle from the company and not be missed until
+hours and miles later.
+
+"Now, sonny, there ain't no use makin' a big fuss...."
+
+Drew dropped the reins and slipped on.
+
+"You can see for yourself, boy, that m' hoss ain't gonna be able to git
+much farther. You can nurse him along an' take it easy. Them blue
+bellies ain't gonna be hard on a nice little boy like you--no, suh,
+they ain't--even if they find you. We jus' trade fair an' square. No
+trouble...."
+
+"'Course," another, harsher voice cut in, "if you want to make it rough,
+well, that's what you'll git! We're takin' that hoss, no matter what!"
+
+"You ain't!" There was a short snap of sound, the cocking of a hand gun.
+
+"Pull that on me, will you!"
+
+"I'll shoot! I'm warnin' you ... touch m' horse, and I'll shoot!" Boyd's
+voice scaled higher.
+
+Drew ran, his arm up to shield his face from the whip of branches. He
+came out at a small stream. Boyd was backed against a tree while the two
+others advanced on him from different directions.
+
+"That's enough!" Drew's Colt was pointed at Hilders. The man's head
+jerked around. "Get goin'," the scout ordered.
+
+Cambridge blinked stupidly, but Hilders took a step back to catch up the
+reins of a horse that stood dull-eyed, its head bent, pink foam roping
+from its muzzle as it breathed in heavy gasps.
+
+"I said--get!" Drew advanced, and Hilders gave ground again, towing the
+trembling horse.
+
+"Now, we don't want no trouble," Cambridge said hurriedly. "It woulda
+bin a fair trade.... Sonny, heah, ain't got place in the company
+anyhow----"
+
+"Get!" Drew's weapon raised a fraction of an inch. Cambridge's protest
+thickened into a mumble and he went. When both men had disappeared, Drew
+turned to Boyd.
+
+"Put that away--" he flicked a finger at the other's Colt--"and mount
+up. We'll have to push to get back to the troop."
+
+He watched the other lead the bay away from the stream side. Kirby was
+right, the horse was in better condition than most of the others in the
+company, and sooner or later someone might again try to rank Boyd out of
+it. There were a good many in that hunted column who would see that in
+the same light as Hilders and Cambridge did and would say so, with the
+weight of public opinion to back them. Campbell had set their course for
+Calhoun--and in that town Boyd and the raiders must definitely part
+company.
+
+
+
+
+6
+
+_Horse Trade_
+
+
+"What's this heah Calhoun like?" Kirby watched Drew loosen the saddle
+blanket, lifting it from the gelding as gently as he could.
+
+"Not much--" Drew was beginning, then he sucked in his breath and stood
+staring at the nasty sight he had just uncovered. He slung the blanket
+to the ground as Boyd came up, leading the bay. It was the younger boy
+who spoke first.
+
+"You ain't goin' to try to ride him now, Drew!" That protest came
+spontaneously. Drew thought that Shawnee's end had put the last bit of
+steel over his feelings, but he had to agree with Boyd now: no one with
+any humanity could make the gelding carry so much as a blanket over that
+back, let alone saddle and rider.
+
+"Here!" Roughly, his face flushed, Boyd jerked on the reins of his own
+mount, bringing the bay sidling toward Drew. "You can take Bruce...."
+
+He stooped, reaching for Drew's saddlebags. "You have to ride scout.
+I'll walk this one a while. Maybe he can carry me later. I ride light."
+
+Drew shook his head. "Not that light," he commented dryly. "No, I guess
+this is where I do some tradin'--"
+
+"House-smoke yonder ..." Kirby pointed. They could see the thin trail of
+smoke rising steadily this windless morning. "Best make it fast--the
+cap'n is already thinkin' about pointin' up an' headin' out."
+
+Drew loosened his side arms in their holsters. He always hated this
+business, but it was part of a day's work in the cavalry now. He just
+hoped that he wouldn't have to do his impressing at gun point. He
+entrusted saddle and blanket to Boyd, but made the other wait outside
+the farmyard twenty minutes later as he shepherded the gelding into the
+enclosure where chickens squawked and ran witlessly and a dog hurled
+himself to the end of a chain, giving tongue like a hound on a hot
+scent.
+
+Drew skirted that defender, moving toward the barn. But he was still
+well away from the half-open door when a woman hurried out, a basket in
+her hands, her face picturing surprise and apprehension. She stopped
+short to stare at Drew.
+
+"Who are you--what do you want?" Her two questions ran together in a
+single breathless sentence. Drew looked beyond her. No one else issued
+from the barn or came in answer to the dog's warning. He took off his
+hat.
+
+"I need a horse, ma'am." He said it bluntly, impatiently. After all, how
+could you make a demand like that more courteous or soft? The very fact
+that he had been driven to this made him angry.
+
+For a moment she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and then her eyes
+shifted to the gelding. She came forward a step or two, and there was a
+blaze of anger in the gaze she directed once more to the man.
+
+"That horse's galled raw!" She accused.
+
+"Don't you think I know it?" he returned abruptly. "That's why I have to
+have another mount."
+
+A quick step back and she was between him and the door of the barn,
+holding the basket as a shield between them. It was full of eggs.
+
+"You won't get one here!" she snapped.
+
+"Ma'am"--Drew had his temper under control now--"I don't want to take
+your horse if you have one. But I'm under orders to keep up with the
+company. And I'm goin' to do what I have to...."
+
+He dropped the gelding's reins, walked forward, hoping she wouldn't make
+him push around her. But apparently she read the determination in his
+face and stood aside, her expression bleak now.
+
+"There's only King in there," she said. "And I wish you the joy of him,
+you thief!"
+
+King proved to be a stallion, stabled in a box stall. Drew hesitated.
+The stud might be mean, harder to handle even than the gelding. But it
+was either taking him or being put afoot. If he could back this one even
+as far as Calhoun tomorrow--or the next day--he might be able to make a
+better exchange in town. It would depend on just how hard the stallion
+was to control.
+
+Making soothing noises, he worked fast to bit and bridle the big
+chestnut. His experience with the Red Springs stud led him aright now.
+He came out of the barn leading the horse while the dog, its first
+incessant clamor stilled, growled menacingly from the end of its chain.
+The woman had disappeared, maybe into the fields beyond in search of
+help. Drew departed at a swift trot to where he had left Boyd.
+
+"That's all horse!" Boyd eyed Drew's trade excitedly.
+
+"Too much so, maybe. We'll see." He saddled quickly, glad that so far
+the chestnut had proved amiable. But how the stud might behave in troop
+company he had yet to learn. He mounted and waited for any signs of
+resentment, remembering the woman's warning. King snorted, pawed the
+dust a bit, but trotted on when Drew urged him.
+
+Kirby whistled from where he rode with the rear guard as they rejoined
+the company. But Captain Campbell frowned. And King put on a display of
+fireworks which almost shook Drew out of the saddle, rearing and pawing
+the air.
+
+"Makes like a horny one on the prod," commented the Texan. "That's
+stud's a lotta hoss to handle, amigo."
+
+"Too much," the captain echoed Drew's earlier misgivings. "Keep him away
+from the rest until you're sure he won't start anything!"
+
+But that order fitted in with Drew's usual scouting duties. And when he
+did bed down for one of the fugitives' limited halts he was careful to
+stake King away from the improvised picket lines.
+
+Drew was eating a mixture of hardtack and cold bacon, the last of their
+captured provision from Bardstown, when Driscoll sauntered over to the
+small mess Kirby, Boyd, and Drew had established without any formal
+agreement.
+
+"The boys are plannin' 'em a high old time," Driscoll announced.
+
+Kirby's left eyebrow slanted up in quizzical inquiry. Drew chewed
+energetically and swallowed. It was Boyd who asked, "What do you mean?"
+
+"Calhoun--that's what I mean, sonny." Driscoll squatted on his heels.
+"They 'low as how they're gonna do a little impressin' in Calhoun."
+
+"The town's not very big," Drew observed. "A couple of stores, a church,
+maybe a smithy...."
+
+Driscoll snickered. "Oh, the boys ain't particular 'long 'bout now. They
+won't be too choosy. Only thought I'd tell you fellas, seem' as how you
+been ridin' scout and ain't maybe heard the plans. If you want to load
+up, better git into town early. Some of them fast workers from B Company
+are gittin' set...."
+
+"The cap'n know about this?" asked Kirby.
+
+Driscoll shrugged. "He ain't deaf. But the cap'n also knows as how you
+can't be too big a gold-lace officer when you're behind the enemy lines
+with men on the run. We're gonna take Calhoun and take her good!" He
+grinned at the two veterans. "Jus' like we took Mount Sterlin'."
+
+Kirby was sober. "There was a take theah which warn't no good. Somebody
+cleaned out the bank, or else I wasn't hearin' too well afterward. I can
+see some impressin'--stuff an hombre can put in his belly as paddin',
+an' maybe what he can put on his back. That's fair an' square. The
+Yankees do it too. But takin' a gold watch or money outta a man's
+pants--now that's somethin' different again."
+
+Driscoll stood up. "Ain't nobody said anything about gold watches or
+money or banks," he replied stiffly. "There's stores in Calhoun, and
+there's men in this heah outfit what needs new shirts or new breeches.
+And since when have you seen any paymaster ridin' down the pike with his
+bags full of bills, not that you can use that paper stuff for anythin'
+like shoppin', anyway!"
+
+"Thanks for the tip," Drew cut in. "We take it kindly."
+
+Driscoll's ruffled feelings appeared soothed. "Jus' thought you boys
+oughta know. Me, I have in mind gittin' maybe two or three cans of them
+peaches like we got from the sutler's wagon. Them were prime eatin'.
+General store might jus' have some. Yankee crackers are right good, too.
+Say, that theah stud you got, Rennie, how's he workin' out?"
+
+"So far no trouble," Drew remarked. "Only I'm lookin' for a trade--maybe
+in town."
+
+"Trade? Why ever a trade?"
+
+"We got a couple of river crossin's comin' up ahead," the scout
+explained. "And one of them is a good big stretch of deep water--you
+don't go wadin' across the Tennessee. I don't want to beg for trouble,
+headin' a stud into somethin' as dangerous as that."
+
+Driscoll seemed struck by the wisdom of that precaution. "Now I heard
+tell," he chimed in eagerly, "as how a mule is a right sure-footed
+critter for a river crossin'. An' a good ridin' mule could suit a man
+fine----"
+
+"A mule!" Boyd exploded, outraged. But Drew considered the suggestion
+calmly.
+
+"I'll keep a lookout in town. May be swappin' for that mule yet,
+Driscoll. You'll have to pick up my share of peaches if that's the way
+it's goin' to be."
+
+There were more plans laid for the taking of Calhoun as the hours passed
+and the harried company plodded or spurred--depending upon the nature of
+the countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their general
+state of energy at the time--southwest across the length of Kentucky.
+Days became not collections of hours they could remember one by one
+afterward, but a series of incidents embedded in a nightmare of hard
+riding, scanty fare, and constant movement. Not only horses were giving
+out now; they dropped men along the way. And some--like Cambridge and
+Hilders--vanished completely, either cut off when they went to "trade"
+mounts, or deserting the troop in favor of their own plans for survival.
+
+The remaining men burst into Calhoun as a cloud of locusts descending on
+a field of unprotected vegetation. Drew did not know how much Union
+sentiment might exist there, but he judged that their actions would not
+leave too many friends behind them. Jugs had appeared, to be passed
+eagerly from hand to hand, and the contents of store shelves were swept
+up and out before the outraged owners could protest.
+
+It had showered that morning, leaving puddles of mud and water in the
+unpaved streets. And at one place there was a mud fight in
+progress--laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the new
+clothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud's
+prancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitching
+rail before the largest store.
+
+A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching the
+excitement in the street. As Drew came up the man glanced at the scout,
+surveying his shabbiness, and his mouth took on the harsh line of a
+sneer.
+
+"Want a new suit, soldier?" he demanded. "Just help yourself! You're
+late in gettin' to it...."
+
+Drew leaned against the wall of the store front. He was so tired that
+the effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed,
+fought over selections, was too much to face. This was just another part
+of the never-ending nightmare which had entrapped them ever since they
+had fled from the bank of the Licking at Cynthiana. Listlessly he
+watched one trooper snatch a coat from another, drag it on triumphantly
+over a shirt which was a fringe of tatters. He plucked at the front of
+his own grimy shirt, and then felt around in the pocket he had so
+laboriously stitched beneath the belt of his breeches, to bring out one
+creased and worn bill. Spreading it out, he offered it to the man beside
+him. To loot an army warehouse was fair play as he saw it. Morgan's
+command had long depended upon Union commissaries for equipment,
+clothing, and food. And a horse trade was something forced upon him by
+expediency. But he still shrank from this kind of foraging.
+
+"A shirt?" he asked wearily.
+
+The man glanced from that crumpled bill to Drew's tired face and then
+back again. The sneer faded. He reached out, closed the scout's fingers
+tight over the money.
+
+"That's just wastepaper here, son. Come on!" Catching hold of Drew's
+sleeve so tightly that the worn calico gave in a rip, he guided the
+other into the store, drawing him along behind a counter until he
+reached down into the shadows and came up with a pile of shirts, some
+flannel, some calico, and one Drew thought was linen.
+
+"These look about your size. Take 'em! You might as well have them. Some
+of these fellows will just tear them up for the fun of it."
+
+Drew fumbled with the pile, a flannel, the linen, and two calico. He
+could cram that many into his saddlebags. But the store owner thrust the
+whole bundle into his arms.
+
+"Go ahead, take 'em all! They ain't goin' to leave 'em, anyway."
+
+"Thanks!" Drew clutched the collection to his chest and edged back along
+the wall, avoiding a spirited fight now in progress in the center of
+the store. Mud-spattered men came bursting back, wanting to change their
+now ruined clothing for fresh. Drew stiff-armed one reeling, singing
+trooper out of his path and was gone before the drunken man could resent
+such handling. With the shirts still balled between forearm and chest,
+he led King away from the store.
+
+"Ovah heah!"
+
+That hail in a familiar voice brought Drew's head around. Kirby waved to
+him vigorously from a doorway, and the scout obediently rehitched King
+to another rack, joining the Texan in what proved to be the village
+barber-shop.
+
+Kirby was stripped to the waist, using a towel freely sopped in a large
+basin to make his toilet. His face was already scraped clean of beard,
+and his hair plastered down into better order than Drew had ever seen
+it, while violent scents of bay rum and fancy tonics fought it out in
+the small room.
+
+"What you got there?" Boyd looked up from a second basin, a froth of
+soap hiding most of his face.
+
+"Shirts--" Drew dropped his bundle on a chair. He was staring, appalled,
+into the stretch of mirror confronting him, unable to believe that the
+face reflected there was his own. Skinning his hat onto a shelf, he
+moved purposefully toward the row of basins, ripping off his old shirt
+as he went.
+
+Where the barber had gone they never did know, but a half hour later
+they made some sweeping attempts to clean up the mess to which their
+efforts at personal cleanliness had reduced the shop, pleased once more
+with what they saw now in the mirror. They had divided the shirts, and
+while the fit was not perfect, they were satisfied with the windfall.
+Before he left the shop Kirby swept a half dozen cakes of soap into his
+haversack.
+
+Boyd was already balancing a bigger sack, full to the top.
+
+"Peaches, molasses, crackers, pickles," he enumerated his treasure trove
+to Drew. "We got us some real eats."
+
+"Hey, you--Rennie!" As they emerged from the barber-shop Driscoll
+trotted up. "The cap'n wants to see you. He's on the other side of
+town--at the smithy."
+
+Boyd and Kirby trailed along as Drew obeyed that summons. They found
+Campbell giving orders to the smith's volunteer aides, some engaged with
+the owner of the shop in shoeing the raiders' horses, others making up
+bundles of shoes to be slung from the saddles as they rode out.
+
+"Rennie"--the captain waved him out of the rush and clamor of the
+smithy--"I want you to listen to this. You--Hart--come here!" One of the
+men bundling horseshoes dropped the set he was tying together and came.
+
+"Hart, here, comes from Cadiz. Know where that is?"
+
+Drew closed his eyes for a moment, the better to visualize the map he
+tried to carry in his head. But Cadiz--he couldn't place the town. "No,
+suh."
+
+"It's south, close to the Tennessee line and not too far from the big
+river. There's just one thing which may be important about it; it has a
+bank and Hart thinks that there are Union Army funds there. We still
+have a long way to go, and Union currency could help. Only," Campbell
+spoke with slow emphasis, "I want this understood. We take army funds
+only. This may just be a rumor, but it is necessary to scout in that
+direction anyway."
+
+"You want me to find out about the funds and the river crossin' near
+there?"
+
+"It's up to you, Rennie. Hart's willin' to ride with you."
+
+"I'll go." He thought the bank plan was a wild one, but they did have to
+have a safe route to the river.
+
+"You'll move out as soon as possible. We'll be on our way as soon as we
+have these horses shod."
+
+Drew doubted that. What he had seen in the streets suggested that it was
+not going to be easy to pry most of the company out of Calhoun in a
+hurry, but that was Campbell's problem. "I'll need couriers," he said
+aloud. It was an advance scout's privilege to have riders to send back
+with information.
+
+Campbell hesitated as if he would protest and then agreed. "You have men
+picked?"
+
+"Kirby and Barrett. Kirby's had scout experience; Barrett knows part of
+this country and rides light."
+
+"All right, Kirby and Barrett. You ready to ride, Hart?"
+
+The other trooper nodded, picked up a set of extra horseshoes, and went
+out of the smithy. Campbell had one last word for Drew.
+
+"We'll angle south from here to hit the Cumberland River some ten miles
+north of Cadiz, Hart knows where. This time of year it ought to be easy
+crossin'. But the Tennessee--" he shook his head--"that is goin' to be
+the hard one. Learn all you can about conditions and where it's best to
+hit that...."
+
+Drew found Hart already mounted, Kirby and Boyd waiting.
+
+"Hart says we're ridin' out," the Texan said. "Goin' to cover the high
+lines?"
+
+"Scout, yes. South of here. River crossin's comin' up."
+
+"No time for shadin' in this man's war," Kirby observed.
+
+"Shadin'?" Boyd repeated as a question.
+
+"Sittin' nice an' easy under a tree while some other poor hombre prowls
+around the herd," Kirby translated. "It's a kinda restin' I ain't had
+much of lately. Nor like to...."
+
+They put Calhoun behind them, and Hart led them cross-country. But at
+each new turn of the back country roads Drew added another line or two
+on the map he sketched in on paper which Boyd surprisingly produced from
+his bulging sack of loot.
+
+The younger boy looked self-conscious as he handed it over. "Thought as
+how I might want to write a letter."
+
+Drew studied him. "You do that!" He made it an order. There had been no
+chance to leave Boyd in Calhoun. But there was still Cadiz as a
+possibility. He did not believe this vague story about Union gold in the
+bank. And the company might never enter the town in force at all. So
+that Boyd, left behind, would not attract the unfavorable attention of
+the authorities.
+
+It began to rain again, and the roads were mire traps. As they struggled
+on into evening Kirby found a barn which appeared to be out by itself
+with no house in attendance. The door was wedged open with a drift of
+undisturbed soil and Boyd, exploring into a ragged straggle of brush in
+search of a well, reported a house cellar hole. The place must be
+abandoned and so safe.
+
+"We'll be in Cadiz tomorrow," Hart said.
+
+"An' how do we ride in?" Kirby wanted to know. "Another
+bearer-of-the-flag stunt?"
+
+"Is Cadiz a Union town?" Drew asked Hart.
+
+The other laughed. "Not much, it ain't. This is tobacco country; you
+seen that for yourself today. An' there's guerrillas to give the Yankees
+trouble. They hole up in the Brelsford Caves, six or seven miles outta
+town. We can ride right in, and there ain't nobody gonna care."
+
+"Nice to know these things ahead'a time," Kirby remarked. "So we ride
+in--lookin' for what?"
+
+Hart glanced at Drew but remained silent. The scout shrugged.
+"Information about the rivers and any stray garrison news. You have kin
+here, Hart?"
+
+"Some." But the other did not elaborate on that.
+
+Drew was thinking about those guerrillas; their presence did not match
+Hart's story about the Yankee gold in the bank. Such irregulars would
+have been after that long ago. He didn't know why Hart had pitched
+Campbell such a tale, but he was dubious about the whole setup now.
+Better make this a quick trip in--and out--of town.
+
+
+
+
+7
+
+_A Mule for a River_
+
+
+For a Confederate patrol, they looked respectable enough as they rode
+into Cadiz. Though they lacked the uniformity of a Yankee squad, their
+dark shirts, "impressed" breeches, and good boots gave an impression of
+a common dress, and Kirby had even acquired a hat.
+
+They slung their captured rifles before entering town and progressed at
+a quiet amble which suggested good will. But there was no mistaking the
+fact that they attracted attention, immediately and to some purpose. A
+small boy, balancing on a fence, put his fingers to his mouth and
+released a piercing whistle.
+
+King's response to that was vigorous. Rearing, until he stood almost
+upright on his hind feet, the stallion pawed the air. Drew barely kept
+his seat. He fought with all his knowledge of horsemanship to bring the
+stud back to earth and under control. And he could hear Kirby's laugh
+and Boyd calling out some inarticulate warning or advice.
+
+"Better git that mule--or run down this one's mainspring some," the
+Texan said when Drew had King again with four feet on the ground, though
+weaving in a sideways dance.
+
+"You men--what are you doing here?" A horseman looked over the heads of
+the crowd to the four troopers.
+
+"Passin' through, suh. Leastwise we was, until greeted--" Kirby answered
+courteously.
+
+Drew assessed the questioner's well-cut riding clothes, his good linen,
+and fine gloves. The rider was middle-aged, his authority more evident
+because of that fact. This was either one of the wealthy planters of the
+district or some important inhabitant of Cadiz. There was a wagon
+drawing up behind him, a span of well-cared-for mules in harness with a
+Negro driver.
+
+The mules held Drew's attention. King's reaction to that sudden whistle
+was a warning. He had no wish to ride such an animal into a picket
+skirmish. The sleekness of the mules appealed to his desire to rid
+himself of the unmanageable stud.
+
+Now he edged the sidling King closer to the wagon. The driver watched
+him with apprehension. Whether he guessed Drew's intention or whether he
+dreaded the near approach of the stallion was a question which did not
+bother the scout.
+
+"You there," Drew hailed the driver. "I'll take one of those mules!"
+
+As always, he hated these enforced trades and spoke in a peremptory way,
+wanting to get the matter finished.
+
+"You, suh--" the solid citizen turned his horse to face the scout--"what
+gives you the right to take that mule?"
+
+With a visible sigh of relief, the Negro relaxed on the driver's seat,
+willing to let the other carry on the argument.
+
+"Nothing, except I have to have a mount I can depend upon." Drew did not
+know why he was explaining, or even why he wanted the mule so acutely
+right now. Except that he was tired, tired of the days in the saddle, of
+being on the run, of these small Kentucky towns into which they rode to
+loot and ride off again. The Yankees in Bardstown had been fair game,
+and their bluff there had been an adventure. But Calhoun left a sour
+taste in his mouth, and he didn't like the vague order which had brought
+him to Cadiz. So his dislike boiled over, to settle into a sullen
+determination to rid himself of one irritation--this undependable horse.
+
+"Do I assume, suh, that you are part of General Morgan's command?" Sharp
+blue eyes studied Drew across the well-curried backs of the mules.
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+The man gave a nod, which might have been for some thought of his own.
+
+"We have heard some rumors of your coming, suh," the other continued.
+"You, Nelson," he spoke to the Negro, "take this team up to the livery
+stable and tell Mr. Emory I want Hannibal saddled! Then you bring him
+back here and give him to this gentleman!"
+
+"Yes, suh. Hannibal--wi' saddle--for this young gentlem'n."
+
+"Hannibal, suh," the man said to Drew, "is a mule, but a remarkable one,
+riding trained and strong. I think you will find him quite usable. Do I
+understand we are about to be favored by a visit from General Morgan?"
+
+Drew dismounted. Now he made a business of squinting up at the sun as if
+to tell time. "Not for a while, suh." He remained cautious; though he
+guessed that his questioner's sympathies were at least not openly Union.
+
+There was a stir in the gathering crowd. Hart was leaning from his
+saddle, talking earnestly to two men flanking him on either side.
+
+"May I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen. I am James Pryor, at your
+service--"
+
+Automatically Drew responded to the manners of Red Springs. "Drew
+Rennie, suh. Anson Kirby, Boyd Barrett...." He looked around for Hart,
+only to see the other disappearing into an alley with his two companions
+from the crowd.
+
+"Suh, that's a right heartenin' offer," Kirby said, smiling. "Trail dust
+sure does make a man's throat dryer'n an alkali flat!"
+
+"Mark Hale over here has just the answer for that difficulty, gentlemen.
+If you will accompany me--"
+
+They left the glare of the sunlit street, following their host into a
+small shop where a quantity of strange smells fought for supremacy.
+Kirby stared about him puzzled, but his look changed to an expression of
+pure bafflement and outrage as Pryor gave his order to the smaller man
+who came from a back room.
+
+"Mark, these gentlemen need some of that good lemonade you make--if you
+have some cold and ready."
+
+Drew heard Kirby's muffled snort of protest and wanted so badly to laugh
+that the struggle to choke off that sound was a pain in his chest. Mr.
+Pryor smiled at them blandly.
+
+"M' boys, nothing better on a really hot day than some of Mark's
+lemonade. Nothing like it in this part of Kentucky. Ah, that looks like
+a draft fit for the gods, Mark, it certainly does!"
+
+Hale had bobbed out of his inner room again, shepherding before him a
+Negro boy who walked with exaggerated caution, balancing a tray on which
+stood four tall glasses, beaded with visible moisture. There was a
+sprig of green mint standing sentry in each.
+
+"Drink up, gentlemen." Under Mr. Pryor's commanding eye they each took a
+glass and a first sip.
+
+But it was good--cool as it went slipping down the throat bearing that
+blessed chill with it, tart on the tongue, and fresh. Drew had sipped,
+but now he gulped, and he noted over the rim of his own glass, that
+Kirby was following his example. Mr. Pryor consumed his portion at a
+more genteel rate of intake.
+
+"This allays that trail dust of yours, Mr. Kirby?" He inquired with no
+more than usual solicitude, but there was a faint trace of amusement in
+his small smile.
+
+Kirby met the challenge promptly. "Ably, suh, ably!" He raised his
+half-filled glass. "To your very good health, suh. I don't know when
+I've had me a more satisfyin' drink!"
+
+Pryor bowed. He was still smiling as he glanced at Drew.
+
+"You have business in Cadiz, suh? Beyond that of swapping that
+firebreather of yours for another mount, I mean? Perhaps I can be of
+service in some other way...."
+
+Drew cradled his glass in both hands. The condensing moisture made it
+slippery, but the chill was pleasant to feel.
+
+"Do you have any news about the Cumberland River, suh?" he asked. Pryor
+might have usable information, and there was no reason to disguise that
+part of their objective. Short of turning about and fighting their way
+through about a quarter of the aroused Yankee army, the fugitives did
+have to cross the Cumberland and the Tennessee, and do both soon.
+
+"The Cumberland, suh, is not apt to give you much trouble." Pryor sipped
+at his glass with a relish. "If, of course, you contemplate a try at the
+Tennessee--that will be a different matter. I trust your commander will
+be amply prepared for difficulties there. But General Morgan is not to
+be easily caught napping, or so his reputation stands. I wish you the
+best of luck."
+
+"Is that your horse out there, young man?" the proprietor of the
+drugstore addressed Drew. "That big stallion?"
+
+Drew put his glass on the counter and spun around. "What's he doin'
+now?"
+
+"Nothing," Hale returned quickly. "Ransome!" Out of nowhere Hale's
+servant appeared. "Get the saddlebags from that horse."
+
+Surprised at this highhanded demand for his property, Drew waited for
+enlightenment. When Ransome returned with the bags, Hale took them,
+moved quickly to a cabinet, and unlocked it. By handfulls he took small
+boxes from the shelves inside, added some paper packets, and then
+buckled the straps tightly over the new bulge.
+
+"I understand," he said in his dry, precise voice, "there is a pressing
+need for quinine, morphine, and the like in the South?"
+
+Drew could only nod as Hale held out the bags.
+
+"Give this to your surgeon, young man, with my compliments. There is
+little enough we can do, but this is something."
+
+Drew stammered his thanks, knowing that those boxes and packets crammed
+into his bags meant a fortune to a blockade runner, but far more to men
+in the improvised hospitals behind the gray lines. Hale waved away
+Drew's thanks, adding only a last warning: "Keep your bags dry if you
+contemplate a river crossing! I would like to make sure that those drugs
+do reach the right hands intact."
+
+"Rennie!" Hart hailed him from the door. "There's a boy here with a
+mule; he says it's for you."
+
+Pryor put down his glass. "It's Hannibal. I think you will find him
+acceptable, suh. An even-tempered animal for the most part, and the
+surest-footed one I have ever ridden."
+
+"Then you do _ride_ him?" Boyd spoke for the first time.
+
+"Naturally he has been ridden--by me. I would not offer him otherwise,
+suh!" Pryor's flash of indignation was quick. "Hannibal's dam was Dido,
+a fine trotting mare. He's an excellent mount."
+
+The mule stood in the street, ears slightly forward, eyeing King warily.
+He was a big animal, groomed until his gray coat shone under the sun,
+wearing a well rubbed and oiled saddle and trappings. As Drew approached
+he lowered his head, sniffing inquiringly at the scout.
+
+"Your new master, Hannibal," Pryor addressed the animal with the gravity
+of one making a formal introduction. "You are about to be mustered into
+the cavalry."
+
+Hannibal appeared to consider this and then shook his big head up and
+down in a vigorous nod. Boyd laughed and Kirby offered vocal
+encouragement.
+
+"Mount up an' see if you have to go smoothin' out any humps."
+
+"If you're goin' to ride that critter, git on!" Hart called. His tone
+expressed urgency as if he had learned something in town which should
+send them out of Cadiz in a hurry.
+
+Drew's previous experience with mules had not been as a rider. He had
+heard plenty about their sure-footedness, their ability to keep going as
+pack animals and wagon teams when horses gave out, their intelligence,
+as well as that stubbornness which lay on the darker side of the scales.
+He advanced on Hannibal now a little distrustfully, settling into the
+saddle on the animal's back with the care of one expecting some
+unpleasant reaction. But Hannibal merely swung his head about as if to
+make sure by sight, as well as pressure of weight on his back, that his
+rider was safely aloft.
+
+Relaxing, Drew saluted Pryor. "My thanks to you, suh."
+
+"Think nothing of it, young man. Luck to you--all of you."
+
+"That we can use, suh," Kirby returned. "Adios...."
+
+Hart's impatience was so patent that Drew had only hasty thanks for Hale
+before the trooper had them on their way out of town. When they were at
+a trot Kirby joined their guide.
+
+"How come you workin' on your critter's rump with a double of rope? Git
+sight of some blue belly hangin' out to dry-gulch us?"
+
+"We ain't too welcome hereabouts." Hart did look worried, and Drew was
+alert.
+
+"Yankees?" he asked.
+
+Hart shook his head. "Just some of the boys; they don't want no
+attention pulled this way, not right now."
+
+The bank money--and the guerrillas. Yes, holding up the Cadiz bank if
+and when any gold reached there, would appeal to the local irregulars,
+who might be so irregular as to be on the cold side of the law, even in
+wartime with the enemy their victim. Drew fitted one piece to another
+and thought he could guess the full pattern.
+
+Kirby looked from one to the other. Boyd was completely at a loss. A
+moment later the Texan spoke again.
+
+"Me, I'm never one to argue with local talent, specially if they wear
+their Colts low and loose. Doin' that is apt to make a man wolf meat.
+Wheah to now--this heah river?"
+
+Drew nodded. The Cumberland must be scouted. And, after that, the more
+formidable barrier of the Tennessee. He had not needed Pryor's warning
+about the latter. Ever since they had left Bardstown and knew they were
+headed for that barrier, Drew had been carrying worry at the back of his
+mind.
+
+But Pryor was also right about the Cumberland. Hart agreed to ride back
+to the company with the information to direct them to the best crossing.
+While Drew, Kirby, and Boyd went on to the last barrier between them and
+eventual escape southwest.
+
+Here the Tennessee was a flood, a narrow lake more than a river. As they
+traveled its eastern bank Boyd halted now and again to study the waste
+of water dubiously.
+
+"It's wide," he said in a subdued voice. Kirby spat accurately at a leaf
+drifting just below.
+
+"Need us some fish fixin's heah," he agreed. "You swim?" he asked the
+other two.
+
+There had been ponds at home where both of them in childhood had paddled
+about with most of the young male populations of Red Springs and Oak
+Hill. But whether they could trust that somewhat limited skill to get
+them over this flood was another matter.
+
+"Some." Boyd appeared to have discovered caution.
+
+"Me, I'm not sayin' yet," Kirby commented. "Splashin' 'round some in a
+little-bitty wadin' pool, an' gittin' out in this, don't balance none.
+Ain't every hoss takes kindly to water, neither. I'd say we'd better see
+what's the chances of knockin' together a raft or somethin'. 'Less we
+can find us a boat."
+
+But boats were not to be found, unless they were willing to risk
+discovery by trying to cross near a well-settled district. And when
+Captain Campbell joined them that afternoon he insisted on the need of
+speed over a longer reconnaissance.
+
+"The Yankees are closing in," he told the trio by the river. "If we try
+to cross at a town, they'll have a point to center on. Rafts, yes, we
+can try to build rafts--have to ferry over the men who can't swim, and
+our gear. This is the time we must push--fast."
+
+The remote section of bank which Drew had chosen became a scene of
+activity as the company came in--a tight bunch--not long after Campbell.
+The stragglers came later, pushing beat-out horses, one or two riding
+double. They had no tools other than bowie knives, and their attempts at
+raft-building were not only awkward but in the most cases futile. When
+they did have a mat which would stick together after a fashion, they
+were determined to put it to the test at once.
+
+None of them had much practice in getting horses over such a wide body
+of water, and there were a great many freely voiced suggestions
+concerning the best methods.
+
+Kirby stood watching the first attempt, his face blank of expression, a
+sign Drew had come to recognize as the Texan's withdrawal from a
+situation or action of which he did not approve. There were five men
+squeezed together on the flimsy-looking raft and they had strung out
+their mounts in a line, the head of one horse linked by leading rope to
+the tail of the one before him.
+
+"You don't think it's goin' to work?" Drew asked Kirby.
+
+The Texan shrugged. "Maybe, only hosses don't think like men. An' a
+lotta hosses don't take kindly to gittin' wheah theah ain't no footin'.
+Me, I want to see a little more, 'fore I roll out--"
+
+Kirby's misgivings were amply justified. For that first voyage was
+doomed to a tragic and speedy end. The second horse in line, losing
+footing as the river bed fell away beneath him, reared in fright, caught
+his forefeet over the rope linking him to his fellow, and so jerked his
+head underwater by his own frenzied struggles. Before the men on the
+wildly dipping raft were able to cut the now fright-maddened animals
+loose, three in that string had drowned themselves by their uncontrolled
+plunges, and the others were being dragged under.
+
+Boyd dived from the upper bank before Drew could stop him. It was
+madness to go anywhere near the struggling horses. But somehow Boyd's
+blond head broke water at the side of the last gasping animal. He took a
+grip on the water-logged mane, his body bobbing up and down with the
+jerks of the horse's forequarters, until he had sawed through the lead
+cord and was able to start the mount back toward the shore, swimming
+beside him.
+
+Drew was waiting with Kirby to give Boyd a hand up the bank.
+
+"You could have been pulled under!"
+
+Boyd was grinning. "But I wasn't. And the horse's all right, too." He
+patted the wet haunch of the shivering animal. "That was bad--they
+pulled each other down."
+
+It was a disheartening beginning. But as the hours slipped by they had
+better success. One horse, two, three could be towed on separate ropes
+behind the raft. And in the morning there was a cockleshell of a boat
+oared in by one of the men who had found it downriver.
+
+They had ferried and crossed well into the dusk of the evening. And at
+the first dawn they were at it again. Drew tried to remember how many
+times he had made that trip, swimming or rowing, always with some mount
+as his special charge. More than half the company had sworn they could
+not swim, and so the burden of the transfer fell upon their fellows.
+
+"Rennie--" That was Campbell climbing up from the raft after another
+weary passage across. "There's trouble on the other side. You've been
+using that mule of yours to get some of the horses over, haven't you?"
+
+Drew was so tired that words were too much trouble to shape. He nodded
+dully. Pryor had been right about Hannibal. The big mule had not only
+taken his own passage across the Tennessee as a matter-of-course
+proceeding, but had shouldered and urged along three horses as he went.
+And twice since then Drew had taken him back and forth to bring in
+skittish mounts causing trouble.
+
+"That horse of mine's running wild; he broke out of the water twice."
+The captain caught at Drew's bare arm so hard his nails cut. "Think you
+could get him over with the mule's help?"
+
+Drew wavered a little as he walked slowly to where he had picketed
+Hannibal after their last trip. He was tired, and although he had eaten
+earlier that morning, he was hungry again. It was warm and the sun was
+climbing, but the air felt chill against his naked body and he shivered.
+The one thing they were all getting out of this river business, Drew
+decided, were much-needed baths.
+
+Kirby, his body white save for tanned face and throat, sun-darkened
+hands and wrists, crouched on the raft as Drew brought Hannibal down to
+that unwieldy craft.
+
+"Tryin' for the cap'n's hoss?"
+
+"What's wrong with it?" Drew helped the Texan push off.
+
+"Reaches no bottom, an' then it plain warps its backbone tryin' to paw
+down the sky. Maybe that mule can git some sense into the loco critter.
+But I'm not buyin' no chips on his doin' it."
+
+Drew located Campbell's horse, a rangy, good-looking gray which reminded
+him a little of the colt he had seen at Red Springs, snorting and
+trotting back and forth along the path they had worn on the banks during
+their efforts of the past twenty-four hours. One of the rear guard held
+its lead rope and kept as far from the skittish animal as he could.
+
+"He's plumb mean," the guardian informed Drew. "When he jumps, get out
+from under--quick!"
+
+Yet when Drew, mounted on Hannibal now, brought the horse down to the
+water's edge, the horse appeared to go willingly enough. The scout
+tossed the lead rope to Kirby, waiting until the raft pushed off with
+its load of men and fringe of horses, then took to the river beside
+Campbell's horse. When they reached the deeper section he saw the gray
+go into action.
+
+Rearing, the horse appeared about to try to climb onto the raft. And the
+man holding its lead rope dropped it quickly. Drew, swimming, one hand
+on Hannibal's powerful shoulder, tried to guide the mule toward the
+horse that was still splashing up and down in a rocking-horse movement.
+But the mule veered suddenly, and Drew saw those threatening hoofs loom
+over his own head. He pushed away frantically, but too late to miss a
+numbing blow as one hoof grazed his shoulder.
+
+Somehow, with his other hand outflung, he caught Hannibal's rope tail
+and held on with all the strength he had left, while the water washed in
+and out of a long raw gouge in the skin and muscles of his upper arm.
+
+
+
+
+8
+
+_Happy Birthday, Soldier!_
+
+
+"No water here either." Boyd climbed up the bank of what might once have
+been a promising stream. Carrying three canteens, he ran the tip of his
+tongue over his lips unhappily. "It sure is hot!"
+
+They had turned off the road, which was now filled with men, horses,
+men, artillery, and men, all slogging purposefully forward. They
+composed an army roused out before daylight, on the move toward another
+army holed in behind a breastworks and waiting. And over all, the
+exhausting blanket of mid-July heat which pressed to squeeze all the
+vital juices out of both man and animal.
+
+Drew touched his aching arm soothingly. It still hurt, although the
+rawness had healed during the weeks between that turbulent crossing of
+the Tennessee and this morning in Mississippi as they moved at the Union
+position on the ridge above the abandoned ghost town of Harrisburg. The
+remnant of Morgan fugitives, some eighty strong, had fallen in with
+General Bedford Forrest's ranging scouts at Corinth, and had ridden
+still farther southward to join his main army just on the eve of what
+promised to be a big battle.
+
+"Hot!" echoed Kirby. "A man could git hisself killed today an' never
+know no difference."
+
+They were reluctant to re-enter the stream progressing along the road.
+The dust was ankle-deep there, choking thick when stirred by feet and
+hoof to a powdery cloud. In contrast, there were no clouds in the sky,
+and the sun promised to be a ball of brass very soon.
+
+Yesterday had been as punishing. Men wilted in the road, overcome by
+heat and lack of water. If there ever had been any moisture in this
+country, it had long ago been boiled away. The very leaves were brittle
+and grayish-looking where they weren't inches deep in dust.
+
+As of last night, the Morgan men were an addition to Crossland's
+Kentuckians under General Buford. The speech of the blue grass was
+familiar, but nothing yet had made them a part of this new army with
+which they marched.
+
+Drew reached for one of the canteens. His worry over Boyd, dulled by the
+passing of time, stirred sluggishly. The other had kept up the grueling
+pace which had brought the fugitives across half of Kentucky, all of
+Tennessee, and into this new eddy of war, making no complaint after his
+first harsh introduction to action--which might be in part an adventure,
+but which was mostly something to be endured--with the dogged
+stubbornness of a seasoned veteran. And Boyd had manifestly toughened in
+that process. After Drew's mishap in the river, Boyd had accepted
+responsibility, helping to keep the scout in the saddle and riding, even
+when Drew had been bemused by a day or two of fever, unaware of either
+their enforced pace or their destination.
+
+No, somewhere along the line of retreat Drew had stopped worrying about
+Boyd. And now, with the youngster already appointed horse holder for the
+day's battle, he need not think of him engulfed in action. Though any
+fighting future was decided mainly by the capricious chance which struck
+one man down and allowed his neighbor to march on unscathed.
+
+"You men--over there--close up!" A officer, hardly to be distinguished
+from the men he rode among, waved them back to the column. Then they
+were dismounting. As Drew handed Hannibal over to Boyd's care, he was
+glad again that the other was safely behind the battle line moving up in
+the thin woods.
+
+During the night the enemy had thrown together the breastworks on the
+ridge, weaving together axed trees, timbers torn out of the abandoned
+houses of the village--anything the Union leader could commandeer for
+such use. And between that improvised fortification and the cover in
+which the Confederates now waited was a section of open ground, varying
+in width with the wanderings of a now dry river. Where the Kentuckians
+were stationed, there must have stretched about three hundred yards of
+that open, Drew estimated, and the woods bordering it on this side were
+so thin that any charge would take them into plain sight for five
+hundred yards of approach.
+
+Fieldpieces brought into line on the woods side, hidden above by the
+breastworks, opened up in a dull _pom-pom_ duel. Drew saw a shell strike
+earth not far away, bounce twice, still intact, and roll on toward the
+Confederate lines.
+
+The _zip-zip_ of the Minies had not yet begun. And this waiting was the
+hardest part of all. Drew tried to pin all his powers of concentration
+on a study of the ground immediately before him, the slope up which they
+would have to win in order to have it out with the now hidden enemy. He
+made himself calculate just which path to take when the orders to charge
+came. Although his arm prevented his using a carbine or rifle, his two
+Colts were loaded, and one was in his hand. He glanced around.
+
+Kirby? There was a Morgan trooper next--Drew tried to remember his name.
+Laswell ... Townstead ... no, Clinton! Tom Clinton. He'd done picket
+duty with Drew. And beyond Clinton--there was Kirby, his lips pulled
+tight in what might have been a grin, but which Drew thought was not.
+Then ... Boyd! But Boyd was back with the horses; he had to be!
+
+Drew edged forward a little, trying to see better. If it were Boyd, he
+had to wrench him out of that line and get the boy back. A hot emotion
+close to panic boiled up in Drew.
+
+Somewhere, through the pound of the artillery, a bugle blared. And
+Drew's muscles obeyed that call, even as he still tried to see who was
+fourth in line from him.
+
+Slowly at first, they were on the move. The sun was up, shining directly
+into their faces. But in spite of the glare, they could still see the
+Union works and the flash of guns along it. They were moving faster,
+coming to a trot. Officers shouted here and there, trying to slow that
+steady advance--why?
+
+Then, drowning out the bugles, the mutter and roar of the artillery,
+came the Yell. Their shambling trot quickened. Men were running now,
+forming a great wave to lick up at the breastworks. Men in that line did
+not know--or care--that they were moving without the promised support on
+right and left; they did not hear the disturbed orders of the officers
+still striving to slow them, to wrench them back into a battle plan
+already too broken to mend. All they cared about now was the field clear
+for running, the weapons in their hands, the enemy waiting under the hot
+morning sun.
+
+Drew never remembered afterward that splendid useless charge except as
+chaos. He could not have told just when they were caught in a murderous
+crossfire which poured canister at their undefended flanks. A man went
+down before him, stumbling. The scout caught his foot against the
+writhing body, pitched head forward, and struck on his bad arm. For a
+moment or two the stabbing pain of that made the world red and black.
+Then Drew was up on one knee again, just in time to realize foggily that
+the Yankees were ripping at their flanks, that their charge was pocketed
+by lead and steel, being wiped out. He steadied his gun hand on the
+crook of his injured arm, tried to find some target, then fired
+feverishly without one, the gun's recoil sending shivers of pain through
+his whole shoulder and side.
+
+The first wave of men had great gaps torn in its length. But those
+remaining on their feet still ran up the slope, screaming their
+defiance. A handful reached the breastworks. Drew saw one man by some
+strange fortune scramble to the top of that timber wall, stand balanced
+for a moment in triumph to take aim at a target below as if he himself
+were invulnerable, and then plunge, as might a diver cleaving a pool,
+out of sight on the other side.
+
+Men faltered, the fire was breaking them, crumpling up the lines. All
+the Union might was concentrated in a lead-and-canister hail on the
+remnants of the brigade, making of the slope a holocaust in which
+nothing human could continue to advance.
+
+But new lines of gray-brown came steadily from the woodland, racing,
+yelling, steadfast in their determination to storm that barricade and
+pluck out the Yankees with their hands. They were wild men, with no
+thought of personal safety. A color bearer went down. His standard was
+seized by his right rank man before its red folds hit the churned,
+stained ground, the soldier flinging aside his rifle to take tight grip
+on the pole. The line came on at a run. Now broken squads of Kentuckians
+re-formed; a battered lacework of what had been companies, regiments,
+joined the newcomers.
+
+Drew was on his feet. Where Kirby or any others of the small Morgan
+contingent had vanished--whether Boyd _had_ been with them--he did not
+know. He jammed his now empty Colt into its holster, drew its twin,
+still not wholly aware that the breastworks were too far away for small
+arms' fire to have any effect.
+
+Now the whole world was no larger than that stretch of open ground and
+the breastworks, the men in blue behind them. Only the flanking fire
+still withered the gray lines, curling them up as the sun had withered
+and curled the leaves on the shrubs by the dried stream bed. This was
+walking stiff-legged through a bath of fire--sun fire, lead-death
+fire--with no end except the hope of reaching the ridge top and the
+fight waiting there.
+
+But they could not reach that wall--except singly, or in twos and
+threes, then only to fall. And the waves of men no longer broke from the
+woods to lap up and recede sullenly down the slope. Out of nowhere, just
+as they fell back to the first fringe of trees, came an officer on a
+tall gray horse. His coat was gone, he rode in his shirt sleeves, and a
+bullet-torn tatter waved from one wide shoulder. Above prominent
+cheekbones, his eyes were hot and bright, his clipped beard pointed
+sharply from a jaw which must be grimly set, his face was flushed, and
+his energy and will was like a cloud to engulf the disheartened men as
+he bore down upon them.
+
+His galloping course threaded through the shattered groups of
+Kentuckians, men fast disintegrating into a mob as the realization of
+their failure on the slope began to strike home--no longer a portion of
+an army believing in itself. But, sighting him, they followed his route
+with a rising wave of cheers--cheers which even though they came from
+dry throats rose in force and violence to that inarticulate Yell which
+had raised them past all fear up the hill.
+
+From his saddle, the officer leaned to grab at a standard, whirling the
+flag aloft and around his head so that its scarlet length, crossed with
+the starred blue bands, made a tossing splotch of color, to hold and
+draw men's eyes. And now he was shouting, too, somehow his words
+carrying through the uproar in the woods.
+
+"Rally! Rally on colors!"
+
+"Forrest!" A man beside Drew whooped, threw his hat into the air. "The
+old man's here! Forrest!"
+
+They were pulled together about that rider and his waving standard.
+Lines tightened, death-made gaps closed. They steadied, again a fighting
+command and not a crowd of men facing defeat. And having welded that
+force, Forrest did not demand a second charge. He was furiously
+angry--not with them, Drew sensed--but with someone or something beyond
+the men crowding about him. It was not until afterward that rumor seeped
+out through the ranks; it had not been Forrest's kind of battle, not his
+plan. And he now had five hundred empty saddles to weight the scales
+after a battle which was not his.
+
+Drew leaned against a bullet-clipped tree. Men were at work with some of
+the same will as had taken them to attack, building a barricade of their
+own, expecting a counterthrust from the enemy. He wiped his sweaty face
+with the back of his hand. His throat was one long dry ache; nowhere had
+he seen a familiar face.
+
+Somewhere among this collection of broken units and scrambled companies
+of survivors he must find his own. He stood away from the tree, fighting
+thirst, weariness, and the shaking reaction from the past few hours, to
+move through the badly mauled force, afraid to allow himself to think
+what--or who--might still lie out on the ridge under the white heat of
+the sun.
+
+"Rennie!"
+
+Drew rounded a fieldpiece which had been manhandled off the firing line,
+one wheel shattered. He steadied himself against its caisson and turned
+his head with caution, fearing to be downed by the vertigo which seemed
+to strike in waves ever since he had retreated to the cover of the
+woods. He wanted to find the horse lines, to make sure that he had not
+seen Boyd on the field just before the bugle had lifted them all into
+that abortive charge.
+
+It was Driscoll who hailed him. He had a red-stained rag tied about his
+forearm and carried his hand tucked into the half-open front of his
+shirt. Drew walked toward him slowly, feeling oddly detached. He noted
+that the trooper's weathered face had a greenish shade, that his mouth
+was working as if he were trying to shape soundless words.
+
+"Where're the rest?" Drew asked.
+
+Driscoll's good hand motioned to the left. "Four ... five ... some
+there. Standish--he got it with a shell--no head ... not any more--" He
+gave a sound like a giggle, and then his hand went hastily to his mouth
+as he retched dryly.
+
+Drew caught the other's shoulder, shaking him.
+
+"The others!" he demanded more loudly, trying to pierce the curtain of
+shock to Driscoll's thinking mind.
+
+"Four ... five ... some--" Driscoll repeated. "Standish, he's dead. Did
+I tell you about Standish? A shell came along and--"
+
+"Yes, you told me about Standish. Now show me where the others are!"
+Still keeping his shoulder grip, Drew edged Driscoll about until the
+trooper was pointed in the general direction to which he had gestured.
+Now Drew gave the man a push and followed.
+
+"Rennie!" That was Captain Campbell. He was kneeling by a man on the
+ground, a canteen in his hand.
+
+Drew lurched forward. He was so sure that that inert casualty was Boyd,
+and that Boyd was dead.
+
+"Boyd--" he murmured stupidly, refusing to believe his eyes. The man
+lying there had a brush of grayish beard on his chin, a mat of hair
+which moved up and down as he breathed in heavy, panting gasps.
+
+"Boyd?" This time the scout made a question of it.
+
+One of the men in that little group moved. "He got it--out there."
+
+Drew shifted his weight. He felt as if he were striving to move a body
+as heavy and as inert as that of an unconscious man. It took so long
+even to raise his hand. Before he could question the trooper further,
+another was before him.
+
+Kirby, his powder-blackened face only inches away from that of the man
+he had seized by a handful of shirt front, demanded: "How do you know?"
+
+The man pulled back but not out of Kirby's clutch. "He was right beside
+me. Went down on the slope before we fell back--"
+
+So--Drew's thinking process was as slow as his weary body--he had been
+right back there on the field! Boyd had been in the first line, and he
+was still out there.
+
+Again, Drew made one of those careful turns to keep his unsteadiness
+under control. If Boyd was out there, he must be brought back--now!
+Hands closed on Drew's shoulders, jerking him back so that he collided
+with another body, and was held pinned against his captor.
+
+"You can't go theah now!" Kirby spoke so closely to his ear that the
+words were a roaring in his head. But they did not make sense. Drew
+tried to wrench loose of that hold, the pain in his half-healed arm
+answering. Then there was a period he could not account for at all, and
+suddenly the sun was fading and it was evening. Somebody pushed a
+canteen into his hand, then lifted both hand and canteen for him so that
+he could drink some liquid which was not clear water but thick and
+brackish, evil-tasting, but which moistened his dry mouth and swollen
+tongue.
+
+Through the gathering dusk he could see distant splotches of red and
+yellow--were they fires? And shells screamed somewhere. Drew held his
+head between his hands and cowered under that beat of noise which
+combined with the pulsation of pain just over his eyes. Men were moving
+around him, and horses. He heard tags of speech, but none of them were
+intelligible.
+
+Was the army pulling out? Drew tried to think coherently. He had
+something to do. It was important! Not here--where? The boom of the
+field artillery, the flickering of those fires, they confused him,
+making it difficult to sort out his memories.
+
+Again, a canteen appeared before him, but now he pushed it petulantly
+aside. He didn't want a drink; he wanted to think--to recall what it was
+he had to do.
+
+"Drew--!" There was a figure, outlined in part by one of those fires,
+squatting beside him. "Can you ride?"
+
+Ride? Where? Why? He had a mule, didn't he? Back in the horse lines.
+Boyd--he had left the mule with Boyd. Boyd! _Now_ he knew what had to be
+done!
+
+He moved away from the outstretched hand of the man beside him, got to
+his feet, saw the blot of a mount the other was holding. And he caught
+at reins, dragged them from the other's hand before he could resist.
+
+"Boyd!" He didn't know whether he called that name aloud, or whether it
+was one with the beat in his head. Boyd was out on that littered field,
+and Drew was going to bring him in.
+
+Towing the half-seen animal by the reins, Drew started for the fires and
+the boom of the guns.
+
+"All right!" The words came to him hollowly. "But not that way, you're
+loco! This way! The Yankees are burnin' up what's left of the town; that
+ain't the battlefield!"
+
+Drew was ready to resist, but now his own eyes confirmed that. Fire was
+raging among the few remaining buildings of the ghost town, and shells
+were striking at targets pinned in that light, shells from Confederate
+batteries, taking sullen return payment for that disastrous July day.
+
+A lantern bobbed by his side, swinging to the tread of the man carrying
+it. And, as they turned away from the inferno which was consuming
+Harrisburg, Drew saw other such lights in the night, threading along the
+slope. This was the heartbreaking search, among the dead, for the
+living, who might yet be brought back to the agony of the field
+hospitals. He was not the only one hunting through the human wreckage
+tonight.
+
+"I've talked to Johnson," Kirby said. "It'll be like huntin' for a steer
+in the big brush, but we can only try."
+
+They could only try ... Drew thought he was hardened to sights, sounds.
+He had helped bring wounded away from other fields, but somehow this was
+different. Yet, oddly enough, the thought that Boyd could be--_must_
+be--lying somewhere on that slope stiffened Drew, quickened his muscles
+back into obedience, kept him going at a steady pace as he led Hannibal
+carefully through the tangle of the dead. Twice they found and freed the
+still living, saw them carried away by search parties. And they were
+working their way closer to the breastworks.
+
+"Ho--there--Johnny!"
+
+The call came out of the dark, out of the wall hiding the Yankee forces.
+
+Drew straightened from a sickening closer look at three who had fallen
+together.
+
+"Johnny!" The call was louder, rising over the din from the burning
+town. "One, one of yours--he's been callin' out some ... to your left
+now."
+
+Kirby held up the lantern. The circle of light spread, catching on a
+spurred boot. That tiny glint of metal moved, or was it the booted foot
+which had twitched?
+
+Drew strode forward as Kirby swung the lantern in a wider arc. The man
+on the ground lay on his back, his hands moving feebly to tear at the
+already rent shirt across his chest. There was a congealed mass of blood
+on one leg just above the boot top. Drew knew that flushed and swollen
+face in spite of its distortion; they had found what they had been
+searching for.
+
+Kirby pulled those frantic hands away from the strips of calico, the
+scratched flesh beneath, but there was no wound there. The leg injury
+Drew learned by quick examination was not too bad a one. And they could
+discover no other hurt; only the delirium, the flushed face, and the
+fast breathing suggested worse trouble.
+
+"Sun, maybe." Kirby transferred his hold to the rolling head, vising it
+still between his hands while Drew dripped a scanty stream of the
+unpalatable water from the Texan's canteen onto Boyd's crusted, gaping
+lips.
+
+"I'll mount Hannibal. You hold him!" Drew said. "He can't stay in the
+saddle by himself."
+
+Somehow they managed. Boyd's head, still rolling back and forth, moved
+now against Drew's sound shoulder. Kirby steadied his trailing legs,
+then went ahead with the lantern. Before they moved off, Drew turned his
+head to the breastworks.
+
+"Thanks, Yankee!" He called as loudly and clearly as his thirst-dried
+throat allowed. There was no answer from the hidden picket or sentry--if
+he were still there. Then Hannibal paced down the slope.
+
+"The Calhoun place?" Kirby asked.
+
+Hannibal stumbled, and Boyd cried out, the cry becoming a moan.
+
+"Yes. Anse ..." Drew added dully, "do you know ... this was his
+birthday--today. I just remembered."
+
+Sixteen today.... Maybe somewhere he could find the surgeon to whom last
+night he had turned over the drugs in his saddlebags. The doctor's
+gratitude had been incredulous then. But that was before the battle,
+before a red tide of broken men had flowed into the dressing station at
+the Calhoun house. The leg wound was not too bad, but the sun had
+affected the boy who had lain in its full glare most of the day. He must
+have help.
+
+The saddlebags of drugs, Boyd needing help--one should balance the
+other. Those facts seesawed back and forth in Drew's aching head, and he
+held his muttering burden close as Kirby found them a path away from the
+rending guns and the blaze of the fires.
+
+
+
+
+9
+
+_One More River To Cross_
+
+
+"The weather is sure agin this heah war. A man's either frizzled clean
+outta his saddle by the heat--or else his hoss's belly's deep in the mud
+an' he gits him a gully-washer down the back of his neck! Me--I'm a West
+Texas boy, an' down theah we have lizard-fryin' days an' twisters that
+are regular hell winds, and northers that'll freeze you solid in one
+little puff-off. But then all us boys was raised on rattlesnakes,
+wildcats, an' cactus juice--we're kinda hardened to such. Only I ain't
+seen as how this half of the country is much better. Maybe we shouldn't
+have switched our range--"
+
+Drew grinned at Kirby's stream of whispered comment and complaint as
+they wriggled their way forward through brush to look down on a Union
+blockhouse and stockade guarding a railroad trestle.
+
+"Weather don't favor either side. The Yankees have it just as bad, don't
+they?"
+
+The Texan made a snake's noiseless progress to come even with his
+companion's vantage point.
+
+"Sure, but then they should ... they ought to pay up somehow for huntin'
+their hosses on somebody else's range. We'd be right peaceable was they
+to throw their hoofs outta heah. My, my, lookit them millin' round down
+theah. Jus' like a bunch of ants, ain't they? Had us one of Cap'n
+Morton's bull pups now, we could throw us a few shells as would make that
+nest boil right over into the gully!"
+
+"We'll do something when the General gets here," Drew promised.
+
+Kirby nodded. "Yes, an' this heah General Forrest, too. He sure can
+ramrod a top outfit. Jus' prances round the country so that the poor
+little blue bellies don't know when he's goin' to pop outta some bush,
+makin' war talk at 'em. You know, the kid's gonna be hoppin' to think he
+missed this heah show--"
+
+"At least we know where he is and what he's doin'."
+
+Kirby propped his chin on his forearm. "Jus' 'bout now he's sittin' down
+at the table back theah in Meridian with a sight of fancy grub lookin'
+back at him. How long you think he's gonna take to bein' corraled that
+way?"
+
+"General Buford gave him strict orders personally--"
+
+"Nice to have a general take an interest in you," Kirby commented. "You
+Kaintuck boys, you're scattered all through this heah army. Want to stay
+with Boyd 'cause he's ailin', so you jus' find you a general from your
+home state an' talk yourself into a transfer--"
+
+"Notice you wanted me to talk you into one, too."
+
+"Well, Missouri, Mississippi, an' Tennessee are a sight nearer Texas an'
+home than Virginia. Anyway, theah warn't much left of our old outfit,
+an' this heah Forrest is headin' up a sassy bunch. So I'm glad you did
+find you a general to sling some weight an' git us into his scouts jus'
+'cause he knew your grandpappy. Kaintucks stick together...."
+
+There was a second of silence through which they could both hear the
+faint sounds of life from the stockade.
+
+"M' father was a Texan," Drew said suddenly.
+
+"Now that's a right interestin' observation," Kirby remarked. "Heah I
+was all the time thinkin' you was one of these heah fast-ridin',
+fine-livin' gentlemen what was givin' some tone to the army. Not jus'
+'nother range drifter from the big spaces. What part of Texas you
+from--Brazos?"
+
+"Oh, I wasn't born there. You had a war down that way, remember?"
+
+"You mean when Santa Anna came trottin' in with his tail high, thinkin'
+as how he could talk harsh to some of us Tejanos?"
+
+"No, later than that--when some of us went down to talk harsh in
+Mexico."
+
+"Sure. Only I don't recollect that theah powder-burnin' contest, m'self.
+M'pa went ... got him these heah fancy hoss ticklers theah." Kirby moved
+his hand toward the spurs he had taken off and tucked into his shirt for
+safekeeping to muffle the jingle while they were on scout. "Took 'em
+away from a Mex officer, personal. Me, I was too young to draw fightin'
+wages in that theah dust-up."
+
+"My father wasn't too young, and he drew his wages permanent. My
+grandfather went down to Texas and brought my mother back to Kentucky
+just in time for me to appear. My grandfather didn't like Texans."
+
+"An' maybe not your father, special?"
+
+Drew smiled, this time mirthlessly. "Just so. You see, m' father came up
+from Texas to get his schoolin' in Kentucky. He was studyin' to be a
+doctor at Lexington. And he was pretty young and kind of wild. He had
+one meetin'--"
+
+"You mean one of them pistol duels?"
+
+"Yes. So my grandfather warned him off seein' his daughter. I never
+heard the rights of it, but it seems m' father didn't take kindly to
+bein' ordered around."
+
+Kirby chuckled. "That theah feelin' is borned right into a Texas boy. He
+probably took the gal an' ran off with her--"
+
+"You're guessing right. At least that's the story as I've put it
+together. Mostly nobody would tell me anything. I was the blacksheep
+from the day I was born--"
+
+"But your ma, she'd give you the right of it."
+
+"She died when I was born. That's another thing my grandfather had
+against me. I was Hunt Rennie's son, and I killed my mother; that's the
+way he saw it."
+
+Kirby rolled his head on his arm so that his hazel eyes were on Drew's
+thin, too controlled features.
+
+"Sounds like your grandpappy had a burr under his tail an' bucked it out
+on you."
+
+"You might see it that way. You know, Anse, I'd like to see Texas--"
+
+"After we finish up this heah war, compadre, we can jus' mosey down
+theah an' look it over good. Happen you don't take to Texas, why,
+theah's New Mexico, the Arizona territory ... clean out to California,
+wheah they dip up that theah gold dust so free. Ain't nothin' sayin' a
+man has to stay on one range all his born days--"
+
+"Looks like the war ain't doin' too well." Drew was watching the
+activity in the stockade.
+
+"Well, we lost us Atlanta, sure enough. An' every time we close up
+ranks, theah's empty saddles showin'. But General Forrest, he's still
+toughenin' it out. Me, I'll trail along with him any day in the week."
+
+"Hey!" Kirby was drawing a bead on a shaking bush. But the man edging
+through was Hew Wilkins, General Buford's Sergeant of Scouts. He crawled
+up beside them to peer at the blockhouse.
+
+"They're pullin' out!" The men in blue coats were lining up about a
+small wagon train.
+
+Wilkins used binoculars for a closer look. "Your report was right; those
+are Negro troops!"
+
+"No wonder they're clearin' out--fast."
+
+"Cheatin' us outta a fight," Kirby observed with mock seriousness.
+
+"All the better. Kirby, you cut back and tell the General they're givin'
+us free passage. We can get the work done here, quick."
+
+"Back to axes, eh, an' some nice dry firewood--an' see what we can do to
+mess up the railroads for the Yankees. Only, seems like we're messin' up
+a sight of railroads, all down in our own part of the country. I'd like
+to be doin' this up in one of them theah Yankee states like New York,
+say, or Indiana. Saw me some mighty fine railroads to cut up, that time
+General Morgan took us on a sashay through Indiana."
+
+Kirby got to his feet and stretched. Drew unwound his own lanky length
+to join the other.
+
+"Maybe the old man will be leadin' us up there, too--" Wilkins put away
+the binoculars. "Rennie, we'll move on down there and see if we can pick
+up any information."
+
+Two months or a little more since Harrisburg. The brazen heat had given
+way to torrents in mid-August, and the rain had made quagmire traps of
+roads, forming rapids of every creek and river--bogging down horses,
+men, and guns. But it had not bogged down Bedford Forrest. And one
+section of his small force, under the command of General Buford leading
+the Kentuckians, had held the Union forces in check, while the other,
+under Forrest's personal leadership had swung past Smith and his blue
+coats in a lightning raid on Memphis.
+
+Now in September the rain was still falling in the mountains, keeping
+the streams up to bank level. And Forrest was also on the move. After
+the Memphis raid there had been a second honing of his army into razor
+sharpness, a razor to be brought down with its cutting edge across those
+railroads which carried the lifeblood of supplies to the Union army
+around Atlanta.
+
+Blockhouses fell to dogged attack or surrendered to bluff, the bluff of
+Forrest's name. The Kentucky General Buford was leading his division of
+the command up the railroad toward the Elk River Bridge and that was
+below the scouts now, being abandoned by the Union troopers.
+
+Two factors had brought Drew into Buford's Scouts. If Dr. Cowan,
+Forrest's own chief surgeon, had not been the medical officer to whom
+Drew had by chance delivered those saddlebags of drugs, and if Abram
+Buford had not been a division commander, Drew might not have been able
+to push through his transfer. But Cowan had spoken to Forrest, and
+General Buford had known both the Barretts and the Mattocks all his
+life.
+
+Boyd had recovered speedily from the leg wound, but his convalescence
+from heat exhaustion and the ensuing complications was still in
+progress, though he had reached the point that only General Buford's
+strict orders had kept him from this second raid into enemy territory.
+Now he was safe in a private home in Meridian, where he was being
+treated as a son of the house, and Drew had even managed to send a
+letter to Cousin Merry with that information. He only hoped that she had
+received it.
+
+As for the change in commands, Drew was content. Perhaps the more so
+since the news had come less than two weeks earlier that John Morgan was
+dead. He had gone down fighting, shooting it out with Yankee troopers in
+a rain-wet garden in Tennessee on a Sunday morning. Men were dying,
+dead ... and maybe a cause was dying, too. Drew's thought flinched away
+from that line now, trying to keep to the job before them. There was the
+abandoned stockade to destroy, the trestle and bridge to knock to
+pieces, and if they had time, the tracks to tear up, heat, and twist out
+of shape.
+
+Wilkins stood behind a pile of wood cut for engine fuel. "They are on
+the run, all right. Headin' toward Pulaski."
+
+"Think they'll make a stand there?"
+
+"One guess is as good as another. If they do, we'll smoke them out. Keep
+'em busy and chase 'em clean out of their hats and back to camp."
+
+The destruction of the blockhouse and the trestle could be left to the
+army behind; the scouts moved on again.
+
+"The boys are havin' themselves a time." Kirby returned to his post with
+the advance. "Tyin' bowknots in rails gits easier all the time. When
+this heah campaign is over, we'll know more 'bout takin' railroads apart
+then the fellas who make 'em know 'bout puttin' 'em together."
+
+"Trouble!" Drew reined in Hannibal and waved to Wilkins. "There's a
+picket up there...."
+
+Kirby's gaze followed the other's pointing finger. "Kinda green at the
+business," he commented critically. "Sorta makin' a sittin' target of
+hisself. Like to tickle him up with a shot. We don't git much action
+outta this."
+
+"I'd say we're plannin' to go in now."
+
+A squad of Buford's advance filtered up through the trees, and an
+officer, his insignia of rank two-inch strips of yellowish ribbon sewed
+to the collar of a mud-brown coat, was conferring with Wilkins. Then the
+clear notes of the bugle charge rang out.
+
+Forrest's men were as adept as Morgan's raiders in making a show of
+force seem twice the number of men actually in the field. They now
+whirled in and out of a wild pattern which should impress the Yankee
+picket with the fact that at least a full regiment was advancing.
+
+Three miles from Pulaski the Yankees made a stand, slamming back with
+all they had, but Buford was pushing just as hard and determinedly.
+Gray-brown boiled out of cover and charged, yelling. That electric spark
+of reckless determination which had taken the Kentucky columns up the
+slope at Harrisburg flashed again from man to man. Drew tasted the old
+headiness which could sweep a man out of sanity, send him plunging
+ahead, aware only of the waiting enemy.
+
+The Union lines broke under those shock waves; men ran for the town
+behind them. But there was no taking that town. By early afternoon they
+had them fenced in, held by a show of force. Only in the night, leaving
+their fires burning, the Confederates slipped away.
+
+Rains hit again; guns and wagons bogged. But they kept on into
+rough-and-rocky country. They had taken enough horses from the Union
+corrals at the blockhouses to mount the men who had tramped patiently
+along the ruts in just that hope. Better still, sugar and coffee from
+the rich Yankee supply depot at the Brown farm was now filling Rebel
+stomachs.
+
+Drew sat on his heels by a palm-sized fire, watching with weary content
+the tin pail boiling there. The aroma rising from it was one he had
+almost forgotten existed in this world of constant riding and poor
+forage.
+
+"Hope it kicks in the middle an' packs double." Kirby rested a tin cup
+on one knee, ready and waiting. "Me, I like mine strong enough to rest a
+horseshoe on ... gentlelike."
+
+"Yankees are obligin', one way or another." Drew licked his fingers
+appreciatively. He had been exploring the sugar supply. "I've missed
+sweetenin'."
+
+"Drink up, boys, and get ready to ride," Wilkins said, coming out of the
+dark. "We've marchin' orders."
+
+Kirby reached for the pot and poured its contents, with careful
+measurement, into each waiting cup. "Wheah to now, Sarge? Seems like
+we've covered most of this heah range already."
+
+"Huntsville. We have to locate a river crossin'."
+
+Drew looked up. "Startin' back, Sarge?"
+
+"Heard talk," Wilkins admitted. "Most of the blue bellies in these parts
+are turnin' lines to aim square at us. We can't take on all of Sherman's
+bully boys--"
+
+"Got him riled, though, ain't we? All right." Kirby was energetically
+fanning the top of his steaming cup with his free hand. "Git this down
+to warm m' toes, Sarge, an' I'll stick them same toes in the stirrups
+an' jingle off. Come on, Drew, no man never joined up with the army to
+git hisself a comfortable life...."
+
+Certainly that last statement of the Texan's was proven correct during
+the next six days. A feint toward the Yankee garrison at Huntsville
+occupied the enemy until the wagon train and artillery moved on to the
+Tennessee River. And along its northern banks, Buford's Scouts ranged.
+Already high for the season the waters were still rising. And all the
+transportation they could collect were three ferry boats at Florence and
+a few skiffs, not enough to serve all the Confederate force pushing for
+that escape route.
+
+Athens, which Forrest had occupied on the upswing of the raid, was
+already back in Union hands, and the blue forces were closing in, in a
+countrywide sweep, backing the gray cavalry against the river.
+
+By the third of October Buford had the boats in action, ferrying across
+men, equipment, and artillery in a steady stream of night-and-day oar
+labor. The stout General, mounted on a big mule, a large animal to carry
+a large man, gave the scouts new orders.
+
+"Try downriver, boys. We're in a pinchers here, and they may be goin' to
+nip us--hard!" He rolled a big cheroot from a Yankee commissary store
+between his teeth, watching the wind whip the surface of the river into
+good-sized waves about the laboring boats. "Anything usable below
+Florence ... we want to know about it, and quick!"
+
+Wilkins led them out at a steady trot. "We'll take a look around
+Newport. Rough going, but I think I remember a place."
+
+However, the possibilities of Wilkins' "place" did not seem too
+promising to Drew when they came out on a steep bluff some miles down
+the Tennessee.
+
+"This is a heller of a river," Kirby expressed his opinion forcibly.
+"Always spittin' back in an hombre's face. We've had plenty of trouble
+with it before."
+
+They were on a bank above a slough which was not more than two hundred
+feet wide. And beyond that was an island thickly overgrown with cane,
+oak, and hickory. The upper end of that was sandy, matted with
+driftwood, some of it partially afloat again.
+
+"Use that for a steppin' stone?" Drew asked.
+
+"Best we're goin' to find. And if time's runnin' out, we'll be glad to
+have it. Rennie, report in. We'll do some more scoutin', just to make
+sure there'll be no surprises later."
+
+For more than thirty-six hours Buford had been ferrying. Artillery,
+wagons, and a large portion of his division were safely across. When
+Drew returned to the uproar along the river he found that the second
+half of the retreating forces, commanded by Forrest, were in town. And
+it was to Forrest that Drew was ordered to deliver his report.
+
+He would never forget the first glimpse he'd had of Bedford Forrest--the
+officer sitting his big gray charger in the midst of a battle, whirling
+his standard to attract a broken rabble of men, knitting out of them, by
+sheer force of personality, a refreshed, striking force. Now Drew found
+himself facing quite a different person--a big, quiet, soft-spoken man
+who eyed the scout with gray-blue eyes.
+
+"You're Rennie, one of that Morgan company who joined at Harrisburg."
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+"Morgan's men fought at Chickamauga ... good men, good fighters. Said so
+then, never had any reason to change that. Now what's this about an
+island downriver?"
+
+Drew explained tersely, for he had a good idea that General Forrest
+wanted no wasting of time. Then at request he drew a rough sketch of the
+island and its approaches. Forrest studied it.
+
+"Something to keep in mind. But I want to know that it's clear. You boys
+picket it. If there's any Union movement about, report it at once!"
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+If Yankee scouts had sighted the island, either they had not reported it
+or their superiors had not calculated what its value might be for hunted
+men--and to a leader who was used to improvising and carrying through
+more improbable projects than the one the island suggested.
+
+At Shoal Creek a rear guard was holding off the Union advance which had
+started from Athens, the two pronged pinchers General Buford had
+foreseen. And now the island came into use.
+
+Saddles and equipment were stripped from horses and piled into the boats
+brought down from Florence. Then the mounts were driven to the top of
+the bluff and over into the water some twenty feet below. Leaders of
+that leap were caught by their halters and towed behind the boats, the
+others swimming after.
+
+Men and mounts burrowed back into the concealment of those thick
+canebrakes and were hidden along the southern shore of the overgrown
+strip of water-enclosed land. The Union pursuers came up on the bluff,
+but they did not see the ferrying from the south bank of the island,
+ferrying which kept up night and day for some forty-eight hours.
+
+"Cold!" Kirby and Drew crouched together behind a screen of cane on the
+north side of the island, watching the bank above for any hostile move
+on the part of the enemy.
+
+"General Forrest says no fires."
+
+"Yeah. You know, I jus' don't like this heah spread of water.
+This is the second time I've had to git across it with Old Man
+Death-an'-Disaster raisin' dust from my rump with a double of his
+encouragin' rope. Seems like the Tennessee ain't partial to raidin'
+parties."
+
+"Makes a good barrier when we're on the other side," Drew pointed out
+reasonably.
+
+"So--"
+
+Drew's Colt was already out, Kirby's carbine at ready. But the man who
+had cat-footed it through the cane was General Forrest himself.
+
+"I thought"--the General eyed them both--"I would catch some of you
+young fools loafin' back heah as if nothin' was goin' on. If you don't
+want to roost heah all winter, you'd better come along. Last boats are
+leavin' now."
+
+As they scrambled after their commander Drew realized that the General
+had made it his personal business to make sure none of the north side
+pickets were left behind in the last-minute withdrawal.
+
+They piled into one of the waiting boats, catching up poles. Forrest
+took another. Then he balanced where he stood, glaring toward the bow of
+the boat. A lieutenant was there, his hands empty.
+
+"You ... Mistuh--" Forrest's voice took on the ring Drew had heard at
+Harrisburg. "Wheah's your oar, Mistuh?"
+
+The man was startled. "As an officer, suh--"
+
+Still gripping his pole with one hand, the General swung out a long arm,
+catching the lieutenant hard on one cheek with enough force to send him
+over the gunwale into the river. The lieutenant splashed, flailing out
+his arms, until he caught at the pole Drew extended to him. As they
+hauled him aboard again, the General snorted.
+
+"Now you, Mistuh officer, take that oar theah and git to work! If I have
+to knock you over again, you can just stay in. We shall all pull out of
+this together!"
+
+The lieutenant bent to the oar hastily as they moved out into the full
+current of the river.
+
+
+
+
+10
+
+_"Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"_
+
+
+"Drew!"
+
+He turned his head on the saddle which served him as a temporary pillow
+and was aware of the smell of mule, strong, and the smell of a wood
+fire, less strong, and last of all, of corn bread baked in the husk,
+and, not so familiar, bacon frying--all the aromas of camp--with the
+addition of food which could be, and had been on occasion, very
+temporary. Squinting his smarting eyes against the sun's glare, Drew sat
+up. With four days of hard riding by night and scouting by day only a
+few hours behind him, he was still extremely weary.
+
+Boyd squatted by his side, a folded sheet of paper in his hand.
+
+"... letter ..."
+
+Drew must have missed part during his awakening. Now he turned away from
+the sun and tried to pay better attention.
+
+"From who?" he asked rustily.
+
+"Mother. She got the one you sent from Meridian, Drew! And when Crosely
+went home for a horse she gave him these to bring back through the
+lines. Drew, your grandfather's dead...."
+
+Odd, he did not feel anything at all at that news. When he was little he
+had been afraid of Alexander Mattock. Then he had faced out his fear and
+all the other emotions bred in him during those years of being Hunt
+Rennie's son in a house where Hunt Rennie was a symbol of black hatred;
+he had faced up to his grandfather on the night he left Red Springs to
+join the army in '62. And then Drew had discovered that he was free. He
+had seen his grandfather as he would always remember him now, an old man
+eaten up by his hatred, soured by acts Drew knew would never be
+explained. And from that moment, grandfather and grandson were
+strangers. Now, well, now he wished--for just a fleeting second or
+two--that he did know what lay behind all that rage and waste and
+blackness in the past. Alexander Mattock had been a respected man. As
+hardly more than a boy he had followed Andy Jackson down to New Orleans
+and helped break the last vestige of British power in the Gulf. He had
+bred fine horses, loved the land, and his word was better than most
+men's sworn oaths. He had had a liking for books, and had served his
+country in Congress, and could even have been governor had he not
+declined the nomination. He was a big man, in many ways a great and
+honorable man. Drew could admit that, now that he had made a life for
+himself beyond Alexander Mattock's shadow. A great man ... who had hated
+his own grandson.
+
+"This is yours...." Boyd pulled a second sheet from the folds of the
+first. Drew smoothed it out to read:
+
+     My dear boy:
+
+     Your letter from Meridian reached me just two days ago, having been
+     many weeks on the way, and I am taking advantage of Henry Crosely's
+     presence home on leave to reply. I want you to know that I do not,
+     in any way, consider you to blame for Boyd's joining General organ's
+     command. He had long been restless here, and it was only a matter of
+     time and chance before he followed his brother.
+
+     I know that you must have done all that you could to dissuade him
+     after your aunt's appeal to you, but I had already accepted failure
+     on this point. Just as I know that it was your efforts which
+     established him under good care in Meridian. Do not, Drew, reproach
+     yourself for my son's headstrong conduct. I know Boyd's
+     stubbornness. There is this strain in all the Barretts.
+
+     You may not have heard the news from Red Springs, though I know
+     your aunt has endeavored to find a means of communicating it to
+     you. Your grandfather suffered another and fatal seizure on the
+     third of August and passed away in a matter of hours.
+
+     I do not believe that it will come as any surprise to you, my dear
+     boy, that he continued in his attitude toward you to the last,
+     making no provision for you in his will. However, both Major Forbes
+     and Marianna believe this to be unfair, and they intend to see that
+     matters are not left so.
+
+     If and when this cruel war is over--and the news we receive each
+     day can not help but make us believe that the end is not far
+     off--do, I beg of you, Drew, come home to us. Sheldon spoke once of
+     some plan of yours to go west, to start a new life in new
+     surroundings. But, Drew, do not let any bitterness born out of the
+     past continue to poison the future for you.
+
+     Perhaps what I say may be of value since I have always held your
+     welfare dear to me, and you have a place in my heart. Melanie
+     Mattock Rennie was my dearest friend for all of her life, your
+     father, my cousin. And you were Sheldon's playmate and comrade for
+     his short time on this earth.
+
+     Come home to us, I ask you to do this, my dear boy. We shall
+     welcome you.
+
+     I pray for you and for Boyd, that you may both be brought safely
+     through all the dangers which surround a soldier, that you may come
+     home to us on a happier day. Your concern for and care of Boyd is
+     something which makes me most grateful and happy. He had lost a
+     brother, one of his own blood, but I content myself with the belief
+     that he has with him now another who will provide him with what
+     guidance and protection he can give.
+
+     Remember--we want you both here with us once more, and let it be
+     soon.
+
+     With affection and love,
+
+
+Drew could not have told whether her "Meredith Barrett" at the bottom of
+the page was as firmly penned as ever. To him it was now wavering from
+one misty letter to the next. Slowly he made a business of folding the
+sheet into a neat square of paper which he could fit into the safe
+pocket under his belt. A crack was forming in the shell he had started
+to grow on the night he first rode out of Red Springs, and he now feared
+losing its protection. He wanted to be the Drew Rennie who had no ties
+anywhere, least of all in Kentucky. Yet not for the world would he have
+lost that letter, though he did not want to read it again.
+
+"Rennie! Double-quick it; the General's askin' for you!"
+
+Boyd started up eagerly from his perch on another saddle. He was, Drew
+decided, like a hound puppy, so determined to be taken hunting that he
+watched each and every one of them all the time. He had been allowed to
+ride on this return visit to West Tennessee with the condition that he
+would act as one of Drew's scout couriers, a position which kept him
+under his elder's control and attached to General Buford's Headquarters
+Company.
+
+Kirby reached out a brown hand to catch Boyd by the sleeve and anchor
+him.
+
+"Now, kid, jus' because the big chief sends for him, it ain't no sign
+he's goin' to take the warpath immediately, if not sooner. Ease off, an'
+keep your moccasins greased!"
+
+Drew laughed. Nobody who rode with Forrest could complain of a lack of
+action. He had heard that some general in the East had said he would
+give a dollar or some such to see a dead cavalryman. Well, there had
+been sight of those at Harrisburg and some at the blockhouses. Forrest
+stated that Morgan's men could fight; he did not have to say that of his
+own.
+
+Now they were heading into another sort of war altogether. Drew hadn't
+figured out just how Bedford Forrest intended to fight river gunboats
+with horse soldiers, but the scout didn't doubt that his general had a
+plan, one which would work, barring any extra bad luck.
+
+They were setting a trap along the Tennessee right now, lying in the
+enemies' own back pasture to do it. South, downriver, was Johnsonville,
+where Sherman had his largest cache of supplies, from which he was
+feeding, clothing, equipping the army now slashing through the center of
+the South. They had been able to cripple his rail system partially on
+that raid two weeks earlier; now they were aiming to cut the river
+ribbon of the Yankee network.
+
+Buford's division occupied Fort Heiman, well above the crucial section.
+The Confederates also held Paris Landing. Now they were set to put the
+squeeze on any river traffic. Guns were brought into station--Buford's
+two Parrots, one section of Morton's incomparable battery with Bell's
+Tennesseeans down at the Landing. They had moved fast, covered their
+traces, and Drew himself could testify that the Yankees were as yet
+unsuspecting of their presence in the neighborhood.
+
+He found General Buford now and reported.
+
+"Rennie, see this bend...." The General's finger stabbed down on the
+sketch map the scouts had prepared days earlier. "I've been thinkin'
+that a vedette posted right here could give us perhaps a few minutes of
+warning ahead when anything started to swim into this fishnet of ours.
+General Forrest wants some transports, maybe even a gunboat or two.
+We're in a good position to deliver them to him, but before we begin the
+game, I want most of the aces right here--" He smacked the map against
+the flat of his other palm.
+
+"A signal system, suh. Say one of those--" Drew pointed to the very
+large and very red handkerchief trailing from Buford's coat pocket.
+"Wave one of those out of the bushes: one wave for a transport, two for
+a gunboat."
+
+The General jerked the big square from his pocket, inspected it
+critically, and then called over his shoulder.
+
+"Jasper, you get me another one of these--out of the saddlebags!"
+
+When the Negro boy came running with the piece of brilliant cloth,
+Buford motioned for him to give it to Drew.
+
+"Mind you, boy," he added with some seriousness, "I want that back in
+good condition when you report in. Those don't grow handily on trees. I
+have only three left."
+
+"Yes, suh," Drew accepted it with respect. "I'm to stay put until
+relieved, suh?"
+
+"Yes. Better take someone to spell you. I don't want any misses."
+
+Back at the scout fire Drew collected Boyd. This was an assignment the
+boy could share. And shortly they had hollowed out for themselves a
+small circular space in the thicket, with two carefully prepared
+windows, one on the river, the other for their signal flag.
+
+It was almost evening, and Drew did not expect any night travel. Morning
+would be the best time. He divided the night into watches, however, and
+insisted they keep watch faithfully.
+
+"Kinda cold," Boyd said, pulling his blanket about his shoulders.
+
+"No fire here." Drew handed over his companion's share of rations, some
+cold corn bread and bacon carefully portioned out of their midday
+cooking.
+
+"'Member how Mam Gusta used to make us those dough geese? Coffee-berry
+eyes.... I could do with some coffee berries now, but not to make eyes
+for geese!"
+
+Dough geese with coffee-berry eyes! The big summer kitchen at Oak Hill
+and the small, energetic, and very dark skinned woman who ruled it with
+a cooking spoon of wood for her scepter and abject obedience from all
+who came into her sphere of influence and control. Dough geese with
+coffee-berry eyes; Drew hadn't thought of those for years and years.
+
+"I could do with some of Mam Gusta's peach pie." He was betrayed by
+memory into that wistfulness.
+
+"Peach pie all hot in a bowl with cream to top it," Boyd added
+reverently. "And turkey with the fixin's--or maybe young pork! Seems to
+me you think an awful lot about eatin' when you're in the army. I can
+remember the kitchen at home almost better than I can my own room...."
+
+"Anse, he was talkin' last night about some Mexican eatin' he did down
+'long the border. Made it sound mighty interestin'. Drew, after this war
+is over and we've licked the Yankees good and proper, why don't we go
+down that way and see Texas? I'd like to get me one of those wild horses
+like those Anse's father was catchin'."
+
+"We still have a war on our hands here," Drew reminded him. But the
+thought of Texas could not easily be dug out of mind, not when a man had
+carried it with him for most of his life. Texas, where he had almost
+been born, Hunt Rennie's Texas. What was it like? A big wild land, an
+outlaws' land. Didn't they say a man had "gone to Texas" when the
+sheriff closed books on a fugitive? Yes, Drew had to admit he wanted to
+see Texas.
+
+"Drew, you have any kinfolk in Texas?"
+
+"Not that I know about." Not for the first time he wondered about that.
+There had been no use asking any questions of his grandfather or of
+Uncle Murray. And Aunt Marianna had always dismissed his inquiries with
+the plea that she herself had only been a child at the time Hunt Rennie
+came to Red Springs and knew very little about him. Odd that Cousin
+Merry had been so reticent, too. But Drew had pieced out that something
+big and ugly must have happened to begin all the painful tangle which
+had led from his grandfather's cold hatred for Hunt Rennie, that hatred
+which had been transferred to Hunt Rennie's son when the original target
+was gone.
+
+When Drew first joined the army and met Texans he had hoped that one of
+them might recognize his name and say:
+
+"Rennie? You any kin to the Rennies of-" Of where? The Brazos, the Rio
+country, West Texas? He had no idea in which part of that sprawling
+republic-become-a-state the Rennies might have been born and bred. But
+how he had longed in those first lonely weeks of learning to be a
+soldier to find one of his own--not of the Mattock clan!
+
+"Yes, I would like to see Texas!" Boyd pulled the blanket closer about
+his shoulders, curling up on his side of their bush-walled hole. "Wish
+these fool Yankees would know when they're licked and get back home so
+we could do somethin' like that." He closed his eyes with a child's
+determination to sleep, and by now a soldier's ability to do so when the
+opportunity offered.
+
+Drew watched the river. The dusk was night now with the speed of the
+season. And the crisp of autumn hung over the water. This was the
+twenty-ninth of October; he counted out the dates. How long they could
+hold their trap they didn't know, but at least long enough to wrest from
+the enemy some of the supplies they needed far worse than Sherman's men
+did.
+
+General Buford had let four transports past their masked batteries today
+because they had carried only soldiers. But sooner or later a loaded
+ship was going to come up. And when that did--Drew's hand assured him
+that the General's red handkerchief was still inside against his ribs
+where he had put it for safekeeping.
+
+In the early morning Drew slipped down to the river's edge behind a
+screen of willow to dip the cold water over his head and shoulders--an
+effective way to clear the head and banish the last trace of sleep.
+
+The sun was up and it must have been shortly before eight when they
+sighted her, a Union transport riding low in the water, towing two
+barges. A quick inspection through the binoculars he had borrowed from
+Wilkins told Drew that this was what the General wanted. He passed the
+signal to Boyd.
+
+"_Mazeppa_," he read the name aloud as the ship wallowed by their post.
+She was passing the lower battery now, and there was no sign of any
+gunboat escort. But when their quarry was well in the stretch between
+the two lower batteries, they opened fire on her, accurately enough to
+send every shell through the ship. The pilot headed her for the opposite
+shore, slammed the prow into the bank, and a stream of crew and men
+leaped over at a dead run to hunt shelter in the woods beyond.
+
+Men were already down on the Confederate-held side of the river, trying
+to knock together a raft on which to reach their prize. When that broke
+apart Drew and Boyd saw one man seize upon a piece of the wreckage and
+kick his way vigorously into the current heading for the stern of the
+grounded steamer. He came back in the _Mazeppa's_ yawl with a line, and
+she was warped back into the hands of the waiting raiders.
+
+There was a wave of gray pouring into the ship, returning with bales,
+boxes, bundles. Then Drew, who had snatched peeps at the activity
+between searching the upper waters for trouble, saw the gunboats
+coming--three of them. Again Boyd signaled, but the naval craft made
+better speed than the laden transport and they were already in position
+to lob shells among the men unloading the supply ships, though the
+batteries on the shore finally drove them off.
+
+In the end they fired the prize, but she was emptied of her rich cargo.
+Shoes, blankets, clothing--you didn't care whether breeches and coats
+were gray or blue when they replaced rags--food.
+
+Kirby came to their sentry post, his arms full, a beatific smile on his
+face.
+
+"What'll you have, amigos--pickles, pears, Yankee crackers, long
+sweetenin'--" He spread out a variety of such stores as they had almost
+forgotten existed. "You know, seein' some of the prices on this heah
+sutlers' stuff, I'm thinkin' somebody's sure gittin' rich on this war.
+It ain't nobody I know, though."
+
+They kept their trap as it was through the rest of the day and the
+following night without any more luck. When the next fish swam into the
+net it approached from the other side and not past the scout post. The
+steamer _Anna_ progressed from Johnsonville, ran the gantlet of the
+batteries, and in spite of hard shelling, was not hit in any vital spot,
+escaping beyond. But when the transport _Venus_, towing two barges and
+convoyed by the gunboat _Undine_, tried to duplicate that feat they were
+caught by the accurate fire of the masked guns. Trying to turn and steam
+back the way they had come, they were pinned down. And while they were
+held there, another steamer entered the upper end of the trap and was
+disabled. Guns moved by sweat, force, will and hand-power, were wrestled
+around the banks to attend to the _Undine_. And after a brisk duel her
+officers and crew abandoned her.
+
+"We got us a navy," Kirby announced when he brought their order to
+leave the picket post. "The Yankees sure are kind, presentin' us with a
+couple of ships jus' outta the goodness of their hearts."
+
+The _Undine_ and the _Venus_, manned by volunteers, did steam with the
+caution of novice sailors upriver when on the first of November troops
+and artillery started to Johnsonville.
+
+"Hi!" One of the new Horse Marines waved to the small party of scouts,
+weaving in and out to gain their position at the head of the column.
+"Want to leave them feed sacks for us to carry?"
+
+Kirby put a protecting hand over his saddle burden of extra and choice
+rations.
+
+"This heah grub ain't gonna be risked out on no water," he called back.
+"Nor blown up by no gunboat neither."
+
+Those fears were realized, if not until two days later, when the scouts
+were too far ahead to witness the defeat of Forrest's river flotilla.
+The _Undine_, outfought by two Yankee gunboats, was beached and set
+afire. The same fate struck the _Venus_ a day afterward. But by that
+time the raiders had reached the bank of the river opposite Johnsonville
+and were making ready to destroy the supply depot there.
+
+Drew, Kirby, and Wilkins, with Boyd to ride courier, had already
+explored the bank and tried to estimate the extent of the wealth lying
+in the open, across the river.
+
+"Too bad we jus' can't sorta cut a few head outta that theah herd,"
+Kirby said wistfully. "Heah we are so poor our shadows got holes in 'em,
+an' lookit all that jus' lyin' theah waitin' for somebody to lay a hot
+iron on its hide--"
+
+"More likely to lay a hot iron on your hide!" countered Drew. But he
+could not deny that the river landing with its thickly clustered
+transports, gunboats and barges, the acres of shoreline covered with
+every kind of army store, was a big temptation to try something
+reckless.
+
+They had illustrious company during their prowling that afternoon.
+Forrest himself and Captain Morton, that very young and very talented
+artillery commander, were making a reconnaissance before placing the
+batteries in readiness. And during the night those guns were moved into
+position. At midafternoon the next day the reduction of Johnsonville
+began.
+
+Smoke, then flame, tore holes in those piles of goods. Warehouses
+blazed. By nightfall for a mile upriver and down they faced a solid
+sheet of fire, and they smelled the tantalizing odor of burning bacon,
+coffee, sugar, and saw blue rivers of blazing liquid running free.
+
+"I still say it's a mighty shame, all that goin' to waste," commented
+Kirby sadly.
+
+"Well, anyway it ain't goin' into the bellies of Sherman's men," Drew
+replied.
+
+The Confederate force was already starting withdrawal, battery by
+battery, as the wasteland of the fire lighted them on their way. And now
+the Yankee gunboats were burning with explosions of shells, fired by
+their own crews lest they fall into Rebel hands. It was a wild scene,
+giving the command plenty of light by which to fall back into the
+country they still dominated. The reduction of the depot was a complete
+success.
+
+Scouts stayed with the rear guard this time, so it was that Drew saw
+again those two who had so carefully picked the gun stands only
+twenty-four hours before. General Forrest and his battery commander came
+down once more to survey the desolation those guns had left as a
+smoking, stinking scar.
+
+Drew heard the slow, reflective words the General spoke:
+
+"John, if you were given enough guns, and I had me enough men, we could
+whip old Sherm clean off the face of the earth!"
+
+And then the scout caught Kirby's whisper of assent to that. "The old
+man ain't foolin'; he could jus' do it!"
+
+"Maybe he could," Drew agreed. He wished fiercely that Morton did have
+his guns and Forrest all the men who had been wasted, who had melted
+away from his ranks--or were buried. A man had to have tools before he
+could build, but their tools were getting mighty few, mighty old,
+and.... He tried to close his mind to that line of thought. They were on
+the move again, and Forrest had certainly proven here that though
+Atlanta might be gone, there was still an effective Confederate Army in
+the field, ready and able to twist the tail of any Yankee!
+
+
+
+
+11
+
+_The Road to Nashville_
+
+
+Sleet drove at the earth with an oblique, knife-edged whip. The
+half-ice, half-rain struck under water-logged hat brims, found the neck
+opening where the body covering, improvised from a square of
+appropriated Yankee oilcloth, lay about the shoulders.
+
+"I'm thinkin' we sure have struck a stream lengthwise." Kirby's Tejano
+crowded up beside Hannibal. "Can't otherwise be so many bog holes in any
+stretch of country. An' if we ever do come across those dang-blasted
+ordnance wagons, we won't know 'em from a side of 'dobe anyway."
+
+They had reined in on the edge of a mud hole in which men sweated--in
+spite of the sleet which plastered thin clothing to their gaunt
+bodies--swore, and put dogged endurance to the test as they labored with
+drag ropes and behind wheels encrusted with pendulous pounds of mud, to
+propel a supply wagon out of the bog into which it had sunk when the
+frozen crust of the rutted road had broken apart. The Army of the
+Tennessee, now fighting storms, winter rains, snow and hail, was also
+fighting men as valiantly, engaged in General Hood's great gamble of an
+all-out attack on Nashville. They had a hope--and a slim chance--to
+sweep through the Union lines back up into Tennessee and Kentucky, and
+perhaps to wall off Sherman in the south and repair the loss of Atlanta.
+
+Hannibal brayed, shifting his weary feet in the churned-up muck of the
+field edge. The ground, covered with a scum of ice at night, was a trap
+for animals as well as vehicles. Breaking through that glassy surface to
+the glutinous stuff beneath, they suffered cuts deep enough to draw
+blood above hoof level.
+
+Drew called to the men laboring at the stalled wagon.
+
+"Ordnance? Buford's division?"
+
+He didn't really expect any sort of a promising answer. This was worse
+than trying to hunt a needle in a stack of hay, this tracing--through
+the fast darkening night--the lost ordnance wagons, caught somewhere in
+or behind the infantry train. But ahead, where Forrest's cavalry was
+thrusting into the Union lines at Spring Hill, men were going into
+battle with three rounds or less to feed their carbines and rifles.
+Somehow the horse soldiers had pushed into a hot, full-sized fight and
+the scouts had to locate those lost wagons and get them up to the front
+lines.
+
+A living figure of mud spat out a mouthful of that viscous substance in
+order to answer.
+
+"This heah ain't no ordnance--not from Buford's neither! Put your backs
+into it now, yo' wagon-dogs! Git to it an' push!"
+
+Under that roar the excavation squad went into straining action. Oxen,
+their eyes bulbous in their skulls from effort, set brute energy against
+yokes along with the men. The mud eventually gave grip, and the wagon
+moved.
+
+Drew rode on, the two half-seen shapes which were Boyd and Kirby in his
+wake. A dripping branch flicked bits of ice into his face. The dusk was
+a thickening murk, and with the coming of the November dark, their
+already pitiful chance of locating the wagons dwindled fast.
+
+There was a distant crackle of carbine and rifle fire. The struggle must
+still be in progress back there. At least the stragglers about them were
+still moving up. No retreat from Spring Hill, unless the Yankees were
+making that. All Drew's party could do was to continue on down the road,
+asking their question at each wagon, stalled in the mud or traveling at
+a snail's pace.
+
+"D'you see?" Boyd cried out. "Those men were barefoot!" Involuntarily he
+swung one of his own booted feet out of the stirrup as if to assure
+himself that he still had adequate covering for his cold toes.
+
+"It ain't the first time in this heah war," Kirby remarked. "They'll
+ketch 'em a Yankee. The blue bellies, they're mighty obligin' 'bout
+wearin' good shoes an' such, an' lettin' themselves be roped with all
+their plunder on. Some o' 'em, who I had the pleasure of surveyin'
+through Sarge's glasses this mornin', have overcoats--good warm ones.
+Now that's what'd pleasure a poor cold Texas boy, makin' him forgit his
+troubles. You keep your eyes sighted for one of them theah overcoats,
+Boyd. I'll be right beholden to you for it."
+
+Hannibal brayed again and switched his rope tail. His usual stolid
+temperament showed signs of wear.
+
+"Airin' th' lungs that way sounds like a critter gittin' set to make war
+medicine. A hardtail don't need no hardware but his hoofs to make a man
+regret knowin' him familiar-like--"
+
+Drew had reached another wagon.
+
+"Ordnance? Buford's?" He repeated the well-worn question without hope.
+
+"Yeah, what about it?"
+
+For a moment the scout thought he had not heard that right. But Kirby's
+crow of delight assured him that he had been answered in the
+affirmative.
+
+"What about it?" Boyd echoed indignantly. "We've been huntin' you for
+hours. General Buford wants...."
+
+The man who had answered Drew was vague in the dusk, to be seen only in
+the limited light of the lantern on the driver's seat. But they did not
+miss the pugnacious set of knuckles on hips, nor the truculence which
+overrode the weariness in his voice.
+
+"Th' General can want him a lotta things in this heah world, sonny. What
+the Good Lord an' this heah mud lets him have is somethin' else again.
+We've been pushin' these heah dang-blasted-to-Richmond wagons along,
+mostly with our bare hands. Does he want 'em any faster, he can jus'
+send us back thirty or forty fresh teams, along with good weather--an'
+we'll be right up wheah he wants us in no time--"
+
+"The boys are out of ammunition," Drew said quietly. "And they are
+tryin' to dig out the Yankees."
+
+"You ain't tellin' me nothin', soldier, that I don't know or ain't
+already heard." The momentary flash of anger had drained out of the
+other's voice; there was just pure fatigue weighting the tongue now.
+"We're comin', jus' as fast as we can--"
+
+"You pull on about a quarter mile and there's a turnout; that way you'll
+make better time," Drew suggested. "We'll show you where."
+
+"All right. We're comin'."
+
+In the end they all pitched to, lending the pulling strength of their
+mounts, and the power of their own shoulders when the occasion demanded.
+Somehow they got on through the dark and the cold and the mud. And close
+to dawn they reached their goal.
+
+But that same dark night had lost the Confederate Army their chance of
+victory. The Union command had not been safely bottled up at Spring
+Hill. Through the night hours Schofield's army had marched along the
+turnpike, within gunshot of the gray troops, close enough for Hood's
+pickets to hear the talk of the retreating men. Now they must be pursued
+toward Franklin. The Army of the Tennessee was herding the Yankees right
+enough, but with a kind of desperation which men in the ranks could
+sense.
+
+Buford's division held the Confederate right wing. Drew, acting as
+courier for the Kentucky general, saw Forrest--with his tough,
+undefeated, and undefeatable escort--riding ahead.
+
+They had Wilson's Cavalry drawn up to meet them. But they had handled
+Wilson before, briskly and brutally. This was the old game they knew
+well. Drew saw the glitter of sabers along the Union ranks and smiled
+grimly. When were the Yankees going to learn that a saber was good for
+the toasting of bacon and such but not much use in the fight? Give him
+two Colts and a carbine every time! There was a fancy dodge he had seen
+some of the Texans use; they strung extra revolver cylinders to the
+saddle horn and snapped them in for reloading. It was risky but sure was
+fast.
+
+"They've got Springfields." He heard Kirby's satisfied comment.
+
+"I'm goin' to get me one of those," Boyd began, but Drew rounded on him
+swiftly.
+
+"No, you ain't! They may look good, but they ain't much. You can't
+reload 'em in the saddle with your horse movin', and all they're good
+for in a mixup is a fancy sort of club."
+
+The Confederate infantry were moving up toward the Union breastworks,
+part of which was a formidable stone wall. And now came the orders for
+their own section to press in. They pushed, hard and heavy, while swirls
+of blue cavalry fought, broke, re-formed to meet their advance, and
+broke again. They routed out pockets of blue infantry, sending some
+pelting back toward the Harpeth.
+
+A wave of retreating Yankees crossed the shallow river. Forrest's men
+dismounted to fight and took the stream on foot, the icy water splashing
+high. It was wild and tough, the slam of man meeting man. Drew wrested a
+guidon from the hold of a blue-coated trooper as Hannibal smashed into
+the other's mount with bared teeth and pawing hoofs. Waving the trophy
+over his head and yelling, he pounded on at a knot of determined
+infantry, aware that he was leading others from Buford's still-mounted
+headquarter's company, and that they were going to ride right over the
+Yankee soldiers. Men threw away muskets and rifles, raised empty hands,
+scattered in frantic leaps from that charge.
+
+Then they were rounding up their blue-coated prisoners and Drew, the
+pole of the captured guidon braced in the crook of his elbow as he
+reloaded his revolver, realized that the shadows were thickening, that
+the day was almost gone.
+
+"Rennie!" Still holding the guidon, Drew obeyed the beckoning hand of
+one of the General's aides. He put Hannibal to a rocking gallop to come
+up with the officer.
+
+"Withdrawin'--behind the river. Pass the word to gather in!"
+
+Drew cantered back to wave in Kirby, Boyd, and the others who had made
+that charge with him. It was retreat again, but they did not know then
+that Franklin had cost them Hood's big gamble. Forty-five hundred men
+swept out of the gray forces--killed, wounded, missing, prisoners. Five
+irreplaceable generals were dead; six more, wounded or captured. The
+Army of the Tennessee was slashed, badly torn ... but it was not yet
+destroyed.
+
+That night the cavalry was on the march, driven by Forrest's tireless
+energy. They hit skirmishers at a garrisoned crossroads, using Morton's
+field batteries to cut them a free path. And through the bitter days of
+early December they continued to show their teeth to some purpose.
+
+Blockhouses along the railroads and along the Cumberland were taken,
+with Murfreesboro their goal. Life was a constant alert, a plugging away
+of weary men, worn-out horses, bogged-down wagons, relieved now and then
+from the morass of exhaustion by sharp spurts of fighting, the
+satisfaction of rounding up a Yankee patrol or blockhouse squad, the
+taking of some supply train and finding in its wagons enough to give
+them all mouthfuls of food.
+
+Murfreesboro was strongly garrisoned by the enemy, too strong to be
+stormed. But on the morning of the seventh a Yankee detachment came out
+of that fort and Forrest's men deployed to entice them farther afield.
+Buford's command was lying in wait--let the blue bellies get far enough
+from the town and they could cut in between, perhaps even overrun the
+remaining garrison and accomplish what Forrest himself had believed
+impossible, the taking of Murfreesboro.
+
+They made part of that ... fought their way into the town. Drew pounded
+along in a compact squad led by Wilkins. He saw the sergeant sway in the
+saddle, dropping reins, his face a clay-gray which Drew recognized of
+old. Snatching at the now trailing rein, Drew jerked the other's mount
+out of the main push.
+
+The sergeant's head turned slowly; his mouth looked almost square as he
+fought to say something. Then he slumped, tumbling from the saddle into
+the embrace of an ornamental bush as his horse clattered along the
+sidewalk. Drew knew he was already dead.
+
+Buford's men went into Murfreesboro right enough, well into its heart.
+But they could not hold the town. Only that thrust was deep and well
+timed; it saved the whole command. For, though they did not know it yet,
+on the pike the infantry had broken. For the first time Forrest had seen
+men under his orders run from the enemy in panic-stricken terror. Only
+the cavalry had saved them from a wholesale rout.
+
+Drew trudged over the stubble of a field, leading Hannibal and Wilkins'
+mount. There had been no way of bringing the sergeant's body out of
+town, and Drew had reported the death to Lieutenant Traggart, who
+officered the scouts. He felt numb as he headed for the spark of fire
+which marked their temporary camp, numb not only with cold and hunger,
+but with all the days of cold, hunger, fighting, and marching which lay
+behind. It seemed to him that this war had gone on forever, and he found
+it very hard to remember when he had slept soundly enough not to arouse
+to a quick call, when he had dared to ride across a field or down a
+road without watching every bit of cover, every point on the landscape
+which could mask an enemy position or serve the same purpose for the
+command behind him.
+
+As he came up to the fire he thought that even the flames looked
+cold--stunted somehow--not because there had not been enough wood to
+feed them, but because the fire itself was old and tired. Blinking at
+the flames, he stood still, unaware of the fact that he was swaying on
+feet planted a little apart. He could not move, not of his own volition.
+
+Someone coughed in the shadow fringe beyond the light of those tired
+flames. It was a short hard cough, the kind which hurt Drew's ears as
+much as its tearing must have hurt the throat which harbored it. He
+turned his head a fraction to see the bundle of blankets housing the
+cougher. Then the reins of mule and horse were twisted from his stiff
+fingers, and Kirby's drawl broke through the coughing.
+
+"You, Larange, take 'em back to the picket line, will you?"
+
+The Texan's hands closed about Drew's upper arms just below the arch of
+his shoulders, steered him on, and then pressed him down into the
+limited range of the fire's heat. From somewhere a tin plate
+materialized, and was in Drew's hold. He regarded its contents with eyes
+which had trouble focusing.
+
+A thick liquid curled stickily back and forth across the surface of the
+plate as he strove to hold it level with trembling hands. Into the
+middle of that lake Kirby dropped white squares of Yankee crackers, and
+the pungent smell of molasses reached Drew's nostrils, making his mouth
+water.
+
+Snatching at the crackers, he crammed his mouth with a dripping square
+coated with molasses. As he began to chew he knew that nothing before
+that moment had ever tasted so good, been so much an answer to all the
+disasters of the day. The world shrank; it was now the size of a
+battered tin plate smeared with molasses and the crumbs of stale
+crackers.
+
+Drew downed the mass avidly. Kirby was beside him again, a steaming tin
+cup ready.
+
+"This ain't nothin' but hotted water. But maybe it can make you think
+you're drinkin' somethin' more interestin'."
+
+With the tin cup in his hands, Drew discovered he could pay better
+attention to his surroundings. He glanced around the small circle of men
+who messed together. There was Larange, coming back from the horse
+lines, Webb, the Tennesseean from the mountains, Croff and Weatherby,
+Cherokees of the Indian Nations, and Kirby, of course. But--Drew was
+searching beyond the Texan for the other who should be there.
+
+Absently he sipped the hot water, almost afraid to ask a question. Then,
+just because of his inner fears, he forced out the words: "Where's
+Boyd?"
+
+When Kirby did not answer, Drew's head lifted. He put down his cup and
+caught the Texan's arm.
+
+"He made it out of town; I know that. But where _is_ he?"
+
+"Ovah theah." Kirby nodded at the blanket-wrapped figure in the shadows.
+"Seems like he ain't feelin' too well...."
+
+Drew wasted no time in getting to his feet. On his hands and knees, he
+scrambled across the space separating him from the roll of blankets. His
+questing hand smoothed across a ragged bullet tear in the top one,
+recognizing it to be Kirby's by that mark. The pale oval of Boyd's face
+turned toward him.
+
+"What's the matter, boy?"
+
+Drew could hear the other's harsh, fast breathing just as he had when
+they had found the injured boy at Harrisburg. Drew's fingers touched a
+burning-hot cheek.
+
+"Got ... me ... sniffles." Boyd's mumble ended in another bout of those
+sharp coughs. "'Member--sniffles? Hot soup an' bricks in bed, an' onion
+cloth for the throat...." He repeated all the Oak Hill remedies for a
+severe cold.
+
+Bricks to warm the bed, hot soup of Mam Gusta's expert concocting, a
+thick onion poultice to ease the pain in throat and chest and draw out
+inflammation: every one of those were as far beyond reach now as Oak
+Hill itself! For a moment Drew was gripped with a panic born of utter
+frustration.
+
+"Shelly? You there, Shelly?" Boyd's hoarse voice came from the dark.
+"I'm sure thirsty, Shelly!"
+
+Drew turned his head. Kirby had been behind him, but now the Texan was
+back to the fire, ladling more hot water out of the pot. When he
+returned, Weatherby was with him. Drew slipped his arm under that
+restlessly turning head to support the boy while the Texan held the tin
+cup to Boyd's lips. They got a few mouthfuls into him before he turned
+his head away with a ghost of some of his old petulance.
+
+"I'm hungry, Shelly. Tell Mam Gusta...."
+
+Weatherby squatted down on the other side of Boyd's limp body and put
+his hand to the boy's forehead.
+
+"Fever."
+
+"Yes." Drew knew that much.
+
+"There's a farmhouse two miles that way." Weatherby nodded to the south.
+"Maybe nobody there, but it will be cover--"
+
+"You can find it?" Drew demanded.
+
+The Cherokee scout answered quickly. "Yes. You tell the lieutenant, and
+we'll go there."
+
+Kirby's hand rested on Drew's shoulder for a moment. "I'll track down
+Traggart. You and Weatherby here get the kid into that cover as quick as
+you can. This ain't no weather for an hombre with a cough to be out
+sackin' in the bush."
+
+Kirby was back again before they had rigged a blanket stretcher between
+two horses.
+
+"The lieutenant says to stay with th' kid till mornin'. He'll send the
+doc along as soon as he can find him. Trouble is, we may have to ride on
+tomorrow...."
+
+But Drew put that worry out of his mind. No use thinking about tomorrow;
+the present moment was the most important. With Weatherby as their
+guide, they started off at a walk, heading into the night across
+ice-rimmed fields while the rising wind brought frost to bite in the air
+they pulled into their lungs.
+
+There was no light showing in the black bulk of the house to which
+Weatherby steered them. It was small, hardly better than a cabin, but
+the door swung open as Kirby knocked on it; and they could smell the
+cold, stale odor of a deserted and none-too-clean dwelling. But it was
+shelter, and exploring in the dark, Kirby announced that there was
+firewood piled beside the hearth.
+
+By the light of the blaze Weatherby brought alive they found an old
+bedstead backed against the wall, a tangle of filthy quilts cascading
+from it. One look at them assured Drew that Boyd would be far better
+left in his blankets on the floor itself.
+
+The Cherokee scout prowled the room, looking into the rickety wall
+cupboards, venturing through another door into a second smaller room,
+really a lean-to, and then going up the ladder into a loft.
+
+"They left in a hurry, whoever lived here," he reported. "They left
+this--" He held out a dried, shrunken piece of shriveled salt beef.
+
+"We can boil it," Kirby suggested. "Make a kinda broth; it might help
+the kid. Any sign of a pot--?"
+
+There was a pot, encrusted with corn-meal remains. Weatherby took it
+outside and returned, having scrubbed its interior as clean as possible,
+and filling it with a cup or so of water. "There's a well out there."
+
+Boyd was asleep, or at least Drew hoped it was sleep. The boy's face was
+flushed, his breathing fast and uneven. But he hadn't coughed for some
+time, and Drew began to hope. If he could have a quiet day or two here,
+he might be all right. Or else the surgeon could send him along on one
+of the wagons for the sick and wounded--the wagons already on the move
+south. If the doctor would certify that Boyd was ill....
+
+Weatherby was busily shredding the wood-hard beef into the pot of water.
+His busy fingers stopped; his dark eyes were now on the outer door. Drew
+stiffened. Kirby's fingers closed about the butt of a Colt.
+
+"What--" Drew asked in the faintest of whispers.
+
+The Cherokee dropped the remainder of the uncut beef into the pot. Knife
+in hand, he moved with a panther's fluid grace to the begrimed window
+half-covered with a dusty rag.
+
+
+
+
+12
+
+_Guerrillas_
+
+
+Boyd stirred. "Shelly?" His call sounded loud in the now silent room.
+Drew set his hand across the boy's mouth, dividing his attention between
+Boyd and Weatherby. They had no way of putting out the fire, whose light
+might be providing a beacon through the dark. The Indian moved back a
+little from the window.
+
+"Riders ... coming down the lane." His whisper was a thread.
+
+Now Drew could hear, too, the ring of hoofs on the iron-hard surface of
+the ground. A horse nickered--one of those which had brought Boyd's
+stretcher, or perhaps one of the newcomers.
+
+Kirby whipped about the door and was now lost in the shadows of the next
+room. Weatherby looked to Drew, then to the loft ladder against the far
+wall. In answer to that unspoken question, Drew nodded.
+
+As the Cherokee swung up into the hiding place, Drew eased one of his
+Colts out of the holster, pushing it under the folds of the blankets
+around Boyd. Then he swung the pot, with its burden of beef and water,
+out over the fire--to hang on its chain to boil.
+
+"Shelly?" Boyd asked again. His eyes were open, too bright, and he
+stared about him, plainly puzzled. Then he looked up at his nurse, and
+his forehead wrinkled with effort. "Drew?"
+
+But Drew was listening to those oncoming hoofs. The strangers would see
+two horses. If they came in, they would find two men--it was as simple
+as that. And if they wore the wrong color uniforms, Weatherby above, and
+Kirby in the lean-to, would be ready and waiting for trouble. Drew laid
+fresh wood on the fire. Since he could not hide, he felt he'd better get
+as much light as possible in case of future trouble. The last they had
+heard the Yankees were concentrating at Murfreesboro and Nashville. But
+scouts would be out, dogging the flanks of the Confederate forces, just
+as he had done the opposite during the past few days.
+
+There was silence now in the lane, a suspicious quiet. Drew deduced that
+the riders had dismounted and might be closing in about the cabin. A
+prickle of chill climbed his spine. He touched the lump under the
+blanket which was his own insurance.
+
+The door burst open, sent banging inward by a booted foot. And at the
+same time a small pane in an opposite window shattered, the barrel of a
+rifle thrust in four inches, covering him. Drew remained where he was,
+his left arm thrown protectingly across Boyd.
+
+"Now ain't this somethin'?" The man who had booted in the door was
+grinning down at the two on the hearth. He wore a blue coat right
+enough, but it was slick with old grease across the chest, stained on
+one shoulder, and his breeches were linsey-woolsey, his boots old and
+scuffed. And his bush of unkempt hair was covered with a battered hat
+topping a woolen scarf wound about ears and neck.
+
+The chill on Drew's spine was a band of ice. This was no
+Union trooper. The scout could identify a far worse threat
+now--bushwhacker ... guerrilla, one of the jackals who hung on the
+fringe of both armies, looting, killing, and changing sides when it
+suited their purposes. Such a man was a murderer who would kill another
+for a pair of boots, a whole shirt, or the mere whim of the moment.
+
+"Come in, Simmy, we's got us a pair o' Rebs," the man bawled over his
+shoulder, and then turned to Drew. "Don't you go gittin' no ideas,
+sonny. Jas' thar, he's got a bead right on yuh, an' Jas' he's mighty
+good with that rifle gun. Now, you jus' pull out that Colt o' yourn an'
+toss it here. Make it fast, too, boy. I'm a mighty unpatient man--"
+
+Drew pulled free the Colt still in its holster, tossing it across the
+floor so that it spun against the fellow's boot. The big hairy hand
+scooped it up easily and tucked the weapon barrel down in his belt.
+
+A second man, smaller, with a thin face which had an odd lopsided look,
+squeezed through the door and sidled along the wall of the room, his
+rifle pointed straight at Drew's head. He spat a blotch of tobacco juice
+on the hearth, spattering the edge of the top blanket which covered
+Boyd.
+
+"What's th' matter wi' him?" he demanded.
+
+"He's sick," Drew returned. "You Union?"
+
+The big man grinned. "Shore, sonny, shore. We is Union ... scouts ...
+Union scouts." He repeated that as if pleased by the sound. "An' you is
+Rebs, which makes you our prisoners. So he's sick, eh? What's the
+matter?"
+
+"I don't know." Drew's fingers were only inches away from the Colt under
+the blanket. But he could dare no such move with that rifle covering him
+from the window.
+
+"Jas', any sign out thar?" the big man called.
+
+"Petey ain't seen any, jus' two horses." The words came from behind the
+still ready rifle.
+
+"Wai, tell him to look round some more. An' you kin come in, Jas'. These
+here Rebs ain't gonna be no trouble--is you, sonny?"
+
+Drew shook his head. Luck appeared to be on his side. Once Jas' was in
+here, they could hope to turn tables on the three of them, with
+Weatherby and Kirby taking them by surprise.
+
+Jas' appeared in the doorway a moment or so later. He was younger than
+his two companions, younger and more tidy. His coat was also blue, and
+he wore a forage cap pulled down over hair very fair in the firelight.
+There was a fluff of young beard on his chin, and he carried himself
+with the stance of a drilled man. Deserter, thought Drew.
+
+The newcomer surveyed Drew and Boyd expressionlessly, his eyes oddly
+shallow, and tramped past them to hold his hands to the blaze on the
+hearth, keeping his rifle between his knees. Then he reached up with his
+weapon, hooked the barrel in the chain supporting the pot, and pulled
+that to him, sniffing at the now bubbling contents.
+
+"You, Reb"--the big man towered over Drew--"git this friend o' yourn an'
+drag him over thar. Us wants to git warm."
+
+"Drew?" Boyd looked up questioningly, his feverish gaze passing on to
+the guerrilla. "Where's Shelly?"
+
+The big man's grin faded. His big boot came out, caught Drew's leg in a
+vicious prod.
+
+"Who's this here Shelly? Whar at is he?"
+
+"Shelly was his brother," Drew said, nodding at Boyd. "He's dead."
+
+"Dead, eh? How come sonny boy here's askin' for him then?" He leaned
+over them, and his fingers grabbed and twisted at the front of Drew's
+threadbare shell jacket. "I ask yuh, Reb, whar at is this heah Shelly?"
+He seemed only to flick his wrist, but the strength behind that move
+whirled Drew away from Boyd, brought him part way to his feet, and
+slammed him against the wall--where the big man held him pinned with
+small expenditure of effort.
+
+"Shelly's dead." Somehow Drew kept his voice even. Kirby ... Weatherby
+... They were there. "Boyd's out of his head with fever."
+
+Jas' let the pot swing back over the fire, moving toward Boyd to lean
+over and stare at the boy's flushed face.
+
+"Might be so," Jas' remarked. "Two horses, two men. Neither one much to
+bother about."
+
+"Better be so!" The big man held Drew tight to the wall and cuffed him
+with his other hand. Dazedly, his head ringing, Drew slipped to the
+floor as the other released him. "Now"--that boot prodded Drew
+again--"git your friend over thar, Reb."
+
+Drew stumbled back and went on his knees beside Boyd. His fingers groped
+under the edge of the blanket, closing on the Colt. Jas' was inspecting
+the pot again, and Simmy had moved forward to share the warmth of the
+hearth. With the revolver still in his hand, though concealed by the
+blanket, Drew pulled Boyd away from the fire as best he could, aware
+the big man was watching closely.
+
+Jas' reached up to the crude mantel shelf, brought down a wooden spoon,
+and wiped it on a handkerchief he pulled from an inner pocket.
+
+"This ain't fancy grub," he observed to the room at large, "but it's
+better than nothin'. You want Simmy to bring in Petey, Hatch?"
+
+"Th' cap'n's comin'." Simmy's remark was made in a tone of objection.
+
+Hatch swung his head around to eye the smaller man.
+
+"You bring Petey in!" he ordered. "Now!" he added.
+
+For a second or two it appeared that Simmy might rebel, but Hatch stared
+him down. Jas' scooped out a spoonful of the pot's contents and blew
+over it.
+
+"You fixin' on havin' a showdown with the captain, Hatch?" he asked.
+
+The big man laughed. "I has me a showdown with anyone what gits too big
+for his breeches, Jas'. You, Reb--" he indicated Drew, with a thumb
+poking through a ragged glove--"supposin' you jus' show us what you got
+in them pockets o' yourn."
+
+Jas' laughed. "Don't figure to find anything worth takin' on a Reb do
+you, Hatch? Most of 'em are poorer'n dirt."
+
+"Now that's whar you figger wrong, Jas'." Hatch shook his head as might
+one deploring the stupidity of the young. "Lotsa them little Reb boys
+has got somethin' salted 'way, a nice watch maybe, or a ring or such.
+Them what comes from th' big houses kinda hold on to things from home.
+What you got, Reb?"
+
+"A gun--in your back!"
+
+Jas' spun in a half crouch, his rifle coming up. There was the explosion
+of a shot, making a deafening clap of thunder in the room. The younger
+bushwhacker cried out. His rifle lay on the floor, and he was holding a
+bloody hand. Kirby stood in the doorway, a Colt in each hand. And now
+Drew produced his own hidden weapon, centering it on Hatch.
+
+The door burst open for the second time as Simmy was propelled through
+it, his hands shoulder high, palm out, and empty. Weatherby came behind
+him, a gun belt slung over one shoulder, two extra revolvers thrust into
+his own belt.
+
+"They got Petey," Simmy gabbled. "Got him wi' a knife!" His forward rush
+brought him against the wall, and he made no move to turn around to face
+them. He could only plaster his body tight to that surface as if he
+longed to be able to ooze out into safety through one of its many
+cracks.
+
+"Shuck th' hardware!" Kirby ordered.
+
+Hatch's grin was gone. The fingers of his big hands were twitching, and
+the twist of his mouth was murderous.
+
+"Lissen--" the Texan's tone was frosty--"I've a finger what cramps on m'
+trigger when I git riled, an' I'm gittin' riled now. You loose off that
+theah fightin' iron, an' do it quick!"
+
+Hatch's hand went to his gun. He jerked it from the holster and slung it
+across the floor.
+
+"Now th' one you got holdin' up your belly ... an' your knife!"
+
+The Colt that Hatch had taken from Drew and a bowie with a long blade
+joined the armament already on the boards. Drew made a fast harvest of
+all the weapons.
+
+"Well, we sure got us some bounty hunter's bag," Kirby observed as he
+and Weatherby finished using the captives' own belts to pinion them.
+
+"There may be more comin'; they talked about some captain." Drew brought
+Boyd back to the warmth of the fire.
+
+Weatherby nodded. "I'll scout." He disappeared out the door.
+
+Jas' was rocking back and forth, holding on one knee the injured hand
+Kirby had roughly bandaged; his other arm was fastened behind him. There
+were tears of pain on his cheeks, but after his first outcry he had not
+uttered a sound. Hatch, on the other hand, had been so foul-mouthed that
+Kirby had torn off a length of the bed covering and gagged him.
+
+Simmy sat now with his back against the wall, watching their every move.
+Of the three, he seemed the likeliest to talk. Kirby appeared to share
+in Drew's thoughts on that subject, for now he bore down on the small
+man.
+
+"You expectin' some friends?" Compared to his tone of moments earlier,
+the Texan's voice was now mildly friendly. "We'd like to know, seein' as
+how we're thinkin' some hospitable thoughts 'bout entertainin' them
+proper."
+
+Simmy stared up at him, bewildered. Kirby shook his head, his expression
+one of a man dealing with a stubbornly stupid child.
+
+"Lissen, hombre, me--I'm from West Texas, an' that theah's Comanche
+country, leastwise it was Comanche country 'fore we Tejanos moved in.
+Now Comanches, they're an unfriendly people, 'bout the unfriendliest
+Injuns, 'cept 'Paches, a man can meet up with. An' they have them some
+neat little ways of makin' a man talk, or rather yell, his lungs out. It
+ain't too hard to learn them tricks, not for a bright boy like me, it
+ain't. You able to understand that?"
+
+Kirby did not scowl, he did not even touch the little man. But as one
+drawling word was joined to the next, Simmy held his body tighter
+against the wall, as if to escape by pushing.
+
+"I ain't done nothin'!" he cried.
+
+"That's what I said, little man. You ain't done nothin'. But you're
+goin' to do somethin'--talk!"
+
+Simmy's pale tongue swept across working lips. "What ... you
+want--wantta ... know?" he stuttered.
+
+"You expectin' to meet some friends heah?"
+
+"Th' rest o' the boys an' th' cap'n; they may be ketchin' up."
+
+"How many 'boys'?"
+
+Simmy's tongue tripped again. He swallowed. Drew thought he was trying
+to produce a crumb of defiance. Kirby reached out, selecting Hatch's
+bowie knife from the cache of captured weapons. He weighed it across the
+palm of his hand as if trying its balance and then, with deceptive ease,
+flipped it. The point thudded into the wall scant inches away from
+Simmy's right ear, and the little man's head bobbed down so that his
+nose hit one of his hunched-up knees.
+
+"How many 'boys'?" Kirby repeated.
+
+"Depends...."
+
+"On what?"
+
+"On how good th' raidin' is. After a fight thar's always some pickin's."
+
+Drew was suddenly sick. What Simmy hinted at was the vulture work among
+the dead and the wounded too enfeebled to protect themselves from being
+plundered. He saw Kirby's lips set into a thin line.
+
+"Kinda throw a wide rope, don't you, little man? How many 'boys'?"
+
+"Maybe five ... six...."
+
+"An' this heah cap'n?"
+
+"He tells us wheah thar's good pickin's." For a moment the man produced
+a spark of spite. "He's a Reb, like you----"
+
+"Have you used this place before?" Drew broke in. If this were either a
+regular or temporary rendezvous for this jackal pack, the quicker they
+were away, the better.
+
+"No, the cap'n said to meet here tonight."
+
+"I don't suppose he said _when_?" Kirby's question was answered by a
+shake of Simmy's unkempt head.
+
+Boyd suddenly moved in his cocoon of blankets, struggling to sit up, and
+Drew went to him.
+
+He was coughing again with a strangling fight for breath which was
+frightening to watch. Drew steadied him until the attack was over and he
+lay in the other's arms, gasping. The liquid in the pot on the fire was
+cooked by now. Perhaps if Boyd had some of that in him.... But dared
+they stay here?
+
+Kirby squatted back on his heels as Drew settled Boyd on his blankets
+and went to unhook the pot. Then the Texan supported the younger boy as
+Drew ladled spoonfuls of the improvised broth into his mouth.
+
+"Th' doc'll come," Kirby murmured. "Croff promised to guide him heah.
+But this gang business--"
+
+"I don't see how we can move him now...." Drew was feeding the broth
+between Boyd's lips, trying to ease the cough, his wits too dulled to
+tackle any problem beyond that.
+
+"Which means we gotta keep company from movin' in. If we could raise us
+a few of the boys now...." Kirby was speculative.
+
+"If you went back to camp, gave the alarm. Traggart doesn't want a gang
+like this runnin' loose around here. They say they're Union; maybe they
+do have some connection with the Yankees."
+
+"With a Reb cap'n throwin' in with 'em? Most of these polecats play both
+sides of the border when it'll git them anythin' they want. An' they
+could try an' pay their way with the Yankees by tellin' 'bout our
+movements heah."
+
+"Could you make it to camp, fast?"
+
+Kirby grunted. "Sure, easy as driftin' downriver on one of them theah
+steamers. But leavin' you heah with that mess of skunks is somethin'
+else."
+
+"Weatherby's out there. Anything or anyone gettin' by him would have to
+come in on wings."
+
+"An' wings don't come natural to this breed of critter! All right, I
+don't see how theah's much else we can do. We can't go pullin' the kid
+'round any more. I'll give Weatherby the high sign an' make it back as
+quick as I can. Let's see if these heah ropes is staked out tight."
+
+He made a careful inspection of their three captives' bonds, and Drew
+laid the assorted armament to hand. But Kirby hesitated by the door.
+
+"You keep your eyes peeled, amigo. Weatherby--he can pull that
+in-and-out game through the loft like he did before. But one man can't
+be all over the range at once."
+
+"I know." Drew studied the remnants of battered furniture about the
+room. He thought he could pull the bed frame across the outer door, and
+shove the table and bench in front of the door to the lean-to. And
+there was a section of wall right under the broken window which could
+not be seen by anyone outside. "I've some precautions in mind."
+
+"I'm ridin' then. See you." Kirby was gone with a wave of hand.
+
+Boyd was quiet again. The broth must have soothed him. Drew shifted the
+other's body to the floor on the spot of safety under the window. As he
+returned to gather up the arms he noted that Jas' was watching him.
+
+Some of the first shock of his wound had worn off so that the guerrilla
+was not only aware of his present difficulties but was eyeing Drew in a
+manner which suggested he had not accepted the change in their roles as
+final. Drew hesitated. He could tie back that wounded hand, too, but he
+was sure the other could not use it to any advantage, and Drew could not
+bring himself to cause the extra pain such a move would mean. Not that
+he had any illusions concerning the bushwhacker's care for him, had
+their situation been reversed.
+
+Simmy, once Kirby had gone, moved against the wall, holding up his head
+with a sigh of relief. He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. And
+when the scout did not pay any attention to him he spoke. "Wotcha gonna
+do wi' us, Reb?"
+
+Hatch's eyes, over the gag, were glaring evil; Jas' was watching the two
+Confederates with an intent measuring stare; but Simmy wilted a little
+when Drew looked at him directly.
+
+"You're prisoners of war. As Union scouts...."
+
+Simmy wriggled uncomfortably, and Drew continued the grilling.
+
+"You _are_ Union scouts?"
+
+"Shore! Shore! We's Union, ain't we, Jas'?" he appealed eagerly to his
+fellow.
+
+Jas' neither answered nor allowed his gaze to wander from Drew.
+
+"Then you'll get the usual treatment of a prisoner." Drew was short,
+trying to listen for any movement beyond the squalid room. Weatherby was
+out there, and Drew put a great deal of trust in the Cherokee's ability.
+But what if the "captain" and the remaining members of this outlaw gang
+arrived before Kirby returned with help? Seeing that Boyd appeared to be
+asleep, Drew once again inspected his weapons, checking the loading of
+revolvers and rifle.
+
+Jas's rifle was one of the new Spencers. The Yankees loaded those on
+Sunday and fired all week, or so the boys said. It was a fine piece, new
+and well cared for. He examined it carefully and then looked up to meet
+Jas's flat stare, knowing that the guerrilla's hate was the more bitter
+for seeing his prized weapon in the enemy's hands.
+
+The Spencer, Simmy's Enfield, old and not very well kept, five Colts
+beside his own, Hatch's bowie knife and another, almost as deadly
+looking, which had been found on Jas', equipped Drew with a regular
+arsenal. But it was not until he settled down that Drew knew he faced a
+far more deadly enemy--sleep. The fatigue he had been able to battle as
+long as he was on the move, hit him now with the force of a clubbed
+rifle. He knew he dared not even lean back against the wall or relax any
+of his vigilance, not so much over the prisoners and Boyd, as over
+himself.
+
+Somehow he held on, trying to move. The pile of wood by the hearth was
+diminishing steadily. He would soon have to let the fire die out. To
+venture out of the house in quest of more fuel was too risky. And
+always he was aware of Jas's tight regard. Simmy had fallen asleep, his
+thin, weasel face hidden as his head lolled forward on his chest.
+Hatch's eyes were also closed.
+
+Drew straightened with a start, conscious of having lost seconds--or
+moments--somewhere in a fog. He jerked aside, perhaps warned by his
+scout's sixth sense more than any real knowledge of danger. There was a
+searing flash beside his head, the bite of fire on his cheek. If he had
+not moved, he would have received that blazing brand straight between
+the eyes. Now he rolled, snapping out a shot.
+
+A man shouted hoarsely and Drew strove to avoid a kick, struggling to
+win to his feet, unable to tell just what was happening.
+
+
+
+
+13
+
+_Disaster_
+
+
+Simmy's animallike howling filled the room. Jas', his hand bleeding
+afresh, sopping through the bandage his captors had twisted about the
+wound, sprawled forward, clawing with those reddened fingers for the
+Spencer. While Hatch, eyes and upper portions of his hair-matted cheeks
+bulging over the gag, kicked out, striving to come at Drew with the
+frenzy of a man making a last desperate play.
+
+The brand Jas' had hurled was smoldering on Boyd's blankets. Drew sent
+it flying with the toe of his boot and made a quick movement to stamp
+out a small spurt of flame. Then he kicked it again, spinning the
+Spencer back against the wall.
+
+Simmy's cry died to a whimper. A wide stain spread over his nondescript
+coat just above the belt, and Drew knew that his first shot had found
+that target. But he was in charge of the situation once again. Both
+Hatch and Jas' had subsided, the one eyeing the threat of Drew's weapon,
+the other again nursing his hand, his face drawn into a grin of agony.
+
+The smell of burning cloth was a sour stench. Drew moved to beat out a
+new blaze in the bedcovers. He coughed in acrid smoke and felt the
+smart of the burn along his neck and jaw where the brand had hit him.
+Simmy rolled on the floor, bent double.
+
+"Drew!" Boyd was struggling free of his blankets, up on one elbow,
+staring about him as one who had wakened into a nightmare rather than
+having come out of such a dream.
+
+"It's all right...."
+
+But was it? Hatch had subsided. Jas' was quiet; there was nothing to
+fear from Simmy. Only that same sense which was part of any scout's
+equipment nagged at Drew, warning him that the crisis was not over.
+
+He went down on one knee beside Simmy, endeavoring to roll him over to
+examine his wound. The guerrilla's mouth was slackly open, his small,
+predator's eyes were oddly bewildered, as if he could not comprehend
+what had happened to him or why. As Drew fumbled with his clothing to
+lay bare the wound, Simmy twisted, his legs pulling up a little. Then
+his head rolled, and Drew sat back on his heels. There was no longer any
+need for aid.
+
+Boyd still rested on his elbow, listening. He could hear Hatch's thick
+breathing and Jas's, a crack of charred wood breaking on the hearth, a
+slashing against the broken window ... the storm had begun again. Only
+those were not the sounds they were listening for.
+
+Drew visited in turn each of the flimsy barricades he had erected after
+Kirby left. He had no way of telling time. How long had it been since
+the Texan left? It could not be too far from morning now, yet the sky
+outside the windows was still as black as night.
+
+"Drew!" Boyd pulled his other hand free, pointing to the ceiling over
+their heads.
+
+The loft! And the route Weatherby had made use of when he had gone up
+that ladder, dropped out of a window above, and returned with his
+prisoner through the front door. But if the Cherokee had come back to
+the cabin, surely the disturbance in the room below would have brought
+him down. Unless he was otherwise occupied.... How? And by whom?
+
+Drew went to the foot of the ladder, not looking up to show his
+suspicion, but only to listen. He was certain he heard a scraping sound.
+Was it someone making his way through a small window? No one who had
+been weeks in Weatherby's company could believe that the Indian would
+betray his movements in that manner.
+
+Drew left the ladder, collected the Spencer, and joined Boyd. The rest
+of the weapons lay at hand, and Drew sorted them out swiftly, piling
+them between Boyd and his own post. From here, as he had earlier
+planned, they had both doors, two windows, and the ladder to the loft
+under surveillance. The other window was over the level of their heads.
+As long as they kept below its sill, anyone shooting through it could
+not touch them.
+
+Boyd hitched his shoulders higher against the wall. He was still
+flushed, his eyes too bright, but he was certainly more himself than he
+had been any time since they had brought him here. Now he reached for
+one of the Colts, resting it on his body at chest level.
+
+"Who are they?" he whispered, glancing at the prisoners.
+
+"Guerrillas," Drew replied.
+
+"More company comin'?"
+
+"Might be. Anse went for the boys."
+
+But Boyd's chin lifted an inch or two, a slight gesture to indicate the
+ceiling again. He brought his other hand up, and using both, cocked the
+Colt, that click carrying with almost a shot's sharp twang through the
+room.
+
+Jas' was again staring at Drew, his lips a silent snarl. But the scout
+believed that as long as he was alert, weapons in hand, he had nothing
+more to fear from his prisoners. They had made their reckless gamble and
+had lost.
+
+The opening at the top of the ladder was a square of dark, hardly
+touched by the flickering light of the dying fire.
+
+"You theah...." The barking hail came from without, strident, startling.
+"We have you surrounded."
+
+It was the voice of an educated man with the regional softening of
+vowels. Simmy's cap'n? What then had happened to Weatherby? Boyd braced
+the barrel of his Colt on a bent knee, its sights centered on the front
+door. But Drew still watched the loft opening.
+
+"Last chance ... come out with your hands up!" The voice was very close
+now. And the unknown apparently knew at least part of the situation in
+the cabin. Which meant either very clever scouting, or that they had
+taken Weatherby. But Drew, knowing the habits of the guerrillas, dared
+not follow that last thought far. He tried to locate the man outside; he
+was in front all right, but surely not directly in line with the door.
+
+"Cap'n!" Jas' called, his gaze daring Drew to shoot. "There's only two
+of 'em, and one's sick."
+
+There was a flicker of movement in the trap opening. Drew fired, to be
+answered by a yelp of pain and surprise. Perhaps he had not entirely
+removed one of the attackers from the effective list, but the fellow
+would be more cautious from now on.
+
+There was only a short second between his shot and an answering
+fusillade from outside. The panes in the other windows shattered and
+Hatch, gurgling incoherently behind his gag, kicked to roll himself
+behind the flimsy protection of the bedstead.
+
+"You almost got one of your own men then!" Drew called. Feverishly he
+tried to think of a way to play for time. Weatherby might be dead, but
+Kirby could have reached the headquarters camp and already be well on
+his way back with reinforcements.
+
+Hatch's gurgling was louder. And now Jas' had transferred his attention
+to the broken windows and what might be beyond them. There was a
+creaking above. Drew tried to deduce from those sounds whether one man
+or two moved overhead. The fire was dying fast. Should he try to urge it
+into new life with the last of the wood, or would the dark be more to
+his benefit?
+
+Shots again, but not crashing through the windows now; these were
+outside. A man screamed shrilly. Then a horse cried in pain. Drew heard
+the pounding of hoofs, and in the loft a quick shuffling. More shots....
+
+Boyd laughed hysterically, and then coughed, until he bent over the Colt
+he still grasped, gasping. Drew steadied him against his shoulder,
+trying to picture for himself what was happening outside. It sounded
+very much as if Kirby's relief force had arrived and that the "cap'n"
+and his gang were in retreat.
+
+"Drew! Everythin' all right?" There was no mistaking Kirby's voice.
+
+He had brought not only four other scouts from the camp, but also
+Lieutenant Traggart and the doctor. And as the major portion of that
+relief force crowded into the room Drew leaned back against the wall,
+very glad to let other authority take over.
+
+"Guerrilla scum," was the lieutenant's verdict on their prisoners. "They
+say they're Union ... or ours, whichever works best at the time. There's
+another one dead out there, and he's wearing one of _our_ cavalry
+jackets!"
+
+"Officer's?" Drew wondered if they had picked off the "cap'n."
+
+"No, you thinkin' he was this renegade officer Kirby was talkin' about?
+I don't think this is the one. He's a pretty nasty-lookin' specimen,
+though. Four of 'em at least got away. We'll take these two into camp
+and see what they can tell us. The General will be interested. I'd say
+this one's a Yankee deserter." He studied Jas'.
+
+The young man in the blue jacket spat, and one of the scouts hooked his
+fingers in the other's collar, jerking him roughly to his feet.
+
+"Mount and start back with them!" Traggart ordered. "How's the boy,
+suh?"
+
+Boyd had wilted back into his blankets when the stimulation of the fight
+was gone. He was still conscious, but his coughing shook his whole body.
+
+"Lung fever, unless he gets the right care." The surgeon was going about
+his business with dispatch. "I hate to move him, but there's no sense in
+remaining here as a target for more of this trash." He glanced at Jas'
+and Hatch impersonally. "Lucky we brought the wagon. Tell Henderson to
+bring it up. We'll take him to the Letterworth house for now--"
+
+Reeling a little when he tried to walk, Drew found himself sharing the
+accommodation of the wagon with Boyd, a canvas slung across them to keep
+off the gusts of rain. He fell asleep as they bumped along, unable to
+fight off exhaustion any longer.
+
+Twenty-four hours later he was back on duty with the advance. Boyd was
+housed in such comfort as any could hope to find, and the cavalry was on
+the move. Buford's men were to picket along the Cumberland River. There
+was a new feel to the army. Drew sensed it as he rode with the small
+headquarters detachment. Empty saddles, too many of them, and the
+growing belief--evidenced in mutters passed from man to man--that they
+were engaged in a nearly hopeless bid.
+
+Franklin, which for Drew had been a wild gallop across some fields, a
+strip of cloth seized from the enemy to set beneath a guidon of their
+own, had been a major disaster for the Army of the Tennessee. Forrest's
+energy and drive kept the cavalry a sharp-edged weapon, still to be used
+with telling effect. But they all sensed the clouds gathering over their
+heads, not those laden with the eternal chill rain, but ones which
+carried with them a coming night.
+
+It was so cold that men had to use both hands to cock their revolvers.
+And Drew saw Croff swing from the saddle, draw his belt knife to cut the
+hoof from a dead horse. The Cherokee glanced up as he looped his grisly
+trophy to his saddle horn.
+
+"Need the shoe," he explained briefly. "Runner has one worn pretty
+thin." He patted the drooping neck of his mount.
+
+Hannibal walked around the dead horse carefully. The mule was only a
+skeleton copy of the sturdy, well-cared-for animal Drew had ridden out
+of Cadiz. But he would keep going until he dropped, and his rider knew
+it.
+
+"Any trace of Weatherby?" Drew asked. The disappearance of the other
+Cherokee scout at the cabin battle had continued as a mystery for their
+own small company. None of those who had known him could credit the
+Indian being taken unawares by the guerrilla force. He had vanished
+somewhere in the dark of the night, and none of their searching a day
+later, interrupted by orders to move, had turned up a clue.
+
+"Not yet," Croff answered. "He may have made too wide a circle and run
+into a Yankee picket. Someday, perhaps, we shall know. Look there!"
+
+From their screen of cover they watched a blue cavalry patrol trot along
+a lane.
+
+"Headin' for th' home corral, an' lookin' twice over each shoulder while
+they do it," commented Kirby. "Was we to let out a yell now, they'd drag
+it so fast they'd dig their hoofs in clear down to the stirrup
+leathers."
+
+Drew shook his head. "Those are General Wilson's men ... can't be sure
+with them that they wouldn't come poundin' up, sabers out, tryin' to
+take a prisoner or two. Anyway, we don't stir them up, that's orders."
+
+Kirby sighed. "Too bad. Cold as it is, a little fightin' would warm an
+hombre up some. You know, for sure, the only way we're gonna git outta
+this heah war is to fight our way out."
+
+Croff reined his patient mount around. "The big fight is comin'--"
+
+"Nashville?" Drew asked, aware of a somber shadow closing in on them
+all.
+
+The Cherokee shrugged. "Nashville? Maybe. The signs are not good."
+
+"It's when the signs ain't good," Kirby observed, "that fellas lean on
+their hardware twice as hard. Heard tell of gunfighters knotchin' their
+irons for each man they take in a shootout. Me, I'm kinda workin' the
+same idea for battles. An' I have me a pretty good tally--Shiloh,
+Lebanon, Chickamauga, Cynthiana twice, Harrisburg, an' a mixed herd o'
+little ones. Gittin' pretty long, that line o' knotches." His voice
+trailed away as he watched the disappearing Yankee cavalrymen, but
+somehow Drew thought he was seeing either more or less than blue-coated
+men riding under a sullen December sky.
+
+Yes, a long tally of battles, and all those small fights in between
+which sometimes a man could remember better than the big ones, remember
+too often and too well.
+
+"The wagons pulled out of the Letterworth place this mornin'," Drew
+said. "They were gone when I stopped by at noon--"
+
+"Goin' south? Any news of the kid?"
+
+"They took him along." There was a faint ray of comfort in the thought
+that Boyd had been judged well enough to be moved with the rest of the
+sick and wounded up from the temporary hospitals and shelters in the
+neighborhood. The seriously ill certainly could not be moved. But he
+wished he could have seen the boy; there was no telling when and where
+they would meet again.
+
+"Well," Kirby pointed out, "if the doc took him, it means they thought
+he was able to make it. He's young an' tough. Bet he'll be back in line
+soon."
+
+"They'll travel slow," Croff added. "Drivin' hogs and cattle and all
+those wagons, they ain't goin' to push."
+
+Forrest, along with his prisoners, wagons, sick and wounded, the
+barefoot, and dismounted men, was driving four-footed supplies south on
+his way to the Tennessee River, and he was not likely to risk or
+relinquish any of the spoil. Buford's Kentuckians lay in wait along the
+Cumberland, hoping perhaps to echo, if only faintly, their earlier
+successes against the gunboats and supply transports. And at Nashville a
+battle was shaping....
+
+Drew had ridden in to report when the first of the new retreat orders
+came. General Buford, who had invited Drew up to the fire, sat listening
+as the scout held his stiff hands to the blaze and listed the sum total
+of the day's comings and goings as far as Yankee patrols were concerned.
+
+"No sign of that missin' scout?" the General asked when Drew's account
+was finished. "Pour yourself a cup of that, boy! It ain't coffee. In
+fact, I don't inquire too deeply into what Lish does bring me to drink
+nowadays. But it's kind of comfortin' to have something warm under your
+belt in this weather. Blame-coldest, wettest winter I ever did see! No
+sign of Weatherby?" he repeated as Drew sipped from the tin cup his
+superior had pushed into his hands, not only grateful for the warmth
+spreading through his insides, but also for the heat of the container he
+cupped between his palms.
+
+"No, suh, no sign at all."
+
+"Hmm. That's strange." The General edged his solid bulk forward on his
+stool, which creaked as his weight shifted. He poured himself a cup of
+the same brew he had urged upon the scout. "Those were guerrillas right
+enough. Scum from both sides, just out like buzzards to pick up what
+they could. Only they were too far into our lines ... and bolder than
+most. Doesn't fit somehow."
+
+"Might be cover for Union scouts after all, suh?"
+
+Buford shrugged. "Not very likely. If Weatherby does report in, send him
+to me! Oh, by the way, Rennie, you're promoted to sergeant to take
+Wilkins' place." The General sat gazing into the cup he held, but it was
+plain his thoughts were far from the current substitute for coffee.
+
+"Thank you, suh."
+
+Buford glanced up. "Thank--? Oh, the sergeant business. Lieutenant
+Traggart put you in for the first openin' some time ago. You had your
+trainin' with Morgan, and you learned well. John Morgan ... hard to
+think of him dead now. And Pat Cleburne ... and all the rest. We have to
+close ranks and do double duty for all of them." Again he was speaking
+his thoughts, Drew was sure. "Well, Sergeant Rennie, we will, we will!"
+
+The courier who stumbled into the room, lurched against the rude wooden
+table, almost rebounding from it to fall. He was nearly out on his feet,
+feet where broken boots were mired within inches of their tops. Drew put
+down his cup and jumped up to steady the man.
+
+"General Forrest's compliments, suh. Will you bring up the division to
+join General Chalmers? The battle's on at Nashville, and it may be
+necessary to form a rear guard for a retreat--" He got the message out
+mechanically in a croak.
+
+So they went to start the first move in a vast job of salvage. Buford's
+men marched fast to come between a broken army and the full force of
+enemy pursuit. For Franklin, having bled the Army of the Tennessee of
+its strength, was only the beginning of chaos. Nashville crushed the
+remains, and the remnants fled, a crippled despairing flight of the
+defeated. The big gamble was totally lost.
+
+It was Forrest who commanded that hastily formed rear guard. Its stiff
+spine was his cavalry, with the addition of two brigades of
+infantry--Alabama and Georgia troops. Snapping at them was Union
+cavalry in full force. Not snapping at their heels, for it was fang to
+fang; the Confederates only gave ground fighting. Day darkened on the
+field and they were in hand-to-hand assault. A man marked musket or
+carbine flash to sight on the enemy.
+
+And as time became a nightmare of almost continuous battle, the rain
+lashed at the struggling men with a whip of icy water. Fighters crouched
+behind rail fences while the Union cavalry charged across black fields,
+hoofs drumming on the ground, and the sputtering fire of carbines making
+an uneven kind of lightning along the improvised wood barricades. Black
+tree trunks gleamed greasily in the wet; and here and there, out of
+defiance, the war whoop of the Yell cut eerily through the melee.
+
+After evacuating Columbia, they closed ranks and stiffened again,
+knowing that they must be the wall between the disorganized rabble of
+the army and the thrust of the Yankee forces coming confidently to
+finish them off. Cavalry, volunteers from the infantry, fragments of
+commands all, but still with enough cohesion behind a commander they
+trusted to fall back in fighting order ... and fighting--even to
+countercharge when the need and the occasion offered.
+
+Drew, Kirby, Croff, and Webb circled around a wagon, bringing the driver
+to a halt, his mule team standing with drooping heads, blowing and
+puffing so that their ribs showed as bony bars through their wet hides.
+
+"Git!" The driver raised his whip as a weapon of offense until he saw
+where Croff's carbine was aimed. A little pale, he sank back on the
+seat. A bush of whiskers hid most of his dirty face, and there was
+something about him which reminded Drew of the guerrilla Simmy.
+
+"Watta yuh want?" he whined.
+
+"Orders," Drew told him shortly. "Pull over there and dump your load!"
+
+"Whose orders?" The driver bristled, still fingering his whip.
+
+"General Forrest's. Now get to it!" Drew put snap in that. "All right,
+boys," he called to the patiently waiting line of infantrymen, "here's
+another one ready to carry you as soon as you empty it."
+
+The ragged half company fanned forward, bearing down upon the wagon as
+if it were a Yankee stronghold. They swarmed over and in it, pitching
+the contents out on the ground in spite of the futile protests of the
+driver.
+
+"Lordy! Lordy!" One of the willing unloaders paused, his arms about a
+box. He was staring into its interior, bemused. "Lookit what's heah! I
+ain't seen such a lovely, lovely sight since I had me a chance on the
+river at that blue-belly supply ship!"
+
+He placed the box with exaggerated care on the ground and dived into it,
+coming up with a can in each hand. "Boys, we has us a treasure; we sure
+enough has!" He was immediately the core of a group eager to share in
+his find. The driver half raised his whip. Kirby brought his horse
+closer to the wagon, caught at the lash, pulling the stock out of the
+other's hands with a quick jerk.
+
+"Reckon the boys must have lighted on your own private cache, eh, fella?
+Don't hump your tail none 'bout it. They ain't in no mood to listen to
+any palaver on the subject. Better ride it out peaceablelike."
+
+"Much obliged, Sarge." The original finder of the treasure trove broke
+from the circle and handed Drew some crackers. "The boys want you should
+have a taste, too."
+
+Drew laughed and began sharing the windfall with the scouts.
+
+"Better break it up, soldiers. The General wants us on the move."
+
+They were already busy throwing the last articles out of the wagon,
+settling in. Barefoot, cold, hungry, until the last few minutes, they
+were Forrest's indomitable rear guard, riding between brisk spats with
+the enemy.
+
+Kirby tested the edge of a cracker between his teeth as they trotted on
+in search for another wagon to turn over to the infantry.
+
+"This heah army is bound to git mounted, one way or the other," he
+commented. "Hope we have some more luck like that in the next wagon,
+too."
+
+
+
+
+14
+
+_Hell in Tennessee_
+
+
+"At least we have that river between us now," Drew said. Behind them was
+Columbia, where Forrest had bought them precious hours of traveling time
+with his truce to discuss a prisoner exchange. Along the banks of the
+now turbulent Duck River not a bridge or boat remained to aid their
+pursuers. Buford's Scouts had had a hand in that precaution.
+
+"Yeah, an' Forrest's waitin' for the Yankees to try an' smoke him out.
+It's 'bout like puttin' your hand in a rattler's den to git him by the
+tail, I'd say. But I'd feel a mite safer was theah an ocean between us.
+Funny, a man is all randy with his tail up when he's doin' the chasin',
+but you git mighty dry-mouthed an' spooky when the cards is slidin' the
+other way 'crost the table. Seems like we has been chased back an' forth
+over these heah rivers so much, they ought to know us by now. An' be a
+little more obligin' an' do some partin', like in that old Bible
+story--let us through on dry land. Man, how I could do with some _dry_
+land!" Kirby spoke with unusual fervor.
+
+Croff laughed. "No use hopin' for that. Anyways, we have business
+ahead."
+
+Just as they had rounded up wagons to transport the infantry between
+skirmishes, so now they were on the hunt for oxen to move the guns. The
+bogs--miscalled "roads" on their maps--demanded more animal power than
+the worn-out horses and mules of the army could supply. Oxen had to be
+impressed from the surrounding farms for use in moving the wagons and
+fieldpieces relay fashion, with those teams sometimes struggling belly
+deep. Having pulled one section to a point ahead, they were driven back
+to bring up the rear of the train.
+
+"Not enough ice on the ground; it's rainin' it now!" Kirby's shoulders
+were hunched, his head forward between them as if, tortoisewise, he
+wanted to withdraw into a nonexistent protecting shell.
+
+"Just be glad," Drew answered, "you ain't walkin'. I saw an ox fall back
+there a ways. Before it was hardly dead the men were at it, rippin' off
+the hide to cover their feet--bleedin' feet!"
+
+"Oh, I'm not complainin'," the Texan said. "M'boots still cover me,
+anyway. Me, I'm thankful for what I got--can even sing 'bout it."
+
+His soft, clear baritone caroled out:
+
+    "And now I'm headin' southward, my heart is full of woe,
+    I'm goin' back to Georgia to find my Uncle Joe,
+    You may talk about your Beauregard an' sing of General Lee,
+    But the gallant Hood of Texas played Hell in Tennessee."
+
+Some sardonic Texan, anonymous in the defeated forces, had first chanted
+those words to the swinging march of his western command--"The Yellow
+Rose of Texas"--and they had been passed from company to company, squad
+to squad, by men who had always been a little distrustful of Hood, men
+who had looked back to the leadership of General Johnston as a good time
+when they actually seemed to be getting somewhere with this
+endless-seeming war.
+
+There was a soft echo from somewhere--"...played Hell in
+Tennessee-ee-ee."
+
+"Sure did," Webb commented. "But this country comin' up now ain't gonna
+favor the blue bellies none."
+
+He was right. Both sides of the turnpike over which the broken army
+dragged its way south were heavily wooded, and the road threaded through
+a bewildering maze of narrow valleys, gorges, and ravines--just the type
+of territory made for defensive ambushes to rock reckless Yankees out of
+their saddles. The turnpike was to be left for the use of the rear guard
+of fighting men, while the wagon trains and straggling mass of the
+disorganized Army of the Tennessee split up to follow the dirt roads
+toward Bainbridge and the Tennessee River.
+
+"Know somethin'?" Webb demanded suddenly, hours later, as they were on
+their way back with their hard-found quota of oxen and protesting owners
+and drivers. "This heah's Christmas Eve--tomorrow's Christmas! Ain't had
+a chance to count up the days till now."
+
+"Sounds like we is gonna have us a present--from the Yankees. Hear that,
+amigos?" Kirby rose in his stirrups, facing into the wind.
+
+They could hear it right enough, the sharp spatter of rifle and musket
+fire, the deeper sound of field guns. It was a clamor they had listened
+to only too often lately, but now it was forceful enough to suggest that
+this was more than just a skirmish.
+
+Having seen their oxen into the hands of the teamsters, they settled
+down to the best pace they could get from their mounts. But before they
+reached the scene of action they caught the worst of the news from the
+wounded men drifting back.
+
+"... saw him carried off myself," a thin man, with a bandaged arm thrust
+into the front of his jacket, told them. "Th' Yankees got 'cross
+Richland Creek and flanked us. General Buford got it then."
+
+Drew leaned from his saddle to demand the most important answer. "How
+bad?" Abram Buford might not have had the dash of Morgan, the electric
+personality of Forrest, but no one could serve in his headquarters
+company without being well aware of the steadfast determination, the
+regard for his men, the bulldog courage which made him Forrest's
+dependable, rock-hard supporter in the most dangerous action.
+
+"They said pretty bad. General Chalmers, he took command."
+
+"Christmas present," Kirby repeated bleakly. "Looks like Christmas ain't
+gonna be so merry this year."
+
+They had lost Buford and they were forced back again, disputing
+savagely--hand to hand, revolver against saber, carbine against
+carbine--to Pulaski. Seven miles, and the enemy made to pay dearly for
+every foot of that distance.
+
+It was Christmas morning, and Drew chewed on a crust of corn pone, old
+and rock-hard. He wondered dully if his capacity to hold more than a few
+crumbs had completely vanished. And he allowed himself for one or two
+long moments to remember Christmas at Oak Hill--where he had managed to
+spend a more festive day than at Red Springs in the chilly neighborhood
+of his grandfather. Christmas at Oak Hill ... Sheldon, Boyd, Cousin
+Merry, Cousin Jeff, too, before he died back in '59.
+
+Drew opened his eyes and saw a fire, not the flames of brandy flickering
+above a plum pudding, or the quiet, welcoming fire on a hearth, but
+rather a violent burst of yellow-and-red destruction punctured by bursts
+of exploding ammunition. These were the stores Forrest had ordered
+destroyed because the men could transport them no further.
+
+The word was out that they were going to make a firm stand near
+Anthony's Hill, again to the south. And they had been hard at work there
+to fashion a stopper which would either suck the venturesome enemy into
+a bad mauling, as Forrest hoped, or else just hold him to buy more time.
+
+There the turnpike descended sharply with a defile between two ridges,
+ridges which now housed Morton's battery, ready to blast road and hollow
+below. Felled timber, rails, stones, anything which could shelter a man
+from lead and steel long enough for him to shoot his share back, had
+been woven together, and a mounted reserve waited behind to prevent
+flanking. A good stout trap--the kind Forrest had used to advantage
+before and which had enough teeth in it to crush the unwary.
+
+"Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed," Drew repeated to himself that tag
+from some childhood rhyme or story as he waited at the mouth of the
+gorge to play his own part in the action to come. A small force of
+mounted men, scouts, and volunteers from various commands were bait. It
+was their job to make a short stiff resistance, then fly in headlong
+retreat, enticing the Union riders into the waiting ambush.
+
+"Who's this heah Dilly?" Kirby wanted to know. "Some Yankee?"
+
+Drew laughed. "Might be." He sagged a little in the saddle. Sleep during
+the past ten days had come in small snatches. Twice he had caught naps
+lying in stalled wagons waiting for fresh teams to arrive, and both
+times he had been awakened out of dreams he did not care to remember, to
+ride with gummy eyelids and a sense of being so tired that there was a
+fog between him and most of the world. It was two days now since Buford
+had been wounded. The news was that the big Kentucky general would
+recover. And it was a whole twenty-four hours since he watched the
+Christmas fires Forrest had lit in Pulaski, the fires which had devoured
+what they no longer had the animal power to save.
+
+Here in the mouth of the gorge the silence was almost oppressive. He
+heard a smothered cough from one of the waiting men, a horse blow in a
+kind of wheeze. Then came the call of a bugle from down the road.
+
+Theirs, not ours, Drew thought. Hannibal shook his head vigorously, as
+if bitten by a sadly out-of-season fly. The captain commanding their
+company of bait signaled an advance. And they followed the familiar
+pattern of weaving in and out of cover to enlarge the appearance of
+their force.
+
+Firing rent the quiet of a few minutes earlier. Drew snapped a shot at
+the Yankee guidon bearer, certain he saw the man flinch. Then, with the
+rest, he sent Hannibal on the best run the mule could hold, back into
+the waiting mouth of the hollow. They pounded on, eager to present such
+a picture of wholesale rout that the Union men would believe a soft
+strike, perhaps an important bag of prisoners, lay ahead, needing only
+to be scooped in.
+
+Perhaps it was the reputation for wiliness Forrest had earned which put
+the Yankee commander on his guard. There was no headlong chase down the
+ambush valley as they had hoped and planned to intercept. Instead,
+dismounted men came at a careful, suspicious pace, cored around a single
+fieldpiece, a small answer to their trap.
+
+But when that blue stream funneled into the hollow, the jaws snapped
+away. Canister from Morton's guns laid a scythe along the Union advance,
+cutting men to ground level. The Yell shrilled along the slopes, and men
+jumped trees and rail barricades, pouring down in an assault wave not to
+be turned aside. The Yankee gun, its eight-horse team, men who stood now
+with their hands high, horses for riders who were no longer to need
+them. Three hundred of those horses from the lines behind the dismounted
+skirmishers--far more valuable than any inanimate treasure to men who
+had lost mounts--one hundred and fifty prisoners.
+
+Kirby rode back from the eddy in the road, his mouth a wide grin
+splitting his skin-and-bone face. He had a length of heavy blue cloth
+across the saddle before him and was smoothing it lovingly with one
+chilblained hand.
+
+"Got me one of them theah overcoats," he announced. "Sure fine, like to
+thank General Wilson for it personal. If I could git me in ropin'
+distance of him to do that."
+
+The small success of the venture was not a complete victory. His
+dismounted cavalry overrun or thrust back, Wilson brought up infantry,
+and they settled down to a dogged attack on the entrenched Confederates
+on the ridges.
+
+Union forces bored in steadily, slamming the weight of regiments against
+the flanks of the defenders. And slowly but inexorably, that turning
+movement pushed the Confederates in and back. Drew, riding courier,
+brought up to the ridge where Forrest sat on the big gray King Phillip,
+statue-still, immovable.
+
+"General, suh, the enemy is in our rear--"
+
+Forrest turned his head abruptly, the statue coming to life. And there
+was impatience in the answer which was certainly meant for all the
+doubters at large and not to one sergeant of scouts relaying a message.
+
+"Well, ain't we in theirs?"
+
+General Armstrong, his men out of ammunition, made his own plea to fall
+back. But the orders were to hold. Hood was at Sugar Creek with the
+army; he must have time to cross. It was late afternoon when Forrest at
+last ordered the withdrawal, and they made it in an orderly fashion.
+
+Through the night the rear guard toiled on and a little after midnight
+they reached the Sugar in their turn. Drew splashed cold water on his
+face, not only to keep awake, but to rinse off the mud and grime of days
+of riding and fighting. He could not remember when he had had his
+clothes off, had bathed or worn a clean shirt. Now he smeared his jacket
+sleeve across his face in place of a towel and tramped wearily back to
+the fire where his own small squad had settled in for what rest they
+could get.
+
+Croff was sniffing the air, hound fashion.
+
+"Ain't gonna do you no good," Webb told him sourly. "Theah ain't nothin'
+in the pot, nor no pot neither--'less Kirby 'membered to stow it last
+time. Lordy, m' back an' m' middle are clean growed together, seems
+like."
+
+"Feast your eyes, man! Jus' feast your eyes!" Kirby unrolled his prized
+coat. In its folds was a greasy package which did indeed give up a
+treasure--a good four-inch-thick slab of bacon squeezed in with a block
+of odd, brownish-yellow stuff.
+
+They crowded around, dazzled by the sight of bacon, real bacon. Then
+Drew pointed at the accompanying block.
+
+"What's that? New kind of hardtack?"
+
+"Nope. That theah's vegetables." Kirby spoke with authority.
+
+"Vegetables?"
+
+"Yeah. These heah Yankee commissaries bin workin' out new tricks all th'
+time. They takes a lot of stuff like turnips, carrots, beets, all such
+truck, an' press it into cakes like this. 'Course you have to be
+careful. I heard tell as how one blue belly, he chawed the stuff dry an'
+then drank water; it bloated him up like a cow in green cane. Poor
+fella, he jus' natchelly suffered from bein' so greedy. But you drop it
+in water an' give it a boil...."
+
+"Looks like hay," Drew commented without enthusiasm. He picked it up and
+sniffed dubiously.
+
+"Man," Webb said, "if the Yankees can eat hay, then we can too. An' I'm
+hungry 'nough to chaw grass, were you to show me a tidy patch an' say go
+to it! How come you know all 'bout this hay-stuff, Anse?"
+
+"We found some of it on the _Mazeppa_. The lieutenant told us how it
+worked--"
+
+"The _Mazeppa_!" Webb breathed reverently, and there was a moment of
+silence as they all recalled the richness of that capture. "We shore
+could do with another boat like that one. Too bad this heah crick ain't
+big 'nough to float a nice bunch of supplies in, right now."
+
+Kirby produced the pail dedicated to the preparation of coffee. But
+since coffee was so far in the past they could not even remember its
+smell or taste, no one protested his putting the vegetable block to the
+test by setting it boiling in the sacred container.
+
+"Don't look like much." Webb fanned away smoke to peer into the pail.
+Kirby had also produced a skillet, made from half of a Yankee canteen,
+into which he was slicing the bacon.
+
+"It's fillin'," he retorted sharply. "An' you didn't pay for it, did
+you? A man who slangs th' cook--an' the grub--now maybe he ain't gonna
+find his plate waitin' when it's time to eat--"
+
+Webb drew back hurriedly. "I ain't sayin' nothin', nothin' at all!"
+
+Drew grinned. "That's being wise, Will. Times when a man can talk
+himself right out of a good piece of luck. It's hot and fillin', and you
+got bacon to give it some taste...."
+
+With hot food under their belts, a fire, and no sign of orders to move,
+they were content. Kirby and Croff followed the old Plains trick of
+raking aside the fire, leaving a patch of warmed earth on which all four
+could curl up together, two men sharing blankets. As the Texan squirmed
+into place beside him Drew felt the added warmth of the plundered coat
+Kirby pulled over them. This had not been too bad a day after all, or
+rather yesterday had not; it was now not too far before dawn. They had
+made their play at Anthony's Hill and had come out of it with horses,
+some food, and a few incidental comforts like this coat. Now after
+eating, they had a chance to sleep. It seemed that Forrest was going to
+pull it off neatly again. Drowsily Drew watched the rekindled fire. They
+would make it, after all.
+
+He awoke to find a thick white cotton of fog enfolding the bivouac. The
+preparations they had made again of rail and tree breastworks to greet
+the Union advance were no easier to see than the men crouched in their
+shadows. It would be a blind battle if Wilson's pursuit caught up before
+this cleared; one would only be able to tell the enemy by his position.
+
+But there was no hanging back on the part of the Yankees that morning.
+Slowly, maybe blindly, but with determination, they were picking their
+way ahead, reaching the creek bank. If they could cut through Forrest's
+present lines, thrust straight ahead, they could smash the demoralized
+straggle of Hood's main command, and the Army of the Tennessee would
+cease to exist.
+
+The blue coats were shadows in the fog, the first advance wading the
+creek now, their rifles held high. And as that line closed up and
+solidified into a wall of men, a burst of flame met them face-on. It was
+brutal, almost one-sided. The Yankees were on their feet, pacing into a
+country they could not clearly distinguish. While their opponents had
+"picked trees" and were firing from shelter with accuracy to tear huge
+gaps in that line.
+
+Men stopped, fired, then broke, running back to the creek for the safety
+which might lie beyond that wash of icy water. And as they went, ranks
+of the defenders rose and raced after them, hooting and calling as if on
+some holiday hunt. Now the cavalry moved in in their turn, cutting
+savagely at the Union flanks, herding the dismounted Yankees back
+through the lines of their horse holders as the Morgan men had been
+driven at Cynthiana. Wild with fright, horses lunged, reared, tore free
+from men, and raced in and out, many to be caught by the gray coats. It
+was a rout and they pushed the Union troops back, snapping up
+prisoners, horses, equipment--whipping out like a thrown net to sweep
+back laden with spoil.
+
+These attackers were the rear guard of a badly beaten army, but they did
+not act that way. They rode, fought, and out-maneuvered their enemies as
+if they were the fresh advance of a superior invading force. And the
+swift, hard blows they aimed bought not only time for those they
+defended, but also the respect, the irritated concern of the men they
+turned time and time again to fight against.
+
+Having pushed Wilson's troopers well back, the Confederates withdrew
+once more to the creek, waiting for what might be a second assault. They
+ate, if they were lucky enough to have rations, and rested their horses.
+Corn was long gone, so mounts were fed on withered leaves pulled from
+field shocks, from any possible forage a man could find.
+
+Drew led the gaunt rack of bones that was Hannibal to the creek, letting
+the mule lip the water. But it was plain the animal was failing. Drew
+shifted his saddle from that bony back to one of the horses they had
+gathered in during the morning. But the Yankee gelding was little
+improvement. In the mud, constantly cut by ice, too wet most of the
+time, a horse's hoofs rotted on its feet. And the dead animals, many of
+them put out of their misery by their riders, marked with patches of
+black, brown, gray, the path of the army. A man had to harden himself to
+that suffering, just as he had to harden himself to all the other
+miseries of war.
+
+War was boredom, and it was also quick, exciting action such as they had
+had that morning. It was fighting gunboats along the river; it was the
+heat and horror of that slope at Harrisburg, the cold and horror of
+Franklin. It was riding with men such as Anson Kirby, being a part of a
+fluid weapon forged and used well by a commander such as Bedford
+Forrest. It was a way of life....
+
+The scout's hand paused in his currying of Hannibal as that idea struck
+him for the first time. Now he thought he could understand why Red
+Springs and all it stood for was so removed and meaningless, was lost in
+the dim past. To Drew Rennie now, the squad, his round of duties, the
+army--these were home, not a brick house set in the midst of green
+fields and smooth paddocks. The house was empty of what he had found
+elsewhere--acceptance of Drew Rennie as a person in his own right,
+friendship, an occupation which answered the restlessness which had
+ridden him into rebellion. He stood staring at nothing as he thought
+about all that.
+
+Kirby startled him out of his self-absorption. "Butt your saddle, amigo!
+We're hittin' the trail again."
+
+As he swung up on the Yankee horse and took Hannibal's lead halter, Drew
+asked a question:
+
+"Ever seem to you, Anse, like the army's home? Like it's always been,
+and you've always been a part of it?"
+
+Kirby shot him a quick glance. "Guess we all kinda feel that sometimes.
+Gits so you can hardly remember how it was 'fore you joined up. Me, I
+sometimes wonder if I jus' dreamed Texas outta m' head. Only I keep
+remindin' myself that someday I can go back an' see if it's jus' the way
+I dreamed it. Kinda nice to think 'bout that."
+
+They cut away from the main line of march, ranging out and ahead.
+Stragglers from the army must be moved forward, directed. And they came
+upon one of those, a tall man, limping on feet covered with strips of
+filthy rag. But he still had his musket, and on its bayonet was stuck a
+goodly portion of ham. He had been sitting on a tree trunk, but at the
+approach of the scouts he moved to meet them.
+
+"Howdy, fellas," he spoke in a hoarse voice, and wiped a running nose on
+his sleeve. "What command you in?"
+
+"Forrest's Cavalry ... Scouts--"
+
+"Forrest's!" He took another eager step forward. "Now theah's a command!
+Ain't bin for you boys, th' blue bellies woulda gulped us right up!
+Nairy a one of us'd got out of Tennessee."
+
+"You ain't rightly out yet, amigo," Kirby pointed out. "Kinda lost,
+ain't you?"
+
+The man shrugged and grinned wryly. "Feet ain't too good. But I'm makin'
+it, fast as I can."
+
+"Can you fork a mule?" Drew asked. "This one is for ridin'. We'll take
+you to one of the wagons--"
+
+"Now that's right kind of you boys, right kind." The man hobbled up to
+Hannibal as if he feared they might withdraw their offer. "Say, you
+hungry? Git us wheah we can light a spell, an' I'll divide my rations
+with you." He waved the musket with its impaled ham.
+
+"Maybe we'll do jus' that," Kirby promised.
+
+Drew dismounted to give the straggler a leg up on Hannibal before they
+headed on toward the Tennessee and the promise of a breathing space.
+
+
+
+
+15
+
+_Independent Scout_
+
+
+"What did the doc say?" Kirby, his blue overcoat a splotch of color
+against the general drabness of the winter scene, came up towing
+Hannibal and his own mount.
+
+"Doesn't think he should try it." Drew made a lengthy business of
+pulling on the knitted gloves he had acquired only that morning as a
+swap for a captured Yankee Colt.
+
+The infantry, back under the solid security of Joe Johnston's
+leadership, had marched on into North Carolina--to face Sherman's
+destructive sweep there. In the west, the only effective Confederate
+force still in the field east of the Mississippi was Forrest's Cavalry.
+And they had been granted twenty days' furlough to return home if they
+could get there, and gather clothing and fresh horses. The sun was far
+down the western horizon of the Confederacy, but to the men who rode
+with Forrest it had not yet set.
+
+"Th' kid wants to go...."
+
+That was the worst of it. When they listened to Boyd's eager talk, saw
+him make the effort to get on his feet again, they were almost convinced
+that the youngster could make the trip back through enemy-held territory
+to Oak Hill. Kirby, though he had no ties in Kentucky, was willing to
+chance the journey to help Boyd home. But those miles between, where
+they must skulk and maybe even fight their way--living out, eating very
+light--Boyd could not stand that. The surgeon's verdict was that such an
+idea was utter folly.
+
+"I'll try to get a letter through with one of the boys," Drew said.
+"Major Forbes ought to be able to furnish Cousin Merry with safe conduct
+on that side; we could have the General take care of it from this end.
+Then she could take him home with her when he was able to travel."
+
+"You write the letter fast. The Kaintucks are makin' tracks today--"
+
+Drew swung into the saddle, and they headed back to camp.
+
+"Now that we ain't headin' north, you thinkin' of joinin' Croff an'
+Webb?"
+
+Men on furlough had been given their orders to collect supplies from
+home, but also to devil the Yankees when and where they could. They were
+to fire into transports along the rivers and rout and capture any Union
+patrols small enough to be attacked when and where they came across
+them. The Cherokee scout and others who could not return home asked for
+their own type of furlough, determined to hunt the district below
+Franklin. Since such men could be of great nuisance value well within
+the enemy lines, they were granted permission and were even now
+preparing to move out.
+
+Drew, who had held off from committing himself to the expedition until
+he had the final verdict on Boyd, knew that Kirby was eager to go. And
+Drew felt that old restlessness, which gripped him whenever he thought
+of spending days in camp. He could do nothing for Boyd, but they might
+be able to accomplish something in Tennessee.
+
+"All right." He saw Kirby grin at his answer. The plan was one after the
+Texan's heart, and Drew knew what it had meant to him to hold back from
+it.
+
+"You tell the kid?"
+
+"Dr. Fairfax did." At least he had not had to deliver that blow, a small
+relief which did not, however, lighten his sense of responsibility.
+
+"How'd he take it?"
+
+"Quiet--on the surface."
+
+The Boyd who once would have fought stubbornly to get his own way, the
+Boyd who would have pulled himself out of that big rocker and announced
+fiercely that he was riding home whether the doctor said Yes or No--that
+Boyd was gone. Perhaps this new acceptance of hard facts was a matter of
+growing up. Drew clung to that. There was little he could do, except not
+go home without him.
+
+"The kid's gonna be all right?"
+
+"Doc hopes so, if he takes it easy."
+
+"Ever feel like this heah war's runnin' down?"
+
+"I don't see how we can keep on much longer."
+
+"Some of the boys are talkin' Texas. Git us down theah an' we can go
+off--be a republic again. Wouldn't be the first time the Tejanos stood
+up all by themselves. Supposin' this fightin' heah stops ... you ridin'
+for Texas?"
+
+"I might."
+
+Kirby slapped his hand on the horn of his Mexican saddle. "Now that's
+what an hombre wants to hear. You change pasture on a good colt, makes
+him even fatter! Come blue bellies all ovah this heah territory, we jus'
+shift range. An' nobody gonna take Texas! Even the horny toads would
+spit straight in a Yankee's eye--"
+
+"How 'bout it, Sarge?" They were at the cluster of rail-walled huts
+where the scouts had established a temporary headquarters. Webb hailed
+them from the door of one of those dwellings where he was rolling up the
+rubber cloth laid over corn husks to form the floor. "You Kaintuck
+bound?"
+
+"No. Ridin' with you boys. Doc thinks Boyd can't try it."
+
+"Good enough, Sarge. We're pullin' out soon as Injun draws us some
+travelin' rations. Jus' enough to get us theah. We can eat off the
+Yankees later."
+
+Since 1861 the clothing of the Confederate Army at large had never
+matched the colorful sketches hopefully issued by the Quartermaster
+General's department. Perhaps in Richmond or some state capitol the
+gold-lace exponents did appear in tasteful and well-tailored gray with
+the proper insignia of rank. Forrest's men, equipped from the first by
+the unwilling enemy, wore blue, a blue tempered tactfully and
+ingeniously by butternut shirts, dyed breeches--when there was time to
+do any dyeing--and slouch hats. But as Drew rode out with his squad he
+might have been leading a Union rather than a Rebel patrol, which, of
+course, was part of the necessary cover for venturing into the jaws of a
+very alert lion.
+
+Parts of West Tennessee were still Confederate-held and through those
+they rode openly. But the countryside could offer them nothing in the
+way of forage. Two armies had stripped it bare during the past few
+months. Sometimes foraging parties on opposite sides had been known to
+combine forces under a private truce, or had fought brisk, bitter
+skirmishes to decide which would collect the spoils. If there remained a
+hog or chicken still running loose, it certainly possessed the power of
+invisibility.
+
+They slipped across the river in one of the boats kept by local contacts
+acting in the scouts' service. Drew questioned the boy who owned their
+transportation.
+
+"Sure they's bummers-out. Yankees say they's ourn, but they ain't!" he
+returned indignantly. "They ain't ridin' for nobody but their own
+selves. Cut off a Yankee an' shoot him for the boots on his feet--do the
+same if they want a hoss. Git ketched an' they tell as how they's
+scouts, workin' secret-like. Scouts o' ourn--if we ketch 'em;
+Yankees--do the blue bellies take 'em. But they ain't nothin' but
+lowdown trash as nobody wants, for sure!" He dug his pole into the water
+as if he were impaling a guerrilla on it. "They's mean, plenty mean,
+suh. Don't go foolin' 'round them!"
+
+"Any special place they hang out?" Drew wanted to know.
+
+The boy shook his head. "Oh, they holes up now an' then somewheahs. But
+they's a lotta empty houses 'bout nowadays. An' the bummers kin hide out
+good without no one knowin' they be theah--till they git ready to jump.
+Cut off a supply wagon or raid a farm or somethin' like that."
+
+"Ridin' the south side of the law." Kirby settled his gun belt in a more
+comfortable circle about his thin middle. "Bet they know all the tricks
+of hoppin' back an' forth 'cross the border ahead of the sheriff, too.
+Time somebody collected bounty on those wolves' scalps."
+
+Ridding the country of such vermin was indeed a worthy occupation. And
+their private quest for an answer to Weatherby's fate might be a part of
+that. But their first duty was to the army: The gathering of
+information, and any discomfort they could deal the Yankees, must be
+their primary project.
+
+Croff brought them into a camping site he had chosen for just such use.
+It lay at the head of a small rocky ravine down the center of which ran
+an ice-sealed thread of stream. It was not quite a cave, but provided
+shelter for them and their mounts. It was a clear night, and the ground
+was reasonably hard.
+
+They ate hard salt beef and cold army bread made with corn meal, grease,
+and water the night before.
+
+"Leave here in the early mornin'." The Cherokee outlined his
+suggestions. "There's a road leadin' to the turnpike that's three or
+four miles from here. Last I heard, a bridge had washed out on the pike.
+Anybody ridin' from Pulaski to Columbia has to turn out and take this
+other way--"
+
+"Good cover on it?" Drew asked.
+
+"The best."
+
+"I jus' got me one question," Kirby interrupted. "Say we was to gobble
+us up a bunch of strayin' Yankees along this road, what're we gonna do
+with 'em after? Four of us don't make no army, an' we ain't gonna be
+able to detach no prisoner guard. 'Course theah are them what's said
+from the first that the only good Yankees are them laid peacefullike in
+their graves. But I don't take natural to shootin' men what are holdin'
+up the sky with both hands."
+
+"Orders are to spread confusion," Drew observed. "I'd say if we hit
+quick and often, take a prisoner's boots, maybe, and his horse, and his
+gun--"
+
+"Also," Webb added, "his rations an' his overcoat, be he wearin' one."
+
+"Then turn him loose, after parolin' him--"
+
+"The Yankees don't honor a parole no more," Kirby objected.
+
+"What if they don't? A lot of men comin' in sayin' they've been paroled
+will stir up trouble. Remember, from what we've heard, a lot of the
+Yankees ain't any happier about fightin' on and on than we are. So we
+take prisoners, get their gear, keep what we can use, destroy the rest,
+and turn the men loose. If we can move around enough, maybe we can draw
+some of Wilson's men out of that big army he's supposed to be gatherin'
+to hit us south. It's the old game Morgan played."
+
+Croff grunted. "It may be old, but I've seen it work. All right, we
+parole prisoners and light out cross-country after a strike."
+
+"I've been thinkin'--" Kirby was checking the loading of his Colts--"if
+we start heah, we can sorta work our way in, coyote right up close to
+Franklin. They'll be expectin' us to light out for the home range, not
+go jinglin' in to wheah they've forted up. Might raise a sight of smoke
+that way. Git Wilson's boys on the prod, for sure."
+
+"Franklin--?" Croff repeated.
+
+"Little below, maybe. From what that boy said, those bushwhackers move
+around pretty free," Drew reminded him, certain the Cherokee was back to
+the desire to search for Weatherby.
+
+"We'll see what kind of luck we have along this road, Injun-scouted. You
+take first watch, Injun?"
+
+"Yeah." Drew heard rather than saw the Cherokee leave their camp, bound
+for a lookout point. The other three bedded down, anxious to snatch as
+much rest as possible.
+
+Long before dawn they were on the move again, threading through the
+winter-seared woods. Croff brought them out unerringly behind a sagging
+rail fence well masked with the skeleton brush of the season. There was
+equally good cover on the other side of the road. Kirby climbed the
+fence, investigating a dark splotch on the surface of the lane.
+
+"Fresh droppin's. Been a sight of trailin' 'long heah recent."
+
+The rest was elementary. There was no need for orders. Croff and Webb
+holed up on one side of the lane well apart; Drew and Kirby did the same
+on the other. Waiting would be sheer boredom and in this weather the
+height of discomfort.
+
+The gray of early morning sharpened the land about them. Boyd would have
+enjoyed this game of tweaking a wildcat's tail. Drew chewed his lower
+lip, tasting the salt of sweat, the grit of road dust. Just now was no
+time to think of Boyd; he must concentrate on the business before him.
+
+He heard the sharp chittering of an aroused squirrel, repeated in two
+shrill bursts. But his own ear close to the ground told him they were to
+expect company. There was the regular thud of horses' hoofs, the sound
+of mounts ridden in company and at an even pace. The only remaining
+question was whether it was a Union patrol and small enough for the four
+of them to handle.
+
+One, two ... two more ... five of them, topping a small rise. A cavalry
+patrol ... and the odds were not too impossible.
+
+Drew sighted sergeant's stripes on the leader's jacket. It would depend
+upon how alert that noncom was. Wilson was drawing in new levies, so
+these men could be new to the district, even green in the army.
+
+The Yankee sergeant was past Kirby's post now, and after him the first
+two of his squad. He paid no attention to the bushes.
+
+Webb's carbine and Kirby's Colts cracked in what seemed like a single
+spat of sound. One of the troopers in the rear shouted, grabbing at a
+point high on his shoulder, the other one was thrown as his horse
+reared, its upraised forefeet striking another man from the saddle as he
+endeavored to turn his mount.
+
+Drew fired, and saw the sergeant's carbine fall as he caught at the
+saddle horn, his arm hanging limp.
+
+"Surrender!" As Drew shouted that order into the tangle below, he leaped
+to the right. A single shot clipped through the bushes where he had
+been, answered by a blast from Webb.
+
+Then hands were up, men stared white-faced and sullen at the fence
+behind which might be a whole company of the enemy. Drew came into the
+open, the Spencer he had taken from Jas' covering the sergeant. For the
+expression on the noncom's face suggested that, wounded as he was, he
+would like nothing better than to carry on the struggle--with Drew as
+his principal target.
+
+"Go ahead, get it over with!" He spat at Drew.
+
+For a second Drew was bewildered, and then he suddenly guessed that the
+Union soldier expected to be shot out of hand.
+
+His anger was hot. "We don't shoot prisoners!"
+
+"No? The evidence is not in favor of that statement," the Yankee spoke
+dryly, his accent and choice of words that of an educated man.
+
+"What brand you think we're wearin', fella?" Kirby had come out of
+concealment, his Colt steady on the captives.
+
+"Guerrillas, I'd say," the sergeant returned hardily. Drew realized then
+that their mixture of clothing must have stamped them as the very
+outlaws they wanted to hunt down, as far as the Union troopers were
+concerned.
+
+"Now that's wheah you're sure jumpin' your fences," Kirby's half grin
+vanished. "We're General Forrest's men, not guerrillas. Or ain't you
+never heard tell of Forrest's Cavalry? Seems like anyone wearin' blue
+an' forkin' a hoss ought to know who's been chasin' him to Hell an' gone
+over most of Tennessee. Lucky I ain't in a sod-pawin' mood, hombre, or I
+might jus' want to see how a blue-belly sarge looks without an ear on
+his thick skull, or maybe try a few Comanche tricks of hair trimmin'!
+Guerrillas--!"
+
+The Union sergeant glanced from Kirby and Drew to his own men. One was
+sitting on the edge of the road, nursing his head between his hands.
+Another had his hand to his shoulder, and the sticky red of fresh blood
+showed between his fingers. The two others, very young, stood nervously,
+their hands high. If the Yankee noncom was thinking of trying something,
+his material was not promising. Drew broke the moment of silence with a
+warning.
+
+"You're surrounded, subject to fire from both sides, Sergeant! I suggest
+surrender. You will be treated as prisoners of war and given parole. We
+_are_ from General Forrest's command. We're scouts. Believe me, if we
+had wished to, we could have shot every one of you out of the saddle
+before you knew we were here. Guerrillas would have done just that."
+
+The logic of that argument reached the Union sergeant. He still eyed
+Drew straightly, but there was a ruefulness rather than hostile defiance
+in his voice as he asked:
+
+"What do you plan to do with us?"
+
+"Nothing." Drew was crisp. "Give us your parole, leave your arms, your
+horses, your rations--if you are carrying any. Then you are free to go."
+
+"We've been ordered not to take parole," the sergeant objected.
+
+"General Forrest hasn't given any orders not to grant it," Drew
+countered. "As far as I am concerned, you can take it, we'll accept your
+word."
+
+"All right." The other dismounted awkwardly, and with one hand unbuckled
+his saber, dropping his belt and gun.
+
+Kirby went among the men gathering up their weapons. Then he and Drew
+tended the slight wounds of their enemies.
+
+"You'll both do until you can get to town," Drew told them. "And you've
+a road and plenty of daylight to help you foot it...."
+
+To Drew's surprise, the sergeant suddenly laughed. "This ain't going to
+sit well with the captain. He swore all you Rebs were run out of here a
+couple of weeks ago."
+
+"You can assure him he's wrong." Drew saw a chance to confuse the enemy.
+"We're very much around. You'll be seem' a lot of us from now on, a lot
+more."
+
+They watched the squad in blue, now afoot, plod on down the road. When
+they were out of sight around a bend, Webb and Croff came out of hiding
+to inspect the spoil. Unfortunately the Yankees had not possessed
+rations, but their opponents acquired five horses, five Springfields,
+four sabers, and three Colts, as well as welcome rounds of ammunition--a
+fine haul.
+
+Croff methodically smashed the stocks of the Springfields against a rock
+and pitched the ruined weapons back of the fence. They had seen during
+the retreat just how useless those rifles were for mounted men. The
+sabers were broken the same way, but the rest of the plunder was shared.
+
+Webb appropriated one of the captured mounts. They stripped the others
+of their gear, taking what they wanted in the way of blankets and saddle
+equipment, and were putting the horses on leading ropes when a volley of
+shots ripping through the early morning froze them. Croff whirled to
+face the road down which the Yankees had vanished.
+
+"Came from that direction--"
+
+They mounted, taking not the open road but a cross route the Cherokee
+indicated. Coming out on the crest of a slope, they were above another
+of those hollows through which the road ran. And in that way lay still
+blue figures. Drew's carbine swung up as men broke from ambush and
+headed toward those forms. No Confederate force would have wantonly
+butchered unarmed and wounded men, nor would the Yankees. Which left the
+scum they both hated--the bushwhackers!
+
+Just as the crack of the murder guns had earlier torn the quiet, so did
+the Confederate answer come now. Three of those advancing on their
+victims dropped. One more cried out, staggering toward the concealing
+bush. Then more broke from cover beyond, going into flight up the other
+rise.
+
+"Croff! Webb! After them!" The Cherokee scout was already booting his
+horse into a run.
+
+Drew and Kirby reached the road together. Slipping from Hannibal, Drew
+knelt by the Union sergeant, turning the man over as gently as he could.
+But there was no hope. The Yankee's eyes opened; he stared up with a
+cold and terrible hate.
+
+"Shot us ... after all ... murder--" he mouthed.
+
+"No!" Drew cried his protest. "Not us--"
+
+But that head rolled on his arm, and Drew was forced to swallow the fact
+that the other had died believing that treachery. Kirby arose from the
+examination of the rest of the bodies.
+
+"Got 'em all. Musta bin as easy as shootin' weanlin's. They didn't have
+a chance! We got three--" He made a circle about one of the dead
+guerrillas--"but that don't balance none."
+
+Drew lowered the dead sergeant to the surface of the road.
+
+"It sure doesn't!" he said bleakly. "We'll go after them--if we have to
+ride clear to the Ohio!"
+
+
+
+
+16
+
+_Missing in Action_
+
+
+"I've counted twenty at least," Webb said over his shoulder. The scouts
+were belly-flat in cover, looking down into a scene of some activity. It
+almost resembled the cavalry camp they had left behind them to the
+south. There were the same shelters ingeniously constructed of brush and
+logs and a picket line for horses and mules. This hole must harbor a
+high percentage of deserters from both armies.
+
+"Only four of us," Kirby remarked. "'Course I know we're the tall men of
+the army, but ain't this runnin' the odds a mite high?"
+
+Croff chuckled. "He's got a point there, Sarge."
+
+"Seein' as how what happened back there on the road could be pinned on
+us, we have to do something," Drew returned. This whole section of
+country would boil over when those bodies were discovered. "And we ain't
+the only ones. Any of our boys comin' through here on furlough are like
+to be jumped for it if the Yankees catch them."
+
+"That's the truth if you ever spoke it, Sarge. I can see some hangin's
+comin' out of that ambush."
+
+"Theah's still twenty hombres down theah, an' four of us. We can pick
+off a few from up heah, but they ain't gonna wait around to git sniped.
+So, how we gonna spread ourselves--?"
+
+Kirby's was the unanswerable question. They had trailed the fugitives
+from the ambush back to this tangled wilderness with infinite caution,
+bypassing two sentries so well posted and concealed they had been forced
+to judge that the motley collection of guerrillas were as experienced at
+this trade as the scouts. There was no time to try to round up any other
+bands of homing Confederates or prowling scouts, even if they knew where
+they could be located. This was really a Yankee problem partly as well.
+
+Because of that murderous ambush, the local Union commander should be
+out for blood. But how could they get into enemy hands the information
+about this rats' nest?
+
+"We can't take 'em ourselves, and we've no time to round up any of the
+boys who might be passin' through."
+
+"So we jus' leave heah an' forgit it?" Webb demanded.
+
+"There's another way--risky, but it might work. Take the Yankees off our
+trail and put them to doing something for us...."
+
+"Sic 'em in heah, eh?" Kirby was watching Drew with dancing eyes. "How?"
+
+"Yeah, how? Ride up to their camp an' say, 'We know wheah at theah's
+some bushwhackers, come'n see'?" Webb asked scornfully. "After this
+mornin' they won't even listen to a truce flag, I'm thinkin'."
+
+Croff nodded. "That's right."
+
+"Supposin' those sentries we passed back there were knocked out and two
+of us took their places and the other two then laid a trail leadin'
+here?"
+
+"Showin' themselves for bait, plainlike?" Kirby asked.
+
+"If we have to. The alarm will have gone out. I'm bettin' there're
+patrols thick on that road."
+
+"Any blue bellies travelin' theah now are gonna be bunched an' ready to
+shoot at anything movin'."
+
+"So," Croff cut in over Webb's instant objection, "you get some Yankees
+a-hittin' it up after you, and you run for here. They're not all dumb
+enough to ride right into this kind of country."
+
+"We'll have to work it so they'll keep comin'. When you see them headin'
+into the gorge after us, you move out of the sentry posts back across
+this ridge and start cuttin' this camp down to size--pick off those
+horses and put 'em afoot. That'll keep them here till the Yankees come."
+
+"You know," Kirby said, "it's jus' crazy enough to work. Lordy--if it
+was summer, I'd say we all had our brains sun-cured, but I'm willin' to
+try it. Who does what?"
+
+"Croff and Webb'll take out the sentries. We'll go hunt us up some
+Yankees." As Kirby said, it was a wild plan anchored here and there on
+chance alone. But the scouts were familiar with action as rash as this,
+which _had_ worked. And they still had a few hours of daylight left in
+which to try it.
+
+They let a supply train go by on the road undisturbed. It was, Drew
+noted, well guarded and the guard paid special attention to the woods
+and fields flanking them. The word had certainly gone out to expect dire
+trouble along that section of countryside.
+
+"Have to be kinda hopin' for the right-sized herd," Kirby observed.
+"Need a nice patrol. Too bad we ain't able to rope in, to order, jus'
+what we need."
+
+He went to a post farther south along the pike, and Drew settled
+himself in his own patch of cover, with Hannibal close at hand. The
+passing of time was a fret, but one they were used to. Drew thought over
+the plan. Improvisation always had to play a large part in such a
+project, but he believed they had a chance of success.
+
+A bird note, clear and carrying, broke the silence of the winter
+afternoon. Drew cradled the Spencer close to him. That was Kirby's
+signal that around the bend he had sighted what they wanted.
+
+It was a patrol, led by a bearded officer with a captain's bars on his
+shoulders--quite an impressive turnout, consisting of some thirty men
+and two officers. Watching them ride toward him, Drew's mouth went dry,
+a shiver ascending his spine. To play fox to this pack of hounds was
+going to be more of a task than he had anticipated. But it had to be
+done.
+
+He fired, carefully missing the captain by a small margin, as he saw the
+spark his bullet struck from a roadside stone. Then he pumped one shot
+after another over the heads of the startled men. As he mounted Hannibal
+he caught a glimpse of Kirby cutting across the slope. The Texan rode
+Indian fashion with most of his mount between him and the return fire
+from the road. Drew kicked Hannibal into a leap, taking him half way out
+of range and out of sight.
+
+Then, with Kirby, he was pounding away. A branch was bullet-clipped over
+his head, and he heard the whistle of shots. Unless he was very lucky,
+this might be one piece of recklessness he would pay for dearly. But he
+also heard what he had hoped for--the shouts of the hunters, the thud of
+hoofs behind.
+
+Now it was a game, much the same as the one they had played to lead the
+Union troops into the cavalry trap at Anthony's Hill. They showed
+themselves, to fire and fall back, riding a crisscross pattern which
+would confuse the Yankees as to whether they were pursuing two men or
+more. Drew watched for the landmarks to guide them back. Less than half
+a mile would bring them to the gorge. Then they must ride fast to put a
+bigger gap between them and the enemy so they could go to cover before
+they struck the valley of the guerrilla camp.
+
+They must depend upon Croff and Webb having successfully taken over the
+sentry posts. But Drew faced those heights with some apprehension.
+Kirby, on one of his cross runs, pulled near.
+
+"They're laggin'. Better give 'em somethin' to try an' bite on!" He
+brought his bay to a complete stop and aimed. When his carbine barked, a
+horse neighed and went down. Then Kirby flinched, his weapon fell from
+his hand, and he caught quickly at the horn of his saddle. From the
+foremost of the blue riders there was a wild yell of exultation.
+
+Drew whirled Hannibal and brought him at a run to the Texan's side.
+
+"How bad?"
+
+"Jus' creased me." But Kirby's expression gave the lie to his words.
+"Git goin' ... don't be a dang-blasted fool!"
+
+Drew scooped up the reins the other had let fall. Kirby must not be
+allowed to lag. To be captured now was to lose all hope of being taken
+as an ordinary prisoner of war. He booted Hannibal into the rocking
+gallop the big mule was capable of upon occasion, and pulled the bay
+along. Kirby was clinging to the horn, his language heated as he
+alternately ordered or tried to abuse Drew into leaving him.
+
+The Texan's plight had applied any spur the pursuers might have needed.
+Confident they were now going to gather in at least two bushwhackers,
+the shouting behind took on a premature shrilling of triumph. There was
+a blast of shooting, and Drew marveled that neither man nor horse was
+hit again.
+
+He was into the mouth of the gorge, still leading Kirby's horse, but a
+glance told him that the Texan would not be able to hold on much longer.
+He was gray-white under his tan, and his head bobbed from side to side
+with the rocking of the horse's running stride.
+
+Their pursuers pulled pace a little, maybe fearing a trap. Drew gained a
+few precious seconds by the headlong pace he had set from the time Kirby
+had been wounded. But they dared not try to get up the steep sides of
+the cut now.
+
+He dared not erupt into the bushwhacker campsite, or could he? If Croff
+and Webb were now making their way to the heights above, ready to fire
+into the camp as they had planned, wouldn't that keep the men there busy
+and cover his own break into the valley?
+
+He heard firing again; this time the sound was ahead of him. Croff and
+Webb were starting action, which meant that the Yankees would be drawn
+on to see what was up. Kirby's horse was running beside Hannibal. The
+Texan's eyes were closed, his left shoulder and upper sleeve bloody.
+
+Riding neck and neck, they burst out of the gorge as rifle bullets
+propelled from a barrel. The impetus of that charge carried them across
+an open strip. There were yells ... shots.... But Drew's attention was
+on keeping Kirby in the saddle.
+
+Hannibal hit a brush wall and tore through it. Branches whipped back at
+them with force enough to throw riders.
+
+Kirby was swept off, gone before Drew could catch him. Then Hannibal
+gave a wild bray of pain and terror. He reared and Drew lost grasp of
+the bay's reins. The riderless horse drove ahead while Drew tried to
+control the mule and turn him.
+
+Tossing his head high, Hannibal brayed again. A man scuttled out of the
+brush, and Drew only half saw the figure snap a shot at him.
+
+He was aware of the sickening impact of a blow in his middle, of the
+fact that suddenly he could pull no air into his straining lungs. The
+reins were out of his hands, but somehow he continued to cling to the
+saddle as the mule leaped ahead. Then under Hannibal's hoofs the ground
+gave way, both of them tumbling into the icy stream. And for Drew there
+was instant blackness, shutting out the need for breath, the terrible
+agony which shook him.
+
+"... dead. Get on after the others!"
+
+The words made no sense. He was cold, wet, and there was a throbbing
+pain beating through him with every thrust of blood in his veins. But he
+could breathe again and if he lay very still, his nausea eased.
+
+Then he heard it--not quite a bray, but a kind of moaning. The sound
+went on and on--shutting everything else out of his ears--to hurt not
+flesh, but spirit. He could stand it no longer.
+
+With infinite labor, Drew turned his head. He felt the rasp of grit on
+the skin of his burned cheek, and that small pain became a part of the
+larger. He opened his eyes, setting his teeth against a wave of nausea,
+and tried to understand what had happened to him.
+
+Water washed over his legs and boots, numbing him to the waist. But his
+arms, shoulders, and head were above its surface as he lay on his side,
+half braced against a rock. And he could see across the stream to the
+source of that mournful sound.
+
+Hannibal was struggling to get to his feet. There was a wound in his
+flank, a red river rilling from it to stain the water. And one of his
+forelegs was caught between two rocks. Throwing his head high, the mule
+bit at the branches of a willow. Several times he got hold and pulled,
+as if he could win to his feet with the aid of the tooth-shredded wood.
+Shudders ran across his body, and the sound he uttered was almost a
+human moan of pain and despair.
+
+Drew moved his arm, dully glad that he could. His fingers seemed
+stiff--as if his muscles were taking their own time to obey his
+will--but they closed on one of the Colts which had not been shaken free
+from his holster when he fell. He pulled the weapon free, biting his lip
+hard against the twinges that movement cost him.
+
+Steadying the weapon on his hip, he took careful aim at Hannibal's head
+and fired. The recoil of the heavy revolver brought a small, whistling
+cry of pain out of him. But across the stream, the mule's head fell from
+the willows, and he was mercifully still.
+
+The sky was gray. Drew heard a snap of shots, but they seemed very far
+away. And the leaden cold of the water crept farther up his body,
+turning the throb into a cramp. He tried not to cry out; for him there
+would be no mercy shot.
+
+The rising tide of cold brought lethargy with it. He felt as if all his
+strength had drained into the water tugging at him. Again, the dark
+closed in, and he was lost in it.
+
+Warm ... he was warm. And the painful spasms which had torn at him were
+eased. He still had a dull ache through his middle, but there was warm
+pressure over it, comforting and good. He sighed, fearful that a sudden
+movement might cause the sharp pains to return.
+
+Then he was moved, his head was raised, and something hard pressed
+against his lower lip so that he opened his mouth in reflex. Hot liquid
+lapped over his tongue. He swallowed and the warmth which had been on
+the outside was now within him as well, traveling down his throat into
+his stomach.
+
+More warmth, this time on his forehead. Drew forced his eyes open.
+Memory stirred, too dim to be more than a teasing uneasiness. Action was
+necessary, important action. He focused his eyes on a brown face bearing
+a scruff of beard on cheeks and chin.
+
+"Webb...." It was very slow, that process of matching face to name. But
+once he had done it, memory brightened.
+
+"What happened--?"
+
+They had ridden into the guerrilla camp site, he and Kirby, with the
+Yankees on their heels. Painfully he could recall that. Then, later he
+had been lying half in, half out of a creek, sicker than he had ever
+been in his life. And Hannibal ... he had shot Hannibal!
+
+Webb's hand came out of the half dark, holding the tin cup to his mouth
+again.
+
+"Drink up!" the other ordered sharply.
+
+Drew obeyed. But he was not so far under, now. Objects around him took
+on clarity. He was lying on the ground, not too far from a fire, and
+there were walls. Was he in a cabin?
+
+There had been a cabin before, but he had not been the sick one then.
+The guerrillas!
+
+"Bushwhackers?" He got that out more clearly. A shadow which had
+substance, moved behind Webb. Croff's strongly marked features were
+lined by the light.
+
+"Dead ... or the Yankees have them."
+
+Webb was making him drink again. With the other supporting his head and
+shoulders, Drew was able to survey his body. A blanket was wrapped
+tightly about his legs, and over his chest and middle a wet wad of
+material steamed. When Webb laid him flat again, the two men, working
+together, wrung out another square of torn blanket, and substituted its
+damp heat for the one which had been cooling against him.
+
+"What's the ... matter--? Shot?"
+
+Croff reached to bring into the firelight a belt strap. Dangling it, he
+held the buckle-end in Drew's line of vision. The plate was split, and
+embedded in it was an object as big as Drew's thumb and somewhat
+resembling it in shape.
+
+"We took this off you," the Cherokee explained. "Stopped a bullet plumb
+center with that."
+
+"Ain't seen nothin' like it 'fore," Webb added, patting the compress
+gently into place. "Like to ripe you wide open if it hadn't hit the
+buckle! You got you a bruise black as charcoal an' big as a plate right
+across your guts, but the skin's only a little broke wheah the plate cut
+you some. An' if you ain't hurt inside, you're 'bout the luckiest fella
+I ever thought to see in my lifetime!"
+
+Drew moved a hand, touching the buckle with a forefinger. Then he filled
+his lungs deeply and felt the answering pinch of pain in the region of
+the bruise Webb described.
+
+"It sure hurts! But it's better than a hole."
+
+A hole! Kirby! Drew's hand went out to brace himself up, the compress
+slid down his body, and then Webb was forcing him down again.
+
+"What you tryin' to do, boy? Pass out on us agin? You stay put an' let
+us work on you! This heah district's no place to linger, an' you can't
+fork a hoss 'til we git you fixed up some."
+
+Drew caught at the hand which pinned his shoulder. "Will, where's Anse?
+You got him here too?" He rolled his head, trying to see more of the
+enclosure in which he lay, but all he faced was a wall of rough stone.
+Webb was wringing out another compress, preparing to change the
+dressing.
+
+"Where's Anse?" Drew demanded more loudly, and there was a faint echo of
+his voice from overhead.
+
+Croff flipped off the cooling compress as Webb applied the fresh one.
+But Drew was no longer lulled by that warmth.
+
+"He ain't here," replied the Cherokee.
+
+"Where then?" Drew was suddenly silent, no longer wanting an answer.
+
+"Looky heah, Drew"--Webb hung over him, peering intently into his
+face--"we don't know wheah he is, an' that's Bible-swear truth! We saw
+you two come out into the valley, but we was busy pickin' off hosses so
+them devils couldn't make it away 'fore the Yankees caught up with 'em.
+Then the blue bellies slammed in fast an' hard. They jus' naturally went
+right over those bushwhackers. Maybe so, they captured two or three, but
+most of them was finished off right theah. We took cover, not wantin'
+to meet up with lead jus' because we might seem to be in bad company.
+When all the shootin' was over an' you didn't come 'long, me and Injun
+did some scoutin' 'round.
+
+"We found you down by that crick, an' first--I'm tellin' it to you
+straight--we thought you was dead. Then Injun, he found your heart was
+still beatin', so we lugged you up heah an' looked you over. Later,
+Injun, he went back for a look-see, but he ain't found hide nor hair of
+Anse--"
+
+"He was hit bad--in the shoulder--" Drew looked pleadingly from one to
+the other--"when we smashed into that brush he was pushed right out of
+the saddle, not far from that crick where you found me. Injun, he could
+still be out there now ... bleedin'--hurt...."
+
+Croff shook his head. "I backtracked all along that way after we found
+you. There was some blood on the grass, but that could have come from
+one of the bushwhackers. There was no trace of Anse, anywhere."
+
+"What if he was taken prisoner!" Neither one of them would meet his eyes
+now, and Drew set his teeth, clamping down on a wild rush of words he
+wanted to spill, knowing that both men would have been as quick and
+willing to search for the Texan as they had to bring Drew, himself, in.
+No one answered him.
+
+But Croff stood up and said quietly: "This is a pretty well-hidden cave.
+The Yankees probably believe they've swept out this valley. You stay
+holed up here, and you're safe for a while. Then when you're ready to
+ride, Sarge, we'll head back south."
+
+He stopped to pick up his carbine by its sling.
+
+"Where're you going?"
+
+"Take a look-see for Yankees. If they got Anse, there's a slim chance we
+can learn of it and take steps. Leastwise, nosing a little downwind
+ain't goin' to do a bit of harm." He moved out of the firelight with his
+usual noiseless tread and was gone.
+
+
+
+
+17
+
+_Poor Rebel Soldier...._
+
+
+"Sergeant Rennie reporting suh, at the General's orders." Drew came to
+attention under the regard of those gray-blue eyes, not understanding
+why he had been summoned to Forrest's headquarters.
+
+"Sergeant, what's all this about bushwhackers?"
+
+Drew repeated the story of their adventure in Tennessee, paring it down
+to the bald facts.
+
+"That nest was wiped out by the Yankee patrol, suh. Afterward Private
+Croff found a saddlebag with some papers in it, which was in the remains
+of their camp. It looks like they'd been picking off couriers from both
+sides. We sent those in with our first report."
+
+The General nodded. "You stayed near-by for a while after the camp was
+taken?"
+
+"Well, I was hurt, suh."
+
+He saw that General Forrest was smiling. "Sergeant, that theah story
+about your belt buckle has had a mightly lot of repeatin' up and down
+the ranks. You were a lucky young man!"
+
+"Yes, suh!" Drew agreed. "While I was laid up, Privates Croff and Webb
+took turns on scout, suh. They located some of our men hidin'
+out--stragglers from the retreat. They also rounded up a few of the
+bushwhackers' horses and mules."
+
+Forrest nodded. "You returned to our lines with some fifteen men and ten
+mounts, as well as information. Your losses?"
+
+Drew stared at the wall behind the General's head.
+
+"One man missin', suh."
+
+"You were unable to hear any news of him?"
+
+"No, suh." The old weariness settled back on him. They had hunted--first
+Croff and Webb--and then he, too, as soon as he was able to sit a
+saddle. It was Weatherby's fate all over again; the ground might have
+opened and gulped Kirby down.
+
+"How old are you, Sergeant?"
+
+Drew could not see what his age had to do with Kirby's disappearance,
+but he answered truthfully: "Nineteen--I had a birthday a week ago,
+suh."
+
+"And you volunteered when--?"
+
+"In May of '62, suh. I was in Captain Castleman's company when they
+joined General Morgan--Company D, Second Kentucky. Then I transferred to
+the scouts under Captain Quirk."
+
+"The big raids ... you were in Ohio, Rennie? Captured?"
+
+"No, suh. I was one of the lucky ones who made it across the river
+before the Yankees caught up--"
+
+"At Chickamauga?"
+
+"Yes, suh."
+
+"Cynthiana"--but now Forrest did not wait for Drew's affirmative
+answer--"and Harrisburg, Franklin.... It's a long line of battles, ain't
+it, boy? A long line. And you were nineteen last week. You know,
+Rennie, the Union Army gives medals to those they think have earned
+them."
+
+"I've heard tell of that, suh."
+
+The General's hand, brown, strong, went to the officer's hat weighing
+down a pile of papers on the table. With a quick twist, Forrest ripped
+off the tassled gold cord which distinguished it, smoothing out the loop
+of bullion between thumb and forefinger.
+
+"We don't give medals, Sergeant. But I think a good soldier might just
+be granted a birthday present without any one gittin' too excited about
+how military that is." He held out the cord, and Drew took it a bit
+dazedly.
+
+"Thank you, suh. I'm sure proud...."
+
+A wave of Forrest's hand put a period to his thanks.
+
+"A long line of battles," the General repeated, "too long a line--an end
+to it comin' soon. Did you ever think, boy, of what you were goin' to do
+after the war?"
+
+"Well, there's the West, suh. Open country out there--"
+
+Forrest's eyes were bright, alert. "Yes, and we might even hold the
+West. We'll see--we'll have to see. Your report accepted, Sergeant."
+
+It was plainly a dismissal. As Drew saluted, the General laid his hat
+back on the tallest pile of papers. Busy at the table, he might have
+already forgotten Drew. But the Kentuckian, pausing outside the door to
+examine the hat cord once more, knew that he would never forget. No,
+there were no medals worn in the ragged, thin lines of the shrinking
+Confederate Army. But his birthday gift--Drew's fist closed about the
+cord jealously--that was something he would have, always.
+
+Only, nowadays, how long was "always"?
+
+"That's a right smart-lookin' mount, Sarge!" Drew looked at the pair of
+lounging messengers grinning at him from the front porch of
+headquarters. He loosened the reins and led the bony animal a step or
+two before mounting.
+
+Shawnee, nimble-footed as a cat, a horse that had known almost as much
+about soldiering as his young rider. Then Hannibal, the mule from Cadiz,
+that had served valiantly through battle and retreat, to die in a
+Tennessee stream bed. And now this bone-rack of a gray mule with one lop
+ear, a mind of his own, and a gait which could set one's teeth on edge
+when you pushed him into any show of speed. The animal's long,
+melancholy face, his habit of braying mournfully in the moonlight--until
+Westerners compared him unfavorably with the coyotes of the Plains--had
+earned him the name Croaker; and he was part of the loot they had
+brought out of the bushwhackers' camp.
+
+As unlovely as he appeared, Croaker had endurance, steady nerves, and a
+most un-mulelike willingness to obey orders. He was far from the ideal
+cavalry mount, but he took his rider there and back, safely. He was
+sure-footed, with a cat's ability to move at night, and in scout circles
+he had already made a favorable impression. But he certainly was an
+unhandsome creature.
+
+"Smart actin's better than smart lookin'," Drew answered the disparagers
+now. "Do as well yourselves, soldiers, and you'll be satisfied."
+
+Croaker started off at a trot, sniffling, his good ear twitching as if
+he had heard those unfriendly comments and was storing them up in his
+memory, to be acted upon in the future.
+
+January and February were behind them now. Now it was March ...
+spring--only it was more like late fall. Or winter, with the night
+closing in. Drew let Croaker settle to the gait which suited him best.
+He would visit Boyd and then rejoin Buford's force.
+
+The army, or what was left of it hereabouts, was, as usual, rumbling
+with rumor. The Union's General Wilson had assembled a massive hammer of
+a force, veterans who had clashed over and over with Forrest in the
+field, who had learned that master's tricks. Seventeen thousand mounted
+cavalrymen, ready to aim straight down through Alabama where the war had
+not yet touched. Another ten thousand without horses, who formed a
+backlog of reserves.
+
+In the Carolinas, Johnston, with the last stubborn regiments of the Army
+of the Tennessee, was playing his old delaying game, trying to stop
+Sherman from ripping up along the coast. And in Virginia the news was
+all bad. The world was not spring, but drab winter, the dying winter of
+the Confederacy.
+
+Wilson's target was Selma and the Confederate arsenal; every man in the
+army knew that. Somehow Bedford Forrest was going to have to interpose
+between all the weight of that Yankee hammer and Selma. And he had done
+the impossible so often, there was still a chance that he _could_ bring
+it off. The General had a free hand and his own particular brand of
+genius to back it.
+
+Drew's fingers were on the front of his short cavalry jacket, pressing
+against the coil of gold cord in his shirt pocket. No, the old man
+wasn't licked yet; he'd give Wilson and every one of those twenty-seven
+thousand Yankees a good stiff fight when they came poking their long
+noses over the Alabama border!
+
+"He gave you what?" Boyd sat up straighter. His face was thin and no
+longer weather-beaten, and he'd lost all of that childish arrogance
+which had so often irritated his elders. In its place was a certain
+quiet soberness in which the scout sometimes saw flashes of Sheldon.
+
+Now Drew pulled the cord from his pocket, holding it out for Boyd's
+inspection. The younger boy ran it through his fingers wonderingly.
+
+"General Forrest's!" From it he looked to the faded weatherworn hat Drew
+had left on a chair by the door. Boyd caught it up and pulled off the
+leather string banding its dented crown. Carefully he fitted on
+Forrest's gift and studied the result critically. Drew laughed.
+
+"Like puttin' a new saddle on Croaker; it doesn't fit."
+
+"Yes, it does," Boyd protested. "That's right where it belongs."
+
+Drew, standing by the window, felt a pinch of concern. He found it
+difficult nowadays to deny Boyd anything, let alone such a harmless
+request.
+
+"The first lieutenant comin' along will call me for sportin' a general's
+feathers on a sergeant's head," he protested. "Nothin' from Cousin Merry
+yet? Maybe Hansford didn't make it through with my letter. He hasn't
+come back yet.... But--"
+
+"Think I'd lie to you about that?" Boyd's eyes held some of the old
+blaze as he turned the hat around in his hands. "And what I told you is
+the truth. The surgeon said it won't hurt me any to ride with the boys
+when you pull out. General Buford's ordered to Selma and Dr. Cowan's
+sister lives there. He has a letter from her sayin' I can rest up at her
+house if I need to. But I won't! I haven't coughed once today, that's
+the honest truth, Drew. And when you go, the Yankees are goin' to move
+in here. I don't want to go to a Yankee prison, like Anse--"
+
+Drew's shoulders hunched in an involuntary tightening of muscles as he
+stared straight out of the window at nothing. Boyd had insisted from the
+first that the Texan must be a prisoner. Drew schooled himself into the
+old shell, the shell of trying not to let himself care.
+
+"General Buford said I was to ride in one of the headquarters wagons. He
+needs an extra driver. That's doin' something useful, not just sittin'
+around listenin' to a lot of bad news!" The boy's tone was almost raw in
+protest.
+
+And some of Boyd's argument made sense. After the command moved out he
+might be picked up by a roving Yankee patrol, while Selma was still so
+far behind the Confederate lines that it was safe, especially with
+Forrest moving between it and Wilson.
+
+"Mind you, take things easy! Start coughin' again, and you'll have to
+stay behind!" Drew warned.
+
+"Drew, are things really so bad for us?"
+
+The scout came away from the window. "Maybe the General can hold off
+Wilson ... this time. But it can't last. Look at things straight, Boyd.
+We're short on horses; more'n half the men are dismounted. And more of
+them desert every day. Men are afraid they'll be sent into the Carolinas
+to fight Sherman, and they don't want to be so far from home. The women
+write or get messages through about how hard things are at home. A man
+can march with an empty belly for himself and somehow stick it out, but
+when he hears about his children starvin' he's apt to forget all the
+rest. We're whittled 'way down, and there's no way under Heaven of
+gettin' what we need."
+
+"I heard some of the boys talkin' about drawin' back to Texas."
+
+"Sure, we've all heard that big wishin', but that's all it is, just
+wishin'. The Yankees wouldn't let up even if they crowded us clear back
+until we're knee-deep in the Rio Grande. It's close to the end now--"
+
+"No, it ain't!" Boyd flared, more than a shade of the old stubbornness
+back in his voice. "It ain't goin' to be the end as long as one of us
+can ride and hold a carbine! They can have horses and new boots, their
+supplies, and all their men. We ain't scared of any Yankee who ever rode
+down the pike! If you yell at 'em now, they'd beat it back the way they
+came."
+
+Drew smiled tiredly. "Guess we're on our way now to do some of that
+yellin'." The end was almost in sight; every trooper in or out of the
+saddle knew it. Only some, like Boyd, would not admit it. "Remember what
+I say, Boyd. Take it slow and ride easy!"
+
+Boyd picked up Drew's hat again, holding it in the sunlight coming
+through the window. The cord was a band of raw gold, gleaming brighter,
+perhaps, because of the shabbiness of the hat it now graced.
+
+"You don't ride easy with the General," he said softly. "You ride tall
+and you ride proud!"
+
+Drew took the hat from him. Out of the direct sunbeam, the band still
+seemed to hold a bit of fire.
+
+"Maybe you do," he agreed soberly.
+
+Now Boyd was smiling in turn. "You carry the General's hatband right up
+so those blue bellies can get the shine in their eyes! We'll lam 'em
+straight back to the Tennessee again--see if we don't!"
+
+But almost three weeks later the Yankees were not back at the Tennessee;
+they were dressing their lines before the horseshoe bend of the
+defending breastworks of Selma. Everything which could have gone wrong
+with Forrest's plans had done just that. A captured courier had given
+his enemies the whole framework of his strategy. Then the cavalry had
+tried to hold the blue flood at Bogler's Creek by a tearing frantic
+battle, whirling Union sabers against Confederate revolvers in the hands
+of veterans. It had been a battle from which Forrest himself broke free
+through a lane opened by the action of his own weapons and the
+concentrated fury of his escort.
+
+Out of the city had steamed the last train while a stream of civilian
+refugees had struggled away on foot, the river patrolled by pickets of
+cavalry ordered to extricate every able-bodied man from the throng and
+press him into the struggle. Forrest's orders were plain: Every male
+able to fight goes into the works, or into the river!
+
+Now Drew and Boyd were with the Kentuckians, forming with Forrest's
+escort a small reserve force behind the center of that horseshoe of
+ramparts. Veterans on either flank, and the militia, trusted by none, in
+the middle. Thin lines stretched to the limit, so that each dismounted
+trooper in that pitiful fortification was six or even ten feet from his
+nearest fellow. And gathering under the afternoon sun a mass of blue, a
+vast, endless ocean....
+
+The enemy was dismounted, too, coming in on a charge as fearless and
+reckless as any the Confederates had delivered in the past. With the
+sharpness of one of their own sabers, they slashed out a trotting arc of
+men, cutting at Armstrong's veterans in the earthworks to be curled
+back under a withering fire, losing a general, senior officers, and men.
+But the rebuff did not shake them.
+
+A second Union attack was aimed at the center, and the militia broke.
+Bugles shrilled in the small reserve, who then pushed up to meet that
+long tongue of blue licking out confidently toward the city. This time
+there was no stopping the Yankee advance. The reserve neither broke nor
+followed the shambling panic-striken flight of the militia, but were
+pushed back by sheer weight of numbers to the unfinished second line of
+the city's defenses.
+
+Blue--a full tidal wave of it in front and wedges of blue overlapping
+the gray flanks and appearing here and there even to the rear--
+
+Having thrown away his rifle, Drew was now firing with both Colts, never
+sure any of his bullets found their targets. He stood shoulder to
+shoulder with Boyd in a dip of half-finished earthwork when the bugle
+called again, and down the ragged line of gray snapped an order unheard
+before--
+
+"Get out! Save yourselves!"
+
+Boyd fired, then threw his emptied Colt into the face of a tall man
+whose blue coat bore a sergeant's stripes. His own emptied guns placed
+in their holsters, Drew caught up the carbine the Yankee had dropped. He
+gave Boyd a shove.
+
+"Run!"
+
+They dodged in and out of a swirling mass of fighting men, somehow
+reaching the line of horse holders. Drew found Croaker standing stolidly
+with dragging reins, got into the saddle, and reached down a hand to aid
+Boyd up behind him. In the early dusk he saw General Forrest--his own
+height and the proportions of his charger King Phillip distinguishable
+even in that melee--gathering about him a nucleus of resistance as they
+battled toward the city. And Drew headed Croaker in the General's
+direction.
+
+Boyd pawed at his shoulder as they burst into a street at the
+bone-shaking gallop which was the mule's fastest gait. A blue-coated
+trooper sat with his back against the paling of a trim white fence, one
+lax hand still holding the reins of a horse. Drew pulled Croaker up so
+Boyd could slip down. As he pulled loose the reins the Yankee slid
+inertly to the ground.
+
+A squad of blue coats turned the corner a block away, heading for them.
+Somewhere ahead, the company led by the General was fighting its way
+through Selma. Drew was driven by the necessity of catching up. The two
+armies were so mingled now that the wild disorder proved a cover for
+escaping Confederates.
+
+Twilight was on them as they hit the Burnsville road, coming into the
+tail end of the command of men from a dozen or more shattered regiments,
+companies, and divisions, who had consolidated in some order about
+Forrest and his escort. These were all veterans, men tough enough to
+fight their way out of the city and lucky enough to find their mounts or
+others when the order to get out had come. They were part of the
+striking force Forrest had built up through months and years--tempered
+with his own particular training and spirit--now peeled down to a final
+hard core.
+
+In the darkness their advance tangled with a Union outpost, snapping up
+prisoners before the bewildered Yankees were aware that they, too, were
+not Wilson's men. And the word passed that a Fourth United States
+Regulars' scouting detachment was camped not too far away.
+
+"We can take 'em, suh." Drew caught the assurance in that.
+
+"We shall, we certainly shall!" Forrest's drawl had sharpened as if he
+saw in the prospect of this small engagement a chance to redeem the
+futile shame of those breaking lines at Selma.
+
+"Not you, suh!"
+
+That protest was picked up, echoed by every man within hearing. Finally
+the General yielded to their angry demands that he not expose himself to
+the danger of the night attack.
+
+They moved in around the house, and somehow confidence was restored by
+following the old familiar pattern of the surprise attack--as if in this
+small action they were again a part of the assured troops who had fought
+gunboats from horseback, who had tweaked the Yankees' tails so often.
+
+Drew and Boyd were part of the detachment sent to approach the
+fire-lighted horse lot, coming from a different angle than the main body
+of the force. It was the old, old game of letting a dozen do the work of
+fifty. But before they had reached the rail fence about that enclosure,
+there was a ripple of spiteful Yankee fire.
+
+"Come on!" The officer outlined against one of the campfires, lurched
+and caught at the rails as the men he led crawled over or vaulted that
+obstruction, overrunning the Union defenders with the vehemence of men
+determined to make up for the failure of the afternoon. It was a sharp
+skirmish, but one from which they came away with prisoners and a renewed
+belief in themselves. Though they did not know it then, they had fought
+the last battle of the war for the depleted regiments of cavalry of the
+Army of the Tennessee. The aftertaste of Selma had been bitter, but the
+small, sharp flurry at the Godwin house left them no longer feeling so
+bitter.
+
+"Where're we goin'?" Boyd pushed his horse up beside Croaker as they
+swung on through the dark.
+
+"Plantersville, I guess." But something inside Drew added soundlessly:
+On to the end now.
+
+"We're not finished--" Boyd went on, when Drew interrupted:
+
+"We're finished. We were finished months ago." It was true ... they had
+been finished at Franklin, their cause dead, their hopes dead,
+everything dead except men who had somehow kept on their feet, with
+weapons in their hands and a dogged determination to keep going. Why?
+Because most of them could no longer understand any other way of life?
+
+There was that long line of battles General Forrest had named.... And
+marching backward through weeks, months, and years a long line of men,
+growing more and more shadowy in memory. Among them was Anse--Drew tried
+not to think about that.
+
+Now, out of the dark there suddenly arose a voice, singing. Others
+picked up the tune, one of the army songs. Just as Kirby had sung to
+them on the big retreat, so this unknown voice was singing them on to
+whatever was awaiting at Plantersville. The end was waiting and they
+would have to face it, just as they had faced carbine, saber, field gun
+and everything else the Yankees had brought to bear against them.
+
+Drew joined in and heard Boyd's tenor, high but on key, take up the
+refrain:
+
+    "On the Plains of Manassas the Yankees we met,
+    We gave them a whipping they'll never forget:
+    But I ain't got no money, nor nothin' to eat,
+    I'm afraid that tonight I must sleep in the street."
+
+The Army of the Tennessee hadn't seen the Plains of Manassas, maybe, but
+they had seen other fields and running Yankees in their time.
+
+Drew found himself slapping the ends of his reins in time to the tune.
+
+"I'm a poor Rebel soldier, and Dixie's my home--"
+
+Croaker brayed loudly and with sorrowful undertone, and Drew heard a
+laugh, which could only have come from General Forrest, floating back to
+him through the dawn of a new morning.
+
+
+
+
+18
+
+_Texas Spurs_
+
+
+The soft wind curled languidly in through the open church window,
+stirring the curly lock which Boyd now and then impatiently pushed away
+from his eyes ... was a delicate fingertip touch on Drew's cheek. A
+subdued shuffle of feet could be heard as the congregation arose. It was
+Sunday in Gainesville, and a congregation such as could only have
+gathered there on this particular May 7, 1865. Rusty gray-brown,
+patched, and with ill-mended tears, which no amount of painstaking
+effort could ever convert again into more than dimly respectable
+uniforms, a sprinkling of civilian broadcloth and feminine bonnets. And
+across the church a smaller block of once hostile blue....
+
+As the recessional formed, prayer books were closed to be slipped into
+pockets or reticules. The presiding celebrate moved down from the altar,
+his surplice tugged aside by the wandering breeze revealing the worn
+cavalry boots of a chaplain.
+
+    "For the beauty of the earth,
+    For the beauty of the skies,
+    For the love which from our birth
+    Over and around us lies."
+
+Men's voices, hesitant and rusty at first, then rose confidently over
+the more decorous hum of the regular church-goers as old memories were
+renewed.
+
+    "Lord of all, to Thee we raise
+    This our Hymn of grateful praise."
+
+The hymn swelled, a mighty, powerful wave of sound. Drew's hard,
+calloused hands closed on the back of the pew ahead. Hearing Boyd's
+voice break, Drew knew that within them both something had loosened. The
+apathy which had held them through these past days was going, and they
+were able to feel again.
+
+"Drew--" Boyd's voice quavered and then steadied, "let's go home...."
+
+They had shared the talk at camp, the discussion about slipping away to
+join Kirby Smith in Texas, and some had even gone before the official
+surrender of Confederate forces east of the Mississippi three days
+earlier. But when General Forrest elected to accept Yankee terms, most
+of the men followed his example. Back at camp they were making out the
+paroles on the blanks furnished by the Union Command, but so far no
+Yankee had appeared in person. The cavalry were to retain their horses
+and mules, and whole companies planned to ride home together to
+Tennessee and Kentucky. Drew and Boyd could join one of those.
+
+As they moved toward the church door now three of the Union soldiers who
+had attended the service were directly ahead of them in the aisle. Boyd
+caught urgently at Drew's arm.
+
+"Those spurs--look at his spurs!" He pointed to the heels of the middle
+Yankee. Sunlight made those ornate disks of silver very bright. Drew's
+breath caught, and he took a long stride forward to put his hand on the
+blue coat's shoulder. The man swung around, startled, to face him.
+
+"Suh, where did you get those spurs?" Drew's tone carried the note of
+one who expected to be answered promptly--with the truth.
+
+The Yankee had straight black brows which drew together in a frown as he
+stared back at the Confederate.
+
+"I don't see how that's any business of yours, Reb!"
+
+Drew's hand went to his belt before he remembered that there wasn't any
+weapon there, and no need for one now. He regained control.
+
+"It's this much my business, suh. Those spurs are Mexican. They were
+taken from a Mexican officer at Chapultepec, and the last time I saw
+them they were worn by a very good friend of mine who's been missing
+since February! I'd like very much indeed to know just how and where you
+got them."
+
+Lifting one booted foot, the Yankee studied the spurs as if they had
+somehow changed their appearance. When his eyes came back to meet Drew's
+his frown was gone.
+
+"Reb, I bought these from a fella in another outfit, 'bout two or three
+weeks ago. He was on sick leave and was goin' home. I gave him good hard
+cash for 'em."
+
+"Did he say where he got them?" pressed Drew.
+
+The other shook his head. "He had a pile of stuff--mostly Reb--buckles,
+spurs, and such. Sold it all around camp 'fore he left."
+
+"What outfit are you?" Boyd asked.
+
+"Trooper, any trouble here?" A Yankee major bore down on them from one
+side, a Confederate captain from the other.
+
+"No, suh," Drew replied quickly. "I just recognized a pair of spurs this
+trooper is wearin'. They belonged to a friend of mine who's been missin'
+for some time. I hoped maybe the trooper knew something about him."
+
+"Well, do you?" the major demanded of his own man.
+
+"No, sir. Bought these in camp from a fella goin' on furlough. I don't
+know where he got 'em."
+
+"Satisfied, soldier?" the officer asked Drew.
+
+"Yes, suh." Before he could add another word the major was shepherding
+his men away.
+
+"I'm sorry." The Confederate captain shook his head. "Pity he didn't
+have any more definite information for you." He glanced at Drew's set
+face. "But, Sergeant, the news wasn't all bad--"
+
+"No, suh. Only Anse never would have parted with those while he was
+alive and could prevent it--never in this world!"
+
+"Where was your friend when he was reported missin'?"
+
+"We were on scout in Tennessee, and both of us were wounded. I was found
+by our men, but he wasn't. There was just a chance he might have been
+taken prisoner."
+
+"Men'll be comin' back from their prisons now. What's his name and
+company, Sergeant? I'll ask around."
+
+"Anson Kirby. He was with Gano's Texans under Morgan, and then he
+transferred with me into General Buford's Scouts. He's about nineteen or
+twenty, has reddish hair and a scar here--" With a forefinger Drew
+traced a line from the left corner of his mouth to his left temple. "He
+was shot in the left shoulder pretty bad when we were separated."
+
+The captain nodded. "I'll keep a lookout. A lot of Texans pass through
+here on their way home."
+
+"Thank you, suh. Should you have any news, I'd be obliged to hear it. My
+name's Drew Rennie, suh, and you can address a message care of the
+Barrett's, Oak Hill. That's in Fayette County, Kentucky."
+
+But the chance of ever receiving any such news was, Drew thought, very
+improbable. That afternoon when he tried to find Boyd, he, too, was
+missing and none of the headquarters company knew where the boy had
+gone.
+
+"Ain't pulled out though," Webb assured. "Said as how you two were
+plannin' to head north with the Kaintuck boys right after the old man
+says good-bye. Guess I'll trail 'long with you for a spell. You gotta
+cross Tennessee to git to Kaintuck."
+
+"Goin' home, Will?"
+
+"Guess so. Heard tell as how they burned out m' old man. Dunno, that
+theah's sure hard-scrabble ground; we never did make us a good crop on
+it. Maybe so, we'll try somewheah's else now. Sorta got me an itchin'
+foot. Maybe won't tie down anywheah for a spell."
+
+"What about you, Injun?" Drew turned to Croff.
+
+"Goin' back to the Nations. Guess they had it hard there too, General
+Watie and the Union 'Pins' raidin' back and forth. They'll need schools
+though, and someone to teach 'em--"
+
+"You a teacher, Injun?" Webb was plainly startled.
+
+"Startin' to be one, before the bands started playin' Dixie so loud,"
+Croff said, smiling. "Maybe I've forgotten too much, though. I have to
+see if I can fit me in behind a desk again."
+
+"Heah's th' kid--"
+
+Drew looked up at Webb's hail. Boyd walked toward them, his saddlebags
+slung over one shoulder, under his arm the haversack for rations which
+normally hung from any forager's saddle horn. He dropped them by the
+fire and held two gleaming objects out to Drew.
+
+"Anse's spurs! How did you get them?"
+
+"Sold m' horse to the sutler at the Yankee camp. Then bought 'em. That
+trooper gave 'em to me for just what he paid: five dollars hard money.
+Said as how he could understand why you wanted to have them--"
+
+"But your horse!"
+
+Boyd grinned. "Looky here, Drew, more'n half of this heah Reb army is
+footin' it home. I guess I can cross two little states without it
+finishin' me off--leastwise I reckon anyone who has toughened it out
+with General Forrest can do that much."
+
+Drew turned the spurs around in hands which were a little shaky. "We got
+Croaker, and we'll take turns ridin'. No, two states ain't too far for a
+couple of troopers, specially if they have them a good stout mule into
+the bargain!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A hot copper sun turned late Kentucky May into August weeks ahead of
+season. Thunder muttered sullenly beyond the horizon. And a breeze
+picked up road dust and grit, plastering it to Croaker's sweating hide,
+their own unwashed skin.
+
+"Better ... ride...." Licking dust from his lips, Drew watched the
+weaving figure on the other side of the mule with dull concern. They
+were steadying themselves by a tight grip on the stirrups, and Croaker
+was supporting and towing them, rather than their steering him.
+
+Boyd's head lifted. "Ride yourself!" He got a ghost of his old defiance
+into that, though his voice was hardly more than a harsh croak of
+whisper. "I ain't givin' in now!"
+
+He leased his stirrup hold, staggering forward a step or two, and would
+have gone face-down on the turnpike if Drew had not made a big effort to
+reach him. But the other's weight bore him along, and they both sprawled
+on the road. Croaker came to a halt, his head hanging until he could
+have nuzzled Drew's shoulder.
+
+They had made a brave start from Alabama, keeping up with the company
+they joined until they were close to the Kentucky-Tennessee border. Then
+a blistered heel had forced Drew into the rider's role for two days, and
+they had fallen behind. The rations they had drawn had been stretched as
+far as they would go. Even though there were people along the way
+willing to feed a hungry soldier, there were too many hungry soldiers.
+The farther north they traveled there was also a growing number of
+places where a blue coat might be welcome, but a gray one still
+signified "enemy."
+
+Drew moved, and raised Boyd's head and shoulders to his knee. If he
+could summon enough energy to reach the canteen hanging from Croaker's
+saddle.... Somehow he did, recklessly spilling a cupful of its contents
+on Boyd's face, and turning road dust into flecks of mud which freckled
+the gaunt cheeks.
+
+"Ain't goin' t' ride--" Boyd's eyes opened and he took up the argument
+again.
+
+"Well," Drew lashed out, "I can't carry you! Or do you expect to be
+dragged?"
+
+Boyd's face crumpled and he flung up his arms to hide his eyes.
+
+"All right."
+
+With the aid of a sloping bank and an effort which left them both weakly
+panting, Boyd was mounted and they started their slow crawl once more.
+
+"Drew!"
+
+He raised his head. Boyd had straightened in the saddle and was pointing
+ahead, though his outstretched hand was shaking. "We made it--there's
+home!"
+
+Beyond was the green of trees, a whole line of trees curving along a
+gravel carriage drive. But somehow Drew could not match Boyd's joy. He
+was tired, so tired that he was aware of nothing really but the aching
+weariness of his body.
+
+They turned into the drive, the gravel crunching into his holed boots
+while the tree shadows made a green twilight. Croaker came to a stop,
+and Drew's eyes raised from the gravel to the line of one step and then
+another. His gaze finally came to a broad veranda ... to someone who had
+been sitting there and who was now on her feet, staring wide-eyed back
+at the three of them. Then the gravel came up in a wave and he was
+swallowed up in it and darkness--
+
+The sun, warm through the window, awoke a glint of reflection from the
+top of the chest of drawers where rested a round cord of bullion with
+two tassels and a pair of fancy spurs. The wink of light was reflected
+again from the mirror before which Drew stood.
+
+"Jefferson's shirt has long enough sleeves, but all these billows!"
+Cousin Merry's tongue clicked against her teeth in exasperation. Her
+hand was in the middle of Drew's back, gathering up a good pleating of
+linen, but he still had extra folds of cloth to spare over his ribs.
+Four days of rest and plenty of food was not sufficient to restore any
+padding to his frame. "You certainly grew one way, but not the other!"
+
+Boyd, established in the big chair by the window, laughed.
+
+"I could take a few tucks," Drew offered.
+
+"_You_ could take a few tucks!" Her astonished face showed in the glass
+above his shoulder.
+
+"Oh, I'm not too bad with a needle. Did you note those neat patches on
+my breeches--?"
+
+"I noted nothing about those breeches; they went straight into the fire!
+Such rags...."
+
+"Miss Merry, ma'am--" small Hetty showed an eager face around the corner
+of the door--"Majuh Forbes and Missus Forbes--they's downstairs."
+
+Drew faced away from the mirror. "Why?" he demanded with almost hostile
+emphasis.
+
+Meredith Barrett untied the strings of her sewing apron. "Hetty, tell
+Mam Gusta to set out some of the English biscuits and make tea." Then
+she turned back to face Drew. "Why, Drew? Rather--why not? They're your
+kin, and I think that Marianna feels it deeply that you came here and
+not to Red Springs. Not to go home...."
+
+"Home?" There was heat in that. "You, if anyone, know that Red Springs
+was never really my home. And Forbes is an officer in the Union Army.
+This is no time for a Reb to camp out in his house. My grandfather
+wanted the place to be just Aunt Marianna's, didn't he?" He paused by
+the chest of drawers, his hand going out to the spurs, the gold cord.
+Three years--in a way a small lifetime--all to be summed up now by a
+slightly tarnished cord from a general's hat, a pair of spurs a young
+Texan had jauntily worn.
+
+But it _was_ a lifetime. He was not a boy any more, to have to endure
+his elders making decisions for him. His future was his own, and he had
+earned the right to that. Drew did not know that his face had hardened,
+that he suddenly looked a stranger to the woman who was watching him
+with concern.
+
+"Please, Drew, you mustn't allow yourself to be so bitter--"
+
+"Bitter? About Red Springs, you mean? Lord, I never wanted the place. I
+hate every brick of it, and I think I always have. But I don't hate
+Forbes or Aunt Marianna if that's what you're afraid of. It's just that
+I have no place there any more."
+
+Her mouth tightened. "But you have! You owe it to Marianna to listen to
+her now. This is important, Drew, more important than you can guess. No,
+Boyd--" her gesture checked her son as he arose from the chair--"this is
+none of your affair. Come with me, Drew!"
+
+He picked up a borrowed coat, also much too wide for him, pulled it on
+over the bunchiness of his shirt, and followed her, swallowing what he
+knew to be a useless protest.
+
+The parlor was as bright with sun as the upper room had been. As Drew
+entered a pace or two behind Cousin Merry, the officer in blue strode
+away from the hearth to meet them. But Aunt Marianna forestalled her
+husband's greeting, rising suddenly from a chair, her crinoline rustling
+across the carpet. She held out her hands, and then hesitated, studying
+Drew's face, looking a little daunted, as if she had expected something
+she did not find. The assurance she had displayed at their last meeting
+on the Lexington road was missing.
+
+"Drew?"
+
+He bowed, conscious that he must present an odd figure in the
+ill-fitting clothing of Meredith Barrett's long dead husband.
+
+Major Forbes held out his hand. "Welcome home, my boy."
+
+My boy. Consciously or unconsciously the major's tone strove to thrust
+Drew into the past, or so he believed. The major might almost be
+considering Drew an unruly schoolboy now safely out of some scrape,
+welcome indeed if he would settle down quietly into the conventional
+mold of Oak Hill or Red Springs. But he was no schoolboy, and at that
+moment the parlor of Oak Hill, for all its luxury and warmth, was a box
+sealing him in stifling confinement which he could no longer endure.
+Drew held tight control over that resurgence of his old impatience,
+knowing that his first instinct had been right: the old life fitted him
+now no better than his coat. But he answered civilly:
+
+"Thank you, suh."
+
+His proper courtesy apparently reassured his aunt. She came to him, her
+hands on his shoulders as she stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. "Drew,
+come home with us, dear--please!"
+
+He shook his head. "I don't belong at Red Springs, ma'am. I never did."
+
+"Nonsense!" Major Forbes put the force of a field officer's authority
+into that denial. "I do not and never did agree with many of Alexander
+Mattock's decisions. I do so even less when they pertain to your
+situation, my boy. You have every right to consider Red Springs your
+home. You must come to us, resume your interrupted education, take your
+proper place in the family and the community--"
+
+Drew shook his head again. The major paused. He had been studying Drew,
+and now there was a faint shadow of uneasiness in his own expression. He
+might be slowly realizing that he was not fronting a repentant schoolboy
+rescued from a piece of regrettable youthful folly. A veteran was being
+forced against his will to recognize the stamp of his own experience on
+another, if much younger, man.
+
+"What are your plans?" he asked in another tone of voice entirely.
+
+"Drew--" Major Forbes waved aside that tentative interruption from
+Cousin Merry.
+
+"I don't know. But I can't stay here." That much he was sure of, Oak
+Hill, Red Springs, all of this was no longer necessary to him any more
+than the outgrown toys of childhood could hold the interest of a man.
+Once, hurt and seeking for freedom, he had thought of the army as home.
+Now he knew he had yet to find what he wanted or needed. But there was
+no reason why he could not go looking, even if he could not give a name
+to the object of such a search. "I might go west. It's all new out
+there, a good place to start on my own."
+
+There was a catch of breath from Aunt Marianna. The look she gave Cousin
+Merry held something of accusation. "You told him!"
+
+"Told me what, ma'am?"
+
+"That your father is alive...." She saw his surprise.
+
+"Is that true, suh?" Drew appealed to the major.
+
+Forbes scowled, tugging at the belt supporting his saber. "Yes. We found
+some letters among your grandfather's papers after his death. Your
+father wasn't killed; he was in a Mexican prison during the war. When he
+escaped and returned to Texas, your grandfather had already been there
+and taken your mother away. Hunt Rennie was too ill to follow
+immediately. Before he had recovered enough to travel, he was informed
+his wife was dead, and he was allowed to believe that you died with
+her--at birth."
+
+"But why?" Alexander Mattock had disliked, even hated his grandson. So
+why should he have lied to keep Drew with him at Red Springs?
+
+"Because of Murray," Cousin Merry said slowly, sadly. "It was a cruel
+thing to do, so cruel. Alexander Mattock was a hard man. He couldn't
+bear opposition; it made him go close to the edge of sanity, I truly
+believe. I know we are not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I
+can't forgive him for what he did to those two. Melanie and Hunt were so
+young, young and in love. And your Uncle Murray deliberately pushed that
+quarrel on Hunt. Jefferson was there; he tried to stop it. The duel was
+_not_ Hunt's fault----"
+
+"Uncle Murray and my father fought a duel?" Drew demanded.
+
+"Yes. Murray was badly wounded, and for a time his life was despaired
+of. Your grandfather swore out a warrant against Hunt for attempted
+murder! So he and Melanie ran away. They were so pitifully young!
+Melanie was just sixteen and Hunt two years older, though he seemed a
+man, having lived such a hard life on the frontier. They went back to
+Texas, and she was very happy there--I had some letters from her. Yes,
+she was happy until the War with Mexico began. Then Hunt was reported
+killed, his father, too. And she was left all alone with distant kin of
+theirs. So your grandfather went down to fetch her home. I'll always
+believe he really wanted to punish her for going against his will. She
+died--" her voice broke--"she died, because she had no will to live, and
+_then_ he was sorry. But just a little, not enough to blame himself any.
+Oh, no--it was still all Hunt's wickedness, he said, every bit of it! He
+was a hard man...." Cousin Merry faced Aunt Marianna with her chin up as
+if daring the other to object what she'd just said.
+
+Drew returned to the news he still found difficult to believe. "So my
+father's alive, Major. Well, that gives me some place to go--Texas...."
+
+"Hunt Rennie's not in Texas." Cousin Merry spoke with such certainty
+that all three of them gave her their full attention.
+
+"I married Jefferson Barrett six months after Melanie eloped. We went to
+Europe then for almost two years of traveling. Part of our mail must
+have been lost. Hunt surely wrote to me! He liked Jefferson in spite of
+the differences in their ages. If I had only had the chance to tell him
+the truth about you, Drew. But I never knew he was alive either. You
+remember Granger Wood, Justin?"
+
+Major Forbes nodded. "He went out to California in '50."
+
+"Yes, and when the war broke out he rode back across the Arizona and New
+Mexico territories with General Johnston to enlist in the Confederate
+forces. A month ago he came back here and he called to tell me he saw
+Hunt in Arizona in '61. He had a horse-and-cattle ranch there, also some
+mining holdings."
+
+"Drew"--Aunt Marianna caught his arm--"you won't be so foolish as to go
+out into that horrible wilderness hunting a man who doesn't even know
+you're alive--who's a perfect stranger to you? You must be sensible. We
+know that Father's will was very unjust, and we are not going to abide
+by its terms--half of Red Springs will be yours."
+
+Gently Drew released himself from her hold. "Maybe Hunt Rennie doesn't
+know I exist; maybe we won't even like each other if and when we do
+meet--I don't know. But Red Springs ain't my kind of world any more. And
+I won't take anything my grandfather grudged givin' me. I may be young,
+only in another way, I'm old, too. Too old to come under a schoolin'
+rein again." He glanced across her shoulder, noticing that his speech
+had registered with the major.
+
+"You're not goin' to start out this very afternoon, are you?" Forbes
+asked.
+
+Drew relaxed and laughed a little self-consciously, knowing that his
+uncle had ceded him the victory in this first skirmish.
+
+"No, suh. You know, I brought two things home from the army--and one of
+them was a pair of Texas spurs. A mighty good man wore those. You'd have
+to ride proud and tall in the saddle to match him. I told him once I was
+goin' to see Texas, and he said there was nothing to make a man stay on
+the range where he had been born. Since I've always wanted to know what
+kind of a man Hunt Rennie was--is--now maybe I'm goin' to do just that."
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+BY ANDRE NORTON
+
+
+    Storm Over Warlock
+    Galactic Derelict
+    The Time Traders
+    Star Born
+    Yankee Privateer
+    The Stars Are Ours!
+
+
+EDITED BY ANDRE NORTON
+
+
+    Space Pioneers
+    Space Service
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Ride Proud, Rebel!, by Andre Alice Norton
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDE PROUD, REBEL! ***
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