RIDE PROUD, REBEL!

 ANDRE NORTON

[Transcriber Note: This is a rule 6 clearance. Extensive research didnot uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication wasrenewed. ]

THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANYCLEVELAND AND NEW YORK

_Published by_ The World Publishing Company2231 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_

HC361Copyright © 1961 by Andre Norton

Printed in the United States of America. 

 * * * * *

To those Reconstructed Rebels ERNESTINE and WILLIAM DONALDY _with noapologies from a damnyankee_

 * * * * *

The author wishes to express appreciation to Mrs. Gertrude MortonParsley, Reference Librarian, Tennessee State Library and Archives, forher aid in obtaining use of the unpublished memoirs of trooper JohnJohnson, concerning the escape of the Morgan company after Cynthiana.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 forwhich you have braved dangers, endured privations and sufferings, andmade so many sacrifices, is today hopeless. .. . _

_Civil war, such as you have passed through naturally engenders feelingsof animosity, hatred and revenge. It is our duty to divest ourselves ofall such feelings; and, as far as in our power to do so, to cultivatefriendly feelings toward those with whom we have so long contended, andheretofore so widely, but honestly, differed. .. . _

_. .. In bidding you farewell, rest assured that you carry with you mybest wishes for your future welfare and happiness. Without, in any way, referring to the merits of the cause in which we have been engaged, yourcourage and determination, as exhibited on many hard-fought fields, haveelicited the respect and admiration of friend and foe. And I nowcheerfully and gratefully acknowledge my indebtedness to the officersand men of my command, whose zeal, fidelity and unflinching bravery havebeen the great source of my success in arms. _

_I have never, on the field of battle, sent you where I was unwilling togo myself; nor would I now advise you to a course which I felt myselfunwilling to pursue. You have been good soldiers; you can be goodcitizens. Obey the laws, preserve your honor, and the Government towhich 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 andlipped water, dripping big drops back to the surface of the brook. Hisrider moved swiftly, with an economy of action, to unsaddle, wipe thebesweated back with a wisp of last year's dried grass, and wash downeach mud-spattered leg with stream water. Always care for the mountfirst--when a man's life, as well as the safety of his mission, dependedon four subordinate legs more than on his own two. 

Though he had little claim to a thoroughbred's points, the roan was asmuch a veteran of the forces as his groom, with all a veteran's abilityto accept and enjoy small favors of the immediate present withoutspeculating too much concerning the future. He blew gustily in pleasureunder the attention and began to sample a convenient stand of springgreen. 

His mount cared for, Drew Rennie swung up saddle, blanket, and themeager possessions which he had brought out of Virginia two weeks ago, to the platform in a crooked tree overhanging the brook. He settledbeside them on the well-seasoned timbers of the old tree house torummage through his saddlebags. 

The platform had been there a long time--before Chickamauga and the OhioRaid, before the first roll of drums in '61. Drew pulled a creased shirtout of the bags and sat with it draped over one knee, remembering. .. . 

Sheldon Barrett and he--they had built it together one hot week insummer--had named it Boone's Fort. And it was the only thing at RedSprings Drew had really ever owned. His dark eyes were fixed now onsomething more than the branches about him, and his mouth tighteneduntil his face was not quite sullen, only shuttered. 

Five years ago--only five years? Yes, five years next month! But thepast two years of his own personal freedom--and war--those seemed toequal 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 Drewbrush 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 coldout of his bones. The light pointed up every angle of jaw and cheekbone, making it clear that experience--hard experience--and not years hadmelted away boyish roundness of chin line, narrowed the watchful eyesever alert to his surroundings. A cavalry scout was wary, or he ceasedto be a scout, or maybe even alive. 

Shirt in hand, Drew dropped lightly to the ground and with the samedispatch as he had cared for his horse, made his own toilet, scrubbinghis too-thin body with a sigh of content as heartfelt as that the roanhad earlier voiced. 

The fresh shirt was a dark brown-gray, but the patched breeches wereYankee blue, and the boots he pulled on when he had bathed were alsothe enemy's gift, good stout leather he'd been lucky enough to find in asupply wagon they had captured a month ago. Butternut shirt, Union pantsand boots--the unofficial standard uniform of most any trooper of theArmy of the Tennessee in this month of May, 1864. And he had garmentswhich were practically intact. What was one patch on the seat nowadays?

For the first time Drew grinned at his reflection in the small mirror hehad been using, when he scraped a half week's accumulation of soft beardfrom his face. Sure, he was all spruced up now, ready to make a politecourtesy call at the big house. The grin did not fade, but was gone in aflash, leaving no hint of softness now about his gaunt features, nolight in the intent, measuring depths of his dark gray eyes. 

A call at Red Springs was certainly the last thing in the world for himto consider seriously. His last interview within its walls could stillmake him wince when he recalled it, word by scalding word. No, there wasno place for a Rennie--and a Rebel Rennie to make matters blacker--underthe righteous roof of Alexander Mattock!

Hatred could be a red-hot burning to choke a man's throat, leaving himspeechless and hurting inside. Since he had ridden out of Red Springs hehad often been cold, very often hungry--and under orders willingly, which would have surprised his grandfather--but in another way he hadbeen free as never before in all his life. In the army, the past did notmatter at all if one did one's job well. And in the army, the civilianworld was as far away as if it were conducted in the cold chasms of themoon. 

Drew leaned back against the tree trunk, wanting to yield to the softwind and the swinging privacy of the embowered tree house, wanting toforget everything and just lie there for a while in the only part of thepast he remembered happily. 

But he had his orders--horses for General Morgan, horses and informationto feed back to that long column of men riding or trudging westward onbooted, footsore feet up the trail through the Virginia mountains on theway home to Kentucky. These were men who carried memories of the Ohiodefeat 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 aNorthern prison barracks from their nostrils. 

And there were horses at Red Springs. To mount Morgan's men on AlexanderMattock's best stock was a prospect which had its appeal. Drew tossedhis haversack back to the platform and added his carbine to it. The armyColts in his belt holsters would not be much hindrance while crawlingthrough cover, but the larger weapon might be. 

He thumped a measure of dust from his hat, settled it over hair as blackas 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 tograzing. This, too, followed a pattern both man and horse had practicedfor 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. OnlyChickamauga stood between the past and now--and Sheldon Barrett wouldnever again range ahead, in play or earnest. 

The scout came out on a small rise where the rails of the fence werecloaked on his side by brush. Drew lay flat, his chin propped upon hiscrooked arm to look down the gradual incline of the pasture to thetraining paddock. Beyond that stood the big house, its native bricksettling back slowly into the same earth from which it had been moldedin 1795. 

In the pasture were the brood mares, five of them, each with anattendant foal, all long legs and broom tail, still young enough to bebewildered by so large and new a world. In the paddock. .. . Drew's headraised an inch or so, and he pressed forward until his hat was pushedback by the rail. The two-year-old being schooled in the paddock wasenough to excite any horseman. 

Red Springs' stock right enough, of the Gray Eagle-Ariel breed, whichwas Alexander Mattock's pride. Born almost black, this colt had shed hisbaby fur two seasons ago for a dark iron-gray hide which would growlighter with the years. He had Eclipse's heritage, but he was more thana racing machine. He was--Drew's forehead rasped against the weatheredwood of the rail--he was the kind of horse a man could dream about allhis days and perhaps find once in a lifetime, if he were lucky! Givethat colt three or four more years and there wouldn't be any horse thatcould 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 thestrap and admiring the action. Mounted on another gray--a mare with adainty, high-held head--was a woman, her figure trim in a habit almostthe same shade of green as the fields. 

Drew pulled back. Then he smiled wryly at his instinctive retreat. Hisaunt, Marianna Forbes, had abilities to be respected, but he very muchdoubted if she could either sense his presence or see through the leafywall of his present spy hole. Yet caution dictated that he get about hisreal business and inspect the fields where the horses he sought shouldbe grazing. 

He halted several times during his perimeter march to survey thecountryside. And the bits of activity he spied upon began to puzzle him. Aunt Marianna's supervision of the colt's schooling had been thebeginning. And he had seen her later, riding out with Rafe, theoverseer, to make the daily rounds, a duty which had never beenundertaken at Red Springs by any one other than his grandfather. 

Aunt Marianna had every right to be at Red Springs. She had been bornunder its roof, having left it only as a bride to live in Lexington. Thewar had brought her back when her husband became an officer in theSecond Kentucky Cavalry--Union. But now--riding with Rafe, watching inthe paddock--where was Alexander Mattock?

Red Springs was his grandfather. Drew found it impossible to think ofthe house and the estate without the man, though in the past two yearshe had discovered very few things could be dismissed as impossible. Curiosity made him want to investigate the present mystery. But thememory of his last exit from that house curbed such a desire. 

Drew had never been welcome there from the day of his birth within thosewalls. And the motive for his final flight from there had only providedan added aggravation for his grandfather. A staunch Union supporterwanted no part of a stubborn-willed and defiant grandson who rode withJohn Hunt Morgan. Drew clung to his somewhat black thoughts as he madehis way to the pasture. The escape he had found in the army was nolonger so complete when he skulked through these familiar fields. 

But there were only two horses grazing peacefully in the field dedicatedby custom to the four- and five-year-olds, and neither was of the beststock. One could imagine that Red Springs had already contributed to theservice. 

Of course, Morgan's men were not the only riders aiming to sweep goodhorseflesh out of Kentucky blue grass this season, and here the Unioncavalry would be favored. 

There was a slim chance that a few horses might be in the stables. Hedebated the chance of that against the risk of discovery and continueddebating it as he started back to the tree house. 

Drew had known short rations and slim foraging for a long time, but thepresent 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 atRed Springs; certainly the old man never concealed the state of hisfeelings on that subject. But neither had he, in any way, slighted whathe deemed to be his duty toward Drew. 

There had been plenty of good clothing--the right sort for a Mattockgrandson--and the usual bounteous table set by hospitable Kentuckystandards. Just as there had been education, sometimes enforced by theuse of a switch when the tutor--imported from Lexington--thought itnecessary to impress learning on a rebellious young mind by a painfulapplication in another portion of the body. Education, as well as ablooded horse in the stables, and all the other prerequisites of a youngblue-grass grandee. But never any understanding, affection, or sympathy. 

That cold behavior--the cutting, weighing, and judgment of every act ofchildish mischief and boyish recklessness--might have crushed some intoa colorless obedience. But it had made of Drew a rebel long before hetugged 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 theroan's services with appreciation which had nothing to do with boastedbloodlines, having discovered in the army that a cold-blooded horsecould 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 toone 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 ofits holster. The roan was still grazing, paying no attention to a figurewho was kneeling on the limb-supported platform and turning over thegear Drew had left piled there. 

The scout flitted about a bush, choosing a path which would bring himout at the stranger's back. That same warm sun, now striking from adifferent angle into the tree house, was bright on a thick tangle ofyellow hair, curly enough to provide its owner with a combing problem. 

Drew straightened to his full height. The sense of the past which haddogged him all day now struck like a blow. He couldn't help callingaloud that name, even though the soberer part of his brain knew therecould be no answer. 

"Shelly!"

The blond head turned, and blue eyes looked at him, startled, across abowed shoulder. Drew's puzzlement was complete. Not Sheldon, of course, but who? The other's open surprise changed to wide-eyed recognitionfirst. 

"Drew!" The hail came in the cracked voice of an adolescent as the otherjumped down to face the scout. They stood at almost eye-to-eye level, but the stranger was still all boy, awkwardly unsure of strength ormuscle control. 

"You must be Boyd--" Drew blinked, something in him still clinging tothe 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'scoming back here? Where?" He glanced over his shoulder once more as ifexpecting 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 Guardyesterday. 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 thathe thought fast. Just as the Mattocks and the Forbeses were Union, theBarretts were, or had been, Southern in sympathy. Most of Kentucky wasdivided that way now. But what might have been true two years ago wasnot 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 wellthe state of affairs between Alexander Mattock and Drew Rennie. 

"Well, he's been sick for so long. .. . Didn't you know about that?" Boydmust have read Drew's answer in his face, for he spilled out the newsquickly. "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'tcome till about a week after the battle. Mr. Mattock was in town whenJudge Hagerstorm told him . .. Just turned red in the face and fell downin the middle of the street. They brought him home, and sometimes hesits outdoors. But he can't walk too good and he talks thick; you canhardly understand him. "

"So that's why Aunt Marianna's in charge. " Drew thought of Uncle Murrayswept away by time and the chances of war as so many others--and noemotion stirred within him. Murray Mattock had firmly agreed with hisfather concerning the child who was the result of a runaway matchbetween his sister Melanie and a despised Texan. But Uncle Murray'sdeath must indeed have been a paralyzing blow for the old man at RedSprings, 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 withthe concentration of one determined to say the right thing at the righttime. 

Drew laughed. And with that spontaneous outburst, years fell away fromhis 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 nobodygoin' to keep me from doin' that!" Again his voice scaled up out ofcontrol, and he flushed. 

"You're rather young----" Drew began, when the other interrupted himwith 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 muchyounger than you were, Drew Rennie, when you joined up with CaptainCastleman and rode south to join General Morgan--you and Shelly. And youknow that, too! I'll be sixteen on the fifteenth of this July. And thistime I'm goin'! Where's the General now, Drew?"

The scout shrugged. "Movin' fast. Your rumors probably know as much as Ido. They plant him half a dozen places at once. He might be in any oneof 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 incontrolled anger. "I am not goin' to do anything of the kind, BoydBarrett. " He spoke the words slowly, in an even tone, with a fraction ofpause between each. Men of the command had once or twice heard youngRennie speak that way. Although difficult to know well, he had thegeneral reputation of being easy to get along with. But a few times hehad erupted into action as might a spring uncoiling from tight pressure, and that action was usually preceded by just such quiet statements asthe one he had just made to Boyd. 

Boyd, however, was never one to be defeated in a first skirmish ofwills. "Why not?" he demanded now. 

"Because, " Drew offered the first argument he could think of which mightbe acceptable to the other, "I'm on scout in enemy-held territory. IfI'm taken, it's not good. I have to ride light and fast, and this isduty I've been trained to do. So I can't afford to be hampered by agreen kid----"

"I can ride just as fast and hard as you can, Drew Rennie, and I haveWhirlaway for my own now. He's certainly better than that nag!" With anarrogant lift of the chin, Boyd indicated the roan, who had raised hishead and was chewing rather noisily, regarding the two by the tree housewith mild interest. 

"Don't underrate Shawnee. " For an instant Drew rose to the roan'sdefense and then found himself irritated at being so drawn from the mainargument. "And I wouldn't care if you had Gray Eagle, himself, underyou, boy--I'm not taking you with me. Let us be snapped up by theYankees, and you'd be in bigger trouble than I would. " He gestured tohis shirt and breeches. "I'm in uniform; you ain't. "

"No blue bellies could drop on us, " Boyd pushed. "I know where all thegarrisons are round here--all about their patrols. I could get usthrough quicker'n you can, yourself. I ain't no green kid!"

Drew slapped the blanket down on Shawnee's back, smoothed it flat with apalm stroke, and jerked his saddle from the platform. He could not stayright here now that Boyd had smoked him out--maybe nowhere in theneighborhood with this excitable boy dogging him. 

The scout was driven to his second line of defense. "What about CousinMerry?" he asked as he tightened the cinch. "Have you talked this overwith her--enlistin', I mean?"

Boyd's lower lip protruded in a child's pout. His eyes shifted away fromDrew's direct gaze. 

"She never said No----"

"Did you ask her?" Drew challenged. 

"Did you ask your grandfather when you left?" Boyd tried acounterattack. 

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 hadridden away before; Boyd must not go now. In Drew's childhood, hisfather's cousin, Meredith Barrett, had been the only one who had reallycared about him. His only escape from the cold bleakness of Red Springshad 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 runaway to war, but he had not left anyone behind who would worry abouthim. And Alexander Mattock's cold discipline had tempered his grandsoninto someone far more able to take hard knocks than Boyd Barrett mightbe 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 madat 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 knowthey have. And I've got to make up for Sheldon----"

Drew swung around and caught Boyd's wrist in a grip tight enough tobring a reflex backward jerk from the boy. "That's no way to make up forSheldon's death-runnin' away from home to fight. Don't give me anynonsense about goin' to kill Yankees because they killed him! When a mangoes 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 couldnot imagine death as coming to you; nor were you able to visualize thehorrors of an ill-equipped field hospital. Any more than you couldpicture all the rest of it--the filth, hunger, cold, and boredom withnow and then a flash of whirling horses and men clashing on some road orfield, or the crazy stampede of other men, yelling their throats raw asthey charged into a hell of Minié balls and canister shot. 

"I'm goin' to ride with General Morgan, like Shelly did, " Boyd repeateddoggedly, with that stubbornness which seasons ago had kept himeternally tagging his impatient elders. 

"That's up to you. " Suddenly Drew was tired, tired of trying to findwords to pierce to Boyd's thinking brain--if one had a thinking brain athis age. Slinging his carbine, Drew mounted Shawnee. "But I do know onething--you're not goin' with me. "

"Drew-Drew, just listen once. .. . "

Shawnee answered to the pressure of his rider's knees and leaped thebrook. Drew bowed his head to escape the lash of a low branch. There wasno going back ever, he thought bitterly, shutting his ears to Boyd'scry. 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 theinitiated that a troop was on the march--creak of saddle leather, clickof shod hoof, now and then the smothered exclamation of a man shaken outof a cavalryman's mounted doze. To Drew's trained ears all this was loudenough to send any Union picket calling out the guard. Yet there was noindication that the enemy ahead was alert. 

Near two o'clock he made it, and the advance were walking their horsesinto the fringe of Lexington--this was home-coming for a good many ofthe men sagging in the saddles. Morgan's old magic was working again. Escaping from the Ohio prison, he had managed to gather up the remnantsof a badly shattered command, weld them together, and lead them up fromGeorgia to their old fighting fields--the country which they consideredrightfully theirs and in which during other years they had piled onehumiliating 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 Sterlinghad fallen into their hold as easily as it had before. NowLexington--with the horses they needed--friends and families waiting togreet 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 ofhoofs from behind as three horsemen caught up with the first wave ofQuirk's Scouts. 

"Taking the flag in . .. " Drew caught a snatch of sentence passed betweenthe leader of the newcomers and his own officer. He recognized the voiceof 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 thescout 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. Thestreets were quiet enough, too quiet. These dark houses showed no signsof life, but surely the Yankees were not so confident that they wouldnot have any pickets posted. And Fort Clay had its garrison. .. . 

Then that ominous silence was broken by Castleman's call: "Bearer offlag of truce!"

". .. Morgan's men?" A woman called from a window up ahead, her voice solow pitched Drew heard only a word or two. Castleman answered her beforehe gave the warning:

"Battery down the street, boys. Take to the sidewalks!"

A lantern bobbed along in their direction. Drew had a glimpse of ablue-uniformed arm above it. A moment later Castleman rode back. One ofhis companions swerved close-by, and Drew recognized Key Morgan, theGeneral's brother. 

"They say, 'No surrender. '"

Perhaps that was what they said. But the skirmishers were now driftinginto town. Orders snapped from man to man through the dark. The crackleof small-arms fire came sporadically, to be followed by the heavier_boom-boom_ as cannon balls from Fort Clay ricocheted through thestreets, the Yankees being forced back into the protection of thatstronghold. Riders threaded through alleys and cross streets; lampsflared up in house windows. There was a pounding on doors, and shoutedgreetings. Fire made a splash of angry color at the depot, to beanswered 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 poorpicking, John Clay's stables did not. One sleek thoroughbred afteranother was led from the stalls while Quirk fairly purred. 

"Skedaddle! Would you believe it? Here's Skedaddle, himself, just achingto show heels to the blue bellies, ain't you?" He greeted the greatracer. "Now that's the sort of stuff we need! Give us another chaseacross 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 beforenoon. "

Drew watched the mounts being led down the lane. Beautiful, yes, but tohis mind not one of them was the equal of the gray colt he had seen atRed Springs. Now that was a horse! And he was not tempted now to striphis saddle off Shawnee and transfer to any one of the princes of equineblood passing him by. He knew the roan, and Shawnee knew his job. Knowsmore 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 andcut away a nice little catch like this. "

"Yes, sir. " Drew merely sketched a salute; discipline was always freeand easy in the Scouts. 

The day was warm. He was glad he had managed to find a lightweight shirtback at the warehouse in town. If they didn't win Lexington to keep, atleast all of the raiders were going to ride out well-mounted, with bootson their feet and whole clothing on their backs. The Unionquartermasters did just fine by Morgan's boys, as always. 

Shawnee's ears went forward alertly, but Drew did not need that signalof someone's approaching. He backed into the shadow-shade of a tree andsat tense, with Colt in hand. 

A horse nickered. There was the whirr of wheels. Drew edged Shawnee outof cover and then quickly holstered his weapon, riding out to bring to ahalt 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 yearsago 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 histhroat?

Her momentary expression of outrage faded as she leaned forward to studyhis face, and she relaxed her first half-threatening grip on her whip. Though Aunt Marianna had never been a beauty, her present air ofassurance and authority became her, just as the smart riding habit wasbetter suited to her somewhat angular frame than the ruffles and bows ofthe drawing room. 

"Drew!" Her recognition of his identity had come more slowly thanBoyd's, and it sounded almost wary. 

"At your service, ma'am. " He found himself again using the graces ofanother way of life, far removed from his sweat-stained shirt andpatched breeches. He shot a glance over his shoulder, making sure theywere safely alone on that stretch of highway. After all, one horse amongso many would be no great loss to his commander. "You'd better turnaround. The boys'll have Lady Jane out of the shaft before you get intoLexington if you keep on. And the Yankees are still pepperin' the placewith round shot. " He wondered why she was driving without a groom, butdid 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'ssnap. "He left a note for Merry--two words misspelled and a bigblot--all foolishness about joining Morgan. Said you had been to RedSprings, and he was going along. Why did you do it, Drew? CousinMerry . .. After Sheldon, she can't lose Boyd, too! To put such a wildidea into that child's head!"

Drew's lips thinned into a half grimace. He was still cast in the roleof culprit, it seemed. "I didn't influence Boyd to do anything, AuntMarianna. I told him I wouldn't take him with me, and I meant it. If heran away, it was his own doin'. "

She was still measuring him with that intent look as if he were aslightly unsatisfactory colt being put through his paces in the trainingpaddock. 

"Then you'll help me get him back home?" That was more a statement thana question, delivered in a voice which was all Mattock, enough to awakenby the mere sound all the old resistance in him. 

He nodded at the Lexington road. "There are several thousand men aheadthere, ma'am. Hunting Boyd out if he wants to hide from me--and hewill--is impossible. He's big enough to pass a recruiter; they ain't tooparticular about age these days. And he'll stay just as far from me ashe can until he is sworn in. He already knows how I feel about hisenlistin'. "

Her gloved hands tightened on the reins. "If I could see John Morganhimself--"

"_If_ you could get to Lexington and find him--"

"But Boyd's just a child. He hasn't the slightest idea of war except thestories he hears . .. No idea of what could happen to him, or what thismeans to Merry. All this criminal nonsense about being a soldier--sabersand spurs, and dashing around behind a flag, the wrong flag, too--" Shecaught her breath in an unusual betrayal of emotion. And now she studiedDrew with some deliberation, noting his thinness, itemizing hisshabbiness. 

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 knowhe made it hard for you. "

"You know--" Drew regarded a circling bird in the section of sky aboveher head--"some day I hope I'll discover just what kind of a no-accountHunt Rennie was, to make his son so unacceptable. Most of the TexansI've ridden with in the army haven't been so bad; some of them aredownright respectable. "

"I don't know. " Again she flushed. "It was a long time ago when it allhappened. I was just a little girl. And Father, well, he has very strongprejudices. But, Drew, for you to go against everything you'd beentaught, to turn Rebel--that added to his bitterness. And now Boyd istrying to go the same way. Isn't there something you can do? I can'tstand to see that look in Merry's eyes. If we can just get Boyd homeagain----"

"Don't hope too much. " Drew was certain that nothing Marianna Forbescould do was going to lead Boyd Barrett back home again. On the otherhand, if the boy had not formally enlisted, perhaps the rigors of one ofthe General's usual cross-country scrambles might be disillusioning. But, having tasted the quality of Boyd's stubbornness in the past, Drewdoubted that. For long months he had been able to cut right out of hislife Red Springs and all it stood for; now it was trying to put reins onhim again. He shifted his weight in the saddle. 

"He's been restless all spring, " his aunt continued. "We might haveknown that, given an opportunity like this, the boy would do somethingwild. Only the waste, the sinful waste! I can't go back and face Merrywithout trying something--anything! Can't you . .. Drew?"

"I don't know. " He couldn't harden himself to tell her the truth. "I'lltry, " he promised vaguely. 

"Drew--" A change in tone brought his attention back to her. She lookeddisturbed, almost embarrassed. "Have you had a hard time? You lookso . .. So thin and tired. Is there anything you need?"

He flinched from any such attack on the shell he had built against theintrusion of Red Springs, for a second or two feeling once more the raspacross raw nerves. "We don't get much time for sleep when the General'son the prod. Horse stealin' and such keeps us a mite busy, accordin' toyour Yankee friends. And we have to pay our respects to them, just tokeep them reminded that this is Morgan country. I'll warn you again, Aunt Marianna, keep Lady Jane out of Lexington today--if you want tokeep _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 forAunt Marianna, who had to stay at Red Springs now, and even a little inan impersonal way for the old man, who must find inactivity a worseprison than any stone-walled room. But it was being polite about astranger. "Major Forbes . .. He's all right?"

"Yes. Only, Drew--" Again the urgency in her voice held him against hiswill, "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 thepike, and he did not look back. 

If he were ever to fulfill his promise to locate Boyd, that would haveto come later. Quirk's horse catch delivered, the scouts were on themove again, on the Georgetown road, riding at a pace which suggestedthey must keep ahead of a boiling wasp's nest of Yankees. There was anembarrassment of blue-coat prisoners on the march between two lines ofgray uniforms, and pockets of the enemy such as that at Fort Clay wereleft behind. The strike northward took on a feverish drive. 

Georgetown with its streets full of women and cheering males, too old ortoo young to be riding with the columns. Mid-afternoon, Friday, and theheat rising from the pavement as only June heat could. Then they reachedthe Frankfort road, and the main command halted. The scouts ate in thesaddle as they fanned out along the Frankfort pike, pushing towardCynthiana. Sam Croxton strode back from filling his canteen at afarmyard well and scowled at Drew, who had dismounted and loosened cinchto cool Shawnee's back. 

"Cynthiana, now. I'm beginnin' to wonder, Rennie, if we know just whichway we are goin'. "

Drew shrugged. "Might be a warm reception waitin' us there. Drakefigures about five hundred Yankees on the spot, and trains comin' inwith more all the time. "

Sighing, Croxton rubbed his hand across his freckled face, smearing roaddust and sweat into a gritty mask. "Me--I could do with four or fivehours' sleep, right down here in the road. Always providin' no bluebelly'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 acouple weeks ago you could at least fill your belly and rest up at somefarm. Them boys pushin' the prisoners back there sure has it tough. Betsome of 'em been eatin' dust most all day--"

"Be glad you're not ridin' in one of the wagons nursin' a hole in yourmiddle. " Drew wet his handkerchief, or the sad gray rag which servedthat purpose, and carefully washed out Shawnee's nostrils, rubbing thehorse gently down the nose and around his pricked ears. 

Croxton spat and a splotch of brown tobacco juice pocked the roadsidegravel. "Now ain't you cheerful!" he observed. "No, I've no hole in mymiddle, or my top, or my bottom--and I don't want none, neither. All Iwant is about an hour's sleep without Quirk or Drake breathin' down myback wantin' to know why I'm playin' wagon dog. The which I ain't gonnahave very soon by the looks of it. So. .. . " He mounted, spat again withaccuracy enough to stun a grasshopper off a nodding weed top, which featseemed to restore a measure of his usual good nature. "Got him! Youcomin', Rennie?"

The hours of Friday afternoon, evening, night, crawled by--leadenly, asfar as the men in the straggling column were concerned. That dash whichhad carried them through from the Virginia border, through the old-timewhirling attack on Mount Sterling only days earlier, and which hadbrought them into and beyond Lexington, was seeping from tired men whoslept in the saddle or fell out, too drugged with fatigue to know thatthey slumped down along country fences, unconscious gifts for the enemydoggedly drawing in from three sides. There was the core of veterans whohad seen this before, been a part of such punishing riding in Illinois, Ohio, and Kentucky. The signs could be read, and as Drew spurred alongthat faltering line of march late that night, carrying a message, hefelt a creeping chill which was not born of the night wind nor a warningof swamp fever. 

Before daylight there was another halt. He had to let Shawnee pick hisown careful path around and through groups of dismounted men sleepingwith their weapons still belted on, their mounts, heads drooping, standing sentinel. 

Saturday's dawn, and the advance had plowed ahead to the forks of theroad some three miles out of Cynthiana. One brigade moved directlytoward the town; the second--with a detachment of scouts--headed downthe right-hand road to cross the Licking River and move in upon theenemies' rear. From the hill they could sight a stone-fence barricadeglistening with the metal of waiting musket barrels. Then, suddenly, theold miracle came. Men who had clung through the hours to their saddlesby sheer will power alone, tightened their lines and were alertly alive. 

The ear-stinging, throat-scratching Yell screeched high over the poundof the artillery, the vicious spat of Minié balls. A whip length ofdusty gray-brown lashed forward, flanking the stone barrier. Blue-coatedmen wavered, broke, ran for the bridge, heading into the streets of thetown. The gray lash curled around a handful of laggards and swept theminto captivity. 

Then the brigade thundered on, driving the enemy back before they couldreform, until the Yankees holed up in the courthouse, the depot, ahandful of houses. Before eight o'clock it was all over, and theconfidence of the weary raiders was back. They had showed 'em!

Drew had the usual mixture of sharp scenes to remember as his smallportion of the engagement while he spurred Shawnee on past the blazewhich was spreading through the center of the town, licking out for morebuildings no one seemed to have the organization nor the will to save. He was riding with the advance of Giltner's brigade, double-quicking itdownriver to Keller's Bridge. In town the Yankees were prisoners, buthere a long line, with heavy reserves in wedges of blue behind, strungout across open fields. 

Once more the Yell arose in sharp ululating wails, and the ragged lineswept from the road, tightening into a semblance of the saber bladesMorgan's men disdained to use . .. Clashed. .. . Then, after what seemedlike only a moment's jarring pause, it was on the move once more whilebefore it crumpled motes of blue were carried down the slope to theriverbank, 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 blueline, firing at deadly point-blank range. And part of him wondered howany men could still keep their feet and face back to such an assaultwith ready muskets. By his side a man skipped as might a marcher tryingto catch step, then folded up, sliding limply to the trampled grass. 

Men were flinging up hands holding empty cartridge boxes along theattacking line--too many of them. Others reversed the empty carbines, touse them in clubbing duels back and forth. The Union troops fell back, firing still, making their way into the railroad cut. Now the river wasa 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 anofficer he knew. 

"Get back to the horse lines! Bring up the holders' ammunition, on thedouble!"

Drew ran, panting, his boots slipping and scraping on the grass as hedodged around prone men who still moved, or others who lay only toostill. A horse reared, snorted, and was pulled down to four feet again. 

"Ammunition!" Drew got the word out as a squawk, grabbing at the boxesthe waiting men were already tossing to him. Then, through the hazewhich had been riding his mind since the battle began, he caught a clearsight of the fifth man there. .. . And there was no disguising the blondhair of the boy so eagerly watching the struggle below. Drew had foundBoyd--at a time he could do nothing about it. With his arms full, thescout turned to race down the slope again, only to sight the white flagwaving 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 havemore prisoners than guards. 

He went back, trying to locate Boyd, but to no purpose. And the rest ofthe day was more confusion, heat, never-ending weariness, and always thesense of there being so little time. Rumors raced along the lines, fivethousand, ten thousand blue bellies on the march, drawing in from everygarrison in the blue grass. And those who had been hunted along the Ohioroads a year before were haunted by that old memory of disaster. 

Once more they made their way through the streets of Cynthiana, wherethe acrid smoke of burning caught at throats, adding to the torturousthirst which dried a man's mouth when he tore cartridge paper with histeeth. Drew and Croxton took sketchy orders from Captain Quirk, theireyes red-rimmed with fatigue above their powder-blackened lips andchins. Fan out, be eyes and ears for the column moving into the Parispike. 

Croxton's grin had no humor in it as they turned aside into a field tomake better time away from the cluttered highway. 

"Looks like the butter's spread a mite thin on the bread this time, " hecommented. "But the General's sure playin' it like he has all the acesin 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 thedark, guns were moving up. The wasps were closing in on the disturbersof their nest, and every one of them carried a healthy stinger. Hethought 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 upthrough the night. 

3

_On the Run----_

"They're comin'! Looks like the whole country's sproutin' Yankees outtathe ground. "

They were, a dull dark mass at first and then an arc of one ominouscolor advancing in a fast, purposeful drive, already overrunning thepickets with only a lone shot here and there in defiance. They rode upconfidently, dismounted, and charged--to be thrown back once. But therewere too many of them, and they moved with the precision of men who knewwhat was to be done and that they could do it. Confederates were trappedbefore they could reach their horses; there was a wild whirling scrambleof a fight flowing backward toward the river. 

Men with empty guns turned those guns into clubs, fighting to hold thecenter. But the enemy had already cut them off from the Augusta road andthe bridge, and the river was at their backs. Water boiled under a leadrain. Drew saw an opening between two Union troopers. Flattening himselfas best he could on Shawnee's back, he gave the roan the spur. What goodcould be accomplished by the message he carried now--to bring up halfthe horse holders as reinforcements--was a question. 

However, he was never to deliver that message, for the horse lines hadbeen stampeded by the first wave of flying men. Here and there a holderor two still tried to control at least one wild horse of the four he wasresponsible 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 . .. Hegaped 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 fromhis 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 headedaway 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 tokeep his feet, being dragged along by two plunging horses, their eyeswhite-rimmed with terror. The only wonder was that the scout had heardthat call through the din of screaming and shouting, the wild neighs ofthe horses, and the continual crackle of small arms' fire. 

"Mount! Mount and ride!" He mouthed the order, not daring to pull upShawnee, already past Boyd and his horses. The roan's hoofs spurnedgravel from the track line now. And Boyd drew level with him and mountedone of the horses, continuing to lead the other. There was a cattleguard ahead to afford some protection from the storm churning along theriver. 

"Where?" Boyd called. 

Drew, his thumb still planted in the hole which was becoming Shawnee'sdeath, nodded to the guard. They made it, and Drew kneed the roan closerto the extra horse Boyd led, slinging his saddlebags across to the othermount. Then he dismounted, releasing his hold on the roan's wound. Forthe second time Shawnee cried, but this time it was no warrior's protestagainst death; it was the nicker of a question. The answering shot fromDrew's Colt was lost in the battle din. He was upon the other horsebefore Shawnee had stopped breathing. 

"Come on!" Drew's voice was strident as he spurred, herding Boyd beforehim. Two of them, then three, four, as they came out on the bank of amillpond. Across that stretch of water there was safety, or at least theillusion of safety. 

"Drew!" For the second time he was hailed. It was Sam Croxton, holdingonto the saddle horn with both hands, a stream of red running from apatch of blood-soaked hair over one ear. He swayed, his eyes wide openas those of the frightened horses, but fastened now on Drew as if theother were the one stable thing in a mad world. 

"Can you stick on?" Drew leaned across to catch the reins the other haddropped. 

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 prisonagain--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 tobring his own mount in on Croxton's right. 

"You'd best let me take that theah jump first, soldier. " The strangersent his horse in ahead of Drew's. "It don't necessarily foller thatbecause that's water a man can jus' natcherly git hisself across in onepiece. 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 hismount into the waiting pond. Still threshing about in the welter offlying 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 fadeas they rode on. He continued to hold to the horn, but he slumpedfurther over in a bundle of misery. Their pond guide took Boyd's stationto the right, surveying the half-conscious man critically. 

"This hoorawin' around ain't gonna do that scalpin' job no good, " heannounced. "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 firmnessinto his tone. "I don't go to no Yankee prison. .. . " He tried to reachfor the reins, but Drew kept them firmly to hand. 

There was a shot behind them, three or four more fugitives plunged downto the millpond, and the last one in line fired back at some yet unseenpursuer. 

"Then we git!" But across Croxton's bowed shoulders the other shook hishead warningly at Drew. 

He was young and as whipcord thin and tough as most of those over-wearymen from the badgered and now broken command, but he was not tense, riding rather with the easy adjustment to the quickened pace of a manmore at home in the saddle than on foot. His weather-browned face wasseamed with a scar which ran from left temple to the corner of hismouth, and his hair was a ragged, unkempt mop of brown-red which tossedfree as he rode, since he was hatless. 

With Croxton boxed between them, Drew and the stranger matched pace atwhat was a lope rather than a gallop as Boyd ranged ahead. Anotherflurry of shots sounded from behind, and they cut across a field, makingfor the doubtful cover of a hedge. There was no way, Drew decided aftera quick survey, for them to get back into town and join the generalretreat. The Yankees must be well between them and any of the forceacross the Licking. 

When they had pushed through the hedge they were faced by a lane runningin the general northwest direction. It provided better footing, and itled away from the chaos at Cynthiana. With Croxton on their hands it wasthe best they could hope for, and without more than an exchange ofglances they turned into it, the wounded man's horse still between them. 

The cover of the hedge wall provided some satisfaction and Drew dared toslow their pace. Under his tan Sam was greenish-white, his eyes halfclosed, and he rode with his hands clamped about the saddle horn as ifhis grip upon that meant the difference between life and death. ButDrew knew he could not hope to keep on much longer. 

There might be Confederate sympathizers in the next farmhouse who wouldbe willing to take in the wounded scout. On the other hand, theinhabitants could just as well be Union people. It was obvious that Samcould not keep going, and it was just as obvious to Drew that they--orat least he--could not just ride on and leave him untended by the sideof the road. 

"Boyd!" So summoned, the youngster reined in to wait for them. "You rideon! You, too!" Drew addressed the stranger. 

Boyd shook his head, though he glanced at the winding road ahead. "Iain'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 atleast found a satisfaction in passing on some of his own exasperationand frustration. 

"We got a far piece to travel, " commented the stranger. "An' I guessI'll string along with you, 'less, of course, this heah is a closed gamean' you ain't sellin' any chips 'cross the table. Me, I'm up from Texasway--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. " Hefreed one foot momentarily from the stirrup and surveyed a piece of verynew and shiny footware with open admiration. It was provided with ahighly ornate silver spur, not military issue but Mexican work, Drewguessed. 

"You from Gano's Company?" the scout asked. 

Kirby nodded. "Nowadays, but it was Terry's Rangers 'fore I stopped me asaber with this heah tough old head of mine an' was removed for awhile. That Yankee almost fixed me so m' own folks wouldn't know me froma fresh-skinned buffala--not that I got me any folks any more. " Hegrinned and that expression was a baring of teeth like a wolf'suninhibited snarl. "You one of Quirk's rough-string scout boys, ain'tyou? We sure raised hell an' put a chunk under it back theah. ThemYankees are gonna be as techy as teased rattlers. An' I don't see as howwe can belly through the brush with this heah hombre. He's got him amiddle full of guts to stick it this far. Long 'bout now he must havehim a horse-size headache. .. . "

Croxton swayed and only Drew's crowding their horses together kept thenow unconscious scout from falling into the road dust. Kirby steadiedthe limp body from the other side. 

"Keep pullin' him 'round this way, amigo, an' he'll be plantedpermanent, all neat an' pretty with a board up at his head. "

"There's a house--back there. " Boyd pointed to the right, where a narrowlane 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 cameas a rumble of warning. It was plain that Croxton could not ride on, notat 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 beputting them straight into some Yankee's pocket, but it was the onlysolution open now. 

"Hey, those mules!" Boyd had already ventured several horse lengths downthe lane. Now he jerked a forefinger at two animals, heads up, earspointed suspiciously forward, that were approaching the fence at arocking canter. "Those are Jim Dandy's! You remember Jim Dandy, Drew?"

"Jim Dandy--?" the other echoed. And then he did recall the littleEnglishman who had been a part of the Lexington horse country since longbefore the war. Jim Dandy had been one of the most skillful jockeys everseen in the blue grass, until he took a bad spill back in '59 andthereafter set himself up as a consultant trainer-vet to the comfort ofany stable with a hankering to win racing glory. 

To a man like Jim Dandy politics or war might not be all-important. Andthe fact that he had known the households of both Oak Hill and RedSprings could count for a better reception now. At least they could try. 

"No use you gettin' into anything, " Drew told the Texan. "You and Boydgo 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 downproper on th' right range. Maybeso you'll find them in theah as leery ofstrangers as a rustler of the sheriff--"

The Texan's references might be obscure, but he helped Drew transferCroxton from the precarious balance in the wounded man's own saddle toDrew's hold, and then rode at a walking pace beside the scout while Boydtrailed with the led horse. 

There was a pounding of hoofs on the road behind. A half dozen riderswent by the mouth of the land at a distance-eating gallop. In spite ofthe dust which layered them Drew saw they were not Union. 

"Them boys keep that gait up, " Kirby remarked, "an' they ain't gonnamake it far 'fore their tongues hang out 'bout three feet an' fortyinches. 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'snod 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. Hisblond head was bare, silver fair in contrast to Boyd's corn yellow, andhis features were thin and sharp. It was Jim Dandy, himself. 

"What's all this now?" he asked in that high voice Drew had last hearddiscussing the virtues of rival horse liniments at Red Springs. And hedid not look particularly welcoming. 

"Mr. Dandy--" Drew walked his horse on, Croxton sagging in his hold, hisweight a heavy pull on his bearer's tired arms--"do you remember me?Drew Rennie, of Red Springs. " He added that quickly for what smallguarantee of respectability the identification might give. Certainly inhis present guise he did not look Alexander Mattock's grandson. 

Dandy rested his weight on his good leg and swung his shorter one alittle 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 toshow hardware 'fore you know the paint on our faces--"

The smaller man's hand fell away from his concealed weapon, but Kirbydid not reholster the Colt which had appeared through some feat oflightning movement in his grip. 

"You're not going to take _my_ horses!" Even if there was no gun inDandy's hand, his voice stated a fact they could not doubt he meant. 

"Nobody's takin' hosses, " the Texan answered. "This heah soldier's gothim a mighty sore head, an' he needs some fixin'. We ain't too popularround 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 wereUnion--"

Dandy shrugged. "No matter to me what you wear . .. Blue . .. Gray--you'reall a bunch of horse thieves, like as not. You, Mr. Boyd, what you doingriding with these here Rebs? And what's the matter with that man? Gothim a lick on the head, eh? Well--" he crossed with his lurching walk tostand by Drew, studying the now unconscious Croxton--"all right. " Hisvoice 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 bloodywar, and I ain't going to now. But the man's hurt. Unload him and don'ttell me what he's been doing back there to get him that knock. I don'twant to know. "

He led the way into the stable, and moments later Croxton was as easy asthey could make him on an improvised bed of straw and clean horseblankets. Dandy turned to them with Croxton's gun belt swinging free inhis hand, still weighted down with two revolvers. 

"You want these?"

Drew glanced at his two companions. His own carbine was gone; he haddropped it at the verge of the millpond when he had taken charge ofCroxton. 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 wasable to ride soon, he would need those. And the rest of them could taketheir chances at getting more arms. Boyd opened his mouth as if toprotest, 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 comelooking, and I don't fancy having any fight here. With luck we'll getyour friend on his feet all right and tight, and he can slip south whenthe dust is down a bit. But you'd better keep ahead of what can comedown the pike now. "

Kirby moved, the spurs jangling musically on his boots. "I've beenthinkin' 'bout that theah road, " he announced. "Any other trail outtaheah 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 andtheir waiting mounts. "Obliged to you, suh. Now, " he spoke to Drew, "I'dsay it's time to raise some dust. Ain't far to sundown, an' we oughtagit 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 thisheah world. Theah is Comanches an' Apaches, an' a longhorn cow with acalf hid out in a thicket, an' a rattler, what's feelin' lowdown in hismind. An' theah's javalinas, the wild boars of the Rio country. Thentheah'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 tothem 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 thepasture 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 abit 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 rileddoin' 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!" Therewas nothing in Boyd's clothing or equipment to suggest that he had beena part of the now scattered raiders. "If the Yankees stop you, " Drewcontinued, "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 ofGeneral Morgan's men. "

"Only a fool, " remarked Kirby, "stops to argue with a mule, a skunk, acook, or a boy what's run away to join the army. You figgerin' to takethis 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 Boydagain. "No, I can't take you back now. But I'll see that you do goback!"

Boyd laughed, high, with a reckless note. "I'm comin' along. "

"As I was sayin', " Kirby returned to his half suggestion of momentsbefore, "we can see 'bout helpin' ourselves. Them Yankees are mightyparticular 'bout their rigs; they carry 'nough to outfit a squad righton one trooper. "

Drew had already caught on. "Stage an ambush?"

"Well, now, let's see. " Kirby looked down at his own gear, thencritically inspected Drew and Boyd in turn. "We could do with carbines. Them blue bellies had them some right pretty-lookin' hardware--leastwaysthem back by the river did. An' I don't see no ration bags on themtheah hosses you two are ridin'. Yes, we could do with grub, an'rifle-guns . .. Maybe some blue coats. .. . Say as how we was wearin' themwe could ride up to some farm all polite an' nice an' maybe git asked into rest a spell an' fill up on real fancy eats. I 'member back on theOhio raid we came into this heah farm . .. Wasn't nobody round the placeat 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 tastesince as good as them theah pies. But maybe with a blue coat on us wecould 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. Shortof subduing him physically and taking him back tied to his saddlethrough the spreading Union web, Drew had no chance of returning Boyd toOak Hill. But to lead him into the chancy sort of deal Kirby hadoutlined 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 whatmust have seemed to him an idea right out of the dashing kind of war hehad been imagining all these past weeks. 

"It has been done, kid, " the Texan affirmed. "'Course we got to find ustwo 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 hisface. 

"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. Anddon't you ever forgit it!"

Boyd was disconcerted, but he clung doggedly to his belief. "One ofMorgan's men can take on five Yankees. "

Drew laughed dryly. "You saw _that_ happen just this mornin', Boyd. Andwhat happened? We ran. They fight just as hard and as long, and most ofthem 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 yourmoney 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 theycould look out on a hard-surfaced road which must be the pike. Ridingalong 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 tencarbines . .. And the owners of those were alert. 

"Stand where you are!" The slight man leading that skeleton troop postedahead. His shell jacket had the three yellow bars of a captain on itsstanding collar, and Drew saluted. This was the first group of fugitiveshe had seen who were more than frightened men running their horses andthemselves 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. "Anymore of you?" He looked to Boyd and then at the cornfield beyond. 

"Barrett's a volunteer, " Drew explained. This was no time to clarifyBoyd'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 sticktogether, I think all of us may stay healthy. "

Kirby turned his horse into the pike. "Sounds like a good argument tome, suh. You have any idea wheah at we are, or wheah we could beheadin'?"

"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 theriver. Best plan for now, anyway. And the more men we can pick up, thebetter. "

"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 theTexan's comment reached them. They might have run and gone on runningmost of that long day, but they were no longer running; they were movingin reasonable order and to some purpose, with a direction in view and aform of organization, no matter how patched together they were. Campbellspoke directly to Drew: "You know anything about this section of thecountry?"

"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 forus now. Send in any stragglers you come across. The night is almosthere, 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 hourbefore twilight closed down. 

"I'm hungry, " Boyd said, approaching Drew. "There're farms around. Whycan't we get something to eat?"

"Here. " Drew fumbled in the saddlebags he had transferred from Shawneeto 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 bestyou'll get for a while. "

Boyd stared at it in dismay. "You can't eat a thing like this! It's apiece 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 flushfaded and he moved uneasily in his saddle, but not out of the range ofDrew's attention. At length, unhappily, he dismounted and went to pickthe gray-white chunk out of a weed tangle. Holding it gingerly, he cameback 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 hardtackand finally dropped it into that waiting palm. 

"You eat hard and you sleep on the soft side of a board--if you're luckyenough to find a board. You ride till your seat is blistered and untilyou can sleep in the saddle. You drink mud green with scum if that's allyou 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 AuntMarianna on the Lexington road--"all saber wavin' and chargin' the enemyand playin' hero to the home folks; this is sweatin' and dirt on you andyour clothes, goin' mighty hungry, and cold and wet--when it's theseason for goin' cold and wet. It's takin' a lot of the bad, with notmuch 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 thatshort 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 outright away, Drew could send a telegram and Boyd would be collected. Drewtried to console himself with that thought all the time another part ofhim was certain that Boyd intended to prove he could stick through allthe rigors Drew had just outlined for him. 

But in any event the boy's introduction to war was going to be asunromantic as anyone could want, short of being thrown cold anduntrained into a major battle. They must be prepared for a bad timeuntil they made it out of the Union lines and south again. 

The night closed down, dark and moonless, with a heaviness in the airwhich was oppressive. Campbell had to grant men and horses a breathingperiod. He put out pickets, leaving the rest of them to lie with theirmounts saddled and to hand. Drew loosened the girth, stripped off saddleand blanket, and wiped down the sweaty back of his new mount. But hedared not leave the gelding free. So, against all good practice, here-equipped the tired beast. No mount was going to be able to take thatkind of treatment for long. They had a half dozen spare horses, andundoubtedly they could "trade" worn-out mounts for fresh ones along theway. But such ceaseless use was cruel punishment, and no man wanted toinflict it. War was harder on horses than men. At least the men couldtake 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 maytake you for a blue belly as has come crawlin' into his dreams. It's allright, amigo--jus' time to git on the prowl again. "

Feeling as if he had been beaten, Drew slowly got to his feet. Men weremoving, falling into line. And one was arguing with Captain Campbell. 

"It could work, Cap'n, " the trooper urged. "Ain't a lot of the boyswearin' Yankee truck they took outta the warehouses? Them what ain't canact like prisoners. Jus' say we're the Eleventh Ohio--they's stationednear Bardstown and it would seem right, them ridin' down to take themsome prisoners. The old man, he's got a rich farm and sets a powerfulgood table. Might even give us a right smart load of provisions into thebargain. 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 wholiked to play chess and admired Lucilla's pickled watermelon rind to thepoint 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 bigfarm and raises prime mules--"

"You know him personally?"

"Yes, suh. He's a friend of my grandfather; they used to visit back andforth a lot. "

"Then he'd know you. " Campbell's fingernails rasped through the stubbleon his chin. 

"So Rennie heah could be one of our prisoners, suh. That theah mightconvince Mistuh McKeever we's what we say--" the trooper pressed hispoint. 

"Could be. It's gospel truth we ain't goin' to get far with our belliesflat on our backbones. And it might work. Now, all of you men, listen. .. . " Campbell explained, gave orders, and put them through asmall drill. A dozen men without any Union uniform loot to distinguishthem were told to play the role of prisoners; the others exchanged anddrew out of saddlebags pieces of blue clothing to make their appearanceas the Eleventh Ohio. 

"They ain't gonna expect too much. " The trooper who had first urged theplan was optimistic. "We can pass as close to militia----"

"You hope!" Kirby was in the prisoner's section, and it was plain he didnot 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 Coltswhen the time came--"keep right 'longside, soldier. If I want to getthose six-guns, I want 'em fast an' I want 'em sure--not 'bout ten yardsaway 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 aboutfood made a warm, sickish taste rise in his mouth. He brought out thehardtack which Boyd had so indignantly rejected the night before, andholding the chunk balanced on his saddle horn, rapped it smartly withthe butt of a revolver. It broke raggedly across, and then he was ableto crack it again between his fingers. 

"Here--" He held out a two-inch piece to Boyd, and this time there wasno refusal. The younger boy's cheek showed a swollen puff as he suckedaway at the fragment. 

Drew offered a bite to the Texan. 

"Right neighborly, amigo, " Kirby observed. "'Bout this time, me, I'mready to exercise m' teeth on a stewed moccasin, Comanche at that, wereanybody to ask me to sit down an' reach for the pot. "

They rode on at a comfortable pace and for some reason met no othertravelers on the pike. Drew found his new mount had no easy shuffle likeShawnee's. The gelding was a black with three white feet and a proudlyheld head--might even be Denmark stock--but for some reason he didn'trelish moving in company. And, left without close enough supervisionfrom his rider, he tended either to trot ahead or loiter until he wasout of line. Drew was continually either reining him in or urging himon. 

"Kinda a raw one, " Kirby commented critically. "He ain't norockin'-chair hoss, that's for sure. If I was you, I'd look round forsomethin' better to slap m' tree on--"

Drew pulled rein for the tenth time, his exasperation growing. "I mightdo just that. " Shawnee had been worth fifty of this temperamentalblooded hunter. 

"You take Tejano heah. He's a rough-coated ol' snorter--nothin' to makean hombre's eyes bug out--but he takes you way over yonder, an' then hebrings you back . .. Nothin' more you can ask. "

Drew agreed. "Lost my horse back at the river, " he said briefly. "Thiswas a pickup--"

"Tough luck!" Kirby was sincerely sympathetic. "Funny about you Kaintuckboys . .. Mostly you want a high-steppin' pacer with a chief's featherssproutin' outta his head. They has to have oats an' corn an' be treatedlike they was glass. I'd'ruther have me a range hoss. You can ride oneof 'em from Hell to breakfast--an' maybe a mile or two beyond--an' henever knows the difference. Work him hard all day, an' maybe the nextmornin' when you're set to fork leather again, he shows you a bellyfullof bedsprings an' you're unloaded for fair. A hoss like that has himwind 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 downPecos 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 dealwith a Mex mustanger; he got some prime stuff he caught in thePanhandle. One mare, I 'member--she was a natcherel pacer. Yeah, youmight 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 askedanother question:

"What happened . .. The war?"

"What happened? Well, you might say as how Comanches happened. Me, I wastrailin' 'long with this Mex mustanger to learn some of his tricks. WhenI came back, theah jus' warn't nothin'--nothin' a man wants to rememberafter. Someday I'm gonna hunt me Comanches. Gonna learn me some tricksin this heah war I can use in that business!" There was no change inhis 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 hadburst out with the Rebel Yell. 

"This is it!" Captain Campbell rode back along their line. It was alarger company; they had gathered in more fugitives this morning and hadno stragglers. All they lacked was adequate arms to present a ratherformidable source of trouble behind the Union lines. "We're goin' intothe McKeever place. You men--remember, you're prisoners!"

Very reluctantly those in that unhappy role unbuckled gun belts, passingtheir side arms over to their "captors. " There was a graveled drivebranching out of the pike to their right with a grove of trees archingover it, so they rode into a restful green twilight out of the punishingsun. 

Fields rippled lushly beyond that border of trees. There was acleanness, a contentment, a satisfaction about this place which was nopart of them or any men who passed so, armed, restless, tearing apartjust such peace as enfolded them here. They rode out of urgency when thegravel 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 hisimmediate 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. Weall eat full plates in heah, let that be understood from the start. "

Campbell laughed. "Noted, Kirby. We'll see that you desperate Rebs getall 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. Hetouched fingers to kepi--a neat blue kepi--in a smart salute. 

"Chivers, Captain, Eleventh Ohio, sir. We'd like to make our noon halthere if you'll grant permission. "

Thomas McKeever beamed. "No reason not, suh. Take your men over in theorchard, Captain. We can add a little something to your rations. Glad, always glad to entertain our boys. " His attention wandered to the scoreof "prisoners" in the center of the troop. 

"Prisoners, Captain?"

"Some of Morgan's horse thieves. " Campbell glanced back at the shabbyexhibit. "You've heard the news, of course, sir? We smashed 'em properover at Cynthiana--"

"You did? Now that's good hearin', Captain. It deserves a regularcelebration; it surely does. Morgan smashed! Was he taken too? Next timeI trust they'll put him in something stronger than that jail you Ohioboys 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 atemporary lockup, Captain. Though I must say they don't display muchspirit, do they? Look pretty well beat. "

Drew rubbed his hand across his face, hoping the grime there--a mixtureof road dust, sweat, and powder blacking--was an effective disguise. Nouse recalling the old days for Mr. McKeever. Allowing his shoulders toslump dispiritedly as he was herded by his file guard, he rode sullenlyon to the orchard. 

They stripped their saddles and allowed the horses freedom for the firsttime in hours, an act which was against prudence but which McKeeverwould expect of Union troops. Drew lay full length under the curvinglimbs of an apple tree, his head pillowed on saddlebags. 

"Now I wonder"--Kirby dropped down, to sit with his back against thetree trunk--"why they always say a fella is dog-tired. A dog, he ain'tgot him much to do 'cept chase around on his own business. Soldier-tired--now that's another matter. How 'bout it, kid? You readyto ride right outta heah an' chase General Grant clean back to LakeErie?"

Boyd had stretched out only a hand's length from Drew. There were darksmudges under his closed eyes, hardly to be told from the smears of dirton his round cheeks, but there. He rolled his head on a hammock of grassand scowled at Kirby. 

"General Grant can--" he added a remark which surprised Drew intoopening his eyes. Kirby shook his head reprovingly. 

"Now that ain't no way for a growin' boy to talk. An' it sits on yourtongue as easy as a fly on a mule's ear, too. What kinda company you binkeepin', kid? Rennie, this heah colt ain't got no reason to cram grammarinto a remark that way. "

Drew stretched, folded his arms under his head, and answered, in a voicehe tried to make as blighting as possible: "Thinks it makes him soundlike a man, probably. He's findin' out the army ain't quite what heexpected. "

"You shut up--!" Boyd might have added something to that, but Drew hadmoved. He leaned over the youngster, his hand hard and heavy on Boyd'sshoulder. And it was plain that, much as he wanted to, the other did notquite dare to move or shake off that grip. 

"I've had about enough, " Drew said quietly. "The next town we hit you'regoin' 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 anytrouble from Union troops. "

Boyd's eyes blazed. His mouth wasn't shaping a small boy's pout thistime; 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 ahorse 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 hethe tough one though, horns sticking up an' haired all over!Gentlemen--" he had glanced over their shoulder and was watchingwhatever was there--"company comin'. Mind your manners!"

Drew looked around. His hand clamped tighter on Boyd, keeping him pinnedon his back. If he only had time . .. But there was no way of disguisingthe younger boy. And Thomas McKeever, strolling with Captain Campbell, had already sighted them, stopped short, and now was moving swiftly intheir direction. 

"Boyd Barrett!"

Drew had to release his hold and Boyd sat up, brushing bits of grassfrom his shirt sleeves even as he returned Mr. McKeever's stare withcomposure. 

"Yes, suh?" Boyd was on his feet now, making his manners with the speedof 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 couldrattle the unaware into confusion, and sometimes even into quickconfession, as he undoubtedly knew. 

"I'm with General Morgan, Mr. McKeever. " Boyd did not appear tooruffled. 

"I refuse to believe that even that unprincipled ruffian is robbingcradles 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 theapproach of the older man. "Them's pretty harsh words, suh. Cutthroatnow--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 attentionsettled on Drew. "Rennie, " he repeated, and then said the name againwith the emphasis of one making a court identification. "Drew Rennie!"

"Yes, suh. " As Boyd had done, Drew answered to the indictment of beingwhere he was and who he was. 

"I am most unhappy to see Alexander Mattock's grandson and MeredithBarrett's son in such company. Surely"--he turned to CaptainCampbell--"these boys are not your regular prisoners--"

Campbell shook his head gravely. "Unfortunately, sir, they are indeedtroopers with Morgan. And, as such, they are subject to the rules of wargoverning prisoners--"

"That does not prevent my seeing what I can do for both of you, " theirhost said quickly. "At least, Boyd, you are young enough to be releasedby 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 nobodycan say that's not so!"

Kirby laughed. "Reckon that's true, kid. You locked yourself right intothe corral along with the rest of us bad men. Look's like you've beenoutfought this time, Rennie. "

Drew threw himself back under the tree. So Boyd had won this round--theywere 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, smilingdreamily into the lacing of apple boughs over his head. "I ain't had mea feed like that since we took that sutler's wagon back outside MountSterlin'. 'Mos' forgot theah was such vittles lyin' 'bout to be sampled. An' you got us most of the cream, too, 'cause you're poor littlemisguided boys a-runnin' 'way to be with us desperate characters. Git mea 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 witha short but pungent lecture from Mr. McKeever, served along with food, which to Drew made it worth the return of listening decorously to alisting of their sins. 

"I ain't goin' home, " Boyd repeated stubbornly. 

"Well, " Kirby pointed out, "if he rides up to the Yankee prison camp, heain't gonna find you neither. So what's the difference? I think weoughta be movin' on, seein' as how we ain't really on speakin' termswith the law heah 'bouts. "

It would appear that Captain Campbell agreed with that. The order cameto saddle up and move out. But they went with provision sacks slung fromtheir saddles, a portion of McKeever's bounty stowed away againsttomorrow. And once they were past the house, the word came down the linefor 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 aslow walk. "There are about a hundred Union infantry stationed atBardstown, 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 thesentence with an implied question. 

"What are we going to do there?" The captain grinned. "We're going tocollect some arms, I hope. Supposing you were a Yankee commander, Rennie, and a bold, bad raider like General Morgan was to ride clean upto 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 weremostly militia and green men who hadn't ever been in a real fight?"

Drew understood. "Probably, suh, I'd tell General Morgan that he couldhave his guns, providin' he kept his side of the bargain. "

"As far as the Yankees in Bardstown may know, General Morgan could beheaded their way right now with a regiment. I don't think they've hadtime yet to learn just how badly we were scattered back there by theLicking 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. Andthey did need the weapons. Cutting westward now only kept them wellinside Union territory. Somehow they would have to skulk or fight theirway down through the southern part of Kentucky and then probably all theway across Tennessee--a tall order, but one which was just possible ofaccomplishment. 

"I'll do it, suh. " Riding into Bardstown was no worse than riding overthe rest of this countryside where any moment they might be swept up bythe enemy. 

It was lucky they had brought rations with them from McKeever's, forthey took no more chances of trying for such supplies again. Once morethey altered their advance, riding the pikes at night, hiding out byday. 

Hills then, and among them Bardstown. Drew borrowed a carbine, stringinga dubiously white strip of shirt tail from its barrel, and flanked byKirby and Driscoll, a trooper Campbell had appointed, rode slowly up thebroad street opening from the pike. Great trees arched overhead, almostas they had across the drive of the McKeever place, and the houses werefine, equal to the best about Lexington. 

A carriage pulled to the side, its two feminine occupants leaningforward a little under the tilt of dainty parasols, eyes wide. Whiletheir coachman stared open-mouthed at the three dirty, tatteredcavalrymen riding with an assumption of ease, though armed, down themiddle 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. Theweary miles had taught the gelding submission if not perfect manners. Transferring his reins to the hand which also steadied the butt of hiscarbine against his thigh so that his "flag" was well in evidence, Drewswept off his dust-grayed hat and bowed to the ladies in the carriage. 

"General Morgan's compliments, ladies, " he said, loud enough for hiswords to carry beyond the vehicle to the townspeople gathering on thewalk. "Flag of truce comin' in, ma'am. " He spoke directly to the elderof the two in the carriage. "Would you be so kind as to direct me towhere I may find the Union commander?"

"You're from John Hunt Morgan, young man?" She shut her parasol with asnap, 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. Yankeesand whiskey apparently have an affinity for one another. So JohnMorgan'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 asgraceful 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, butDrew 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'sexpression was properly contrite; his voice all diffidence. 

"The inn, young men, is on down the street. Drive on, Horace!" sheordered the coachman. But as the carriage started, she pointed herparasol at Drew as a teacher might point an admonishing ruler at apupil. "I hope you'll find what you're looking for, young man. In theway of Yankees. .. . "

"We generally do, ma'am, " Kirby commented. "For us Yankees jus' turn upbright an' sassy all over the place. "

Drew laughed. "Bright and sassy, then on the run!" For the success ofhis present mission and all those listening ears he ended that boast inas fervent a tone as he could summon. 

"See that you keep them that way!" She enforced that order with a snapof parasol being reopened as the carriage moved from the shade back intothe patch of open sunlight. 

"That sure was a pretty girl, " observed Driscoll as Drew and the Texanwheeled back into line with him. "Wish we could settle down heah for saytwo or three days. Git some of the dust outta our throats and have achance to say Howdy to some friendly folks--"

"You'd be more likely sayin' Howdy to a Yankee prison guard if you didthat, " 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 maybedon'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', " Drewwarned. "We make our big talk to this captain, and then we moveout--fast. You boys know the drill?"

"Sure, " Driscoll repeated. "We're the big raiders come to gobble up allthe 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 wasthe inn, Rennie--"

They saw their first Yankees, a blot of blue by the horse trough at theedge of the center square. And Drew, surveying the enemy with a criticaland experienced eye, was sure that he was indeed meeting either greentroops or militia. They were as wide-eyed in their return stare as thecivilians on the streets around. 

Kirby chuckled. "Strut it up, roosters, " he urged from the corner of hismouth. "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 theBardstown street had no interest in the soldiers by the trough. Drew inthe middle, the white rag dropping from the barrel of his carbine, brought the black a step or two in advance. Just so had Castleman riddeninto Lexington earlier, and that had been at night with a far more waryand 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 goneto 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 thedoor through which the soldier had disappeared. His fellows edgedaround the trough and stood in a straggling line to front theConfederates. 

"You!" Drew caught the eye of the nearest. "Tell your commanding officerGeneral Morgan's flag is here!"

The Yankee was young, almost as young as Boyd, but he had less assurancethan 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 wasworded correctly according to military protocol or not. It was, hethought 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 adramatic scarlet above the dark blue of his unbuttoned coat. He stoppedshort a step or two into the open and stood staring at the three onhorseback, 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 ofthe Tennessee, detached duty. "

"But, but Morgan was defeated . .. At Cynthiana. He was broken--"

Slowly Drew shook his head. "The General has been reported defeatedbefore, suh. No, he's right here outside Bardstown. And I wouldn'trightly say he was broken either, not with a couple of regiments behindhim--"

"Couple of regiments!" The man was buttoning his coat, his red jowlssagging a little, almost as if Drew had used the carbine across hisunprotected head. "Couple of regiments . .. Morgan . .. " he repeateddazedly. "Well, " sullenly he spoke to Drew, "what does he want?"

"You're a captain, " Drew spoke crisply. "You'll return with us todiscuss 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 gazedwith critical disparagement at such Union forces as were visible. 

"One hundred and twenty-five, " the officer repeated mechanically andthen 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. " Herose in his stirrups to view the immediate scene. "Goin' to fight fromhouse to house maybe--?"

"General Morgan, " Drew remarked to the company at large, "is not apatient man. But it's your decision, suh. If you want to make a fight ofit. " He shrugged. 

"No! Well, I'll talk . .. Listen to your terms anyway. Get my horse!" heroared at the nearest soldier. 

They escorted the captain with due solemnity out of Bardstown to meetCampbell, a well-armed guard in evidence strung out on the pike. TheUnion officer picked up enough assurance to demand to see the Generalhimself, but Campbell's show of surprised hauteur at the request was anexpert's weapon in rebuttal; and the other not only subsided but agreedwithout 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 afield outside and there await the patroling officer who would visit themin 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 theirborrowed carbines to the rightful owners and prepared to join the firstwave of that quick dash. 

_"Yahhhh-aww-wha--"_ There were no words in that, just the war cry whichmight have torn from an Indian warrior's throat, but which came insteadfrom between Kirby's lips: the famous Yell with all its yip of victoryas only an uninhibited Texan could deliver it. Then they were rushing, yelping in an answering chorus, four and five abreast, down the streetunder the shade of the trees, answered by screams and cries as the walksemptied before them. 

Blue ranks broke up ahead, leaving rifles stacked, provisions inknapsacks. And the ragged crew struck at the spoil like a wave, lappingup arms, cartridge boxes, knapsacks. For only moments there was amilling pandemonium in the heart of Bardstown. Then once again that Yellwas raised, echoed, and the pound of hoofs made an artillery barrage ofsound. Armed, provisioned, and very much the masters of the scene, Morgan's men were heading out of town on the other side, leavingbewilderment behind. 

They pushed the pace, knowing that the telegraph wires or the courierswould be spreading the news. Perhaps the reputation of their commandermight slow the inevitable pursuit, but it would not deter it entirely. They must put as much distance between themselves and the out-foxedUnion garrison as they could. And Campbell continued to point themwestward instead of south, since any enemy force would be marching inthe other direction to cut them off. 

Even if men could stand that dogged pace, driven by determination andfear of capture, horses could not. And through the next two days theinference was very clear: fall behind at your own risk; there will be nowaiting for laggards to catch up. Nor any mounts furnished; you mustprovide your own. 

Drew discovered the black gelding an increasing problem, but at leastthe horse provided transportation, and he tried to save the animal asbest he could. Though when it was impossible to unsaddle, when one hadto ride--and did--some twenty hours out of twenty-four, there was notmuch the most experienced horseman could do to relieve his mount. 

Drew pulled up beside Kirby as he returned from a flank scout. The Texanhad dropped to the rear of the small troop, holding his horse to notmuch more than a walk. Now and then he glanced to the receding length ofthe road as if in search of someone. 

"Where's Boyd?" Drew had ridden along the full length of the company andnowhere had he seen that blond head. 

"Jus' what I'm wonderin'. " Kirby came to a complete halt. "I came backa little while ago, and nobody's seen him. "

Drew pulled in beside the other. His horse's head hung low as thegelding blew in gusty snorts. He tried to remember when he had seen Boydlast 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 acorn-fed stud. "

"They were talkin' to him when I went out on point. " Drew followed hisown 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'sgoin' to take kindly to your interest in him, " the Texan observed. "Youtell him Hilders an' Cambridge are wearin' skunk stripes, an' he's aptto claim 'em both as compadres. Suppose he don't come in when we beddown; he coulda jus' cut his picket rope an' drifted, as far as we canprove. "

"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 acquiredEnfield. "No tellin' as how they would join up with us again did theymake such a switch; might figure as how they could make it better timedriftin' on their own. "

The Texan had put his own fear into words. Drew pointed the gelding backdown the road and booted the animal into a trot. A moment later he heardmore 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 fromway back, an' this may end in a smoke-up. Odds seem a mite one-sidednow--Hilders is easy on the trigger. He won't take kindly to anyonetryin' to hang up his hide for dryin'--"

Drew studied the hoof-churned dust of the road. He could only hold avery slim hope of some trace along its margin. The gelding stumbled andtried to cut pace. Drew hardened his will, holding the animal to thetrot. He knew that under saddle and blanket, sores were forming, thatsoon he would have no choice but a "trade" such as Hilders might beforcing 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 handsignal 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 intowhich a thin trace of path led. Good cover for trouble. Looping reinsover his arm, Drew walked forward, Colt in hand, using scout tricks tocover the noise of his advance into the green shimmer of the trees. 

The trail led ahead without any attempt at concealment. The other twotroopers must have tricked Boyd into taking that way; maybe they hadeven put a revolver on him once they were off the road. It was only tooeasy for a man to straggle from the company and not be missed untilhours 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 gitmuch farther. You can nurse him along an' take it easy. Them bluebellies 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. Notrouble. .. . "

"'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'svoice scaled higher. 

Drew ran, his arm up to shield his face from the whip of branches. Hecame out at a small stream. Boyd was backed against a tree while the twoothers advanced on him from different directions. 

"That's enough!" Drew's Colt was pointed at Hilders. The man's headjerked around. "Get goin', " the scout ordered. 

Cambridge blinked stupidly, but Hilders took a step back to catch up thereins of a horse that stood dull-eyed, its head bent, pink foam ropingfrom its muzzle as it breathed in heavy gasps. 

"I said--get!" Drew advanced, and Hilders gave ground again, towing thetrembling horse. 

"Now, we don't want no trouble, " Cambridge said hurriedly. "It wouldabin a fair trade. .. . Sonny, heah, ain't got place in the companyanyhow----"

"Get!" Drew's weapon raised a fraction of an inch. Cambridge's protestthickened into a mumble and he went. When both men had disappeared, Drewturned to Boyd. 

"Put that away--" he flicked a finger at the other's Colt--"and mountup. We'll have to push to get back to the troop. "

He watched the other lead the bay away from the stream side. Kirby wasright, the horse was in better condition than most of the others in thecompany, and sooner or later someone might again try to rank Boyd out ofit. There were a good many in that hunted column who would see that inthe same light as Hilders and Cambridge did and would say so, with theweight of public opinion to back them. Campbell had set their course forCalhoun--and in that town Boyd and the raiders must definitely partcompany. 

6

_Horse Trade_

"What's this heah Calhoun like?" Kirby watched Drew loosen the saddleblanket, lifting it from the gelding as gently as he could. 

"Not much--" Drew was beginning, then he sucked in his breath and stoodstaring at the nasty sight he had just uncovered. He slung the blanketto the ground as Boyd came up, leading the bay. It was the younger boywho spoke first. 

"You ain't goin' to try to ride him now, Drew!" That protest camespontaneously. Drew thought that Shawnee's end had put the last bit ofsteel over his feelings, but he had to agree with Boyd now: no one withany humanity could make the gelding carry so much as a blanket over thatback, let alone saddle and rider. 

"Here!" Roughly, his face flushed, Boyd jerked on the reins of his ownmount, 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 guessthis is where I do some tradin'--"

"House-smoke yonder . .. " Kirby pointed. They could see the thin trail ofsmoke rising steadily this windless morning. "Best make it fast--thecap'n is already thinkin' about pointin' up an' headin' out. "

Drew loosened his side arms in their holsters. He always hated thisbusiness, but it was part of a day's work in the cavalry now. He justhoped that he wouldn't have to do his impressing at gun point. Heentrusted saddle and blanket to Boyd, but made the other wait outsidethe farmyard twenty minutes later as he shepherded the gelding into theenclosure where chickens squawked and ran witlessly and a dog hurledhimself to the end of a chain, giving tongue like a hound on a hotscent. 

Drew skirted that defender, moving toward the barn. But he was stillwell away from the half-open door when a woman hurried out, a basket inher hands, her face picturing surprise and apprehension. She stoppedshort to stare at Drew. 

"Who are you--what do you want?" Her two questions ran together in asingle breathless sentence. Drew looked beyond her. No one else issuedfrom the barn or came in answer to the dog's warning. He took off hishat. 

"I need a horse, ma'am. " He said it bluntly, impatiently. After all, howcould you make a demand like that more courteous or soft? The very factthat he had been driven to this made him angry. 

For a moment she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and then her eyesshifted to the gelding. She came forward a step or two, and there was ablaze 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 tohave 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 takeyour horse if you have one. But I'm under orders to keep up with thecompany. And I'm goin' to do what I have to. .. . "

He dropped the gelding's reins, walked forward, hoping she wouldn't makehim push around her. But apparently she read the determination in hisface 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 itwas either taking him or being put afoot. If he could back this one evenas far as Calhoun tomorrow--or the next day--he might be able to make abetter exchange in town. It would depend on just how hard the stallionwas to control. 

Making soothing noises, he worked fast to bit and bridle the bigchestnut. His experience with the Red Springs stud led him aright now. He came out of the barn leading the horse while the dog, its firstincessant clamor stilled, growled menacingly from the end of its chain. The woman had disappeared, maybe into the fields beyond in search ofhelp. 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 farthe chestnut had proved amiable. But how the stud might behave in troopcompany he had yet to learn. He mounted and waited for any signs ofresentment, remembering the woman's warning. King snorted, pawed thedust a bit, but trotted on when Drew urged him. 

Kirby whistled from where he rode with the rear guard as they rejoinedthe company. But Captain Campbell frowned. And King put on a display offireworks which almost shook Drew out of the saddle, rearing and pawingthe air. 

"Makes like a horny one on the prod, " commented the Texan. "That'sstud's a lotta hoss to handle, amigo. "

"Too much, " the captain echoed Drew's earlier misgivings. "Keep him awayfrom the rest until you're sure he won't start anything!"

But that order fitted in with Drew's usual scouting duties. And when hedid bed down for one of the fugitives' limited halts he was careful tostake King away from the improvised picket lines. 

Drew was eating a mixture of hardtack and cold bacon, the last of theircaptured provision from Bardstown, when Driscoll sauntered over to thesmall mess Kirby, Boyd, and Drew had established without any formalagreement. 

"The boys are plannin' 'em a high old time, " Driscoll announced. 

Kirby's left eyebrow slanted up in quizzical inquiry. Drew chewedenergetically 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. Theywon't be too choosy. Only thought I'd tell you fellas, seem' as how youbeen ridin' scout and ain't maybe heard the plans. If you want to loadup, better git into town early. Some of them fast workers from B Companyare gittin' set. .. . "

"The cap'n know about this?" asked Kirby. 

Driscoll shrugged. "He ain't deaf. But the cap'n also knows as how youcan't be too big a gold-lace officer when you're behind the enemy lineswith men on the run. We're gonna take Calhoun and take her good!" Hegrinned at the two veterans. "Jus' like we took Mount Sterlin'. "

Kirby was sober. "There was a take theah which warn't no good. Somebodycleaned out the bank, or else I wasn't hearin' too well afterward. I cansee 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. TheYankees do it too. But takin' a gold watch or money outta a man'spants--now that's somethin' different again. "

Driscoll stood up. "Ain't nobody said anything about gold watches ormoney or banks, " he replied stiffly. "There's stores in Calhoun, andthere'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 hisbags 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 boysoughta know. Me, I have in mind gittin' maybe two or three cans of thempeaches 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--maybein town. "

"Trade? Why ever a trade?"

"We got a couple of river crossin's comin' up ahead, " the scoutexplained. "And one of them is a good big stretch of deep water--youdon'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 heardtell, " he chimed in eagerly, "as how a mule is a right sure-footedcritter for a river crossin'. An' a good ridin' mule could suit a manfine----"

"A mule!" Boyd exploded, outraged. But Drew considered the suggestioncalmly. 

"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 wayit's goin' to be. "

There were more plans laid for the taking of Calhoun as the hours passedand the harried company plodded or spurred--depending upon the nature ofthe countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their generalstate of energy at the time--southwest across the length of Kentucky. Days became not collections of hours they could remember one by oneafterward, but a series of incidents embedded in a nightmare of hardriding, scanty fare, and constant movement. Not only horses were givingout now; they dropped men along the way. And some--like Cambridge andHilders--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 ona field of unprotected vegetation. Drew did not know how much Unionsentiment might exist there, but he judged that their actions would notleave too many friends behind them. Jugs had appeared, to be passedeagerly from hand to hand, and the contents of store shelves were sweptup and out before the outraged owners could protest. 

It had showered that morning, leaving puddles of mud and water in theunpaved streets. And at one place there was a mud fight inprogress--laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the newclothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud'sprancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitchingrail before the largest store. 

A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching theexcitement 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 asneer. 

"Want a new suit, soldier?" he demanded. "Just help yourself! You'relate in gettin' to it. .. . "

Drew leaned against the wall of the store front. He was so tired thatthe effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed, fought over selections, was too much to face. This was just another partof the never-ending nightmare which had entrapped them ever since theyhad fled from the bank of the Licking at Cynthiana. Listlessly hewatched one trooper snatch a coat from another, drag it on triumphantlyover a shirt which was a fringe of tatters. He plucked at the front ofhis own grimy shirt, and then felt around in the pocket he had solaboriously stitched beneath the belt of his breeches, to bring out onecreased and worn bill. Spreading it out, he offered it to the man besidehim. To loot an army warehouse was fair play as he saw it. Morgan'scommand had long depended upon Union commissaries for equipment, clothing, and food. And a horse trade was something forced upon him byexpediency. 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 thenback again. The sneer faded. He reached out, closed the scout's fingerstight over the money. 

"That's just wastepaper here, son. Come on!" Catching hold of Drew'ssleeve so tightly that the worn calico gave in a rip, he guided theother into the store, drawing him along behind a counter until hereached down into the shadows and came up with a pile of shirts, someflannel, some calico, and one Drew thought was linen. 

"These look about your size. Take 'em! You might as well have them. Someof these fellows will just tear them up for the fun of it. "

Drew fumbled with the pile, a flannel, the linen, and two calico. Hecould cram that many into his saddlebags. But the store owner thrust thewhole 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 alongthe wall, avoiding a spirited fight now in progress in the center ofthe store. Mud-spattered men came bursting back, wanting to change theirnow ruined clothing for fresh. Drew stiff-armed one reeling, singingtrooper out of his path and was gone before the drunken man could resentsuch 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 tohim vigorously from a doorway, and the scout obediently rehitched Kingto another rack, joining the Texan in what proved to be the villagebarber-shop. 

Kirby was stripped to the waist, using a towel freely sopped in a largebasin to make his toilet. His face was already scraped clean of beard, and his hair plastered down into better order than Drew had ever seenit, while violent scents of bay rum and fancy tonics fought it out inthe small room. 

"What you got there?" Boyd looked up from a second basin, a froth ofsoap 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 theface reflected there was his own. Skinning his hat onto a shelf, hemoved purposefully toward the row of basins, ripping off his old shirtas he went. 

Where the barber had gone they never did know, but a half hour laterthey made some sweeping attempts to clean up the mess to which theirefforts at personal cleanliness had reduced the shop, pleased once morewith what they saw now in the mirror. They had divided the shirts, andwhile 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 hishaversack. 

Boyd was already balancing a bigger sack, full to the top. 

"Peaches, molasses, crackers, pickles, " he enumerated his treasure troveto Drew. "We got us some real eats. "

"Hey, you--Rennie!" As they emerged from the barber-shop Driscolltrotted up. "The cap'n wants to see you. He's on the other side oftown--at the smithy. "

Boyd and Kirby trailed along as Drew obeyed that summons. They foundCampbell giving orders to the smith's volunteer aides, some engaged withthe owner of the shop in shoeing the raiders' horses, others making upbundles of shoes to be slung from the saddles as they rode out. 

"Rennie"--the captain waved him out of the rush and clamor of thesmithy--"I want you to listen to this. You--Hart--come here!" One of themen 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 hetried 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 bigriver. There's just one thing which may be important about it; it has abank and Hart thinks that there are Union Army funds there. We stillhave a long way to go, and Union currency could help. Only, " Campbellspoke with slow emphasis, "I want this understood. We take army fundsonly. This may just be a rumor, but it is necessary to scout in thatdirection anyway. "

"You want me to find out about the funds and the river crossin' nearthere?"

"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 tohave a safe route to the river. 

"You'll move out as soon as possible. We'll be on our way as soon as wehave these horses shod. "

Drew doubted that. What he had seen in the streets suggested that it wasnot going to be easy to pry most of the company out of Calhoun in ahurry, but that was Campbell's problem. "I'll need couriers, " he saidaloud. It was an advance scout's privilege to have riders to send backwith information. 

Campbell hesitated as if he would protest and then agreed. "You have menpicked?"

"Kirby and Barrett. Kirby's had scout experience; Barrett knows part ofthis 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 wentout of the smithy. Campbell had one last word for Drew. 

"We'll angle south from here to hit the Cumberland River some ten milesnorth of Cadiz, Hart knows where. This time of year it ought to be easycrossin'. But the Tennessee--" he shook his head--"that is goin' to bethe hard one. Learn all you can about conditions and where it's best tohit that. .. . "

Drew found Hart already mounted, Kirby and Boyd waiting. 

"Hart says we're ridin' out, " the Texan said. "Goin' to cover the highlines?"

"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 prowlsaround the herd, " Kirby translated. "It's a kinda restin' I ain't hadmuch of lately. Nor like to. .. . "

They put Calhoun behind them, and Hart led them cross-country. But ateach new turn of the back country roads Drew added another line or twoon the map he sketched in on paper which Boyd surprisingly produced fromhis bulging sack of loot. 

The younger boy looked self-conscious as he handed it over. "Thought ashow I might want to write a letter. "

Drew studied him. "You do that!" He made it an order. There had been nochance to leave Boyd in Calhoun. But there was still Cadiz as apossibility. He did not believe this vague story about Union gold in thebank. And the company might never enter the town in force at all. Sothat Boyd, left behind, would not attract the unfavorable attention ofthe authorities. 

It began to rain again, and the roads were mire traps. As they struggledon into evening Kirby found a barn which appeared to be out by itselfwith no house in attendance. The door was wedged open with a drift ofundisturbed soil and Boyd, exploring into a ragged straggle of brush insearch of a well, reported a house cellar hole. The place must beabandoned and so safe. 

"We'll be in Cadiz tomorrow, " Hart said. 

"An' how do we ride in?" Kirby wanted to know. "Anotherbearer-of-the-flag stunt?"

"Is Cadiz a Union town?" Drew asked Hart. 

The other laughed. "Not much, it ain't. This is tobacco country; youseen that for yourself today. An' there's guerrillas to give the Yankeestrouble. They hole up in the Brelsford Caves, six or seven miles outtatown. We can ride right in, and there ain't nobody gonna care. "

"Nice to know these things ahead'a time, " Kirby remarked. "So we ridein--lookin' for what?"

Hart glanced at Drew but remained silent. The scout shrugged. "Information about the rivers and any stray garrison news. You have kinhere, Hart?"

"Some. " But the other did not elaborate on that. 

Drew was thinking about those guerrillas; their presence did not matchHart's story about the Yankee gold in the bank. Such irregulars wouldhave been after that long ago. He didn't know why Hart had pitchedCampbell 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 rodeinto Cadiz. Though they lacked the uniformity of a Yankee squad, theirdark shirts, "impressed" breeches, and good boots gave an impression ofa common dress, and Kirby had even acquired a hat. 

They slung their captured rifles before entering town and progressed ata quiet amble which suggested good will. But there was no mistaking thefact that they attracted attention, immediately and to some purpose. Asmall boy, balancing on a fence, put his fingers to his mouth andreleased a piercing whistle. 

King's response to that was vigorous. Rearing, until he stood almostupright on his hind feet, the stallion pawed the air. Drew barely kepthis seat. He fought with all his knowledge of horsemanship to bring thestud back to earth and under control. And he could hear Kirby's laughand Boyd calling out some inarticulate warning or advice. 

"Better git that mule--or run down this one's mainspring some, " theTexan said when Drew had King again with four feet on the ground, thoughweaving in a sideways dance. 

"You men--what are you doing here?" A horseman looked over the heads ofthe crowd to the four troopers. 

"Passin' through, suh. Leastwise we was, until greeted--" Kirby answeredcourteously. 

Drew assessed the questioner's well-cut riding clothes, his good linen, and fine gloves. The rider was middle-aged, his authority more evidentbecause of that fact. This was either one of the wealthy planters of thedistrict or some important inhabitant of Cadiz. There was a wagondrawing up behind him, a span of well-cared-for mules in harness with aNegro driver. 

The mules held Drew's attention. King's reaction to that sudden whistlewas a warning. He had no wish to ride such an animal into a picketskirmish. The sleekness of the mules appealed to his desire to ridhimself of the unmanageable stud. 

Now he edged the sidling King closer to the wagon. The driver watchedhim with apprehension. Whether he guessed Drew's intention or whether hedreaded the near approach of the stallion was a question which did notbother 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--"whatgives 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 notknow why he was explaining, or even why he wanted the mule so acutelyright now. Except that he was tired, tired of the days in the saddle, ofbeing on the run, of these small Kentucky towns into which they rode toloot and ride off again. The Yankees in Bardstown had been fair game, and their bluff there had been an adventure. But Calhoun left a sourtaste in his mouth, and he didn't like the vague order which had broughthim to Cadiz. So his dislike boiled over, to settle into a sullendetermination to rid himself of one irritation--this undependable horse. 

"Do I assume, suh, that you are part of General Morgan's command?" Sharpblue 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 liverystable and tell Mr. Emory I want Hannibal saddled! Then you bring himback 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 Iunderstand 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 ifto tell time. "Not for a while, suh. " He remained cautious; though heguessed that his questioner's sympathies were at least not openly Union. 

There was a stir in the gathering crowd. Hart was leaning from hissaddle, talking earnestly to two men flanking him on either side. 

"May I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen. I am James Pryor, at yourservice--"

Automatically Drew responded to the manners of Red Springs. "DrewRennie, suh. Anson Kirby, Boyd Barrett. .. . " He looked around for Hart, only to see the other disappearing into an alley with his two companionsfrom the crowd. 

"Suh, that's a right heartenin' offer, " Kirby said, smiling. "Trail dustsure 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 asmall shop where a quantity of strange smells fought for supremacy. Kirby stared about him puzzled, but his look changed to an expression ofpure bafflement and outrage as Pryor gave his order to the smaller manwho came from a back room. 

"Mark, these gentlemen need some of that good lemonade you make--if youhave some cold and ready. "

Drew heard Kirby's muffled snort of protest and wanted so badly to laughthat 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'slemonade. Nothing like it in this part of Kentucky. Ah, that looks likea draft fit for the gods, Mark, it certainly does!"

Hale had bobbed out of his inner room again, shepherding before him aNegro boy who walked with exaggerated caution, balancing a tray on whichstood four tall glasses, beaded with visible moisture. There was asprig of green mint standing sentry in each. 

"Drink up, gentlemen. " Under Mr. Pryor's commanding eye they each took aglass and a first sip. 

But it was good--cool as it went slipping down the throat bearing thatblessed 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, thatKirby was following his example. Mr. Pryor consumed his portion at amore genteel rate of intake. 

"This allays that trail dust of yours, Mr. Kirby?" He inquired with nomore than usual solicitude, but there was a faint trace of amusement inhis small smile. 

Kirby met the challenge promptly. "Ably, suh, ably!" He raised hishalf-filled glass. "To your very good health, suh. I don't know whenI'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 thatfirebreather of yours for another mount, I mean? Perhaps I can be ofservice in some other way. .. . "

Drew cradled his glass in both hands. The condensing moisture made itslippery, but the chill was pleasant to feel. 

"Do you have any news about the Cumberland River, suh?" he asked. Pryormight have usable information, and there was no reason to disguise thatpart of their objective. Short of turning about and fighting their waythrough about a quarter of the aroused Yankee army, the fugitives didhave to cross the Cumberland and the Tennessee, and do both soon. 

"The Cumberland, suh, is not apt to give you much trouble. " Pryor sippedat his glass with a relish. "If, of course, you contemplate a try at theTennessee--that will be a different matter. I trust your commander willbe amply prepared for difficulties there. But General Morgan is not tobe easily caught napping, or so his reputation stands. I wish you thebest of luck. "

"Is that your horse out there, young man?" the proprietor of thedrugstore 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'sservant appeared. "Get the saddlebags from that horse. "

Surprised at this highhanded demand for his property, Drew waited forenlightenment. When Ransome returned with the bags, Hale took them, moved quickly to a cabinet, and unlocked it. By handfulls he took smallboxes from the shelves inside, added some paper packets, and thenbuckled the straps tightly over the new bulge. 

"I understand, " he said in his dry, precise voice, "there is a pressingneed 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 islittle enough we can do, but this is something. "

Drew stammered his thanks, knowing that those boxes and packets crammedinto his bags meant a fortune to a blockade runner, but far more to menin the improvised hospitals behind the gray lines. Hale waved awayDrew's thanks, adding only a last warning: "Keep your bags dry if youcontemplate a river crossing! I would like to make sure that those drugsdo reach the right hands intact. "

"Rennie!" Hart hailed him from the door. "There's a boy here with amule; he says it's for you. "

Pryor put down his glass. "It's Hannibal. I think you will find himacceptable, suh. An even-tempered animal for the most part, and thesurest-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 approachedhe lowered his head, sniffing inquiringly at the scout. 

"Your new master, Hannibal, " Pryor addressed the animal with the gravityof one making a formal introduction. "You are about to be mustered intothe cavalry. "

Hannibal appeared to consider this and then shook his big head up anddown in a vigorous nod. Boyd laughed and Kirby offered vocalencouragement. 

"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 toneexpressed urgency as if he had learned something in town which shouldsend them out of Cadiz in a hurry. 

Drew's previous experience with mules had not been as a rider. He hadheard plenty about their sure-footedness, their ability to keep going aspack 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 thesaddle on the animal's back with the care of one expecting someunpleasant reaction. But Hannibal merely swung his head about as if tomake sure by sight, as well as pressure of weight on his back, that hisrider 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 Halebefore the trooper had them on their way out of town. When they were ata trot Kirby joined their guide. 

"How come you workin' on your critter's rump with a double of rope? Gitsight of some blue belly hangin' out to dry-gulch us?"

"We ain't too welcome hereabouts. " Hart did look worried, and Drew wasalert. 

"Yankees?" he asked. 

Hart shook his head. "Just some of the boys; they don't want noattention pulled this way, not right now. "

The bank money--and the guerrillas. Yes, holding up the Cadiz bank ifand 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 inwartime with the enemy their victim. Drew fitted one piece to anotherand thought he could guess the full pattern. 

Kirby looked from one to the other. Boyd was completely at a loss. Amoment later the Texan spoke again. 

"Me, I'm never one to argue with local talent, specially if they weartheir 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 moreformidable barrier of the Tennessee. He had not needed Pryor's warningabout the latter. Ever since they had left Bardstown and knew they wereheaded for that barrier, Drew had been carrying worry at the back of hismind. 

But Pryor was also right about the Cumberland. Hart agreed to ride backto 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 andeventual escape southwest. 

Here the Tennessee was a flood, a narrow lake more than a river. As theytraveled its eastern bank Boyd halted now and again to study the wasteof water dubiously. 

"It's wide, " he said in a subdued voice. Kirby spat accurately at a leafdrifting just below. 

"Need us some fish fixin's heah, " he agreed. "You swim?" he asked theother two. 

There had been ponds at home where both of them in childhood had paddledabout with most of the young male populations of Red Springs and OakHill. But whether they could trust that somewhat limited skill to getthem 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 alittle-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 seewhat's the chances of knockin' together a raft or somethin'. 'Less wecan find us a boat. "

But boats were not to be found, unless they were willing to riskdiscovery by trying to cross near a well-settled district. And whenCaptain Campbell joined them that afternoon he insisted on the need ofspeed over a longer reconnaissance. 

"The Yankees are closing in, " he told the trio by the river. "If we tryto cross at a town, they'll have a point to center on. Rafts, yes, wecan try to build rafts--have to ferry over the men who can't swim, andour gear. This is the time we must push--fast. "

The remote section of bank which Drew had chosen became a scene ofactivity as the company came in--a tight bunch--not long after Campbell. The stragglers came later, pushing beat-out horses, one or two ridingdouble. They had no tools other than bowie knives, and their attempts atraft-building were not only awkward but in the most cases futile. Whenthey did have a mat which would stick together after a fashion, theywere determined to put it to the test at once. 

None of them had much practice in getting horses over such a wide bodyof water, and there were a great many freely voiced suggestionsconcerning the best methods. 

Kirby stood watching the first attempt, his face blank of expression, asign Drew had come to recognize as the Texan's withdrawal from asituation or action of which he did not approve. There were five mensqueezed together on the flimsy-looking raft and they had strung outtheir mounts in a line, the head of one horse linked by leading rope tothe 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' alotta 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 wasdoomed to a tragic and speedy end. The second horse in line, losingfooting as the river bed fell away beneath him, reared in fright, caughthis forefeet over the rope linking him to his fellow, and so jerked hishead underwater by his own frenzied struggles. Before the men on thewildly dipping raft were able to cut the now fright-maddened animalsloose, three in that string had drowned themselves by their uncontrolledplunges, and the others were being dragged under. 

Boyd dived from the upper bank before Drew could stop him. It wasmadness to go anywhere near the struggling horses. But somehow Boyd'sblond head broke water at the side of the last gasping animal. He took agrip on the water-logged mane, his body bobbing up and down with thejerks of the horse's forequarters, until he had sawed through the leadcord and was able to start the mount back toward the shore, swimmingbeside 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. " Hepatted the wet haunch of the shivering animal. "That was bad--theypulled each other down. "

It was a disheartening beginning. But as the hours slipped by they hadbetter success. One horse, two, three could be towed on separate ropesbehind the raft. And in the morning there was a cockleshell of a boatoared in by one of the men who had found it downriver. 

They had ferried and crossed well into the dusk of the evening. And atthe first dawn they were at it again. Drew tried to remember how manytimes he had made that trip, swimming or rowing, always with some mountas his special charge. More than half the company had sworn they couldnot swim, and so the burden of the transfer fell upon their fellows. 

"Rennie--" That was Campbell climbing up from the raft after anotherweary passage across. "There's trouble on the other side. You've beenusing 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 noddeddully. Pryor had been right about Hannibal. The big mule had not onlytaken his own passage across the Tennessee as a matter-of-courseproceeding, but had shouldered and urged along three horses as he went. And twice since then Drew had taken him back and forth to bring inskittish 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 youcould get him over with the mule's help?"

Drew wavered a little as he walked slowly to where he had picketedHannibal after their last trip. He was tired, and although he had eatenearlier that morning, he was hungry again. It was warm and the sun wasclimbing, but the air felt chill against his naked body and he shivered. The one thing they were all getting out of this river business, Drewdecided, were much-needed baths. 

Kirby, his body white save for tanned face and throat, sun-darkenedhands and wrists, crouched on the raft as Drew brought Hannibal down tothat 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 pawdown 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 remindedhim a little of the colt he had seen at Red Springs, snorting andtrotting back and forth along the path they had worn on the banks duringtheir efforts of the past twenty-four hours. One of the rear guard heldits 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 outfrom under--quick!"

Yet when Drew, mounted on Hannibal now, brought the horse down to thewater's edge, the horse appeared to go willingly enough. The scouttossed the lead rope to Kirby, waiting until the raft pushed off withits load of men and fringe of horses, then took to the river besideCampbell's horse. When they reached the deeper section he saw the graygo into action. 

Rearing, the horse appeared about to try to climb onto the raft. And theman holding its lead rope dropped it quickly. Drew, swimming, one handon Hannibal's powerful shoulder, tried to guide the mule toward thehorse that was still splashing up and down in a rocking-horse movement. But the mule veered suddenly, and Drew saw those threatening hoofs loomover his own head. He pushed away frantically, but too late to miss anumbing blow as one hoof grazed his shoulder. 

Somehow, with his other hand outflung, he caught Hannibal's rope tailand held on with all the strength he had left, while the water washed inand 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 havebeen a promising stream. Carrying three canteens, he ran the tip of histongue 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. Theycomposed an army roused out before daylight, on the move toward anotherarmy holed in behind a breastworks and waiting. And over all, theexhausting blanket of mid-July heat which pressed to squeeze all thevital juices out of both man and animal. 

Drew touched his aching arm soothingly. It still hurt, although therawness had healed during the weeks between that turbulent crossing ofthe Tennessee and this morning in Mississippi as they moved at the Unionposition on the ridge above the abandoned ghost town of Harrisburg. Theremnant of Morgan fugitives, some eighty strong, had fallen in withGeneral Bedford Forrest's ranging scouts at Corinth, and had riddenstill farther southward to join his main army just on the eve of whatpromised to be a big battle. 

"Hot!" echoed Kirby. "A man could git hisself killed today an' neverknow 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 andhoof 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 byheat and lack of water. If there ever had been any moisture in thiscountry, it had long ago been boiled away. The very leaves were brittleand grayish-looking where they weren't inches deep in dust. 

As of last night, the Morgan men were an addition to Crossland'sKentuckians under General Buford. The speech of the blue grass wasfamiliar, but nothing yet had made them a part of this new army withwhich they marched. 

Drew reached for one of the canteens. His worry over Boyd, dulled by thepassing of time, stirred sluggishly. The other had kept up the gruelingpace which had brought the fugitives across half of Kentucky, all ofTennessee, and into this new eddy of war, making no complaint after hisfirst harsh introduction to action--which might be in part an adventure, but which was mostly something to be endured--with the doggedstubbornness of a seasoned veteran. And Boyd had manifestly toughened inthat process. After Drew's mishap in the river, Boyd had acceptedresponsibility, helping to keep the scout in the saddle and riding, evenwhen Drew had been bemused by a day or two of fever, unaware of eithertheir enforced pace or their destination. 

No, somewhere along the line of retreat Drew had stopped worrying aboutBoyd. And now, with the youngster already appointed horse holder for theday's battle, he need not think of him engulfed in action. Though anyfighting future was decided mainly by the capricious chance which struckone man down and allowed his neighbor to march on unscathed. 

"You men--over there--close up!" A officer, hardly to be distinguishedfrom the men he rode among, waved them back to the column. Then theywere dismounting. As Drew handed Hannibal over to Boyd's care, he wasglad again that the other was safely behind the battle line moving up inthe thin woods. 

During the night the enemy had thrown together the breastworks on theridge, weaving together axed trees, timbers torn out of the abandonedhouses of the village--anything the Union leader could commandeer forsuch use. And between that improvised fortification and the cover inwhich the Confederates now waited was a section of open ground, varyingin width with the wanderings of a now dry river. Where the Kentuckianswere stationed, there must have stretched about three hundred yards ofthat open, Drew estimated, and the woods bordering it on this side wereso thin that any charge would take them into plain sight for fivehundred yards of approach. 

Fieldpieces brought into line on the woods side, hidden above by thebreastworks, opened up in a dull _pom-pom_ duel. Drew saw a shell strikeearth not far away, bounce twice, still intact, and roll on toward theConfederate lines. 

The _zip-zip_ of the Miniés had not yet begun. And this waiting was thehardest part of all. Drew tried to pin all his powers of concentrationon a study of the ground immediately before him, the slope up which theywould have to win in order to have it out with the now hidden enemy. Hemade himself calculate just which path to take when the orders to chargecame. Although his arm prevented his using a carbine or rifle, his twoColts 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 picketduty with Drew. And beyond Clinton--there was Kirby, his lips pulledtight 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, hehad to wrench him out of that line and get the boy back. A hot emotionclose to panic boiled up in Drew. 

Somewhere, through the pound of the artillery, a bugle blared. AndDrew's muscles obeyed that call, even as he still tried to see who wasfourth in line from him. 

Slowly at first, they were on the move. The sun was up, shining directlyinto their faces. But in spite of the glare, they could still see theUnion works and the flash of guns along it. They were moving faster, coming to a trot. Officers shouted here and there, trying to slow thatsteady 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 didnot know--or care--that they were moving without the promised support onright and left; they did not hear the disturbed orders of the officersstill striving to slow them, to wrench them back into a battle planalready too broken to mend. All they cared about now was the field clearfor running, the weapons in their hands, the enemy waiting under the hotmorning sun. 

Drew never remembered afterward that splendid useless charge except aschaos. He could not have told just when they were caught in a murderouscrossfire which poured canister at their undefended flanks. A man wentdown before him, stumbling. The scout caught his foot against thewrithing body, pitched head forward, and struck on his bad arm. For amoment 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 thatthe Yankees were ripping at their flanks, that their charge was pocketedby lead and steel, being wiped out. He steadied his gun hand on thecrook of his injured arm, tried to find some target, then firedfeverishly without one, the gun's recoil sending shivers of pain throughhis whole shoulder and side. 

The first wave of men had great gaps torn in its length. But thoseremaining on their feet still ran up the slope, screaming theirdefiance. A handful reached the breastworks. Drew saw one man by somestrange fortune scramble to the top of that timber wall, stand balancedfor a moment in triumph to take aim at a target below as if he himselfwere 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. Allthe Union might was concentrated in a lead-and-canister hail on theremnants of the brigade, making of the slope a holocaust in whichnothing 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 andpluck out the Yankees with their hands. They were wild men, with nothought of personal safety. A color bearer went down. His standard wasseized by his right rank man before its red folds hit the churned, stained ground, the soldier flinging aside his rifle to take tight gripon the pole. The line came on at a run. Now broken squads of Kentuckiansre-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 Morgancontingent had vanished--whether Boyd _had_ been with them--he did notknow. He jammed his now empty Colt into its holster, drew its twin, still not wholly aware that the breastworks were too far away for smallarms' fire to have any effect. 

Now the whole world was no larger than that stretch of open ground andthe breastworks, the men in blue behind them. Only the flanking firestill withered the gray lines, curling them up as the sun had witheredand curled the leaves on the shrubs by the dried stream bed. This waswalking stiff-legged through a bath of fire--sun fire, lead-deathfire--with no end except the hope of reaching the ridge top and thefight waiting there. 

But they could not reach that wall--except singly, or in twos andthrees, then only to fall. And the waves of men no longer broke from thewoods to lap up and recede sullenly down the slope. Out of nowhere, justas they fell back to the first fringe of trees, came an officer on atall gray horse. His coat was gone, he rode in his shirt sleeves, and abullet-torn tatter waved from one wide shoulder. Above prominentcheekbones, his eyes were hot and bright, his clipped beard pointedsharply from a jaw which must be grimly set, his face was flushed, andhis energy and will was like a cloud to engulf the disheartened men ashe bore down upon them. 

His galloping course threaded through the shattered groups ofKentuckians, men fast disintegrating into a mob as the realization oftheir failure on the slope began to strike home--no longer a portion ofan army believing in itself. But, sighting him, they followed his routewith a rising wave of cheers--cheers which even though they came fromdry throats rose in force and violence to that inarticulate Yell whichhad raised them past all fear up the hill. 

From his saddle, the officer leaned to grab at a standard, whirling theflag aloft and around his head so that its scarlet length, crossed withthe starred blue bands, made a tossing splotch of color, to hold anddraw men's eyes. And now he was shouting, too, somehow his wordscarrying through the uproar in the woods. 

"Rally! Rally on colors!"

"Forrest!" A man beside Drew whooped, threw his hat into the air. "Theold 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 fightingcommand and not a crowd of men facing defeat. And having welded thatforce, Forrest did not demand a second charge. He was furiouslyangry--not with them, Drew sensed--but with someone or something beyondthe men crowding about him. It was not until afterward that rumor seepedout through the ranks; it had not been Forrest's kind of battle, not hisplan. And he now had five hundred empty saddles to weight the scalesafter a battle which was not his. 

Drew leaned against a bullet-clipped tree. Men were at work with some ofthe same will as had taken them to attack, building a barricade of theirown, expecting a counterthrust from the enemy. He wiped his sweaty facewith the back of his hand. His throat was one long dry ache; nowhere hadhe seen a familiar face. 

Somewhere among this collection of broken units and scrambled companiesof survivors he must find his own. He stood away from the tree, fightingthirst, weariness, and the shaking reaction from the past few hours, tomove through the badly mauled force, afraid to allow himself to thinkwhat--or who--might still lie out on the ridge under the white heat ofthe sun. 

"Rennie!"

Drew rounded a fieldpiece which had been manhandled off the firing line, one wheel shattered. He steadied himself against its caisson and turnedhis head with caution, fearing to be downed by the vertigo which seemedto strike in waves ever since he had retreated to the cover of thewoods. He wanted to find the horse lines, to make sure that he had notseen Boyd on the field just before the bugle had lifted them all intothat abortive charge. 

It was Driscoll who hailed him. He had a red-stained rag tied about hisforearm and carried his hand tucked into the half-open front of hisshirt. Drew walked toward him slowly, feeling oddly detached. He notedthat the trooper's weathered face had a greenish shade, that his mouthwas 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 . .. Somethere. Standish--he got it with a shell--no head . .. Not any more--" Hegave a sound like a giggle, and then his hand went hastily to his mouthas he retched dryly. 

Drew caught the other's shoulder, shaking him. 

"The others!" he demanded more loudly, trying to pierce the curtain ofshock to Driscoll's thinking mind. 

"Four . .. Five . .. Some--" Driscoll repeated. "Standish, he's dead. DidI 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 thetrooper 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 theground, 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 manlying there had a brush of grayish beard on his chin, a mat of hairwhich 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 bodyas heavy and as inert as that of an unconscious man. It took so longeven 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 manhe 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 besideme. Went down on the slope before we fell back--"

So--Drew's thinking process was as slow as his weary body--he had beenright back there on the field! Boyd had been in the first line, and hewas still out there. 

Again, Drew made one of those careful turns to keep his unsteadinessunder control. If Boyd was out there, he must be brought back--now!Hands closed on Drew's shoulders, jerking him back so that he collidedwith another body, and was held pinned against his captor. 

"You can't go theah now!" Kirby spoke so closely to his ear that thewords were a roaring in his head. But they did not make sense. Drewtried to wrench loose of that hold, the pain in his half-healed armanswering. Then there was a period he could not account for at all, andsuddenly the sun was fading and it was evening. Somebody pushed acanteen into his hand, then lifted both hand and canteen for him so thathe could drink some liquid which was not clear water but thick andbrackish, evil-tasting, but which moistened his dry mouth and swollentongue. 

Through the gathering dusk he could see distant splotches of red andyellow--were they fires? And shells screamed somewhere. Drew held hishead between his hands and cowered under that beat of noise whichcombined with the pulsation of pain just over his eyes. Men were movingaround him, and horses. He heard tags of speech, but none of them wereintelligible. 

Was the army pulling out? Drew tried to think coherently. He hadsomething to do. It was important! Not here--where? The boom of thefield 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 petulantlyaside. He didn't want a drink; he wanted to think--to recall what it washe 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 bedone!

He moved away from the outstretched hand of the man beside him, got tohis feet, saw the blot of a mount the other was holding. And he caughtat 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 itwas 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 andthe boom of the guns. 

"All right!" The words came to him hollowly. "But not that way, you'reloco! This way! The Yankees are burnin' up what's left of the town; thatain't the battlefield!"

Drew was ready to resist, but now his own eyes confirmed that. Fire wasraging among the few remaining buildings of the ghost town, and shellswere striking at targets pinned in that light, shells from Confederatebatteries, taking sullen return payment for that disastrous July day. 

A lantern bobbed by his side, swinging to the tread of the man carryingit. And, as they turned away from the inferno which was consumingHarrisburg, Drew saw other such lights in the night, threading along theslope. This was the heartbreaking search, among the dead, for theliving, who might yet be brought back to the agony of the fieldhospitals. He was not the only one hunting through the human wreckagetonight. 

"I've talked to Johnson, " Kirby said. "It'll be like huntin' for a steerin 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 wasdifferent. Yet, oddly enough, the thought that Boyd could be--_must_be--lying somewhere on that slope stiffened Drew, quickened his musclesback into obedience, kept him going at a steady pace as he led Hannibalcarefully through the tangle of the dead. Twice they found and freed thestill living, saw them carried away by search parties. And they wereworking 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 fallentogether. 

"Johnny!" The call was louder, rising over the din from the burningtown. "One, one of yours--he's been callin' out some . .. To your leftnow. "

Kirby held up the lantern. The circle of light spread, catching on aspurred boot. That tiny glint of metal moved, or was it the booted footwhich had twitched?

Drew strode forward as Kirby swung the lantern in a wider arc. The manon the ground lay on his back, his hands moving feebly to tear at thealready rent shirt across his chest. There was a congealed mass of bloodon one leg just above the boot top. Drew knew that flushed and swollenface in spite of its distortion; they had found what they had beensearching for. 

Kirby pulled those frantic hands away from the strips of calico, thescratched flesh beneath, but there was no wound there. The leg injuryDrew learned by quick examination was not too bad a one. And they coulddiscover no other hurt; only the delirium, the flushed face, and thefast breathing suggested worse trouble. 

"Sun, maybe. " Kirby transferred his hold to the rolling head, vising itstill between his hands while Drew dripped a scanty stream of theunpalatable water from the Texan's canteen onto Boyd's crusted, gapinglips. 

"I'll mount Hannibal. You hold him!" Drew said. "He can't stay in thesaddle by himself. "

Somehow they managed. Boyd's head, still rolling back and forth, movednow against Drew's sound shoulder. Kirby steadied his trailing legs, then went ahead with the lantern. Before they moved off, Drew turned hishead to the breastworks. 

"Thanks, Yankee!" He called as loudly and clearly as his thirst-driedthroat allowed. There was no answer from the hidden picket or sentry--ifhe 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 hisbirthday--today. I just remembered. "

Sixteen today. .. . Maybe somewhere he could find the surgeon to whom lastnight he had turned over the drugs in his saddlebags. The doctor'sgratitude had been incredulous then. But that was before the battle, before a red tide of broken men had flowed into the dressing station atthe Calhoun house. The leg wound was not too bad, but the sun hadaffected the boy who had lain in its full glare most of the day. He musthave help. 

The saddlebags of drugs, Boyd needing help--one should balance theother. Those facts seesawed back and forth in Drew's aching head, and heheld his muttering burden close as Kirby found them a path away from therending 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 cleanoutta his saddle by the heat--or else his hoss's belly's deep in the mudan' he gits him a gully-washer down the back of his neck! Me--I'm a WestTexas boy, an' down theah we have lizard-fryin' days an' twisters thatare regular hell winds, and northers that'll freeze you solid in onelittle puff-off. But then all us boys was raised on rattlesnakes, wildcats, an' cactus juice--we're kinda hardened to such. Only I ain'tseen as how this half of the country is much better. Maybe we shouldn'thave switched our range--"

Drew grinned at Kirby's stream of whispered comment and complaint asthey wriggled their way forward through brush to look down on a Unionblockhouse and stockade guarding a railroad trestle. 

"Weather don't favor either side. The Yankees have it just as bad, don'tthey?"

The Texan made a snake's noiseless progress to come even with hiscompanion'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 theyto throw their hoofs outta heah. My, my, lookit them millin' round downtheah. Jus' like a bunch of ants, ain't they? Had us one of Cap'nMorton's bull pups now, we could throw us a few shells as would make thatnest 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 canramrod a top outfit. Jus' prances round the country so that the poorlittle 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 hemissed 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' downat 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 thatway?"

"General Buford gave him strict orders personally--"

"Nice to have a general take an interest in you, " Kirby commented. "YouKaintuck boys, you're scattered all through this heah army. Want to staywith Boyd 'cause he's ailin', so you jus' find you a general from yourhome 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 didfind 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 thefaint sounds of life from the stockade. 

"M' father was a Texan, " Drew said suddenly. 

"Now that's a right interestin' observation, " Kirby remarked. "Heah Iwas 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 youfrom--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 inMexico. "

"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 movedhis hand toward the spurs he had taken off and tucked into his shirt forsafekeeping to muffle the jingle while they were on scout. "Took 'emaway 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. Mygrandfather went down to Texas and brought my mother back to Kentuckyjust 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 upfrom Texas to get his schoolin' in Kentucky. He was studyin' to be adoctor at Lexington. And he was pretty young and kind of wild. He hadone meetin'--"

"You mean one of them pistol duels?"

"Yes. So my grandfather warned him off seein' his daughter. I neverheard the rights of it, but it seems m' father didn't take kindly tobein' ordered around. "

Kirby chuckled. "That theah feelin' is borned right into a Texas boy. Heprobably took the gal an' ran off with her--"

"You're guessing right. At least that's the story as I've put ittogether. Mostly nobody would tell me anything. I was the blacksheepfrom 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 hadagainst me. I was Hunt Rennie's son, and I killed my mother; that's theway he saw it. "

Kirby rolled his head on his arm so that his hazel eyes were on Drew'sthin, too controlled features. 

"Sounds like your grandpappy had a burr under his tail an' bucked it outon 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 downtheah 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' aman has to stay on one range all his born days--"

"Looks like the war ain't doin' too well. " Drew was watching theactivity in the stockade. 

"Well, we lost us Atlanta, sure enough. An' every time we close upranks, theah's empty saddles showin'. But General Forrest, he's stilltoughenin' 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 edgingthrough was Hew Wilkins, General Buford's Sergeant of Scouts. He crawledup beside them to peer at the blockhouse. 

"They're pullin' out!" The men in blue coats were lining up about asmall wagon train. 

Wilkins used binoculars for a closer look. "Your report was right; thoseare 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 tomess up the railroads for the Yankees. Only, seems like we're messin' upa sight of railroads, all down in our own part of the country. I'd liketo 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 timeGeneral Morgan took us on a sashay through Indiana. "

Kirby got to his feet and stretched. Drew unwound his own lanky lengthto join the other. 

"Maybe the old man will be leadin' us up there, too--" Wilkins put awaythe binoculars. "Rennie, we'll move on down there and see if we can pickup any information. "

Two months or a little more since Harrisburg. The brazen heat had givenway to torrents in mid-August, and the rain had made quagmire traps ofroads, forming rapids of every creek and river--bogging down horses, men, and guns. But it had not bogged down Bedford Forrest. And onesection of his small force, under the command of General Buford leadingthe Kentuckians, had held the Union forces in check, while the other, under Forrest's personal leadership had swung past Smith and his bluecoats in a lightning raid on Memphis. 

Now in September the rain was still falling in the mountains, keepingthe streams up to bank level. And Forrest was also on the move. Afterthe Memphis raid there had been a second honing of his army into razorsharpness, a razor to be brought down with its cutting edge across thoserailroads which carried the lifeblood of supplies to the Union armyaround Atlanta. 

Blockhouses fell to dogged attack or surrendered to bluff, the bluff ofForrest's name. The Kentucky General Buford was leading his division ofthe command up the railroad toward the Elk River Bridge and that wasbelow 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 whomDrew had by chance delivered those saddlebags of drugs, and if AbramBuford had not been a division commander, Drew might not have been ableto push through his transfer. But Cowan had spoken to Forrest, andGeneral Buford had known both the Barretts and the Mattocks all hislife. 

Boyd had recovered speedily from the leg wound, but his convalescencefrom heat exhaustion and the ensuing complications was still inprogress, though he had reached the point that only General Buford'sstrict orders had kept him from this second raid into enemy territory. Now he was safe in a private home in Meridian, where he was beingtreated as a son of the house, and Drew had even managed to send aletter to Cousin Merry with that information. He only hoped that she hadreceived it. 

As for the change in commands, Drew was content. Perhaps the more sosince the news had come less than two weeks earlier that John Morgan wasdead. He had gone down fighting, shooting it out with Yankee troopers ina rain-wet garden in Tennessee on a Sunday morning. Men were dying, dead . .. And maybe a cause was dying, too. Drew's thought flinched awayfrom that line now, trying to keep to the job before them. There was theabandoned stockade to destroy, the trestle and bridge to knock topieces, and if they had time, the tracks to tear up, heat, and twist outof shape. 

Wilkins stood behind a pile of wood cut for engine fuel. "They are onthe 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 thearmy behind; the scouts moved on again. 

"The boys are havin' themselves a time. " Kirby returned to his post withthe advance. "Tyin' bowknots in rails gits easier all the time. Whenthis heah campaign is over, we'll know more 'bout takin' railroads apartthen the fellas who make 'em know 'bout puttin' 'em together. "

"Trouble!" Drew reined in Hannibal and waved to Wilkins. "There's apicket up there. .. . "

Kirby's gaze followed the other's pointing finger. "Kinda green at thebusiness, " he commented critically. "Sorta makin' a sittin' target ofhisself. Like to tickle him up with a shot. We don't git much actionoutta this. "

"I'd say we're plannin' to go in now. "

A squad of Buford's advance filtered up through the trees, and anofficer, his insignia of rank two-inch strips of yellowish ribbon sewedto the collar of a mud-brown coat, was conferring with Wilkins. Then theclear notes of the bugle charge rang out. 

Forrest's men were as adept as Morgan's raiders in making a show offorce seem twice the number of men actually in the field. They nowwhirled in and out of a wild pattern which should impress the Yankeepicket with the fact that at least a full regiment was advancing. 

Three miles from Pulaski the Yankees made a stand, slamming back withall they had, but Buford was pushing just as hard and determinedly. Gray-brown boiled out of cover and charged, yelling. That electric sparkof reckless determination which had taken the Kentucky columns up theslope at Harrisburg flashed again from man to man. Drew tasted the oldheadiness which could sweep a man out of sanity, send him plungingahead, aware only of the waiting enemy. 

The Union lines broke under those shock waves; men ran for the townbehind them. But there was no taking that town. By early afternoon theyhad them fenced in, held by a show of force. Only in the night, leavingtheir fires burning, the Confederates slipped away. 

Rains hit again; guns and wagons bogged. But they kept on intorough-and-rocky country. They had taken enough horses from the Unioncorrals at the blockhouses to mount the men who had tramped patientlyalong the ruts in just that hope. Better still, sugar and coffee fromthe rich Yankee supply depot at the Brown farm was now filling Rebelstomachs. 

Drew sat on his heels by a palm-sized fire, watching with weary contentthe tin pail boiling there. The aroma rising from it was one he hadalmost forgotten existed in this world of constant riding and poorforage. 

"Hope it kicks in the middle an' packs double. " Kirby rested a tin cupon one knee, ready and waiting. "Me, I like mine strong enough to rest ahorseshoe on . .. Gentlelike. "

"Yankees are obligin', one way or another. " Drew licked his fingersappreciatively. He had been exploring the sugar supply. "I've missedsweetenin'. "

"Drink up, boys, and get ready to ride, " Wilkins said, coming out of thedark. "We've marchin' orders. "

Kirby reached for the pot and poured its contents, with carefulmeasurement, into each waiting cup. "Wheah to now, Sarge? Seems likewe'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 partsare turnin' lines to aim square at us. We can't take on all of Sherman'sbully boys--"

"Got him riled, though, ain't we? All right. " Kirby was energeticallyfanning the top of his steaming cup with his free hand. "Git this downto warm m' toes, Sarge, an' I'll stick them same toes in the stirrupsan' jingle off. Come on, Drew, no man never joined up with the army togit hisself a comfortable life. .. . "

Certainly that last statement of the Texan's was proven correct duringthe next six days. A feint toward the Yankee garrison at Huntsvilleoccupied the enemy until the wagon train and artillery moved on to theTennessee River. And along its northern banks, Buford's Scouts ranged. Already high for the season the waters were still rising. And all thetransportation they could collect were three ferry boats at Florence anda few skiffs, not enough to serve all the Confederate force pushing forthat escape route. 

Athens, which Forrest had occupied on the upswing of the raid, wasalready back in Union hands, and the blue forces were closing in, in acountrywide sweep, backing the gray cavalry against the river. 

By the third of October Buford had the boats in action, ferrying acrossmen, equipment, and artillery in a steady stream of night-and-day oarlabor. The stout General, mounted on a big mule, a large animal to carrya large man, gave the scouts new orders. 

"Try downriver, boys. We're in a pinchers here, and they may be goin' tonip us--hard!" He rolled a big cheroot from a Yankee commissary storebetween his teeth, watching the wind whip the surface of the river intogood-sized waves about the laboring boats. "Anything usable belowFlorence . .. We want to know about it, and quick!"

Wilkins led them out at a steady trot. "We'll take a look aroundNewport. Rough going, but I think I remember a place. "

However, the possibilities of Wilkins' "place" did not seem toopromising to Drew when they came out on a steep bluff some miles downthe 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 troublewith it before. "

They were on a bank above a slough which was not more than two hundredfeet wide. And beyond that was an island thickly overgrown with cane, oak, and hickory. The upper end of that was sandy, matted withdriftwood, 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 tohave it. Rennie, report in. We'll do some more scoutin', just to makesure 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. WhenDrew returned to the uproar along the river he found that the secondhalf of the retreating forces, commanded by Forrest, were in town. Andit was to Forrest that Drew was ordered to deliver his report. 

He would never forget the first glimpse he'd had of Bedford Forrest--theofficer sitting his big gray charger in the midst of a battle, whirlinghis standard to attract a broken rabble of men, knitting out of them, bysheer force of personality, a refreshed, striking force. Now Drew foundhimself facing quite a different person--a big, quiet, soft-spoken manwho 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 sothen, never had any reason to change that. Now what's this about anisland downriver?"

Drew explained tersely, for he had a good idea that General Forrestwanted no wasting of time. Then at request he drew a rough sketch of theisland and its approaches. Forrest studied it. 

"Something to keep in mind. But I want to know that it's clear. You boyspicket 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 itor their superiors had not calculated what its value might be for huntedmen--and to a leader who was used to improvising and carrying throughmore improbable projects than the one the island suggested. 

At Shoal Creek a rear guard was holding off the Union advance which hadstarted from Athens, the two pronged pinchers General Buford hadforeseen. And now the island came into use. 

Saddles and equipment were stripped from horses and piled into the boatsbrought down from Florence. Then the mounts were driven to the top ofthe bluff and over into the water some twenty feet below. Leaders ofthat leap were caught by their halters and towed behind the boats, theothers swimming after. 

Men and mounts burrowed back into the concealment of those thickcanebrakes and were hidden along the southern shore of the overgrownstrip 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 thenorth side of the island, watching the bank above for any hostile moveon 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 ManDeath-an'-Disaster raisin' dust from my rump with a double of hisencouragin' rope. Seems like the Tennessee ain't partial to raidin'parties. "

"Makes a good barrier when we're on the other side, " Drew pointed outreasonably. 

"So--"

Drew's Colt was already out, Kirby's carbine at ready. But the man whohad cat-footed it through the cane was General Forrest himself. 

"I thought"--the General eyed them both--"I would catch some of youyoung fools loafin' back heah as if nothin' was goin' on. If you don'twant to roost heah all winter, you'd better come along. Last boats areleavin' now. "

As they scrambled after their commander Drew realized that the Generalhad made it his personal business to make sure none of the north sidepickets were left behind in the last-minute withdrawal. 

They piled into one of the waiting boats, catching up poles. Forresttook another. Then he balanced where he stood, glaring toward the bow ofthe boat. A lieutenant was there, his hands empty. 

"You . .. Mistuh--" Forrest's voice took on the ring Drew had heard atHarrisburg. "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 himover the gunwale into the river. The lieutenant splashed, flailing outhis arms, until he caught at the pole Drew extended to him. As theyhauled him aboard again, the General snorted. 

"Now you, Mistuh officer, take that oar theah and git to work! If I haveto knock you over again, you can just stay in. We shall all pull out ofthis together!"

The lieutenant bent to the oar hastily as they moved out into the fullcurrent of the river. 

10

_"Dismount! Prepare To Fight Gunboats!"_

"Drew!"

He turned his head on the saddle which served him as a temporary pillowand was aware of the smell of mule, strong, and the smell of a woodfire, 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 theaddition of food which could be, and had been on occasion, verytemporary. Squinting his smarting eyes against the sun's glare, Drew satup. With four days of hard riding by night and scouting by day only afew 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 fromthe sun and tried to pay better attention. 

"From who?" he asked rustily. 

"Mother. She got the one you sent from Meridian, Drew! And when Croselywent home for a horse she gave him these to bring back through thelines. Drew, your grandfather's dead. .. . "

Odd, he did not feel anything at all at that news. When he was little hehad been afraid of Alexander Mattock. Then he had faced out his fear andall the other emotions bred in him during those years of being HuntRennie'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 tojoin the army in '62. And then Drew had discovered that he was free. Hehad seen his grandfather as he would always remember him now, an old maneaten up by his hatred, soured by acts Drew knew would never beexplained. And from that moment, grandfather and grandson werestrangers. Now, well, now he wished--for just a fleeting second ortwo--that he did know what lay behind all that rage and waste andblackness in the past. Alexander Mattock had been a respected man. Ashardly more than a boy he had followed Andy Jackson down to New Orleansand helped break the last vestige of British power in the Gulf. He hadbred fine horses, loved the land, and his word was better than mostmen's sworn oaths. He had had a liking for books, and had served hiscountry in Congress, and could even have been governor had he notdeclined the nomination. He was a big man, in many ways a great andhonorable man. Drew could admit that, now that he had made a life forhimself beyond Alexander Mattock's shadow. A great man . .. Who had hatedhis own grandson. 

"This is yours. .. . " Boyd pulled a second sheet from the folds of thefirst. 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 ofthe page was as firmly penned as ever. To him it was now wavering fromone misty letter to the next. Slowly he made a business of folding thesheet into a neat square of paper which he could fit into the safepocket under his belt. A crack was forming in the shell he had startedto grow on the night he first rode out of Red Springs, and he now fearedlosing its protection. He wanted to be the Drew Rennie who had no tiesanywhere, least of all in Kentucky. Yet not for the world would he havelost 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, Drewdecided, like a hound puppy, so determined to be taken hunting that hewatched each and every one of them all the time. He had been allowed toride on this return visit to West Tennessee with the condition that hewould act as one of Drew's scout couriers, a position which kept himunder his elder's control and attached to General Buford's HeadquartersCompany. 

Kirby reached out a brown hand to catch Boyd by the sleeve and anchorhim. 

"Now, kid, jus' because the big chief sends for him, it ain't no signhe'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 ofaction. He had heard that some general in the East had said he wouldgive a dollar or some such to see a dead cavalryman. Well, there hadbeen sight of those at Harrisburg and some at the blockhouses. Forreststated that Morgan's men could fight; he did not have to say that of hisown. 

Now they were heading into another sort of war altogether. Drew hadn'tfigured out just how Bedford Forrest intended to fight river gunboatswith horse soldiers, but the scout didn't doubt that his general had aplan, one which would work, barring any extra bad luck. 

They were setting a trap along the Tennessee right now, lying in theenemies' own back pasture to do it. South, downriver, was Johnsonville, where Sherman had his largest cache of supplies, from which he wasfeeding, clothing, equipping the army now slashing through the center ofthe South. They had been able to cripple his rail system partially onthat raid two weeks earlier; now they were aiming to cut the riverribbon 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 thesqueeze on any river traffic. Guns were brought into station--Buford'stwo Parrots, one section of Morton's incomparable battery with Bell'sTennesseeans down at the Landing. They had moved fast, covered theirtraces, and Drew himself could testify that the Yankees were as yetunsuspecting of their presence in the neighborhood. 

He found General Buford now and reported. 

"Rennie, see this bend. .. . " The General's finger stabbed down on thesketch map the scouts had prepared days earlier. "I've been thinkin'that a vedette posted right here could give us perhaps a few minutes ofwarning 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 thegame, I want most of the aces right here--" He smacked the map againstthe flat of his other palm. 

"A signal system, suh. Say one of those--" Drew pointed to the verylarge and very red handkerchief trailing from Buford's coat pocket. "Wave one of those out of the bushes: one wave for a transport, two fora gunboat. "

The General jerked the big square from his pocket, inspected itcritically, 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 ingood condition when you report in. Those don't grow handily on trees. Ihave only three left. "

"Yes, suh, " Drew accepted it with respect. "I'm to stay put untilrelieved, 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 theboy could share. And shortly they had hollowed out for themselves asmall circular space in the thicket, with two carefully preparedwindows, one on the river, the other for their signal flag. 

It was almost evening, and Drew did not expect any night travel. Morningwould be the best time. He divided the night into watches, however, andinsisted 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, somecold corn bread and bacon carefully portioned out of their middaycooking. 

"'Member how Mam Gusta used to make us those dough geese? Coffee-berryeyes. .. . I could do with some coffee berries now, but not to make eyesfor geese!"

Dough geese with coffee-berry eyes! The big summer kitchen at Oak Hilland the small, energetic, and very dark skinned woman who ruled it witha cooking spoon of wood for her scepter and abject obedience from allwho came into her sphere of influence and control. Dough geese withcoffee-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 bymemory into that wistfulness. 

"Peach pie all hot in a bowl with cream to top it, " Boyd addedreverently. "And turkey with the fixin's--or maybe young pork! Seems tome you think an awful lot about eatin' when you're in the army. I canremember 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 waris over and we've licked the Yankees good and proper, why don't we godown that way and see Texas? I'd like to get me one of those wild horseslike those Anse's father was catchin'. "

"We still have a war on our hands here, " Drew reminded him. But thethought of Texas could not easily be dug out of mind, not when a man hadcarried it with him for most of his life. Texas, where he had almostbeen born, Hunt Rennie's Texas. What was it like? A big wild land, anoutlaws' land. Didn't they say a man had "gone to Texas" when thesheriff closed books on a fugitive? Yes, Drew had to admit he wanted tosee 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 ofUncle Murray. And Aunt Marianna had always dismissed his inquiries withthe plea that she herself had only been a child at the time Hunt Renniecame to Red Springs and knew very little about him. Odd that CousinMerry had been so reticent, too. But Drew had pieced out that somethingbig and ugly must have happened to begin all the painful tangle whichhad led from his grandfather's cold hatred for Hunt Rennie, that hatredwhich had been transferred to Hunt Rennie's son when the original targetwas gone. 

When Drew first joined the army and met Texans he had hoped that one ofthem might recognize his name and say:

"Rennie? You any kin to the Rennies of-" Of where? The Brazos, the Riocountry, West Texas? He had no idea in which part of that sprawlingrepublic-become-a-state the Rennies might have been born and bred. Buthow he had longed in those first lonely weeks of learning to be asoldier to find one of his own--not of the Mattock clan!

"Yes, I would like to see Texas!" Boyd pulled the blanket closer abouthis shoulders, curling up on his side of their bush-walled hole. "Wishthese fool Yankees would know when they're licked and get back home sowe could do somethin' like that. " He closed his eyes with a child'sdetermination to sleep, and by now a soldier's ability to do so when theopportunity offered. 

Drew watched the river. The dusk was night now with the speed of theseason. And the crisp of autumn hung over the water. This was thetwenty-ninth of October; he counted out the dates. How long they couldhold their trap they didn't know, but at least long enough to wrest fromthe enemy some of the supplies they needed far worse than Sherman's mendid. 

General Buford had let four transports past their masked batteries todaybecause they had carried only soldiers. But sooner or later a loadedship was going to come up. And when that did--Drew's hand assured himthat the General's red handkerchief was still inside against his ribswhere he had put it for safekeeping. 

In the early morning Drew slipped down to the river's edge behind ascreen of willow to dip the cold water over his head and shoulders--aneffective 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 theysighted her, a Union transport riding low in the water, towing twobarges. A quick inspection through the binoculars he had borrowed fromWilkins told Drew that this was what the General wanted. He passed thesignal 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 anygunboat escort. But when their quarry was well in the stretch betweenthe two lower batteries, they opened fire on her, accurately enough tosend every shell through the ship. The pilot headed her for the oppositeshore, slammed the prow into the bank, and a stream of crew and menleaped over at a dead run to hunt shelter in the woods beyond. 

Men were already down on the Confederate-held side of the river, tryingto knock together a raft on which to reach their prize. When that brokeapart Drew and Boyd saw one man seize upon a piece of the wreckage andkick his way vigorously into the current heading for the stern of thegrounded steamer. He came back in the _Mazeppa's_ yawl with a line, andshe 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 activitybetween searching the upper waters for trouble, saw the gunboatscoming--three of them. Again Boyd signaled, but the naval craft madebetter speed than the laden transport and they were already in positionto lob shells among the men unloading the supply ships, though thebatteries 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 coatswere gray or blue when they replaced rags--food. 

Kirby came to their sentry post, his arms full, a beatific smile on hisface. 

"What'll you have, amigos--pickles, pears, Yankee crackers, longsweetenin'--" He spread out a variety of such stores as they had almostforgotten existed. "You know, seein' some of the prices on this heahsutlers' 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 thefollowing night without any more luck. When the next fish swam into thenet it approached from the other side and not past the scout post. Thesteamer _Anna_ progressed from Johnsonville, ran the gantlet of thebatteries, and in spite of hard shelling, was not hit in any vital spot, escaping beyond. But when the transport _Venus_, towing two barges andconvoyed by the gunboat _Undine_, tried to duplicate that feat they werecaught by the accurate fire of the masked guns. Trying to turn and steamback the way they had come, they were pinned down. And while they wereheld there, another steamer entered the upper end of the trap and wasdisabled. Guns moved by sweat, force, will and hand-power, were wrestledaround the banks to attend to the _Undine_. And after a brisk duel herofficers and crew abandoned her. 

"We got us a navy, " Kirby announced when he brought their order toleave the picket post. "The Yankees sure are kind, presentin' us with acouple of ships jus' outta the goodness of their hearts. "

The _Undine_ and the _Venus_, manned by volunteers, did steam with thecaution of novice sailors upriver when on the first of November troopsand 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 choicerations. 

"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 scoutswere too far ahead to witness the defeat of Forrest's river flotilla. The _Undine_, outfought by two Yankee gunboats, was beached and setafire. The same fate struck the _Venus_ a day afterward. But by thattime the raiders had reached the bank of the river opposite Johnsonvilleand were making ready to destroy the supply depot there. 

Drew, Kirby, and Wilkins, with Boyd to ride courier, had alreadyexplored the bank and tried to estimate the extent of the wealth lyingin 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 hotiron on its hide--"

"More likely to lay a hot iron on your hide!" countered Drew. But hecould not deny that the river landing with its thickly clusteredtransports, gunboats and barges, the acres of shoreline covered withevery kind of army store, was a big temptation to try somethingreckless. 

They had illustrious company during their prowling that afternoon. Forrest himself and Captain Morton, that very young and very talentedartillery commander, were making a reconnaissance before placing thebatteries in readiness. And during the night those guns were moved intoposition. At midafternoon the next day the reduction of Johnsonvillebegan. 

Smoke, then flame, tore holes in those piles of goods. Warehousesblazed. By nightfall for a mile upriver and down they faced a solidsheet 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, " commentedKirby sadly. 

"Well, anyway it ain't goin' into the bellies of Sherman's men, " Drewreplied. 

The Confederate force was already starting withdrawal, battery bybattery, as the wasteland of the fire lighted them on their way. And nowthe Yankee gunboats were burning with explosions of shells, fired bytheir 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 thecountry they still dominated. The reduction of the depot was a completesuccess. 

Scouts stayed with the rear guard this time, so it was that Drew sawagain those two who had so carefully picked the gun stands onlytwenty-four hours before. General Forrest and his battery commander camedown once more to survey the desolation those guns had left as asmoking, 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 couldwhip old Sherm clean off the face of the earth!"

And then the scout caught Kirby's whisper of assent to that. "The oldman ain't foolin'; he could jus' do it!"

"Maybe he could, " Drew agreed. He wished fiercely that Morton did havehis guns and Forrest all the men who had been wasted, who had meltedaway from his ranks--or were buried. A man had to have tools before hecould build, but their tools were getting mighty few, mighty old, and. .. . He tried to close his mind to that line of thought. They were onthe move again, and Forrest had certainly proven here that thoughAtlanta might be gone, there was still an effective Confederate Army inthe 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. Thehalf-ice, half-rain struck under water-logged hat brims, found the neckopening where the body covering, improvised from a square ofappropriated Yankee oilcloth, lay about the shoulders. 

"I'm thinkin' we sure have struck a stream lengthwise. " Kirby's Tejanocrowded up beside Hannibal. "Can't otherwise be so many bog holes in anystretch of country. An' if we ever do come across those dang-blastedordnance 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--inspite of the sleet which plastered thin clothing to their gauntbodies--swore, and put dogged endurance to the test as they labored withdrag ropes and behind wheels encrusted with pendulous pounds of mud, topropel a supply wagon out of the bog into which it had sunk when thefrozen crust of the rutted road had broken apart. The Army of theTennessee, now fighting storms, winter rains, snow and hail, was alsofighting men as valiantly, engaged in General Hood's great gamble of anall-out attack on Nashville. They had a hope--and a slim chance--tosweep through the Union lines back up into Tennessee and Kentucky, andperhaps 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 thefield edge. The ground, covered with a scum of ice at night, was a trapfor animals as well as vehicles. Breaking through that glassy surface tothe glutinous stuff beneath, they suffered cuts deep enough to drawblood 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 worsethan trying to hunt a needle in a stack of hay, this tracing--throughthe fast darkening night--the lost ordnance wagons, caught somewhere inor behind the infantry train. But ahead, where Forrest's cavalry wasthrusting into the Union lines at Spring Hill, men were going intobattle with three rounds or less to feed their carbines and rifles. Somehow the horse soldiers had pushed into a hot, full-sized fight andthe scouts had to locate those lost wagons and get them up to the frontlines. 

A living figure of mud spat out a mouthful of that viscous substance inorder to answer. 

"This heah ain't no ordnance--not from Buford's neither! Put your backsinto 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 againstyokes along with the men. The mud eventually gave grip, and the wagonmoved. 

Drew rode on, the two half-seen shapes which were Boyd and Kirby in hiswake. A dripping branch flicked bits of ice into his face. The dusk wasa thickening murk, and with the coming of the November dark, theiralready pitiful chance of locating the wagons dwindled fast. 

There was a distant crackle of carbine and rifle fire. The struggle muststill be in progress back there. At least the stragglers about them werestill moving up. No retreat from Spring Hill, unless the Yankees weremaking 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 ata snail's pace. 

"D'you see?" Boyd cried out. "Those men were barefoot!" Involuntarily heswung one of his own booted feet out of the stirrup as if to assurehimself that he still had adequate covering for his cold toes. 

"It ain't the first time in this heah war, " Kirby remarked. "They'llketch 'em a Yankee. The blue bellies, they're mighty obligin' 'boutwearin' good shoes an' such, an' lettin' themselves be roped with alltheir 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 histroubles. 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 stolidtemperament showed signs of wear. 

"Airin' th' lungs that way sounds like a critter gittin' set to make warmedicine. A hardtail don't need no hardware but his hoofs to make a manregret 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'scrow of delight assured him that he had been answered in theaffirmative. 

"What about it?" Boyd echoed indignantly. "We've been huntin' you forhours. General Buford wants. .. . "

The man who had answered Drew was vague in the dusk, to be seen only inthe limited light of the lantern on the driver's seat. But they did notmiss the pugnacious set of knuckles on hips, nor the truculence whichoverrode the weariness in his voice. 

"Th' General can want him a lotta things in this heah world, sonny. Whatthe 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 aretryin' to dig out the Yankees. "

"You ain't tellin' me nothin', soldier, that I don't know or ain'talready heard. " The momentary flash of anger had drained out of theother'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'llmake 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 theirmounts, 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 closeto dawn they reached their goal. 

But that same dark night had lost the Confederate Army their chance ofvictory. The Union command had not been safely bottled up at SpringHill. Through the night hours Schofield's army had marched along theturnpike, within gunshot of the gray troops, close enough for Hood'spickets to hear the talk of the retreating men. Now they must be pursuedtoward Franklin. The Army of the Tennessee was herding the Yankees rightenough, but with a kind of desperation which men in the ranks couldsense. 

Buford's division held the Confederate right wing. Drew, acting ascourier 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 handledWilson before, briskly and brutally. This was the old game they knewwell. Drew saw the glitter of sabers along the Union ranks and smiledgrimly. When were the Yankees going to learn that a saber was good forthe toasting of bacon and such but not much use in the fight? Give himtwo Colts and a carbine every time! There was a fancy dodge he had seensome of the Texans use; they strung extra revolver cylinders to thesaddle horn and snapped them in for reloading. It was risky but sure wasfast. 

"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 himswiftly. 

"No, you ain't! They may look good, but they ain't much. You can'treload 'em in the saddle with your horse movin', and all they're goodfor 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 fortheir own section to press in. They pushed, hard and heavy, while swirlsof blue cavalry fought, broke, re-formed to meet their advance, andbroke again. They routed out pockets of blue infantry, sending somepelting back toward the Harpeth. 

A wave of retreating Yankees crossed the shallow river. Forrest's mendismounted to fight and took the stream on foot, the icy water splashinghigh. It was wild and tough, the slam of man meeting man. Drew wrested aguidon from the hold of a blue-coated trooper as Hannibal smashed intothe other's mount with bared teeth and pawing hoofs. Waving the trophyover his head and yelling, he pounded on at a knot of determinedinfantry, aware that he was leading others from Buford's still-mountedheadquarter's company, and that they were going to ride right over theYankee 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, thepole of the captured guidon braced in the crook of his elbow as hereloaded his revolver, realized that the shadows were thickening, thatthe day was almost gone. 

"Rennie!" Still holding the guidon, Drew obeyed the beckoning hand ofone of the General's aides. He put Hannibal to a rocking gallop to comeup 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 madethat charge with him. It was retreat again, but they did not know thenthat Franklin had cost them Hood's big gamble. Forty-five hundred menswept out of the gray forces--killed, wounded, missing, prisoners. Fiveirreplaceable generals were dead; six more, wounded or captured. TheArmy of the Tennessee was slashed, badly torn . .. But it was not yetdestroyed. 

That night the cavalry was on the march, driven by Forrest's tirelessenergy. They hit skirmishers at a garrisoned crossroads, using Morton'sfield batteries to cut them a free path. And through the bitter days ofearly 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 awayof weary men, worn-out horses, bogged-down wagons, relieved now and thenfrom the morass of exhaustion by sharp spurts of fighting, thesatisfaction of rounding up a Yankee patrol or blockhouse squad, thetaking of some supply train and finding in its wagons enough to givethem all mouthfuls of food. 

Murfreesboro was strongly garrisoned by the enemy, too strong to bestormed. But on the morning of the seventh a Yankee detachment came outof 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 enoughfrom the town and they could cut in between, perhaps even overrun theremaining garrison and accomplish what Forrest himself had believedimpossible, the taking of Murfreesboro. 

They made part of that . .. Fought their way into the town. Drew poundedalong in a compact squad led by Wilkins. He saw the sergeant sway in thesaddle, dropping reins, his face a clay-gray which Drew recognized ofold. Snatching at the now trailing rein, Drew jerked the other's mountout of the main push. 

The sergeant's head turned slowly; his mouth looked almost square as hefought to say something. Then he slumped, tumbling from the saddle intothe embrace of an ornamental bush as his horse clattered along thesidewalk. 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 welltimed; 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 seenmen under his orders run from the enemy in panic-stricken terror. Onlythe 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 oftown, and Drew had reported the death to Lieutenant Traggart, whoofficered the scouts. He felt numb as he headed for the spark of firewhich marked their temporary camp, numb not only with cold and hunger, but with all the days of cold, hunger, fighting, and marching which laybehind. It seemed to him that this war had gone on forever, and he foundit very hard to remember when he had slept soundly enough not to arouseto a quick call, when he had dared to ride across a field or down aroad without watching every bit of cover, every point on the landscapewhich could mask an enemy position or serve the same purpose for thecommand behind him. 

As he came up to the fire he thought that even the flames lookedcold--stunted somehow--not because there had not been enough wood tofeed them, but because the fire itself was old and tired. Blinking atthe flames, he stood still, unaware of the fact that he was swaying onfeet planted a little apart. He could not move, not of his own volition. 

Someone coughed in the shadow fringe beyond the light of those tiredflames. It was a short hard cough, the kind which hurt Drew's ears asmuch as its tearing must have hurt the throat which harbored it. Heturned his head a fraction to see the bundle of blankets housing thecougher. Then the reins of mule and horse were twisted from his stifffingers, 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 ofhis shoulders, steered him on, and then pressed him down into thelimited range of the fire's heat. From somewhere a tin platematerialized, and was in Drew's hold. He regarded its contents with eyeswhich had trouble focusing. 

A thick liquid curled stickily back and forth across the surface of theplate as he strove to hold it level with trembling hands. Into themiddle of that lake Kirby dropped white squares of Yankee crackers, andthe pungent smell of molasses reached Drew's nostrils, making his mouthwater. 

Snatching at the crackers, he crammed his mouth with a dripping squarecoated with molasses. As he began to chew he knew that nothing beforethat moment had ever tasted so good, been so much an answer to all thedisasters of the day. The world shrank; it was now the size of abattered tin plate smeared with molasses and the crumbs of stalecrackers. 

Drew downed the mass avidly. Kirby was beside him again, a steaming tincup ready. 

"This ain't nothin' but hotted water. But maybe it can make you thinkyou're drinkin' somethin' more interestin'. "

With the tin cup in his hands, Drew discovered he could pay betterattention to his surroundings. He glanced around the small circle of menwho messed together. There was Larange, coming back from the horselines, Webb, the Tennesseean from the mountains, Croff and Weatherby, Cherokees of the Indian Nations, and Kirby, of course. But--Drew wassearching 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'sBoyd?"

When Kirby did not answer, Drew's head lifted. He put down his cup andcaught 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, hescrambled across the space separating him from the roll of blankets. Hisquesting 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 faceturned toward him. 

"What's the matter, boy?"

Drew could hear the other's harsh, fast breathing just as he had whenthey had found the injured boy at Harrisburg. Drew's fingers touched aburning-hot cheek. 

"Got . .. Me . .. Sniffles. " Boyd's mumble ended in another bout of thosesharp coughs. "'Member--sniffles? Hot soup an' bricks in bed, an' onioncloth for the throat. .. . " He repeated all the Oak Hill remedies for asevere cold. 

Bricks to warm the bed, hot soup of Mam Gusta's expert concocting, athick onion poultice to ease the pain in throat and chest and draw outinflammation: every one of those were as far beyond reach now as OakHill itself! For a moment Drew was gripped with a panic born of utterfrustration. 

"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 wasback to the fire, ladling more hot water out of the pot. When hereturned, Weatherby was with him. Drew slipped his arm under thatrestlessly turning head to support the boy while the Texan held the tincup to Boyd's lips. They got a few mouthfuls into him before he turnedhis 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 puthis 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, andwe'll go there. "

Kirby's hand rested on Drew's shoulder for a moment. "I'll track downTraggart. You and Weatherby here get the kid into that cover as quick asyou can. This ain't no weather for an hombre with a cough to be outsackin' in the bush. "

Kirby was back again before they had rigged a blanket stretcher betweentwo horses. 

"The lieutenant says to stay with th' kid till mornin'. He'll send thedoc along as soon as he can find him. Trouble is, we may have to ride ontomorrow. .. . "

But Drew put that worry out of his mind. No use thinking about tomorrow;the present moment was the most important. With Weatherby as theirguide, they started off at a walk, heading into the night acrossice-rimmed fields while the rising wind brought frost to bite in the airthey pulled into their lungs. 

There was no light showing in the black bulk of the house to whichWeatherby steered them. It was small, hardly better than a cabin, butthe door swung open as Kirby knocked on it; and they could smell thecold, stale odor of a deserted and none-too-clean dwelling. But it wasshelter, and exploring in the dark, Kirby announced that there wasfirewood piled beside the hearth. 

By the light of the blaze Weatherby brought alive they found an oldbedstead backed against the wall, a tangle of filthy quilts cascadingfrom it. One look at them assured Drew that Boyd would be far betterleft in his blankets on the floor itself. 

The Cherokee scout prowled the room, looking into the rickety wallcupboards, 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 leftthis--" He held out a dried, shrunken piece of shriveled salt beef. 

"We can boil it, " Kirby suggested. "Make a kinda broth; it might helpthe kid. Any sign of a pot--?"

There was a pot, encrusted with corn-meal remains. Weatherby took itoutside 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 wasflushed, his breathing fast and uneven. But he hadn't coughed for sometime, 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 oneof the wagons for the sick and wounded--the wagons already on the movesouth. 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. Drewstiffened. 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. Knifein hand, he moved with a panther's fluid grace to the begrimed windowhalf-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 betweenBoyd and Weatherby. They had no way of putting out the fire, whose lightmight be providing a beacon through the dark. The Indian moved back alittle 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 ofthe ground. A horse nickered--one of those which had brought Boyd'sstretcher, or perhaps one of the newcomers. 

Kirby whipped about the door and was now lost in the shadows of the nextroom. Weatherby looked to Drew, then to the loft ladder against the farwall. In answer to that unspoken question, Drew nodded. 

As the Cherokee swung up into the hiding place, Drew eased one of hisColts out of the holster, pushing it under the folds of the blanketsaround 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 hestared about him, plainly puzzled. Then he looked up at his nurse, andhis forehead wrinkled with effort. "Drew?"

But Drew was listening to those oncoming hoofs. The strangers would seetwo horses. If they came in, they would find two men--it was as simpleas that. And if they wore the wrong color uniforms, Weatherby above, andKirby in the lean-to, would be ready and waiting for trouble. Drew laidfresh wood on the fire. Since he could not hide, he felt he'd better getas much light as possible in case of future trouble. The last they hadheard the Yankees were concentrating at Murfreesboro and Nashville. Butscouts would be out, dogging the flanks of the Confederate forces, justas he had done the opposite during the past few days. 

There was silence now in the lane, a suspicious quiet. Drew deduced thatthe riders had dismounted and might be closing in about the cabin. Aprickle of chill climbed his spine. He touched the lump under theblanket which was his own insurance. 

The door burst open, sent banging inward by a booted foot. And at thesame time a small pane in an opposite window shattered, the barrel of arifle 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 wasgrinning down at the two on the hearth. He wore a blue coat rightenough, but it was slick with old grease across the chest, stained onone shoulder, and his breeches were linsey-woolsey, his boots old andscuffed. And his bush of unkempt hair was covered with a battered hattopping a woolen scarf wound about ears and neck. 

The chill on Drew's spine was a band of ice. This was noUnion trooper. The scout could identify a far worse threatnow--bushwhacker . .. Guerrilla, one of the jackals who hung on thefringe of both armies, looting, killing, and changing sides when itsuited their purposes. Such a man was a murderer who would kill anotherfor 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 hisshoulder, 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 mightygood 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 thefloor so that it spun against the fellow's boot. The big hairy handscooped 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, hisrifle pointed straight at Drew's head. He spat a blotch of tobacco juiceon the hearth, spattering the edge of the top blanket which coveredBoyd. 

"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 isRebs, which makes you our prisoners. So he's sick, eh? What's thematter?"

"I don't know. " Drew's fingers were only inches away from the Colt underthe blanket. But he could dare no such move with that rifle covering himfrom the window. 

"Jas', any sign out thar?" the big man called. 

"Petey ain't seen any, jus' two horses. " The words came from behind thestill ready rifle. 

"Wai, tell him to look round some more. An' you kin come in, Jas'. Thesehere Rebs ain't gonna be no trouble--is you, sonny?"

Drew shook his head. Luck appeared to be on his side. Once Jas' was inhere, they could hope to turn tables on the three of them, withWeatherby and Kirby taking them by surprise. 

Jas' appeared in the doorway a moment or so later. He was younger thanhis two companions, younger and more tidy. His coat was also blue, andhe 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 himselfwith the stance of a drilled man. Deserter, thought Drew. 

The newcomer surveyed Drew and Boyd expressionlessly, his eyes oddlyshallow, and tramped past them to hold his hands to the blaze on thehearth, keeping his rifle between his knees. Then he reached up with hisweapon, hooked the barrel in the chain supporting the pot, and pulledthat 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 tothe guerrilla. "Where's Shelly?"

The big man's grin faded. His big boot came out, caught Drew's leg in avicious 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 leanedover them, and his fingers grabbed and twisted at the front of Drew'sthreadbare shell jacket. "I ask yuh, Reb, whar at is this heah Shelly?"He seemed only to flick his wrist, but the strength behind that movewhirled Drew away from Boyd, brought him part way to his feet, andslammed him against the wall--where the big man held him pinned withsmall 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 leanover and stare at the boy's flushed face. 

"Might be so, " Jas' remarked. "Two horses, two men. Neither one much tobother about. "

"Better be so!" The big man held Drew tight to the wall and cuffed himwith his other hand. Dazedly, his head ringing, Drew slipped to thefloor as the other released him. "Now"--that boot prodded Drewagain--"git your friend over thar, Reb. "

Drew stumbled back and went on his knees beside Boyd. His fingers gropedunder the edge of the blanket, closing on the Colt. Jas' was inspectingthe pot again, and Simmy had moved forward to share the warmth of thehearth. With the revolver still in his hand, though concealed by theblanket, Drew pulled Boyd away from the fire as best he could, awarethe 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'sbetter 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 staredhim down. Jas' scooped out a spoonful of the pot's contents and blewover 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 bigfor his breeches, Jas'. You, Reb--" he indicated Drew, with a thumbpoking through a ragged glove--"supposin' you jus' show us what you gotin them pockets o' yourn. "

Jas' laughed. "Don't figure to find anything worth takin' on a Reb doyou, Hatch? Most of 'em are poorer'n dirt. "

"Now that's whar you figger wrong, Jas'. " Hatch shook his head as mightone deploring the stupidity of the young. "Lotsa them little Reb boyshas 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 explosionof a shot, making a deafening clap of thunder in the room. The youngerbushwhacker cried out. His rifle lay on the floor, and he was holding abloody hand. Kirby stood in the doorway, a Colt in each hand. And nowDrew produced his own hidden weapon, centering it on Hatch. 

The door burst open for the second time as Simmy was propelled throughit, his hands shoulder high, palm out, and empty. Weatherby came behindhim, a gun belt slung over one shoulder, two extra revolvers thrust intohis own belt. 

"They got Petey, " Simmy gabbled. "Got him wi' a knife!" His forward rushbrought him against the wall, and he made no move to turn around to facethem. He could only plaster his body tight to that surface as if helonged to be able to ooze out into safety through one of its manycracks. 

"Shuck th' hardware!" Kirby ordered. 

Hatch's grin was gone. The fingers of his big hands were twitching, andthe 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 thattheah fightin' iron, an' do it quick!"

Hatch's hand went to his gun. He jerked it from the holster and slung itacross 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 bladejoined the armament already on the boards. Drew made a fast harvest ofall the weapons. 

"Well, we sure got us some bounty hunter's bag, " Kirby observed as heand Weatherby finished using the captives' own belts to pinion them. 

"There may be more comin'; they talked about some captain. " Drew broughtBoyd 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 handKirby had roughly bandaged; his other arm was fastened behind him. Therewere tears of pain on his cheeks, but after his first outcry he had notuttered a sound. Hatch, on the other hand, had been so foul-mouthed thatKirby 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 sharein Drew's thoughts on that subject, for now he bore down on the smallman. 

"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' ashow we're thinkin' some hospitable thoughts 'bout entertainin' themproper. "

Simmy stared up at him, bewildered. Kirby shook his head, his expressionone of a man dealing with a stubbornly stupid child. 

"Lissen, hombre, me--I'm from West Texas, an' that theah's Comanchecountry, leastwise it was Comanche country 'fore we Tejanos moved in. Now Comanches, they're an unfriendly people, 'bout the unfriendliestInjuns, 'cept 'Paches, a man can meet up with. An' they have them someneat little ways of makin' a man talk, or rather yell, his lungs out. Itain't too hard to learn them tricks, not for a bright boy like me, itain't. You able to understand that?"

Kirby did not scowl, he did not even touch the little man. But as onedrawling word was joined to the next, Simmy held his body tighteragainst 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'regoin' to do somethin'--talk!"

Simmy's pale tongue swept across working lips. "What . .. Youwant--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 tryingto produce a crumb of defiance. Kirby reached out, selecting Hatch'sbowie knife from the cache of captured weapons. He weighed it across thepalm of his hand as if trying its balance and then, with deceptive ease, flipped it. The point thudded into the wall scant inches away fromSimmy's right ear, and the little man's head bobbed down so that hisnose 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 amongthe dead and the wounded too enfeebled to protect themselves from beingplundered. 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 produceda spark of spite. "He's a Reb, like you----"

"Have you used this place before?" Drew broke in. If this were either aregular or temporary rendezvous for this jackal pack, the quicker theywere 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 ashake of Simmy's unkempt head. 

Boyd suddenly moved in his cocoon of blankets, struggling to sit up, andDrew went to him. 

He was coughing again with a strangling fight for breath which wasfrightening to watch. Drew steadied him until the attack was over and helay in the other's arms, gasping. The liquid in the pot on the fire wascooked by now. Perhaps if Boyd had some of that in him. .. . But daredthey stay here?

Kirby squatted back on his heels as Drew settled Boyd on his blanketsand went to unhook the pot. Then the Texan supported the younger boy asDrew 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 brothbetween Boyd's lips, trying to ease the cough, his wits too dulled totackle any problem beyond that. 

"Which means we gotta keep company from movin' in. If we could raise usa few of the boys now. .. . " Kirby was speculative. 

"If you went back to camp, gave the alarm. Traggart doesn't want a ganglike this runnin' loose around here. They say they're Union; maybe theydo have some connection with the Yankees. "

"With a Reb cap'n throwin' in with 'em? Most of these polecats play bothsides of the border when it'll git them anythin' they want. An' theycould try an' pay their way with the Yankees by tellin' 'bout ourmovements heah. "

"Could you make it to camp, fast?"

Kirby grunted. "Sure, easy as driftin' downriver on one of them theahsteamers. But leavin' you heah with that mess of skunks is somethin'else. "

"Weatherby's out there. Anything or anyone gettin' by him would have tocome in on wings. "

"An' wings don't come natural to this breed of critter! All right, Idon'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 asquick 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 Drewlaid the assorted armament to hand. But Kirby hesitated by the door. 

"You keep your eyes peeled, amigo. Weatherby--he can pull thatin-and-out game through the loft like he did before. But one man can'tbe all over the range at once. "

"I know. " Drew studied the remnants of battered furniture about theroom. He thought he could pull the bed frame across the outer door, andshove the table and bench in front of the door to the lean-to. Andthere was a section of wall right under the broken window which couldnot 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 theother's body to the floor on the spot of safety under the window. As hereturned 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 guerrillawas not only aware of his present difficulties but was eyeing Drew in amanner which suggested he had not accepted the change in their roles asfinal. Drew hesitated. He could tie back that wounded hand, too, but hewas sure the other could not use it to any advantage, and Drew could notbring himself to cause the extra pain such a move would mean. Not thathe had any illusions concerning the bushwhacker's care for him, hadtheir situation been reversed. 

Simmy, once Kirby had gone, moved against the wall, holding up his headwith a sigh of relief. He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. Andwhen the scout did not pay any attention to him he spoke. "Wotcha gonnado wi' us, Reb?"

Hatch's eyes, over the gag, were glaring evil; Jas' was watching the twoConfederates with an intent measuring stare; but Simmy wilted a littlewhen 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 hisfellow. 

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 wasout 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 gangarrived before Kirby returned with help? Seeing that Boyd appeared to beasleep, Drew once again inspected his weapons, checking the loading ofrevolvers and rifle. 

Jas's rifle was one of the new Spencers. The Yankees loaded those onSunday and fired all week, or so the boys said. It was a fine piece, newand well cared for. He examined it carefully and then looked up to meetJas's flat stare, knowing that the guerrilla's hate was the more bitterfor seeing his prized weapon in the enemy's hands. 

The Spencer, Simmy's Enfield, old and not very well kept, five Coltsbeside his own, Hatch's bowie knife and another, almost as deadlylooking, which had been found on Jas', equipped Drew with a regulararsenal. But it was not until he settled down that Drew knew he faced afar more deadly enemy--sleep. The fatigue he had been able to battle aslong as he was on the move, hit him now with the force of a clubbedrifle. He knew he dared not even lean back against the wall or relax anyof his vigilance, not so much over the prisoners and Boyd, as overhimself. 

Somehow he held on, trying to move. The pile of wood by the hearth wasdiminishing steadily. He would soon have to let the fire die out. Toventure out of the house in quest of more fuel was too risky. Andalways he was aware of Jas's tight regard. Simmy had fallen asleep, histhin, 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--ormoments--somewhere in a fog. He jerked aside, perhaps warned by hisscout's sixth sense more than any real knowledge of danger. There was asearing flash beside his head, the bite of fire on his cheek. If he hadnot moved, he would have received that blazing brand straight betweenthe eyes. Now he rolled, snapping out a shot. 

A man shouted hoarsely and Drew strove to avoid a kick, struggling towin to his feet, unable to tell just what was happening. 

13

_Disaster_

Simmy's animallike howling filled the room. Jas', his hand bleedingafresh, sopping through the bandage his captors had twisted about thewound, sprawled forward, clawing with those reddened fingers for theSpencer. While Hatch, eyes and upper portions of his hair-matted cheeksbulging over the gag, kicked out, striving to come at Drew with thefrenzy of a man making a last desperate play. 

The brand Jas' had hurled was smoldering on Boyd's blankets. Drew sentit flying with the toe of his boot and made a quick movement to stampout a small spurt of flame. Then he kicked it again, spinning theSpencer back against the wall. 

Simmy's cry died to a whimper. A wide stain spread over his nondescriptcoat just above the belt, and Drew knew that his first shot had foundthat target. But he was in charge of the situation once again. BothHatch 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 anew blaze in the bedcovers. He coughed in acrid smoke and felt thesmart 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 thanhaving come out of such a dream. 

"It's all right. .. . "

But was it? Hatch had subsided. Jas' was quiet; there was nothing tofear from Simmy. Only that same sense which was part of any scout'sequipment nagged at Drew, warning him that the crisis was not over. 

He went down on one knee beside Simmy, endeavoring to roll him over toexamine his wound. The guerrilla's mouth was slackly open, his small, predator's eyes were oddly bewildered, as if he could not comprehendwhat had happened to him or why. As Drew fumbled with his clothing tolay bare the wound, Simmy twisted, his legs pulling up a little. Thenhis head rolled, and Drew sat back on his heels. There was no longer anyneed for aid. 

Boyd still rested on his elbow, listening. He could hear Hatch's thickbreathing and Jas's, a crack of charred wood breaking on the hearth, aslashing against the broken window . .. The storm had begun again. Onlythose were not the sounds they were listening for. 

Drew visited in turn each of the flimsy barricades he had erected afterKirby left. He had no way of telling time. How long had it been sincethe Texan left? It could not be too far from morning now, yet the skyoutside the windows was still as black as night. 

"Drew!" Boyd pulled his other hand free, pointing to the ceiling overtheir heads. 

The loft! And the route Weatherby had made use of when he had gone upthat ladder, dropped out of a window above, and returned with hisprisoner through the front door. But if the Cherokee had come back tothe cabin, surely the disturbance in the room below would have broughthim down. Unless he was otherwise occupied. .. . How? And by whom?

Drew went to the foot of the ladder, not looking up to show hissuspicion, 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 hadbeen weeks in Weatherby's company could believe that the Indian wouldbetray his movements in that manner. 

Drew left the ladder, collected the Spencer, and joined Boyd. The restof the weapons lay at hand, and Drew sorted them out swiftly, pilingthem between Boyd and his own post. From here, as he had earlierplanned, they had both doors, two windows, and the ladder to the loftunder surveillance. The other window was over the level of their heads. As long as they kept below its sill, anyone shooting through it couldnot touch them. 

Boyd hitched his shoulders higher against the wall. He was stillflushed, his eyes too bright, but he was certainly more himself than hehad been any time since they had brought him here. Now he reached forone 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 theceiling again. He brought his other hand up, and using both, cocked theColt, that click carrying with almost a shot's sharp twang through theroom. 

Jas' was again staring at Drew, his lips a silent snarl. But the scoutbelieved that as long as he was alert, weapons in hand, he had nothingmore to fear from his prisoners. They had made their reckless gamble andhad lost. 

The opening at the top of the ladder was a square of dark, hardlytouched 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 ofvowels. Simmy's cap'n? What then had happened to Weatherby? Boyd bracedthe barrel of his Colt on a bent knee, its sights centered on the frontdoor. But Drew still watched the loft opening. 

"Last chance . .. Come out with your hands up!" The voice was very closenow. And the unknown apparently knew at least part of the situation inthe cabin. Which meant either very clever scouting, or that they hadtaken Weatherby. But Drew, knowing the habits of the guerrillas, darednot follow that last thought far. He tried to locate the man outside; hewas 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 twoof 'em, and one's sick. "

There was a flicker of movement in the trap opening. Drew fired, to beanswered by a yelp of pain and surprise. Perhaps he had not entirelyremoved one of the attackers from the effective list, but the fellowwould be more cautious from now on. 

There was only a short second between his shot and an answeringfusillade from outside. The panes in the other windows shattered andHatch, gurgling incoherently behind his gag, kicked to roll himselfbehind the flimsy protection of the bedstead. 

"You almost got one of your own men then!" Drew called. Feverishly hetried to think of a way to play for time. Weatherby might be dead, butKirby could have reached the headquarters camp and already be well onhis way back with reinforcements. 

Hatch's gurgling was louder. And now Jas' had transferred his attentionto the broken windows and what might be beyond them. There was acreaking above. Drew tried to deduce from those sounds whether one manor two moved overhead. The fire was dying fast. Should he try to urge itinto new life with the last of the wood, or would the dark be more tohis benefit?

Shots again, but not crashing through the windows now; these wereoutside. A man screamed shrilly. Then a horse cried in pain. Drew heardthe pounding of hoofs, and in the loft a quick shuffling. More shots. .. . 

Boyd laughed hysterically, and then coughed, until he bent over the Colthe still grasped, gasping. Drew steadied him against his shoulder, trying to picture for himself what was happening outside. It soundedvery 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 alsoLieutenant Traggart and the doctor. And as the major portion of thatrelief 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. "Theysay they're Union . .. Or ours, whichever works best at the time. There'sanother one dead out there, and he's wearing one of _our_ cavalryjackets!"

"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 campand see what they can tell us. The General will be interested. I'd saythis one's a Yankee deserter. " He studied Jas'. 

The young man in the blue jacket spat, and one of the scouts hooked hisfingers 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 fightwas gone. He was still conscious, but his coughing shook his whole body. 

"Lung fever, unless he gets the right care. " The surgeon was going abouthis business with dispatch. "I hate to move him, but there's no sense inremaining here as a target for more of this trash. " He glanced at Jas'and Hatch impersonally. "Lucky we brought the wagon. Tell Henderson tobring it up. We'll take him to the Letterworth house for now--"

Reeling a little when he tried to walk, Drew found himself sharing theaccommodation of the wagon with Boyd, a canvas slung across them to keepoff the gusts of rain. He fell asleep as they bumped along, unable tofight off exhaustion any longer. 

Twenty-four hours later he was back on duty with the advance. Boyd washoused in such comfort as any could hope to find, and the cavalry was onthe move. Buford's men were to picket along the Cumberland River. Therewas a new feel to the army. Drew sensed it as he rode with the smallheadquarters detachment. Empty saddles, too many of them, and thegrowing belief--evidenced in mutters passed from man to man--that theywere engaged in a nearly hopeless bid. 

Franklin, which for Drew had been a wild gallop across some fields, astrip of cloth seized from the enemy to set beneath a guidon of theirown, had been a major disaster for the Army of the Tennessee. Forrest'senergy and drive kept the cavalry a sharp-edged weapon, still to be usedwith telling effect. But they all sensed the clouds gathering over theirheads, not those laden with the eternal chill rain, but ones whichcarried 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 thehoof from a dead horse. The Cherokee glanced up as he looped his grislytrophy to his saddle horn. 

"Need the shoe, " he explained briefly. "Runner has one worn prettythin. " He patted the drooping neck of his mount. 

Hannibal walked around the dead horse carefully. The mule was only askeleton copy of the sturdy, well-cared-for animal Drew had ridden outof Cadiz. But he would keep going until he dropped, and his rider knewit. 

"Any trace of Weatherby?" Drew asked. The disappearance of the otherCherokee scout at the cabin battle had continued as a mystery for theirown small company. None of those who had known him could credit theIndian being taken unawares by the guerrilla force. He had vanishedsomewhere in the dark of the night, and none of their searching a daylater, interrupted by orders to move, had turned up a clue. 

"Not yet, " Croff answered. "He may have made too wide a circle and runinto a Yankee picket. Someday, perhaps, we shall know. Look there!"

From their screen of cover they watched a blue cavalry patrol trot alonga lane. 

"Headin' for th' home corral, an' lookin' twice over each shoulder whilethey do it, " commented Kirby. "Was we to let out a yell now, they'd dragit so fast they'd dig their hoofs in clear down to the stirrupleathers. "

Drew shook his head. "Those are General Wilson's men . .. Can't be surewith them that they wouldn't come poundin' up, sabers out, tryin' totake 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 anhombre up some. You know, for sure, the only way we're gonna git outtathis 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 themall. 

The Cherokee shrugged. "Nashville? Maybe. The signs are not good. "

"It's when the signs ain't good, " Kirby observed, "that fellas lean ontheir hardware twice as hard. Heard tell of gunfighters knotchin' theirirons for each man they take in a shootout. Me, I'm kinda workin' thesame 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 voicetrailed away as he watched the disappearing Yankee cavalrymen, butsomehow Drew thought he was seeing either more or less than blue-coatedmen riding under a sullen December sky. 

Yes, a long tally of battles, and all those small fights in betweenwhich sometimes a man could remember better than the big ones, remembertoo often and too well. 

"The wagons pulled out of the Letterworth place this mornin', " Drewsaid. "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 thoughtthat Boyd had been judged well enough to be moved with the rest of thesick and wounded up from the temporary hospitals and shelters in theneighborhood. The seriously ill certainly could not be moved. But hewished he could have seen the boy; there was no telling when and wherethey would meet again. 

"Well, " Kirby pointed out, "if the doc took him, it means they thoughthe was able to make it. He's young an' tough. Bet he'll be back in linesoon. "

"They'll travel slow, " Croff added. "Drivin' hogs and cattle and allthose wagons, they ain't goin' to push. "

Forrest, along with his prisoners, wagons, sick and wounded, thebarefoot, and dismounted men, was driving four-footed supplies south onhis way to the Tennessee River, and he was not likely to risk orrelinquish any of the spoil. Buford's Kentuckians lay in wait along theCumberland, hoping perhaps to echo, if only faintly, their earliersuccesses against the gunboats and supply transports. And at Nashville abattle was shaping. .. . 

Drew had ridden in to report when the first of the new retreat orderscame. General Buford, who had invited Drew up to the fire, sat listeningas the scout held his stiff hands to the blaze and listed the sum totalof 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 accountwas finished. "Pour yourself a cup of that, boy! It ain't coffee. Infact, I don't inquire too deeply into what Lish does bring me to drinknowadays. But it's kind of comfortin' to have something warm under yourbelt in this weather. Blame-coldest, wettest winter I ever did see! Nosign of Weatherby?" he repeated as Drew sipped from the tin cup hissuperior had pushed into his hands, not only grateful for the warmthspreading through his insides, but also for the heat of the container hecupped between his palms. 

"No, suh, no sign at all. "

"Hmm. That's strange. " The General edged his solid bulk forward on hisstool, which creaked as his weight shifted. He poured himself a cup ofthe same brew he had urged upon the scout. "Those were guerrillas rightenough. Scum from both sides, just out like buzzards to pick up whatthey could. Only they were too far into our lines . .. And bolder thanmost. Doesn't fit somehow. "

"Might be cover for Union scouts after all, suh?"

Buford shrugged. "Not very likely. If Weatherby does report in, send himto me! Oh, by the way, Rennie, you're promoted to sergeant to takeWilkins' place. " The General sat gazing into the cup he held, but it wasplain his thoughts were far from the current substitute for coffee. 

"Thank you, suh. "

Buford glanced up. "Thank--? Oh, the sergeant business. LieutenantTraggart put you in for the first openin' some time ago. You had yourtrainin' with Morgan, and you learned well. John Morgan . .. Hard tothink of him dead now. And Pat Cleburne . .. And all the rest. We have toclose ranks and do double duty for all of them. " Again he was speakinghis thoughts, Drew was sure. "Well, Sergeant Rennie, we will, we will!"

The courier who stumbled into the room, lurched against the rude woodentable, 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 putdown his cup and jumped up to steady the man. 

"General Forrest's compliments, suh. Will you bring up the division tojoin General Chalmers? The battle's on at Nashville, and it may benecessary to form a rear guard for a retreat--" He got the message outmechanically in a croak. 

So they went to start the first move in a vast job of salvage. Buford'smen marched fast to come between a broken army and the full force ofenemy pursuit. For Franklin, having bled the Army of the Tennessee ofits strength, was only the beginning of chaos. Nashville crushed theremains, and the remnants fled, a crippled despairing flight of thedefeated. The big gamble was totally lost. 

It was Forrest who commanded that hastily formed rear guard. Its stiffspine was his cavalry, with the addition of two brigades ofinfantry--Alabama and Georgia troops. Snapping at them was Unioncavalry in full force. Not snapping at their heels, for it was fang tofang; the Confederates only gave ground fighting. Day darkened on thefield and they were in hand-to-hand assault. A man marked musket orcarbine flash to sight on the enemy. 

And as time became a nightmare of almost continuous battle, the rainlashed at the struggling men with a whip of icy water. Fighters crouchedbehind rail fences while the Union cavalry charged across black fields, hoofs drumming on the ground, and the sputtering fire of carbines makingan uneven kind of lightning along the improvised wood barricades. Blacktree trunks gleamed greasily in the wet; and here and there, out ofdefiance, 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 ofthe army and the thrust of the Yankee forces coming confidently tofinish them off. Cavalry, volunteers from the infantry, fragments ofcommands all, but still with enough cohesion behind a commander theytrusted to fall back in fighting order . .. And fighting--even tocountercharge when the need and the occasion offered. 

Drew, Kirby, Croff, and Webb circled around a wagon, bringing the driverto a halt, his mule team standing with drooping heads, blowing andpuffing 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 sawwhere Croff's carbine was aimed. A little pale, he sank back on theseat. A bush of whiskers hid most of his dirty face, and there wassomething 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'sanother one ready to carry you as soon as you empty it. "

The ragged half company fanned forward, bearing down upon the wagon asif it were a Yankee stronghold. They swarmed over and in it, pitchingthe contents out on the ground in spite of the futile protests of thedriver. 

"Lordy! Lordy!" One of the willing unloaders paused, his arms about abox. He was staring into its interior, bemused. "Lookit what's heah! Iain't seen such a lovely, lovely sight since I had me a chance on theriver 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 sureenough has!" He was immediately the core of a group eager to share inhis find. The driver half raised his whip. Kirby brought his horsecloser to the wagon, caught at the lash, pulling the stock out of theother'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 toany palaver on the subject. Better ride it out peaceablelike. "

"Much obliged, Sarge. " The original finder of the treasure trove brokefrom the circle and handed Drew some crackers. "The boys want you shouldhave 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, theywere Forrest's indomitable rear guard, riding between brisk spats withthe enemy. 

Kirby tested the edge of a cracker between his teeth as they trotted onin search for another wagon to turn over to the infantry. 

"This heah army is bound to git mounted, one way or the other, " hecommented. "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 wasColumbia, where Forrest had bought them precious hours of traveling timewith his truce to discuss a prisoner exchange. Along the banks of thenow turbulent Duck River not a bridge or boat remained to aid theirpursuers. 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 thetail, 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' theother way 'crost the table. Seems like we has been chased back an' forthover these heah rivers so much, they ought to know us by now. An' be alittle more obligin' an' do some partin', like in that old Biblestory--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 businessahead. "

Just as they had rounded up wagons to transport the infantry betweenskirmishes, so now they were on the hunt for oxen to move the guns. Thebogs--miscalled "roads" on their maps--demanded more animal power thanthe worn-out horses and mules of the army could supply. Oxen had to beimpressed from the surrounding farms for use in moving the wagons andfieldpieces relay fashion, with those teams sometimes struggling bellydeep. Having pulled one section to a point ahead, they were driven backto bring up the rear of the train. 

"Not enough ice on the ground; it's rainin' it now!" Kirby's shoulderswere hunched, his head forward between them as if, tortoisewise, hewanted to withdraw into a nonexistent protecting shell. 

"Just be glad, " Drew answered, "you ain't walkin'. I saw an ox fall backthere a ways. Before it was hardly dead the men were at it, rippin' offthe 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 chantedthose words to the swinging march of his western command--"The YellowRose of Texas"--and they had been passed from company to company, squadto squad, by men who had always been a little distrustful of Hood, menwho had looked back to the leadership of General Johnston as a good timewhen they actually seemed to be getting somewhere with thisendless-seeming war. 

There was a soft echo from somewhere--". .. Played Hell inTennessee-ee-ee. "

"Sure did, " Webb commented. "But this country comin' up now ain't gonnafavor the blue bellies none. "

He was right. Both sides of the turnpike over which the broken armydragged its way south were heavily wooded, and the road threaded througha bewildering maze of narrow valleys, gorges, and ravines--just the typeof territory made for defensive ambushes to rock reckless Yankees out oftheir saddles. The turnpike was to be left for the use of the rear guardof fighting men, while the wagon trains and straggling mass of thedisorganized Army of the Tennessee split up to follow the dirt roadstoward Bainbridge and the Tennessee River. 

"Know somethin'?" Webb demanded suddenly, hours later, as they were ontheir way back with their hard-found quota of oxen and protesting ownersand drivers. "This heah's Christmas Eve--tomorrow's Christmas! Ain't hada 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 musketfire, the deeper sound of field guns. It was a clamor they had listenedto only too often lately, but now it was forceful enough to suggest thatthis was more than just a skirmish. 

Having seen their oxen into the hands of the teamsters, they settleddown to the best pace they could get from their mounts. But before theyreached the scene of action they caught the worst of the news from thewounded men drifting back. 

". .. Saw him carried off myself, " a thin man, with a bandaged arm thrustinto the front of his jacket, told them. "Th' Yankees got 'crossRichland Creek and flanked us. General Buford got it then. "

Drew leaned from his saddle to demand the most important answer. "Howbad?" Abram Buford might not have had the dash of Morgan, the electricpersonality of Forrest, but no one could serve in his headquarterscompany without being well aware of the steadfast determination, theregard for his men, the bulldog courage which made him Forrest'sdependable, 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'tgonna be so merry this year. "

They had lost Buford and they were forced back again, disputingsavagely--hand to hand, revolver against saber, carbine againstcarbine--to Pulaski. Seven miles, and the enemy made to pay dearly forevery foot of that distance. 

It was Christmas morning, and Drew chewed on a crust of corn pone, oldand rock-hard. He wondered dully if his capacity to hold more than a fewcrumbs had completely vanished. And he allowed himself for one or twolong moments to remember Christmas at Oak Hill--where he had managed tospend a more festive day than at Red Springs in the chilly neighborhoodof his grandfather. Christmas at Oak Hill . .. Sheldon, Boyd, CousinMerry, Cousin Jeff, too, before he died back in '59. 

Drew opened his eyes and saw a fire, not the flames of brandy flickeringabove a plum pudding, or the quiet, welcoming fire on a hearth, butrather a violent burst of yellow-and-red destruction punctured by burstsof exploding ammunition. These were the stores Forrest had ordereddestroyed because the men could transport them no further. 

The word was out that they were going to make a firm stand nearAnthony's Hill, again to the south. And they had been hard at work thereto fashion a stopper which would either suck the venturesome enemy intoa 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 hollowbelow. Felled timber, rails, stones, anything which could shelter a manfrom lead and steel long enough for him to shoot his share back, hadbeen woven together, and a mounted reserve waited behind to preventflanking. A good stout trap--the kind Forrest had used to advantagebefore and which had enough teeth in it to crush the unwary. 

"Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed, " Drew repeated to himself that tagfrom some childhood rhyme or story as he waited at the mouth of thegorge to play his own part in the action to come. A small force ofmounted men, scouts, and volunteers from various commands were bait. Itwas their job to make a short stiff resistance, then fly in headlongretreat, 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 duringthe past ten days had come in small snatches. Twice he had caught napslying in stalled wagons waiting for fresh teams to arrive, and bothtimes he had been awakened out of dreams he did not care to remember, toride with gummy eyelids and a sense of being so tired that there was afog between him and most of the world. It was two days now since Bufordhad been wounded. The news was that the big Kentucky general wouldrecover. And it was a whole twenty-four hours since he watched theChristmas fires Forrest had lit in Pulaski, the fires which had devouredwhat they no longer had the animal power to save. 

Here in the mouth of the gorge the silence was almost oppressive. Heheard a smothered cough from one of the waiting men, a horse blow in akind of wheeze. Then came the call of a bugle from down the road. 

Theirs, not ours, Drew thought. Hannibal shook his head vigorously, asif bitten by a sadly out-of-season fly. The captain commanding theircompany of bait signaled an advance. And they followed the familiarpattern of weaving in and out of cover to enlarge the appearance oftheir force. 

Firing rent the quiet of a few minutes earlier. Drew snapped a shot atthe Yankee guidon bearer, certain he saw the man flinch. Then, with therest, he sent Hannibal on the best run the mule could hold, back intothe waiting mouth of the hollow. They pounded on, eager to present sucha picture of wholesale rout that the Union men would believe a softstrike, perhaps an important bag of prisoners, lay ahead, needing onlyto be scooped in. 

Perhaps it was the reputation for wiliness Forrest had earned which putthe Yankee commander on his guard. There was no headlong chase down theambush valley as they had hoped and planned to intercept. Instead, dismounted men came at a careful, suspicious pace, cored around a singlefieldpiece, a small answer to their trap. 

But when that blue stream funneled into the hollow, the jaws snappedaway. Canister from Morton's guns laid a scythe along the Union advance, cutting men to ground level. The Yell shrilled along the slopes, and menjumped trees and rail barricades, pouring down in an assault wave not tobe turned aside. The Yankee gun, its eight-horse team, men who stood nowwith their hands high, horses for riders who were no longer to needthem. Three hundred of those horses from the lines behind the dismountedskirmishers--far more valuable than any inanimate treasure to men whohad lost mounts--one hundred and fifty prisoners. 

Kirby rode back from the eddy in the road, his mouth a wide grinsplitting his skin-and-bone face. He had a length of heavy blue clothacross the saddle before him and was smoothing it lovingly with onechilblained hand. 

"Got me one of them theah overcoats, " he announced. "Sure fine, like tothank 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. Hisdismounted cavalry overrun or thrust back, Wilson brought up infantry, and they settled down to a dogged attack on the entrenched Confederateson the ridges. 

Union forces bored in steadily, slamming the weight of regiments againstthe flanks of the defenders. And slowly but inexorably, that turningmovement 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 therewas impatience in the answer which was certainly meant for all thedoubters 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 fallback. But the orders were to hold. Hood was at Sugar Creek with thearmy; he must have time to cross. It was late afternoon when Forrest atlast ordered the withdrawal, and they made it in an orderly fashion. 

Through the night the rear guard toiled on and a little after midnightthey reached the Sugar in their turn. Drew splashed cold water on hisface, not only to keep awake, but to rinse off the mud and grime of daysof riding and fighting. He could not remember when he had had hisclothes off, had bathed or worn a clean shirt. Now he smeared his jacketsleeve across his face in place of a towel and tramped wearily back tothe fire where his own small squad had settled in for what rest theycould 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 lasttime. Lordy, m' back an' m' middle are clean growed together, seemslike. "

"Feast your eyes, man! Jus' feast your eyes!" Kirby unrolled his prizedcoat. In its folds was a greasy package which did indeed give up atreasure--a good four-inch-thick slab of bacon squeezed in with a blockof odd, brownish-yellow stuff. 

They crowded around, dazzled by the sight of bacon, real bacon. ThenDrew 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 suchtruck, an' press it into cakes like this. 'Course you have to becareful. 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. Poorfella, he jus' natchelly suffered from bein' so greedy. But you drop itin water an' give it a boil. .. . "

"Looks like hay, " Drew commented without enthusiasm. He picked it up andsniffed dubiously. 

"Man, " Webb said, "if the Yankees can eat hay, then we can too. An' I'mhungry 'nough to chaw grass, were you to show me a tidy patch an' say goto it! How come you know all 'bout this hay-stuff, Anse?"

"We found some of it on the _Mazeppa_. The lieutenant told us how itworked--"

"The _Mazeppa_!" Webb breathed reverently, and there was a moment ofsilence as they all recalled the richness of that capture. "We shorecould do with another boat like that one. Too bad this heah crick ain'tbig 'nough to float a nice bunch of supplies in, right now. "

Kirby produced the pail dedicated to the preparation of coffee. Butsince coffee was so far in the past they could not even remember itssmell or taste, no one protested his putting the vegetable block to thetest 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, didyou? A man who slangs th' cook--an' the grub--now maybe he ain't gonnafind 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 talkhimself right out of a good piece of luck. It's hot and fillin', and yougot 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 ofraking aside the fire, leaving a patch of warmed earth on which all fourcould curl up together, two men sharing blankets. As the Texan squirmedinto place beside him Drew felt the added warmth of the plundered coatKirby pulled over them. This had not been too bad a day after all, orrather yesterday had not; it was now not too far before dawn. They hadmade 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 aftereating, they had a chance to sleep. It seemed that Forrest was going topull it off neatly again. Drowsily Drew watched the rekindled fire. Theywould make it, after all. 

He awoke to find a thick white cotton of fog enfolding the bivouac. Thepreparations they had made again of rail and tree breastworks to greetthe Union advance were no easier to see than the men crouched in theirshadows. It would be a blind battle if Wilson's pursuit caught up beforethis 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 theirway ahead, reaching the creek bank. If they could cut through Forrest'spresent lines, thrust straight ahead, they could smash the demoralizedstraggle of Hood's main command, and the Army of the Tennessee wouldcease to exist. 

The blue coats were shadows in the fog, the first advance wading thecreek now, their rifles held high. And as that line closed up andsolidified into a wall of men, a burst of flame met them face-on. It wasbrutal, almost one-sided. The Yankees were on their feet, pacing into acountry they could not clearly distinguish. While their opponents had"picked trees" and were firing from shelter with accuracy to tear hugegaps in that line. 

Men stopped, fired, then broke, running back to the creek for the safetywhich might lie beyond that wash of icy water. And as they went, ranksof the defenders rose and raced after them, hooting and calling as if onsome holiday hunt. Now the cavalry moved in in their turn, cuttingsavagely at the Union flanks, herding the dismounted Yankees backthrough the lines of their horse holders as the Morgan men had beendriven at Cynthiana. Wild with fright, horses lunged, reared, tore freefrom men, and raced in and out, many to be caught by the gray coats. Itwas a rout and they pushed the Union troops back, snapping upprisoners, horses, equipment--whipping out like a thrown net to sweepback laden with spoil. 

These attackers were the rear guard of a badly beaten army, but they didnot act that way. They rode, fought, and out-maneuvered their enemies asif they were the fresh advance of a superior invading force. And theswift, hard blows they aimed bought not only time for those theydefended, but also the respect, the irritated concern of the men theyturned time and time again to fight against. 

Having pushed Wilson's troopers well back, the Confederates withdrewonce more to the creek, waiting for what might be a second assault. Theyate, if they were lucky enough to have rations, and rested their horses. Corn was long gone, so mounts were fed on withered leaves pulled fromfield shocks, from any possible forage a man could find. 

Drew led the gaunt rack of bones that was Hannibal to the creek, lettingthe mule lip the water. But it was plain the animal was failing. Drewshifted his saddle from that bony back to one of the horses they hadgathered in during the morning. But the Yankee gelding was littleimprovement. In the mud, constantly cut by ice, too wet most of thetime, a horse's hoofs rotted on its feet. And the dead animals, many ofthem put out of their misery by their riders, marked with patches ofblack, brown, gray, the path of the army. A man had to harden himself tothat suffering, just as he had to harden himself to all the othermiseries of war. 

War was boredom, and it was also quick, exciting action such as they hadhad that morning. It was fighting gunboats along the river; it was theheat and horror of that slope at Harrisburg, the cold and horror ofFranklin. It was riding with men such as Anson Kirby, being a part of afluid weapon forged and used well by a commander such as BedfordForrest. It was a way of life. .. . 

The scout's hand paused in his currying of Hannibal as that idea struckhim for the first time. Now he thought he could understand why RedSprings and all it stood for was so removed and meaningless, was lost inthe dim past. To Drew Rennie now, the squad, his round of duties, thearmy--these were home, not a brick house set in the midst of greenfields and smooth paddocks. The house was empty of what he had foundelsewhere--acceptance of Drew Rennie as a person in his own right, friendship, an occupation which answered the restlessness which hadridden him into rebellion. He stood staring at nothing as he thoughtabout 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, Drewasked 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, Isometimes wonder if I jus' dreamed Texas outta m' head. Only I keepremindin' myself that someday I can go back an' see if it's jus' the wayI 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 cameupon one of those, a tall man, limping on feet covered with strips offilthy rag. But he still had his musket, and on its bayonet was stuck agoodly portion of ham. He had been sitting on a tree trunk, but at theapproach of the scouts he moved to meet them. 

"Howdy, fellas, " he spoke in a hoarse voice, and wiped a running nose onhis 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 takeyou to one of the wagons--"

"Now that's right kind of you boys, right kind. " The man hobbled up toHannibal as if he feared they might withdraw their offer. "Say, youhungry? Git us wheah we can light a spell, an' I'll divide my rationswith 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 theyheaded 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 coloragainst the general drabness of the winter scene, came up towingHannibal and his own mount. 

"Doesn't think he should try it. " Drew made a lengthy business ofpulling on the knitted gloves he had acquired only that morning as aswap for a captured Yankee Colt. 

The infantry, back under the solid security of Joe Johnston'sleadership, had marched on into North Carolina--to face Sherman'sdestructive sweep there. In the west, the only effective Confederateforce still in the field east of the Mississippi was Forrest's Cavalry. And they had been granted twenty days' furlough to return home if theycould get there, and gather clothing and fresh horses. The sun was fardown the western horizon of the Confederacy, but to the men who rodewith 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, sawhim make the effort to get on his feet again, they were almost convincedthat the youngster could make the trip back through enemy-held territoryto Oak Hill. Kirby, though he had no ties in Kentucky, was willing tochance the journey to help Boyd home. But those miles between, wherethey must skulk and maybe even fight their way--living out, eating verylight--Boyd could not stand that. The surgeon's verdict was that such anidea 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 conducton 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 fromhome, but also to devil the Yankees when and where they could. They wereto fire into transports along the rivers and rout and capture any Unionpatrols small enough to be attacked when and where they came acrossthem. The Cherokee scout and others who could not return home asked fortheir own type of furlough, determined to hunt the district belowFranklin. Since such men could be of great nuisance value well withinthe enemy lines, they were granted permission and were even nowpreparing to move out. 

Drew, who had held off from committing himself to the expedition untilhe had the final verdict on Boyd, knew that Kirby was eager to go. AndDrew felt that old restlessness, which gripped him whenever he thoughtof spending days in camp. He could do nothing for Boyd, but they mightbe able to accomplish something in Tennessee. 

"All right. " He saw Kirby grin at his answer. The plan was one after theTexan's heart, and Drew knew what it had meant to him to hold back fromit. 

"You tell the kid?"

"Dr. Fairfax did. " At least he had not had to deliver that blow, a smallrelief 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, theBoyd who would have pulled himself out of that big rocker and announcedfiercely that he was riding home whether the doctor said Yes or No--thatBoyd was gone. Perhaps this new acceptance of hard facts was a matter ofgrowing up. Drew clung to that. There was little he could do, except notgo 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 gooff--be a republic again. Wouldn't be the first time the Tejanos stoodup 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'swhat an hombre wants to hear. You change pasture on a good colt, makeshim even fatter! Come blue bellies all ovah this heah territory, we jus'shift range. An' nobody gonna take Texas! Even the horny toads wouldspit straight in a Yankee's eye--"

"How 'bout it, Sarge?" They were at the cluster of rail-walled hutswhere the scouts had established a temporary headquarters. Webb hailedthem from the door of one of those dwellings where he was rolling up therubber cloth laid over corn husks to form the floor. "You Kaintuckbound?"

"No. Ridin' with you boys. Doc thinks Boyd can't try it. "

"Good enough, Sarge. We're pullin' out soon as Injun draws us sometravelin' rations. Jus' enough to get us theah. We can eat off theYankees later. "

Since 1861 the clothing of the Confederate Army at large had nevermatched the colorful sketches hopefully issued by the QuartermasterGeneral's department. Perhaps in Richmond or some state capitol thegold-lace exponents did appear in tasteful and well-tailored gray withthe proper insignia of rank. Forrest's men, equipped from the first bythe unwilling enemy, wore blue, a blue tempered tactfully andingeniously by butternut shirts, dyed breeches--when there was time todo any dyeing--and slouch hats. But as Drew rode out with his squad hemight have been leading a Union rather than a Rebel patrol, which, ofcourse, was part of the necessary cover for venturing into the jaws of avery alert lion. 

Parts of West Tennessee were still Confederate-held and through thosethey rode openly. But the countryside could offer them nothing in theway of forage. Two armies had stripped it bare during the past fewmonths. Sometimes foraging parties on opposite sides had been known tocombine forces under a private truce, or had fought brisk, bitterskirmishes to decide which would collect the spoils. If there remained ahog or chicken still running loose, it certainly possessed the power ofinvisibility. 

They slipped across the river in one of the boats kept by local contactsacting in the scouts' service. Drew questioned the boy who owned theirtransportation. 

"Sure they's bummers-out. Yankees say they's ourn, but they ain't!" hereturned indignantly. "They ain't ridin' for nobody but their ownselves. Cut off a Yankee an' shoot him for the boots on his feet--do thesame if they want a hoss. Git ketched an' they tell as how they'sscouts, workin' secret-like. Scouts o' ourn--if we ketch 'em;Yankees--do the blue bellies take 'em. But they ain't nothin' butlowdown trash as nobody wants, for sure!" He dug his pole into the wateras 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. Butthey's a lotta empty houses 'bout nowadays. An' the bummers kin hide outgood 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 morecomfortable circle about his thin middle. "Bet they know all the tricksof 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. Andtheir private quest for an answer to Weatherby's fate might be a part ofthat. But their first duty was to the army: The gathering ofinformation, and any discomfort they could deal the Yankees, must betheir 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 ranan ice-sealed thread of stream. It was not quite a cave, but providedshelter for them and their mounts. It was a clear night, and the groundwas 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 hissuggestions. "There's a road leadin' to the turnpike that's three orfour 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 thisother way--"

"Good cover on it?" Drew asked. 

"The best. "

"I jus' got me one question, " Kirby interrupted. "Say we was to gobbleus up a bunch of strayin' Yankees along this road, what're we gonna dowith 'em after? Four of us don't make no army, an' we ain't gonna beable to detach no prisoner guard. 'Course theah are them what's saidfrom the first that the only good Yankees are them laid peacefullike intheir 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 hitquick and often, take a prisoner's boots, maybe, and his horse, and hisgun--"

"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 paroledwill stir up trouble. Remember, from what we've heard, a lot of theYankees ain't any happier about fightin' on and on than we are. So wetake 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 drawsome 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, weparole prisoners and light out cross-country after a strike. "

"I've been thinkin'--" Kirby was checking the loading of his Colts--"ifwe start heah, we can sorta work our way in, coyote right up close toFranklin. They'll be expectin' us to light out for the home range, notgo jinglin' in to wheah they've forted up. Might raise a sight of smokethat way. Git Wilson's boys on the prod, for sure. "

"Franklin--?" Croff repeated. 

"Little below, maybe. From what that boy said, those bushwhackers movearound pretty free, " Drew reminded him, certain the Cherokee was back tothe desire to search for Weatherby. 

"We'll see what kind of luck we have along this road, Injun-scouted. Youtake first watch, Injun?"

"Yeah. " Drew heard rather than saw the Cherokee leave their camp, boundfor a lookout point. The other three bedded down, anxious to snatch asmuch rest as possible. 

Long before dawn they were on the move again, threading through thewinter-seared woods. Croff brought them out unerringly behind a saggingrail fence well masked with the skeleton brush of the season. There wasequally good cover on the other side of the road. Kirby climbed thefence, 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 Webbholed up on one side of the lane well apart; Drew and Kirby did the sameon the other. Waiting would be sheer boredom and in this weather theheight of discomfort. 

The gray of early morning sharpened the land about them. Boyd would haveenjoyed this game of tweaking a wildcat's tail. Drew chewed his lowerlip, tasting the salt of sweat, the grit of road dust. Just now was notime to think of Boyd; he must concentrate on the business before him. 

He heard the sharp chittering of an aroused squirrel, repeated in twoshrill bursts. But his own ear close to the ground told him they were toexpect company. There was the regular thud of horses' hoofs, the soundof mounts ridden in company and at an even pace. The only remainingquestion was whether it was a Union patrol and small enough for the fourof them to handle. 

One, two . .. Two more . .. Five of them, topping a small rise. A cavalrypatrol . .. And the odds were not too impossible. 

Drew sighted sergeant's stripes on the leader's jacket. It would dependupon how alert that noncom was. Wilson was drawing in new levies, sothese 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 firsttwo of his squad. He paid no attention to the bushes. 

Webb's carbine and Kirby's Colts cracked in what seemed like a singlespat of sound. One of the troopers in the rear shouted, grabbing at apoint high on his shoulder, the other one was thrown as his horsereared, its upraised forefeet striking another man from the saddle as heendeavored to turn his mount. 

Drew fired, and saw the sergeant's carbine fall as he caught at thesaddle horn, his arm hanging limp. 

"Surrender!" As Drew shouted that order into the tangle below, he leapedto the right. A single shot clipped through the bushes where he hadbeen, answered by a blast from Webb. 

Then hands were up, men stared white-faced and sullen at the fencebehind which might be a whole company of the enemy. Drew came into theopen, the Spencer he had taken from Jas' covering the sergeant. For theexpression on the noncom's face suggested that, wounded as he was, hewould like nothing better than to carry on the struggle--with Drew ashis principal target. 

"Go ahead, get it over with!" He spat at Drew. 

For a second Drew was bewildered, and then he suddenly guessed that theUnion 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 spokedryly, his accent and choice of words that of an educated man. 

"What brand you think we're wearin', fella?" Kirby had come out ofconcealment, his Colt steady on the captives. 

"Guerrillas, I'd say, " the sergeant returned hardily. Drew realized thenthat their mixture of clothing must have stamped them as the veryoutlaws they wanted to hunt down, as far as the Union troopers wereconcerned. 

"Now that's wheah you're sure jumpin' your fences, " Kirby's half grinvanished. "We're General Forrest's men, not guerrillas. Or ain't younever heard tell of Forrest's Cavalry? Seems like anyone wearin' bluean' forkin' a hoss ought to know who's been chasin' him to Hell an' goneover most of Tennessee. Lucky I ain't in a sod-pawin' mood, hombre, or Imight jus' want to see how a blue-belly sarge looks without an ear onhis 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 wassitting 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 bloodshowed 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 awarning. 

"You're surrounded, subject to fire from both sides, Sergeant! I suggestsurrender. You will be treated as prisoners of war and given parole. We_are_ from General Forrest's command. We're scouts. Believe me, if wehad wished to, we could have shot every one of you out of the saddlebefore you knew we were here. Guerrillas would have done just that. "

The logic of that argument reached the Union sergeant. He still eyedDrew straightly, but there was a ruefulness rather than hostile defiancein his voice as he asked:

"What do you plan to do with us?"

"Nothing. " Drew was crisp. "Give us your parole, leave your arms, yourhorses, 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, " Drewcountered. "As far as I am concerned, you can take it, we'll accept yourword. "

"All right. " The other dismounted awkwardly, and with one hand unbuckledhis saber, dropping his belt and gun. 

Kirby went among the men gathering up their weapons. Then he and Drewtended the slight wounds of their enemies. 

"You'll both do until you can get to town, " Drew told them. "And you'vea road and plenty of daylight to help you foot it. .. . "

To Drew's surprise, the sergeant suddenly laughed. "This ain't going tosit well with the captain. He swore all you Rebs were run out of here acouple 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 lotmore. "

They watched the squad in blue, now afoot, plod on down the road. Whenthey were out of sight around a bend, Webb and Croff came out of hidingto inspect the spoil. Unfortunately the Yankees had not possessedrations, but their opponents acquired five horses, five Springfields, four sabers, and three Colts, as well as welcome rounds of ammunition--afine haul. 

Croff methodically smashed the stocks of the Springfields against a rockand pitched the ruined weapons back of the fence. They had seen duringthe retreat just how useless those rifles were for mounted men. Thesabers were broken the same way, but the rest of the plunder was shared. 

Webb appropriated one of the captured mounts. They stripped the othersof their gear, taking what they wanted in the way of blankets and saddleequipment, and were putting the horses on leading ropes when a volley ofshots ripping through the early morning froze them. Croff whirled toface the road down which the Yankees had vanished. 

"Came from that direction--"

They mounted, taking not the open road but a cross route the Cherokeeindicated. Coming out on the crest of a slope, they were above anotherof those hollows through which the road ran. And in that way lay stillblue figures. Drew's carbine swung up as men broke from ambush andheaded toward those forms. No Confederate force would have wantonlybutchered unarmed and wounded men, nor would the Yankees. Which left thescum they both hated--the bushwhackers!

Just as the crack of the murder guns had earlier torn the quiet, so didthe Confederate answer come now. Three of those advancing on theirvictims dropped. One more cried out, staggering toward the concealingbush. Then more broke from cover beyond, going into flight up the otherrise. 

"Croff! Webb! After them!" The Cherokee scout was already booting hishorse into a run. 

Drew and Kirby reached the road together. Slipping from Hannibal, Drewknelt 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 acold 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 factthat the other had died believing that treachery. Kirby arose from theexamination of the rest of the bodies. 

"Got 'em all. Musta bin as easy as shootin' weanlin's. They didn't havea chance! We got three--" He made a circle about one of the deadguerrillas--"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 toride clear to the Ohio!"

16

_Missing in Action_

"I've counted twenty at least, " Webb said over his shoulder. The scoutswere belly-flat in cover, looking down into a scene of some activity. Italmost resembled the cavalry camp they had left behind them to thesouth. There were the same shelters ingeniously constructed of brush andlogs and a picket line for horses and mules. This hole must harbor ahigh percentage of deserters from both armies. 

"Only four of us, " Kirby remarked. "'Course I know we're the tall men ofthe 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 onus, we have to do something, " Drew returned. This whole section ofcountry would boil over when those bodies were discovered. "And we ain'tthe only ones. Any of our boys comin' through here on furlough are liketo be jumped for it if the Yankees catch them. "

"That's the truth if you ever spoke it, Sarge. I can see some hangin'scomin' out of that ambush. "

"Theah's still twenty hombres down theah, an' four of us. We can pickoff 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 fugitivesfrom the ambush back to this tangled wilderness with infinite caution, bypassing two sentries so well posted and concealed they had been forcedto judge that the motley collection of guerrillas were as experienced atthis trade as the scouts. There was no time to try to round up any otherbands of homing Confederates or prowling scouts, even if they knew wherethey could be located. This was really a Yankee problem partly as well. 

Because of that murderous ambush, the local Union commander should beout for blood. But how could they get into enemy hands the informationabout this rats' nest?

"We can't take 'em ourselves, and we've no time to round up any of theboys 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 ourtrail 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'ssome bushwhackers, come'n see'?" Webb asked scornfully. "After thismornin' 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 twoof 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'repatrols thick on that road. "

"Any blue bellies travelin' theah now are gonna be bunched an' ready toshoot at anything movin'. "

"So, " Croff cut in over Webb's instant objection, "you get some Yankeesa-hittin' it up after you, and you run for here. They're not all dumbenough 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 acrossthis ridge and start cuttin' this camp down to size--pick off thosehorses 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 itwas summer, I'd say we all had our brains sun-cured, but I'm willin' totry it. Who does what?"

"Croff and Webb'll take out the sentries. We'll go hunt us up someYankees. " As Kirby said, it was a wild plan anchored here and there onchance 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 inwhich to try it. 

They let a supply train go by on the road undisturbed. It was, Drewnoted, well guarded and the guard paid special attention to the woodsand fields flanking them. The word had certainly gone out to expect diretrouble 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 settledhimself in his own patch of cover, with Hannibal close at hand. Thepassing of time was a fret, but one they were used to. Drew thought overthe plan. Improvisation always had to play a large part in such aproject, but he believed they had a chance of success. 

A bird note, clear and carrying, broke the silence of the winterafternoon. Drew cradled the Spencer close to him. That was Kirby'ssignal 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 hisshoulders--quite an impressive turnout, consisting of some thirty menand 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 wasgoing to be more of a task than he had anticipated. But it had to bedone. 

He fired, carefully missing the captain by a small margin, as he saw thespark his bullet struck from a roadside stone. Then he pumped one shotafter another over the heads of the startled men. As he mounted Hannibalhe caught a glimpse of Kirby cutting across the slope. The Texan rodeIndian fashion with most of his mount between him and the return firefrom the road. Drew kicked Hannibal into a leap, taking him half way outof range and out of sight. 

Then, with Kirby, he was pounding away. A branch was bullet-clipped overhis 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 healso heard what he had hoped for--the shouts of the hunters, the thud ofhoofs behind. 

Now it was a game, much the same as the one they had played to lead theUnion troops into the cavalry trap at Anthony's Hill. They showedthemselves, to fire and fall back, riding a crisscross pattern whichwould confuse the Yankees as to whether they were pursuing two men ormore. Drew watched for the landmarks to guide them back. Less than halfa mile would bring them to the gorge. Then they must ride fast to put abigger gap between them and the enemy so they could go to cover beforethey struck the valley of the guerrilla camp. 

They must depend upon Croff and Webb having successfully taken over thesentry 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!" Hebrought his bay to a complete stop and aimed. When his carbine barked, ahorse neighed and went down. Then Kirby flinched, his weapon fell fromhis hand, and he caught quickly at the horn of his saddle. From theforemost 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 beallowed to lag. To be captured now was to lose all hope of being takenas an ordinary prisoner of war. He booted Hannibal into the rockinggallop the big mule was capable of upon occasion, and pulled the bayalong. Kirby was clinging to the horn, his language heated as healternately 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 wasa blast of shooting, and Drew marveled that neither man nor horse washit again. 

He was into the mouth of the gorge, still leading Kirby's horse, but aglance 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 sidewith the rocking of the horse's running stride. 

Their pursuers pulled pace a little, maybe fearing a trap. Drew gained afew precious seconds by the headlong pace he had set from the time Kirbyhad been wounded. But they dared not try to get up the steep sides ofthe cut now. 

He dared not erupt into the bushwhacker campsite, or could he? If Croffand Webb were now making their way to the heights above, ready to fireinto the camp as they had planned, wouldn't that keep the men there busyand cover his own break into the valley?

He heard firing again; this time the sound was ahead of him. Croff andWebb were starting action, which meant that the Yankees would be drawnon to see what was up. Kirby's horse was running beside Hannibal. TheTexan's eyes were closed, his left shoulder and upper sleeve bloody. 

Riding neck and neck, they burst out of the gorge as rifle bulletspropelled from a barrel. The impetus of that charge carried them acrossan open strip. There were yells . .. Shots. .. . But Drew's attention wason keeping Kirby in the saddle. 

Hannibal hit a brush wall and tore through it. Branches whipped back atthem with force enough to throw riders. 

Kirby was swept off, gone before Drew could catch him. Then Hannibalgave a wild bray of pain and terror. He reared and Drew lost grasp ofthe bay's reins. The riderless horse drove ahead while Drew tried tocontrol the mule and turn him. 

Tossing his head high, Hannibal brayed again. A man scuttled out of thebrush, 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 thefact that suddenly he could pull no air into his straining lungs. Thereins were out of his hands, but somehow he continued to cling to thesaddle as the mule leaped ahead. Then under Hannibal's hoofs the groundgave way, both of them tumbling into the icy stream. And for Drew therewas instant blackness, shutting out the need for breath, the terribleagony which shook him. 

". .. Dead. Get on after the others!"

The words made no sense. He was cold, wet, and there was a throbbingpain beating through him with every thrust of blood in his veins. But hecould 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 soundwent on and on--shutting everything else out of his ears--to hurt notflesh, but spirit. He could stand it no longer. 

With infinite labor, Drew turned his head. He felt the rasp of grit onthe skin of his burned cheek, and that small pain became a part of thelarger. 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 hisarms, 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 thesource of that mournful sound. 

Hannibal was struggling to get to his feet. There was a wound in hisflank, a red river rilling from it to stain the water. And one of hisforelegs was caught between two rocks. Throwing his head high, the mulebit 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 ahuman moan of pain and despair. 

Drew moved his arm, dully glad that he could. His fingers seemedstiff--as if his muscles were taking their own time to obey hiswill--but they closed on one of the Colts which had not been shaken freefrom his holster when he fell. He pulled the weapon free, biting his liphard against the twinges that movement cost him. 

Steadying the weapon on his hip, he took careful aim at Hannibal's headand fired. The recoil of the heavy revolver brought a small, whistlingcry of pain out of him. But across the stream, the mule's head fell fromthe willows, and he was mercifully still. 

The sky was gray. Drew heard a snap of shots, but they seemed very faraway. 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 therewould be no mercy shot. 

The rising tide of cold brought lethargy with it. He felt as if all hisstrength had drained into the water tugging at him. Again, the darkclosed in, and he was lost in it. 

Warm . .. He was warm. And the painful spasms which had torn at him wereeased. He still had a dull ache through his middle, but there was warmpressure over it, comforting and good. He sighed, fearful that a suddenmovement might cause the sharp pains to return. 

Then he was moved, his head was raised, and something hard pressedagainst his lower lip so that he opened his mouth in reflex. Hot liquidlapped over his tongue. He swallowed and the warmth which had been onthe outside was now within him as well, traveling down his throat intohis 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 wasnecessary, important action. He focused his eyes on a brown face bearinga scruff of beard on cheeks and chin. 

"Webb. .. . " It was very slow, that process of matching face to name. Butonce he had done it, memory brightened. 

"What happened--?"

They had ridden into the guerrilla camp site, he and Kirby, with theYankees on their heels. Painfully he could recall that. Then, later hehad been lying half in, half out of a creek, sicker than he had everbeen in his life. And Hannibal . .. He had shot Hannibal!

Webb's hand came out of the half dark, holding the tin cup to his mouthagain. 

"Drink up!" the other ordered sharply. 

Drew obeyed. But he was not so far under, now. Objects around him tookon clarity. He was lying on the ground, not too far from a fire, andthere 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 hadsubstance, moved behind Webb. Croff's strongly marked features werelined by the light. 

"Dead . .. Or the Yankees have them. "

Webb was making him drink again. With the other supporting his head andshoulders, Drew was able to survey his body. A blanket was wrappedtightly about his legs, and over his chest and middle a wet wad ofmaterial steamed. When Webb laid him flat again, the two men, workingtogether, wrung out another square of torn blanket, and substituted itsdamp 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, heheld the buckle-end in Drew's line of vision. The plate was split, andembedded in it was an object as big as Drew's thumb and somewhatresembling it in shape. 

"We took this off you, " the Cherokee explained. "Stopped a bullet plumbcenter with that. "

"Ain't seen nothin' like it 'fore, " Webb added, patting the compressgently into place. "Like to ripe you wide open if it hadn't hit thebuckle! You got you a bruise black as charcoal an' big as a plate rightacross your guts, but the skin's only a little broke wheah the plate cutyou some. An' if you ain't hurt inside, you're 'bout the luckiest fellaI ever thought to see in my lifetime!"

Drew moved a hand, touching the buckle with a forefinger. Then he filledhis lungs deeply and felt the answering pinch of pain in the region ofthe 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 compressslid 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' letus work on you! This heah district's no place to linger, an' you can'tfork 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 theenclosure in which he lay, but all he faced was a wall of rough stone. Webb was wringing out another compress, preparing to change thedressing. 

"Where's Anse?" Drew demanded more loudly, and there was a faint echo ofhis 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 hisface--"we don't know wheah he is, an' that's Bible-swear truth! We sawyou two come out into the valley, but we was busy pickin' off hosses sothem 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 wentright over those bushwhackers. Maybe so, they captured two or three, butmost 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 Injundid some scoutin' 'round. 

"We found you down by that crick, an' first--I'm tellin' it to youstraight--we thought you was dead. Then Injun, he found your heart wasstill 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 ofAnse--"

"He was hit bad--in the shoulder--" Drew looked pleadingly from one tothe other--"when we smashed into that brush he was pushed right out ofthe saddle, not far from that crick where you found me. Injun, he couldstill be out there now . .. Bleedin'--hurt. .. . "

Croff shook his head. "I backtracked all along that way after we foundyou. There was some blood on the grass, but that could have come fromone of the bushwhackers. There was no trace of Anse, anywhere. "

"What if he was taken prisoner!" Neither one of them would meet his eyesnow, and Drew set his teeth, clamping down on a wild rush of words hewanted to spill, knowing that both men would have been as quick andwilling 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 stayholed up here, and you're safe for a while. Then when you're ready toride, 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 wecan learn of it and take steps. Leastwise, nosing a little downwindain't goin' to do a bit of harm. " He moved out of the firelight with hisusual noiseless tread and was gone. 

17

_Poor Rebel Soldier. .. . _

"Sergeant Rennie reporting suh, at the General's orders. " Drew came toattention under the regard of those gray-blue eyes, not understandingwhy 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 downto the bald facts. 

"That nest was wiped out by the Yankee patrol, suh. Afterward PrivateCroff found a saddlebag with some papers in it, which was in the remainsof their camp. It looks like they'd been picking off couriers from bothsides. We sent those in with our first report. "

The General nodded. "You stayed near-by for a while after the camp wastaken?"

"Well, I was hurt, suh. "

He saw that General Forrest was smiling. "Sergeant, that theah storyabout your belt buckle has had a mightly lot of repeatin' up and downthe ranks. You were a lucky young man!"

"Yes, suh!" Drew agreed. "While I was laid up, Privates Croff and Webbtook turns on scout, suh. They located some of our men hidin'out--stragglers from the retreat. They also rounded up a few of thebushwhackers' horses and mules. "

Forrest nodded. "You returned to our lines with some fifteen men and tenmounts, 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--firstCroff and Webb--and then he, too, as soon as he was able to sit asaddle. It was Weatherby's fate all over again; the ground might haveopened 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 theyjoined General Morgan--Company D, Second Kentucky. Then I transferred tothe 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 riverbefore the Yankees caught up--"

"At Chickamauga?"

"Yes, suh. "

"Cynthiana"--but now Forrest did not wait for Drew's affirmativeanswer--"and Harrisburg, Franklin. .. . It's a long line of battles, ain'tit, boy? A long line. And you were nineteen last week. You know, Rennie, the Union Army gives medals to those they think have earnedthem. "

"I've heard tell of that, suh. "

The General's hand, brown, strong, went to the officer's hat weighingdown a pile of papers on the table. With a quick twist, Forrest rippedoff the tassled gold cord which distinguished it, smoothing out the loopof bullion between thumb and forefinger. 

"We don't give medals, Sergeant. But I think a good soldier might justbe granted a birthday present without any one gittin' too excited abouthow military that is. " He held out the cord, and Drew took it a bitdazedly. 

"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 endto it comin' soon. Did you ever think, boy, of what you were goin' to doafter the war?"

"Well, there's the West, suh. Open country out there--"

Forrest's eyes were bright, alert. "Yes, and we might even hold theWest. We'll see--we'll have to see. Your report accepted, Sergeant. "

It was plainly a dismissal. As Drew saluted, the General laid his hatback on the tallest pile of papers. Busy at the table, he might havealready forgotten Drew. But the Kentuckian, pausing outside the door toexamine the hat cord once more, knew that he would never forget. No, there were no medals worn in the ragged, thin lines of the shrinkingConfederate Army. But his birthday gift--Drew's fist closed about thecord 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 oflounging messengers grinning at him from the front porch ofheadquarters. He loosened the reins and led the bony animal a step ortwo before mounting. 

Shawnee, nimble-footed as a cat, a horse that had known almost as muchabout soldiering as his young rider. Then Hannibal, the mule from Cadiz, that had served valiantly through battle and retreat, to die in aTennessee stream bed. And now this bone-rack of a gray mule with one lopear, a mind of his own, and a gait which could set one's teeth on edgewhen you pushed him into any show of speed. The animal's long, melancholy face, his habit of braying mournfully in the moonlight--untilWesterners compared him unfavorably with the coyotes of the Plains--hadearned him the name Croaker; and he was part of the loot they hadbrought out of the bushwhackers' camp. 

As unlovely as he appeared, Croaker had endurance, steady nerves, and amost un-mulelike willingness to obey orders. He was far from the idealcavalry mount, but he took his rider there and back, safely. He wassure-footed, with a cat's ability to move at night, and in scout circleshe had already made a favorable impression. But he certainly was anunhandsome creature. 

"Smart actin's better than smart lookin', " Drew answered the disparagersnow. "Do as well yourselves, soldiers, and you'll be satisfied. "

Croaker started off at a trot, sniffling, his good ear twitching as ifhe had heard those unfriendly comments and was storing them up in hismemory, 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 nightclosing 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, rumblingwith rumor. The Union's General Wilson had assembled a massive hammer ofa force, veterans who had clashed over and over with Forrest in thefield, who had learned that master's tricks. Seventeen thousand mountedcavalrymen, ready to aim straight down through Alabama where the war hadnot yet touched. Another ten thousand without horses, who formed abacklog of reserves. 

In the Carolinas, Johnston, with the last stubborn regiments of the Armyof the Tennessee, was playing his old delaying game, trying to stopSherman from ripping up along the coast. And in Virginia the news wasall bad. The world was not spring, but drab winter, the dying winter ofthe Confederacy. 

Wilson's target was Selma and the Confederate arsenal; every man in thearmy knew that. Somehow Bedford Forrest was going to have to interposebetween all the weight of that Yankee hammer and Selma. And he had donethe impossible so often, there was still a chance that he _could_ bringit off. The General had a free hand and his own particular brand ofgenius to back it. 

Drew's fingers were on the front of his short cavalry jacket, pressingagainst the coil of gold cord in his shirt pocket. No, the old manwasn't licked yet; he'd give Wilson and every one of those twenty-seventhousand Yankees a good stiff fight when they came poking their longnoses over the Alabama border!

"He gave you what?" Boyd sat up straighter. His face was thin and nolonger weather-beaten, and he'd lost all of that childish arrogancewhich had so often irritated his elders. In its place was a certainquiet soberness in which the scout sometimes saw flashes of Sheldon. 

Now Drew pulled the cord from his pocket, holding it out for Boyd'sinspection. The younger boy ran it through his fingers wonderingly. 

"General Forrest's!" From it he looked to the faded weatherworn hat Drewhad left on a chair by the door. Boyd caught it up and pulled off theleather string banding its dented crown. Carefully he fitted onForrest'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 itdifficult nowadays to deny Boyd anything, let alone such a harmlessrequest. 

"The first lieutenant comin' along will call me for sportin' a general'sfeathers on a sergeant's head, " he protested. "Nothin' from Cousin Merryyet? Maybe Hansford didn't make it through with my letter. He hasn'tcome back yet. .. . But--"

"Think I'd lie to you about that?" Boyd's eyes held some of the oldblaze as he turned the hat around in his hands. "And what I told you isthe truth. The surgeon said it won't hurt me any to ride with the boyswhen you pull out. General Buford's ordered to Selma and Dr. Cowan'ssister lives there. He has a letter from her sayin' I can rest up at herhouse if I need to. But I won't! I haven't coughed once today, that'sthe honest truth, Drew. And when you go, the Yankees are goin' to movein here. I don't want to go to a Yankee prison, like Anse--"

Drew's shoulders hunched in an involuntary tightening of muscles as hestared straight out of the window at nothing. Boyd had insisted from thefirst that the Texan must be a prisoner. Drew schooled himself into theold shell, the shell of trying not to let himself care. 

"General Buford said I was to ride in one of the headquarters wagons. Heneeds 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 inprotest. 

And some of Boyd's argument made sense. After the command moved out hemight be picked up by a roving Yankee patrol, while Selma was still sofar behind the Confederate lines that it was safe, especially withForrest moving between it and Wilson. 

"Mind you, take things easy! Start coughin' again, and you'll have tostay behind!" Drew warned. 

"Drew, are things really so bad for us?"

The scout came away from the window. "Maybe the General can hold offWilson . .. 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 ofthem desert every day. Men are afraid they'll be sent into the Carolinasto fight Sherman, and they don't want to be so far from home. The womenwrite or get messages through about how hard things are at home. A mancan march with an empty belly for himself and somehow stick it out, butwhen he hears about his children starvin' he's apt to forget all therest. We're whittled 'way down, and there's no way under Heaven ofgettin' 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, justwishin'. The Yankees wouldn't let up even if they crowded us clear backuntil 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 stubbornnessback in his voice. "It ain't goin' to be the end as long as one of uscan ride and hold a carbine! They can have horses and new boots, theirsupplies, and all their men. We ain't scared of any Yankee who ever rodedown the pike! If you yell at 'em now, they'd beat it back the way theycame. "

Drew smiled tiredly. "Guess we're on our way now to do some of thatyellin'. " The end was almost in sight; every trooper in or out of thesaddle knew it. Only some, like Boyd, would not admit it. "Remember whatI say, Boyd. Take it slow and ride easy!"

Boyd picked up Drew's hat again, holding it in the sunlight comingthrough 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 talland you ride proud!"

Drew took the hat from him. Out of the direct sunbeam, the band stillseemed 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 upso those blue bellies can get the shine in their eyes! We'll lam 'emstraight 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 thedefending breastworks of Selma. Everything which could have gone wrongwith Forrest's plans had done just that. A captured courier had givenhis enemies the whole framework of his strategy. Then the cavalry hadtried to hold the blue flood at Bogler's Creek by a tearing franticbattle, whirling Union sabers against Confederate revolvers in the handsof veterans. It had been a battle from which Forrest himself broke freethrough a lane opened by the action of his own weapons and theconcentrated fury of his escort. 

Out of the city had steamed the last train while a stream of civilianrefugees had struggled away on foot, the river patrolled by pickets ofcavalry ordered to extricate every able-bodied man from the throng andpress him into the struggle. Forrest's orders were plain: Every maleable to fight goes into the works, or into the river!

Now Drew and Boyd were with the Kentuckians, forming with Forrest'sescort a small reserve force behind the center of that horseshoe oframparts. Veterans on either flank, and the militia, trusted by none, inthe middle. Thin lines stretched to the limit, so that each dismountedtrooper in that pitiful fortification was six or even ten feet from hisnearest fellow. And gathering under the afternoon sun a mass of blue, avast, endless ocean. .. . 

The enemy was dismounted, too, coming in on a charge as fearless andreckless as any the Confederates had delivered in the past. With thesharpness of one of their own sabers, they slashed out a trotting arc ofmen, cutting at Armstrong's veterans in the earthworks to be curledback 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 thatlong tongue of blue licking out confidently toward the city. This timethere was no stopping the Yankee advance. The reserve neither broke norfollowed the shambling panic-striken flight of the militia, but werepushed back by sheer weight of numbers to the unfinished second line ofthe city's defenses. 

Blue--a full tidal wave of it in front and wedges of blue overlappingthe gray flanks and appearing here and there even to the rear--

Having thrown away his rifle, Drew was now firing with both Colts, neversure any of his bullets found their targets. He stood shoulder toshoulder with Boyd in a dip of half-finished earthwork when the buglecalled again, and down the ragged line of gray snapped an order unheardbefore--

"Get out! Save yourselves!"

Boyd fired, then threw his emptied Colt into the face of a tall manwhose blue coat bore a sergeant's stripes. His own emptied guns placedin their holsters, Drew caught up the carbine the Yankee had dropped. Hegave Boyd a shove. 

"Run!"

They dodged in and out of a swirling mass of fighting men, somehowreaching the line of horse holders. Drew found Croaker standing stolidlywith dragging reins, got into the saddle, and reached down a hand to aidBoyd up behind him. In the early dusk he saw General Forrest--his ownheight and the proportions of his charger King Phillip distinguishableeven in that melee--gathering about him a nucleus of resistance as theybattled toward the city. And Drew headed Croaker in the General'sdirection. 

Boyd pawed at his shoulder as they burst into a street at thebone-shaking gallop which was the mule's fastest gait. A blue-coatedtrooper sat with his back against the paling of a trim white fence, onelax hand still holding the reins of a horse. Drew pulled Croaker up soBoyd could slip down. As he pulled loose the reins the Yankee slidinertly 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 waythrough Selma. Drew was driven by the necessity of catching up. The twoarmies were so mingled now that the wild disorder proved a cover forescaping Confederates. 

Twilight was on them as they hit the Burnsville road, coming into thetail end of the command of men from a dozen or more shattered regiments, companies, and divisions, who had consolidated in some order aboutForrest and his escort. These were all veterans, men tough enough tofight their way out of the city and lucky enough to find their mounts orothers when the order to get out had come. They were part of thestriking force Forrest had built up through months and years--temperedwith his own particular training and spirit--now peeled down to a finalhard core. 

In the darkness their advance tangled with a Union outpost, snapping upprisoners before the bewildered Yankees were aware that they, too, werenot Wilson's men. And the word passed that a Fourth United StatesRegulars' 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 hesaw in the prospect of this small engagement a chance to redeem thefutile shame of those breaking lines at Selma. 

"Not you, suh!"

That protest was picked up, echoed by every man within hearing. Finallythe General yielded to their angry demands that he not expose himself tothe danger of the night attack. 

They moved in around the house, and somehow confidence was restored byfollowing the old familiar pattern of the surprise attack--as if in thissmall action they were again a part of the assured troops who had foughtgunboats from horseback, who had tweaked the Yankees' tails so often. 

Drew and Boyd were part of the detachment sent to approach thefire-lighted horse lot, coming from a different angle than the main bodyof the force. It was the old, old game of letting a dozen do the work offifty. 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, lurchedand caught at the rails as the men he led crawled over or vaulted thatobstruction, overrunning the Union defenders with the vehemence of mendetermined to make up for the failure of the afternoon. It was a sharpskirmish, but one from which they came away with prisoners and a renewedbelief in themselves. Though they did not know it then, they had foughtthe last battle of the war for the depleted regiments of cavalry of theArmy of the Tennessee. The aftertaste of Selma had been bitter, but thesmall, sharp flurry at the Godwin house left them no longer feeling sobitter. 

"Where're we goin'?" Boyd pushed his horse up beside Croaker as theyswung 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 hadbeen finished at Franklin, their cause dead, their hopes dead, everything dead except men who had somehow kept on their feet, withweapons 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. .. . Andmarching backward through weeks, months, and years a long line of men, growing more and more shadowy in memory. Among them was Anse--Drew triednot to think about that. 

Now, out of the dark there suddenly arose a voice, singing. Otherspicked up the tune, one of the army songs. Just as Kirby had sung tothem on the big retreat, so this unknown voice was singing them on towhatever was awaiting at Plantersville. The end was waiting and theywould have to face it, just as they had faced carbine, saber, field gunand everything else the Yankees had brought to bear against them. 

Drew joined in and heard Boyd's tenor, high but on key, take up therefrain:

 "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, butthey 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 alaugh, which could only have come from General Forrest, floating back tohim 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 awayfrom his eyes . .. Was a delicate fingertip touch on Drew's cheek. Asubdued shuffle of feet could be heard as the congregation arose. It wasSunday in Gainesville, and a congregation such as could only havegathered there on this particular May 7, 1865. Rusty gray-brown, patched, and with ill-mended tears, which no amount of painstakingeffort could ever convert again into more than dimly respectableuniforms, a sprinkling of civilian broadcloth and feminine bonnets. Andacross the church a smaller block of once hostile blue. .. . 

As the recessional formed, prayer books were closed to be slipped intopockets or reticules. The presiding celebrate moved down from the altar, his surplice tugged aside by the wandering breeze revealing the worncavalry 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 overthe more decorous hum of the regular church-goers as old memories wererenewed. 

 "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'svoice break, Drew knew that within them both something had loosened. Theapathy which had held them through these past days was going, and theywere 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 tojoin Kirby Smith in Texas, and some had even gone before the officialsurrender of Confederate forces east of the Mississippi three daysearlier. But when General Forrest elected to accept Yankee terms, mostof the men followed his example. Back at camp they were making out theparoles on the blanks furnished by the Union Command, but so far noYankee had appeared in person. The cavalry were to retain their horsesand mules, and whole companies planned to ride home together toTennessee and Kentucky. Drew and Boyd could join one of those. 

As they moved toward the church door now three of the Union soldiers whohad attended the service were directly ahead of them in the aisle. Boydcaught urgently at Drew's arm. 

"Those spurs--look at his spurs!" He pointed to the heels of the middleYankee. Sunlight made those ornate disks of silver very bright. Drew'sbreath caught, and he took a long stride forward to put his hand on theblue coat's shoulder. The man swung around, startled, to face him. 

"Suh, where did you get those spurs?" Drew's tone carried the note ofone who expected to be answered promptly--with the truth. 

The Yankee had straight black brows which drew together in a frown as hestared 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 anyweapon there, and no need for one now. He regained control. 

"It's this much my business, suh. Those spurs are Mexican. They weretaken from a Mexican officer at Chapultepec, and the last time I sawthem they were worn by a very good friend of mine who's been missingsince February! I'd like very much indeed to know just how and where yougot them. "

Lifting one booted foot, the Yankee studied the spurs as if they hadsomehow changed their appearance. When his eyes came back to meet Drew'shis frown was gone. 

"Reb, I bought these from a fella in another outfit, 'bout two or threeweeks ago. He was on sick leave and was goin' home. I gave him good hardcash 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 oneside, a Confederate captain from the other. 

"No, suh, " Drew replied quickly. "I just recognized a pair of spurs thistrooper 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'tknow where he got 'em. "

"Satisfied, soldier?" the officer asked Drew. 

"Yes, suh. " Before he could add another word the major was shepherdinghis men away. 

"I'm sorry. " The Confederate captain shook his head. "Pity he didn'thave any more definite information for you. " He glanced at Drew's setface. "But, Sergeant, the news wasn't all bad--"

"No, suh. Only Anse never would have parted with those while he wasalive 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 foundby our men, but he wasn't. There was just a chance he might have beentaken prisoner. "

"Men'll be comin' back from their prisons now. What's his name andcompany, Sergeant? I'll ask around. "

"Anson Kirby. He was with Gano's Texans under Morgan, and then hetransferred with me into General Buford's Scouts. He's about nineteen ortwenty, has reddish hair and a scar here--" With a forefinger Drewtraced a line from the left corner of his mouth to his left temple. "Hewas shot in the left shoulder pretty bad when we were separated. "

The captain nodded. "I'll keep a lookout. A lot of Texans pass throughhere on their way home. "

"Thank you, suh. Should you have any news, I'd be obliged to hear it. Myname's Drew Rennie, suh, and you can address a message care of theBarrett's, Oak Hill. That's in Fayette County, Kentucky. "

But the chance of ever receiving any such news was, Drew thought, veryimprobable. That afternoon when he tried to find Boyd, he, too, wasmissing and none of the headquarters company knew where the boy hadgone. 

"Ain't pulled out though, " Webb assured. "Said as how you two wereplannin' to head north with the Kaintuck boys right after the old mansays good-bye. Guess I'll trail 'long with you for a spell. You gottacross Tennessee to git to Kaintuck. "

"Goin' home, Will?"

"Guess so. Heard tell as how they burned out m' old man. Dunno, thattheah's sure hard-scrabble ground; we never did make us a good crop onit. 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, GeneralWatie and the Union 'Pins' raidin' back and forth. They'll need schoolsthough, 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 tosee 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 saddlebagsslung over one shoulder, under his arm the haversack for rations whichnormally hung from any forager's saddle horn. He dropped them by thefire 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. Thattrooper 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 isfootin' it home. I guess I can cross two little states without itfinishin' me off--leastwise I reckon anyone who has toughened it outwith General Forrest can do that much. "

Drew turned the spurs around in hands which were a little shaky. "We gotCroaker, and we'll take turns ridin'. No, two states ain't too far for acouple of troopers, specially if they have them a good stout mule intothe bargain!"

 * * * * *

A hot copper sun turned late Kentucky May into August weeks ahead ofseason. Thunder muttered sullenly beyond the horizon. And a breezepicked 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 theweaving figure on the other side of the mule with dull concern. Theywere steadying themselves by a tight grip on the stirrups, and Croakerwas supporting and towing them, rather than their steering him. 

Boyd's head lifted. "Ride yourself!" He got a ghost of his old defianceinto that, though his voice was hardly more than a harsh croak ofwhisper. "I ain't givin' in now!"

He leased his stirrup hold, staggering forward a step or two, and wouldhave gone face-down on the turnpike if Drew had not made a big effort toreach him. But the other's weight bore him along, and they both sprawledon the road. Croaker came to a halt, his head hanging until he couldhave nuzzled Drew's shoulder. 

They had made a brave start from Alabama, keeping up with the companythey joined until they were close to the Kentucky-Tennessee border. Thena blistered heel had forced Drew into the rider's role for two days, andthey had fallen behind. The rations they had drawn had been stretched asfar as they would go. Even though there were people along the waywilling to feed a hungry soldier, there were too many hungry soldiers. The farther north they traveled there was also a growing number ofplaces where a blue coat might be welcome, but a gray one stillsignified "enemy. "

Drew moved, and raised Boyd's head and shoulders to his knee. If hecould summon enough energy to reach the canteen hanging from Croaker'ssaddle. .. . Somehow he did, recklessly spilling a cupful of its contentson Boyd's face, and turning road dust into flecks of mud which freckledthe gaunt cheeks. 

"Ain't goin' t' ride--" Boyd's eyes opened and he took up the argumentagain. 

"Well, " Drew lashed out, "I can't carry you! Or do you expect to bedragged?"

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 weaklypanting, Boyd was mounted and they started their slow crawl once more. 

"Drew!"

He raised his head. Boyd had straightened in the saddle and was pointingahead, though his outstretched hand was shaking. "We made it--there'shome!"

Beyond was the green of trees, a whole line of trees curving along agravel carriage drive. But somehow Drew could not match Boyd's joy. Hewas tired, so tired that he was aware of nothing really but the achingweariness of his body. 

They turned into the drive, the gravel crunching into his holed bootswhile 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 thenanother. His gaze finally came to a broad veranda . .. To someone who hadbeen sitting there and who was now on her feet, staring wide-eyed backat the three of them. Then the gravel came up in a wave and he wasswallowed up in it and darkness--

The sun, warm through the window, awoke a glint of reflection from thetop of the chest of drawers where rested a round cord of bullion withtwo tassels and a pair of fancy spurs. The wink of light was reflectedagain 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. Herhand was in the middle of Drew's back, gathering up a good pleating oflinen, 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 anypadding 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 glassabove his shoulder. 

"Oh, I'm not too bad with a needle. Did you note those neat patches onmy 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 cornerof the door--"Majuh Forbes and Missus Forbes--they's downstairs. "

Drew faced away from the mirror. "Why?" he demanded with almost hostileemphasis. 

Meredith Barrett untied the strings of her sewing apron. "Hetty, tellMam Gusta to set out some of the English biscuits and make tea. " Thenshe turned back to face Drew. "Why, Drew? Rather--why not? They're yourkin, and I think that Marianna feels it deeply that you came here andnot to Red Springs. Not to go home. .. . "

"Home?" There was heat in that. "You, if anyone, know that Red Springswas 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 grandfatherwanted the place to be just Aunt Marianna's, didn't he?" He paused bythe 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 aslightly tarnished cord from a general's hat, a pair of spurs a youngTexan had jauntily worn. 

But it _was_ a lifetime. He was not a boy any more, to have to endurehis elders making decisions for him. His future was his own, and he hadearned 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 himwith concern. 

"Please, Drew, you mustn't allow yourself to be so bitter--"

"Bitter? About Red Springs, you mean? Lord, I never wanted the place. Ihate every brick of it, and I think I always have. But I don't hateForbes or Aunt Marianna if that's what you're afraid of. It's just thatI have no place there any more. "

Her mouth tightened. "But you have! You owe it to Marianna to listen toher 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 isnone of your affair. Come with me, Drew!"

He picked up a borrowed coat, also much too wide for him, pulled it onover the bunchiness of his shirt, and followed her, swallowing what heknew to be a useless protest. 

The parlor was as bright with sun as the upper room had been. As Drewentered a pace or two behind Cousin Merry, the officer in blue strodeaway from the hearth to meet them. But Aunt Marianna forestalled herhusband's greeting, rising suddenly from a chair, her crinoline rustlingacross the carpet. She held out her hands, and then hesitated, studyingDrew's face, looking a little daunted, as if she had expected somethingshe did not find. The assurance she had displayed at their last meetingon the Lexington road was missing. 

"Drew?"

He bowed, conscious that he must present an odd figure in theill-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 thrustDrew into the past, or so he believed. The major might almost beconsidering Drew an unruly schoolboy now safely out of some scrape, welcome indeed if he would settle down quietly into the conventionalmold of Oak Hill or Red Springs. But he was no schoolboy, and at thatmoment the parlor of Oak Hill, for all its luxury and warmth, was a boxsealing 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 himnow no better than his coat. But he answered civilly:

"Thank you, suh. "

His proper courtesy apparently reassured his aunt. She came to him, herhands 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 authorityinto that denial. "I do not and never did agree with many of AlexanderMattock's decisions. I do so even less when they pertain to yoursituation, my boy. You have every right to consider Red Springs yourhome. You must come to us, resume your interrupted education, take yourproper 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. Hemight be slowly realizing that he was not fronting a repentant schoolboyrescued from a piece of regrettable youthful folly. A veteran was beingforced against his will to recognize the stamp of his own experience onanother, if much younger, man. 

"What are your plans?" he asked in another tone of voice entirely. 

"Drew--" Major Forbes waved aside that tentative interruption fromCousin Merry. 

"I don't know. But I can't stay here. " That much he was sure of, OakHill, Red Springs, all of this was no longer necessary to him any morethan 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 wasno reason why he could not go looking, even if he could not give a nameto the object of such a search. "I might go west. It's all new outthere, a good place to start on my own. "

There was a catch of breath from Aunt Marianna. The look she gave CousinMerry 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 foundsome letters among your grandfather's papers after his death. Yourfather wasn't killed; he was in a Mexican prison during the war. When heescaped and returned to Texas, your grandfather had already been thereand taken your mother away. Hunt Rennie was too ill to followimmediately. Before he had recovered enough to travel, he was informedhis wife was dead, and he was allowed to believe that you died withher--at birth. "

"But why?" Alexander Mattock had disliked, even hated his grandson. Sowhy should he have lied to keep Drew with him at Red Springs?

"Because of Murray, " Cousin Merry said slowly, sadly. "It was a cruelthing to do, so cruel. Alexander Mattock was a hard man. He couldn'tbear opposition; it made him go close to the edge of sanity, I trulybelieve. I know we are not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but Ican't forgive him for what he did to those two. Melanie and Hunt were soyoung, young and in love. And your Uncle Murray deliberately pushed thatquarrel 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 despairedof. Your grandfather swore out a warrant against Hunt for attemptedmurder! So he and Melanie ran away. They were so pitifully young!Melanie was just sixteen and Hunt two years older, though he seemed aman, having lived such a hard life on the frontier. They went back toTexas, 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 reportedkilled, his father, too. And she was left all alone with distant kin oftheirs. So your grandfather went down to fetch her home. I'll alwaysbelieve he really wanted to punish her for going against his will. Shedied--" 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! Hewas a hard man. .. . " Cousin Merry faced Aunt Marianna with her chin up asif daring the other to object what she'd just said. 

Drew returned to the news he still found difficult to believe. "So myfather's alive, Major. Well, that gives me some place to go--Texas. .. . "

"Hunt Rennie's not in Texas. " Cousin Merry spoke with such certaintythat all three of them gave her their full attention. 

"I married Jefferson Barrett six months after Melanie eloped. We went toEurope then for almost two years of traveling. Part of our mail musthave been lost. Hunt surely wrote to me! He liked Jefferson in spite ofthe differences in their ages. If I had only had the chance to tell himthe truth about you, Drew. But I never knew he was alive either. Youremember 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 NewMexico territories with General Johnston to enlist in the Confederateforces. A month ago he came back here and he called to tell me he sawHunt in Arizona in '61. He had a horse-and-cattle ranch there, also somemining holdings. "

"Drew"--Aunt Marianna caught his arm--"you won't be so foolish as to goout into that horrible wilderness hunting a man who doesn't even knowyou're alive--who's a perfect stranger to you? You must be sensible. Weknow that Father's will was very unjust, and we are not going to abideby its terms--half of Red Springs will be yours. "

Gently Drew released himself from her hold. "Maybe Hunt Rennie doesn'tknow I exist; maybe we won't even like each other if and when we domeet--I don't know. But Red Springs ain't my kind of world any more. AndI 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 speechhad registered with the major. 

"You're not goin' to start out this very afternoon, are you?" Forbesasked. 

Drew relaxed and laughed a little self-consciously, knowing that hisuncle had ceded him the victory in this first skirmish. 

"No, suh. You know, I brought two things home from the army--and one ofthem was a pair of Texas spurs. A mighty good man wore those. You'd haveto ride proud and tall in the saddle to match him. I told him once I wasgoin' to see Texas, and he said there was nothing to make a man stay onthe range where he had been born. Since I've always wanted to know whatkind of a man Hunt Rennie was--is--now maybe I'm goin' to do just that. "

 * * * * *

BY ANDRE NORTON

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EDITED BY ANDRE NORTON

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