Contents
1. Guns in the Night
3. On the Run--
4. Horse Trade
7. A Mule for a River
8. 9. One More River To Cross
10. 11. Disaster
14. A cavalry scout was wary, or he ceased
to be a scout, or maybe even alive. In the army, the past did not
matter at all if one did one's job well. But he had his orders--horses for General Morgan, horses and information
to feed back to that long column of men riding or trudging westward on
booted, footsore feet up the trail through the Virginia mountains on the
way home to Kentucky. Not in Kentucky, or anywhere else! And the motive for his final flight from there had only provided
an added aggravation for his grandfather. Drew clung to his somewhat black thoughts as he made
his way to the pasture. There had been plenty of good clothing--the right sort for a Mattock
grandson--and the usual bounteous table set by hospitable Kentucky
standards. But it had made of Drew a rebel long before he
tugged on the short gray shell jacket of a Confederate cavalryman. Drew's puzzlement was complete. Not Sheldon, of course,
but who? "Drew!" "Sure, I'm Boyd. Drew holstered the revolver. he asked casually. "Some," Boyd answered. Drew moved toward the roan's picket rope. One took no chances. "Well, he's been sick for so long.... "Uncle Murray ... Boyd nodded. Drew thought of Uncle Murray
swept away by time and the chances of war as so many others--and no
emotion stirred within him. Drew laughed. Me, I'm goin' to join General Morgan now. Where's the General now, Drew?" "Movin' fast. If
I'm taken, it's not good. I have to ride light and fast, and this is
duty I've been trained to do. He gestured to
his shirt and breeches. "No blue bellies could drop on us," Boyd pushed. I could get us
through quicker'n you can, yourself. Drew challenged. "You know I didn't,
and you also know why. He needs men. When a man
goes to war ... well, he takes his chances. Shelly did at Chickamauga. "That's up to you." Slinging his carbine, Drew mounted Shawnee. "Rennie, Bruce,
Croxton ... give them cover!" The
streets were quiet enough, too quiet. Drew had a glimpse of a
blue-uniformed arm above it. "They say, 'No surrender.'" Quirk rounded up the scouts. Drew watched the mounts being led down the lane. And he was not tempted now to strip
his saddle off Shawnee and transfer to any one of the princes of equine
blood passing him by. "You, Rennie!" "Yes, sir." The day was warm. Drew edged Shawnee out
of cover and then quickly holstered his weapon, riding out to bring to a
halt the carriage horse between the shafts of an English dogcart. "Good mornin', Aunt Marianna." "Drew!" "At your service, ma'am." Why did you do it, Drew? If he
ran away, it was his own doin'." He smiled tiredly. She flushed. "Drew, why did you go? "I don't know." Again she flushed. "It was a long time ago when it all
happened. I was just a little girl. And Father, well, he has very strong
prejudices. Drew was certain that nothing Marianna Forbes
could do was going to lead Boyd Barrett back home again. "He's been restless all spring," his aunt continued. Only the waste, the sinful waste! Can't you ... "I don't know." "I'll
try," he promised vaguely. She looked
disturbed, almost embarrassed. "We don't get much time for sleep when the General's
on the prod. He gathered up his reins. "I'm sorry." And he was, he told himself, sorry for
Aunt Marianna, who had to stay at Red Springs now, and even a little in
an impersonal way for the old man, who must find inactivity a worse
prison than any stone-walled room. "Yes. Pursing his own lips, he answered. "I have to go. I'll do what I can." Drew shrugged. "Might be a warm reception waitin' us there. he observed. You
comin', Rennie?" The signs could be read, and as Drew spurred along
that faltering line of march late that night, carrying a message, he
felt a creeping chill which was not born of the night wind nor a warning
of swamp fever. Then, suddenly, the
old miracle came. The Union troops fell back,
firing still, making their way into the railroad cut. Now the river was
a part defense for them. Drew ran, panting, his boots slipping and scraping on the grass as he
dodged around prone men who still moved, or others who lay only too
still. A horse reared, snorted, and was pulled down to four feet again. He went back, trying to locate Boyd, but to no purpose. Sam's hand went up. "Those ain't any guns of ours." Men and horses were struggling, dying in the river. "Drew!" Boyd called. "Drew!" "I'll stick,"
the words came thickly. "Boyd ... on his other side! "Yes, Drew." He was young and as whipcord thin and tough as most of those over-weary
men from the badgered and now broken command, but he was not tense,
riding rather with the easy adjustment to the quickened pace of a man
more at home in the saddle than on foot. So summoned, the youngster reined in to wait for them. You, too!" the scout asked. "There's a house--back there." It was plain that Croxton could not ride on, not
at the pace they would have to maintain in order to outdistance pursuit;
nor could he be left to shift for himself. "Hey, those mules!" the other echoed. Kirby looked back down the road. "Hullo, the house!" he called. It was Jim Dandy, himself. "Mr. Dandy--" Drew walked his horse on, Croxton sagging in his hold, his
weight a heavy pull on his bearer's tired arms--"do you remember me? Drew Rennie, of Red Springs." "Nobody's takin' hosses," the Texan answered. So--"
Boyd pushed up. "Mr. Dandy, you know me--Boyd Barrett. And this _is_
Drew Rennie. We have Yankees after us. I don't
want to know." Drew glanced at his two companions. Boyd was without any weapons, and Kirby had only side arms. If Sam was
able to ride soon, he would need those. "You keep 'em--for him." Cuts off about a mile." "Obliged to you, suh. Now he grinned. Kirby chuckled. "I'm jus' a poor little Texas boy, suh. "How?" Boyd asked eagerly. There
was nothing in Boyd's clothing or equipment to suggest that he had been
a part of the now scattered raiders. "No thanks for your help." Drew frowned at Kirby, then turned to Boyd
again. "No, I can't take you back now. Drew had already caught on. "Well, now, let's see." Kirby looked down at his own gear, then
critically inspected Drew and Boyd in turn. Drew, from past experience,
knew that. His only hesitation was Boyd. It was already too late. "It has been done, kid," the Texan affirmed. "That ought to be easy." Boyd was disconcerted, but he clung doggedly to his belief. Drew laughed dryly. We ran. They fight just as hard and as long, and most of
them just as tough as we do. he warned. "Rennie, Private, Quirk's Scouts," Drew reported himself. "Kirby,
Private, Gano's." "Barrett's a volunteer," Drew explained. This was no time to clarify
Boyd's exact status. the Texan asked. Campbell laughed. "You might call it that, Kirby. Kirby turned his horse into the pike. Best plan for now, anyway. And the more men we can pick up, the
better." Kirby assented. "You give the orders, Cap'n,
suh. "Some, but it's been almost three years since I was here. "I'm hungry," Boyd said, approaching Drew. "Here." "That's the best
you'll get for a while." It's a
piece of rock." Holding it gingerly, he came
back to his horse. "All right." The other sounded as if he meant it,
as if he were swearing the oath of allegiance to the regiment. A few days on the run, and Boyd would probably quit. Kirby laughed in the gray dawn. Men were
moving, falling into line. "It could work, Cap'n," the trooper urged. It's worth a try, suh...."
"Rennie!" So summoned, Drew reported to their new commander. "Yes, suh. "Yes, suh. "Then he'd know you." "So Rennie heah could be one of our prisoners, suh. "Could be. And it might work. Kirby was in the prisoner's section, and it was plain he did
not relish a role which meant that he had to strip himself of weapons. "Right neighborly, amigo," Kirby observed. Drew was continually either reining him in or urging him
on. "He ain't no
rockin'-chair hoss, that's for sure. "I might
do just that." Drew agreed. "Lost my horse back at the river," he said briefly. Kirby was sincerely sympathetic. M'pa, he started him a spread down
Pecos way. Won two or three races, that stud did. Called him Kiowa. One mare, I 'member--she was a natcherel pacer. Well, you might say as how Comanches happened. "We're goin' into
the McKeever place. Campbell laughed. "Noted, Kirby. "That's Mr. McKeever." "No reason not, suh. Glad,
always glad to entertain our boys." "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. Look pretty well beat." How 'bout it, kid? There were dark
smudges under his closed eyes, hardly to be told from the smears of dirt
on his round cheeks, but there. An' it sits on your
tongue as easy as a fly on a mule's ear, too. "I've had about enough," Drew said quietly. And I don't think you can do that,
Drew Rennie. "He's got you on a stand-off, I'd say," Kirby remarked. "Yes, suh?" Boyd was on his feet now, making his manners with the speed
of one harboring a guilty conscience. "I'm with General Morgan, Mr. McKeever." "General Morgan ain't no ... no unprincipled ruffian!" "Yeah," Kirby drawled. "Them's pretty harsh words, suh. "Yes, suh." Boyd grinned. "He did help me," he observed. Kirby laughed. Look's like you've been
outfought this time, Rennie." Drew threw himself back under the tree. Drew laughed, but Boyd did not appear amused. "I was there once. "Remember enough to find your way around?" "I don't know, suh. "We're going to
collect some arms, I hope. Drew understood. "As far as the Yankees in Bardstown may know, General Morgan could be
headed their way right now with a regiment. I don't think they've had
time yet to learn just how badly we were scattered back there by the
Licking River. It was risky, but no more risky than bluffs he had seen work before. And
they did need the weapons. "I'll do it, suh." Hills then, and among them Bardstown. "You, suh." It was the coachman who hailed Drew. "General Morgan's compliments, ladies," he said, loud enough for his
words to carry beyond the vehicle to the townspeople gathering on the
walk. "Flag of truce comin' in, ma'am." "Yes, ma'am. "Maybe, ma'am. "Straight ahead," the girl answered. Kirby did not have a hat to doff, but his bow in the saddle was as
graceful as Drew's. ... "No offense meant, ma'am. "The inn, young men, is on down the street. In the
way of Yankees...."
"We generally do, ma'am," Kirby commented. Drew laughed. "That's the proper way of layin' it out--the inn an' _then_ business. "Sure," Driscoll repeated. Kirby chuckled. "Strut it up, roosters," he urged from the corner of his
mouth. They expect us to be on the peck, all horns an' rattles. "Yes, sir!" The boy started for the door, but he was too late. "Who ... are ... "Flag from General Morgan," Drew repeated. "But, but Morgan was defeated ... at Cynthiana. "The General has been reported defeated
before, suh. No, he's right here outside Bardstown. Kirby was willing to be generous. "General Morgan," Drew remarked to the company at large, "is not a
patient man. But it's your decision, suh. If you want to make a fight of
it." He shrugged. The Union detachment in town were to stack their arms in the square,
leaving in addition their rations. "This is where we move fast. You all know what to do." But much had to be left to chance. "I came back
a little while ago, and nobody's seen him." "Yeah." "Not if his bay turns up with one of them on top," Drew replied. "No, maybe it ain't. Kirby was reading sign on the other side of the road. "Turned off not too long ago," Drew commented. Good cover for trouble. The other two
troopers must have tricked Boyd into taking that way; maybe they had
even put a revolver on him once they were off the road. "You ain't!" Drew ran, his arm up to shield his face from the whip of branches. He
came out at a small stream. Drew's Colt was pointed at Hilders. "Get goin'," the scout ordered. There were a good many in that hunted column who would see that in
the same light as Hilders and Cambridge did and would say so, with the
weight of public opinion to back them. It was the younger boy
who spoke first. "You ain't goin' to try to ride him now, Drew!" Drew thought that Shawnee's end had put the last bit of
steel over his feelings, but he had to agree with Boyd now: no one with
any humanity could make the gelding carry so much as a blanket over that
back, let alone saddle and rider. I'll walk this one a while. I ride light." Drew shook his head. "Not that light," he commented dryly. She stopped
short to stare at Drew. He took off his
hat. "I need a horse, ma'am." He said it bluntly, impatiently. She accused. "Don't you think I know it?" he returned abruptly. "That's why I have to
have another mount." It was full of eggs. she snapped. "There's only King in there," she said. Drew hesitated. If he could back this one even
as far as Calhoun tomorrow--or the next day--he might be able to make a
better exchange in town. "Too much so, maybe. We'll see." "Makes like a horny one on the prod," commented the Texan. "The boys are plannin' 'em a high old time," Driscoll announced. "Calhoun--that's what I mean, sonny." "The town's not very big," Drew observed. They
won't be too choosy. If you want to load
up, better git into town early. asked Kirby. "He ain't deaf. Kirby was sober. The
Yankees do it too. "Thanks for the tip," Drew cut in. "We take it kindly." Yankee crackers are right good, too. "So far no trouble," Drew remarked. Boyd exploded, outraged. "I'll keep a lookout in town. There were more plans laid for the taking of Calhoun as the hours passed
and the harried company plodded or spurred--depending upon the nature of
the countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their general
state of energy at the time--southwest across the length of Kentucky. He was so tired that
the effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed,
fought over selections, was too much to face. Spreading it out, he offered it to the man beside
him. he asked wearily. The sneer faded. He reached out, closed the scout's fingers
tight over the money. "That's just wastepaper here, son. "These look about your size. You might as well have them. Kirby was stripped to the waist, using a towel freely sopped in a large
basin to make his toilet. He was staring, appalled,
into the stretch of mirror confronting him, unable to believe that the
face reflected there was his own. Boyd was already balancing a bigger sack, full to the top. "Hey, you--Rennie!" "Hart, here, comes from Cadiz. "No,
suh." We still
have a long way to go, and Union currency could help. We take army funds
only. "It's up to you, Rennie. "I'll go." "You'll move out as soon as possible. Drew doubted that. "I'll need couriers," he said
aloud. "Kirby and Barrett. "All right, Kirby and Barrett. The other trooper nodded, picked up a set of extra horseshoes, and went
out of the smithy. "Scout, yes. South of here. "No time for shadin' in this man's war," Kirby observed. He made it an order. There had been no
chance to leave Boyd in Calhoun. Kirby wanted to know. Drew asked Hart. The other laughed. "Not much, it ain't. "Some." Drew barely kept
his seat. "Passin' through, suh. He had no wish to ride such an animal into a picket
skirmish. "You there," Drew hailed the driver. "Yes, suh." The man gave a nod, which might have been for some thought of his own. "Yes, suh. "Not for a while, suh." "May I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen. "Drew
Rennie, suh. "Ably, suh, ably!" He raised his
half-filled glass. "To your very good health, suh. Pryor bowed. he asked. "The Cumberland, suh, is not apt to give you much trouble." But General Morgan is not to
be easily caught napping, or so his reputation stands. "Nothing," Hale returned quickly. There is
little enough we can do, but this is something." "There's a boy here with a
mule; he says it's for you." Pryor put down his glass. "It's Hannibal. "Hannibal's dam was Dido,
a fine trotting mare. He's an excellent mount." He was a big animal, groomed until his gray coat shone under the sun,
wearing a well rubbed and oiled saddle and trappings. Hart called. 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. Hart did look worried, and Drew was
alert. he asked. Kirby looked from one to the other. Boyd was completely at a loss. "Me, I'm never one to argue with local talent, specially if they wear
their Colts low and loose. Drew nodded. Here the Tennessee was a flood, a narrow lake more than a river. "It's wide," he said in a subdued voice. "Need us some fish fixin's heah," he agreed. he asked the
other two. There had been ponds at home where both of them in childhood had paddled
about with most of the young male populations of Red Springs and Oak
Hill. "Some." "Me, I'm not sayin' yet," Kirby commented. Kirby stood watching the first attempt, his face blank of expression, a
sign Drew had come to recognize as the Texan's withdrawal from a
situation or action of which he did not approve. There were five men
squeezed together on the flimsy-looking raft and they had strung out
their mounts in a line, the head of one horse linked by leading rope to
the tail of the one before him. Drew asked Kirby. "Maybe, only hosses don't think like men. Boyd was grinning. "But I wasn't. And the horse's all right, too." "There's trouble on the other side. Drew was so tired that words were too much trouble to shape. He nodded
dully. "He's plumb mean," the guardian informed Drew. echoed Kirby. In contrast, there were no clouds in the sky,
and the sun promised to be a ball of brass very soon. The other had kept up the grueling
pace which had brought the fugitives across half of Kentucky, all of
Tennessee, and into this new eddy of war, making no complaint after his
first harsh introduction to action--which might be in part an adventure,
but which was mostly something to be endured--with the dogged
stubbornness of a seasoned veteran. Laswell ... Townstead ... no, Clinton! Tom Clinton. Then ... Boyd! Drew edged forward a little, trying to see better. If it were Boyd, he
had to wrench him out of that line and get the boy back. Somewhere, through the pound of the artillery, a bugle blared. Slowly at first, they were on the move. A man went
down before him, stumbling. The line came on at a run. Drew was on his feet. A man beside Drew whooped, threw his hat into the air. It was not until afterward that rumor seeped
out through the ranks; it had not been Forrest's kind of battle, not his
plan. It was Driscoll who hailed him. Drew asked. "Standish, he's dead. He was kneeling by a man on the
ground, a canteen in his hand. Drew lurched forward. He was so sure that that inert casualty was Boyd,
and that Boyd was dead. "He got it--out there." "He was right beside
me. Boyd had been in the first line, and he
was still out there. Kirby spoke so closely to his ear that the
words were a roaring in his head. Men were moving
around him, and horses. Why? He had a mule, didn't he? Back in the horse lines. Boyd was out on that littered field,
and Drew was going to bring him in. "All right!" Drew was ready to resist, but now his own eyes confirmed that. He was not the only one hunting through the human wreckage
tonight. "I've talked to Johnson," Kirby said. The call came out of the dark, out of the wall hiding the Yankee forces. "One, one of yours--he's been callin' out some ... to your left
now." Kirby held up the lantern. Drew knew that flushed and swollen
face in spite of its distortion; they had found what they had been
searching for. "Sun, maybe." "I'll mount Hannibal. Drew said. Boyd's head, still rolling back and forth, moved
now against Drew's sound shoulder. "Thanks, Yankee!" Kirby asked. "Yes. I just remembered." He must
have help. My, my, lookit them millin' round down
theah. "We'll do something when the General gets here," Drew promised. "Yes, an' this heah General Forrest, too. "M' father was a Texan," Drew said suddenly. "Oh, I wasn't born there. "Sure. "Took 'em
away from a Mex officer, personal. "My father wasn't too young, and he drew his wages permanent. Drew smiled, this time mirthlessly. "Just so. And he was pretty young and kind of wild. "Yes. Kirby chuckled. "She died when I was born. "You might see it that way. But General Forrest, he's still
toughenin' it out. Kirby was drawing a bead on a shaking bush. "All the better. We can get the work done here, quick." Kirby got to his feet and stretched. Drew unwound his own lanky length
to join the other. "Rennie, we'll move on down there and see if we can pick
up any information." But it had not bogged down Bedford Forrest. And Forrest was also on the move. As for the change in commands, Drew was content. Men were dying,
dead ... and maybe a cause was dying, too. "They are on
the run, all right. If they do, we'll smoke them out. "The boys are havin' themselves a time." "There's a
picket up there...."
Kirby's gaze followed the other's pointing finger. The Union lines broke under those shock waves; men ran for the town
behind them. "Me, I like mine strong enough to rest a
horseshoe on ... gentlelike." "Yankees are obligin', one way or another." Drew licked his fingers
appreciatively. "I've missed
sweetenin'." "Wheah to now, Sarge? "Huntsville. "Heard talk," Wilkins admitted. All right." Kirby was energetically
fanning the top of his steaming cup with his free hand. "Try downriver, boys. Drew asked. "Best we're goin' to find. And if time's runnin' out, we'll be glad to
have it. Rennie, report in. "Yes, suh." Forrest studied it. You boys
picket it. "Yes, suh." 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. "Yeah. "So--"
Drew's Colt was already out, Kirby's carbine at ready. Then he balanced where he stood, glaring toward the bow of
the boat. A lieutenant was there, his hands empty. "Wheah's your oar, Mistuh?" If I have
to knock you over again, you can just stay in. Squinting his smarting eyes against the sun's glare, Drew sat
up. Boyd squatted by his side, a folded sheet of paper in his hand. he asked rustily. "Mother. He was a big man, in many ways a great and
honorable man. Do not, Drew, reproach
yourself for my son's headstrong conduct. I know Boyd's
stubbornness. 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. Drew laughed. He found General Buford now and reported. "A signal system, suh. I
have only three left." "Yes, suh," Drew accepted it with respect. "Yes. It was almost evening, and Drew did not expect any night travel. "No fire here." Coffee-berry
eyes.... "We still have a war on our hands here," Drew reminded him. Texas, where he had almost
been born, Hunt Rennie's Texas. A big wild land, an
outlaws' land. Yes, Drew had to admit he wanted to
see Texas. "Not that I know about." There had been no use asking any questions of his grandfather or of
Uncle Murray. Odd that Cousin
Merry had been so reticent, too. He had no idea in which part of that sprawling
republic-become-a-state the Rennies might have been born and bred. Drew watched the river. "You know, seein' some of the prices on this heah
sutlers' stuff, I'm thinkin' somebody's sure gittin' rich on this war. It ain't nobody I know, though." "Hi!" countered Drew. Smoke, then flame, tore holes in those piles of goods. It was a wild scene,
giving the command plenty of light by which to fall back into the
country they still dominated. "Maybe he could," Drew agreed. Drew called to the men laboring at the stalled wagon. Boyd cried out. "And they are
tryin' to dig out the Yankees." "You ain't tellin' me nothin', soldier, that I don't know or ain't
already heard." "We'll show you where." "All right. We're comin'." The Union command had not been safely bottled up at Spring
Hill. It was risky but sure was
fast. "No, you ain't! They may look good, but they ain't much. It was wild and tough, the slam of man meeting man. Murfreesboro was strongly garrisoned by the enemy, too strong to be
stormed. Drew knew he was already dead. There had been no way of bringing the sergeant's body out of
town, and Drew had reported the death to Lieutenant Traggart, who
officered the scouts. Drew downed the mass avidly. Kirby was beside him again, a steaming tin
cup ready. When Kirby did not answer, Drew's head lifted. "Ovah theah." "What's the matter, boy?" "Got ... me ... sniffles." You there, Shelly?" When he
returned, Weatherby was with him. "I'm hungry, Shelly. "Fever." "Yes." Drew knew that much. "There's a farmhouse two miles that way." Drew demanded. "Yes. You tell the lieutenant, and
we'll go there." Kirby was back again before they had rigged a blanket stretcher between
two horses. "We can boil it," Kirby suggested. "There's a well out there." Boyd was asleep, or at least Drew hoped it was sleep. But he hadn't coughed for some
time, and Drew began to hope. If he could have a quiet day or two here,
he might be all right. Drew
stiffened. His whisper was a thread. Boyd asked again. "Drew?" This was no
Union trooper. "Don't you go gittin' no ideas,
sonny. Make it fast, too, boy. "What's th' matter wi' him?" "He's sick," Drew returned. The big man grinned. "Shore, sonny, shore. We is Union ... scouts ...
Union scouts." "An' you is
Rebs, which makes you our prisoners. So he's sick, eh? "I don't know." "Petey ain't seen any, jus' two horses." "Wai, tell him to look round some more. An' you kin come in, Jas'. Drew shook his head. He was younger than
his two companions, younger and more tidy. Deserter, thought Drew. "Drew?" The big man's grin faded. His big boot came out, caught Drew's leg in a
vicious prod. "He's dead." "Dead, eh? "Shelly's dead." Kirby ... Weatherby
... "Might be so," Jas' remarked. "Two horses, two men. The big man held Drew tight to the wall and cuffed him
with his other hand. Dazedly, his head ringing, Drew slipped to the
floor as the other released him. he ordered. he added. he asked. The big man laughed. Jas' laughed. Most of 'em are poorer'n dirt." Jas' spun in a half crouch, his rifle coming up. Kirby stood in the doorway, a Colt in each hand. "They got Petey," Simmy gabbled. Kirby ordered. "I'll scout." Of the three, he seemed the likeliest to talk. Simmy stared up at him, bewildered. Kirby did not scowl, he did not even touch the little man. he cried. "That's what I said, little man. he stuttered. Drew thought he was trying
to produce a crumb of defiance. Kirby repeated. Drew was suddenly sick. He saw Kirby's lips set into a thin line. "No, the cap'n said to meet here tonight." Boyd suddenly moved in his cocoon of blankets, struggling to sit up, and
Drew went to him. The liquid in the pot on the fire was
cooked by now. "Th' doc'll come," Kirby murmured. "Croff promised to guide him heah. "If you went back to camp, gave the alarm. Kirby grunted. "Weatherby's out there. "You keep your eyes peeled, amigo. "I know." "I've some precautions in mind." See you." Kirby was gone with a wave of hand. Boyd was quiet again. Drew hesitated. He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. Drew was short,
trying to listen for any movement beyond the squalid room. It was a fine piece, new
and well cared for. Now he rolled, snapping out a shot. Simmy's cry died to a whimper. Drew moved to beat out a
new blaze in the bedcovers. Simmy rolled on the floor, bent double. "Drew!" "It's all right...."
But was it? Hatch had subsided. Then
his head rolled, and Drew sat back on his heels. He had no way of telling time. "Drew!" The other window was over the level of their heads. he whispered, glancing at the prisoners. "Might be. Anse went for the boys." Jas' was again staring at Drew, his lips a silent snarl. "We have you surrounded." It was the voice of an educated man with the regional softening of
vowels. The voice was very close
now. Jas' called, his gaze daring Drew to shoot. "There's only two
of 'em, and one's sick." Drew called. The fire was dying fast. Then a horse cried in pain. I don't think this is the one. He studied Jas'. Traggart ordered. "How's the boy,
suh?" There
was a new feel to the army. "Need the shoe," he explained briefly. Hannibal walked around the dead horse carefully. Drew asked. "Not yet," Croff answered. Someday, perhaps, we shall know. Drew shook his head. Anyway, we don't stir them up, that's orders." Kirby sighed. "Too bad. Drew asked, aware of a somber shadow closing in on them
all. Maybe. The signs are not good." He's young an' tough. Bet he'll be back in line
soon." "They'll travel slow," Croff added. It ain't coffee. "No, suh, no sign at all." "Hmm. Scum from both sides, just out like buzzards to pick up what
they could. Doesn't fit somehow." "Might be cover for Union scouts after all, suh?" Buford shrugged. "Not very likely. "Thank you, suh." Buford glanced up. Oh, the sergeant business. Again he was speaking
his thoughts, Drew was sure. A little pale, he sank back on the
seat. he whined. "Orders," Drew told him shortly. "All right,
boys," he called to the patiently waiting line of infantrymen, "here's
another one ready to carry you as soon as you empty it." He was staring into its interior, bemused. "Much obliged, Sarge." "The boys want you should
have a taste, too." Drew laughed and began sharing the windfall with the scouts. "Better break it up, soldiers. "Hope we have some more luck like that in the next wagon,
too." Kirby spoke with unusual fervor. Croff laughed. Anyways, we have business
ahead." "Oh, I'm not complainin'," the Texan said. "M'boots still cover me,
anyway. "Sure did," Webb commented. He was right. Webb demanded suddenly, hours later, as they were on
their way back with their hard-found quota of oxen and protesting owners
and drivers. Kirby rose in his stirrups, facing into the wind. General Chalmers, he took command." "Christmas present," Kirby repeated bleakly. Kirby wanted to know. Drew laughed. "Might be." Theirs, not ours, Drew thought. Then, with the
rest, he sent Hannibal on the best run the mule could hold, back into
the waiting mouth of the hollow. "Got me one of them theah overcoats," he announced. "Well, ain't we in theirs?" But the orders were to hold. Croff was sniffing the air, hound fashion. Then
Drew pointed at the accompanying block. "What's that? "Nope. Kirby spoke with authority. "Yeah. 'Course you have to be
careful. "Don't look like much." "It's fillin'," he retorted sharply. "An' you didn't pay for it, did
you? Drew grinned. "That's being wise, Will. Now after
eating, they had a chance to sleep. They
would make it, after all. It was
brutal, almost one-sided. They
ate, if they were lucky enough to have rations, and rested their horses. It was a way of life.... Kirby shot him a quick glance. Stragglers from the army must be moved forward, directed. "Forrest's Cavalry ... Scouts--"
"Forrest's!" "You ain't rightly out yet, amigo," Kirby pointed out. The man shrugged and grinned wryly. "Feet ain't too good. But I'm makin'
it, fast as I can." Drew asked. "Say, you
hungry? "Maybe we'll do jus' that," Kirby promised. "Doesn't think he should try it." "All right." He saw Kirby grin at his answer. "Dr. Fairfax did." "Quiet--on the surface." Drew clung to that. "Doc hopes so, if he takes it easy." "I might." "No. "Good enough, Sarge. "Sure they's bummers-out. "They's mean, plenty mean,
suh. Drew wanted to know. The boy shook his head. "Oh, they holes up now an' then somewheahs. It was not quite a cave, but provided
shelter for them and their mounts. "Leave here in the early mornin'." "There's a road leadin' to the turnpike that's three or
four miles from here. Drew asked. "The best." "I jus' got me one question," Kirby interrupted. "Orders are to spread confusion," Drew observed. "Then turn him loose, after parolin' him--"
"The Yankees don't honor a parole no more," Kirby objected. Croff grunted. "It may be old, but I've seen it work. Git Wilson's boys on the prod, for sure." Croff repeated. "Little below, maybe. "Yeah." The other three bedded down, anxious to snatch as
much rest as possible. "Fresh droppin's. The rest was elementary. One, two ... two more ... five of them, topping a small rise. He spat at Drew. His anger was hot. "We don't shoot prisoners!" "We're General Forrest's men, not guerrillas. The Union sergeant glanced from Kirby and Drew to his own men. I suggest
surrender. We're scouts. "Nothing." Drew was crisp. Then you are free to go." "As far as I am concerned, you can take it, we'll accept your
word." "All right." The other dismounted awkwardly, and with one hand unbuckled
his saber, dropping his belt and gun. "You'll both do until you can get to town," Drew told them. "You can assure him he's wrong." "We're very much around. You'll be seem' a lot of us from now on, a lot
more." They watched the squad in blue, now afoot, plod on down the road. Drew cried his protest. "Got 'em all. he said bleakly. There were the same shelters ingeniously constructed of brush and
logs and a picket line for horses and mules. "Only four of us," Kirby remarked. Croff chuckled. "He's got a point there, Sarge." "And we ain't
the only ones. "That's the truth if you ever spoke it, Sarge. Webb demanded. "There's another way--risky, but it might work. Kirby was watching Drew with dancing eyes. "How?" "Yeah, how? Croff nodded. Kirby asked. "If we have to. "You know," Kirby said, "it's jus' crazy enough to work. We'll go hunt us up some
Yankees." The
passing of time was a fret, but one they were used to. Drew thought over
the plan. But it had to be
done. Then, with Kirby, he was pounding away. Drew watched for the landmarks to guide them back. Kirby, on one of his cross runs, pulled near. When his carbine barked, a
horse neighed and went down. "Jus' creased me." Kirby was clinging to the horn, his language heated as he
alternately ordered or tried to abuse Drew into leaving him. There were yells ... shots.... Kirby was swept off, gone before Drew could catch him. Then under Hannibal's hoofs the ground
gave way, both of them tumbling into the icy stream. "... dead. With infinite labor, Drew turned his head. Hannibal was struggling to get to his feet. Drew moved his arm, dully glad that he could. The sky was gray. Again, the dark
closed in, and he was lost in it. Warm ... he was warm. Hot liquid
lapped over his tongue. More warmth, this time on his forehead. Drew forced his eyes open. Action was
necessary, important action. But
once he had done it, memory brightened. the other ordered sharply. Drew obeyed. Objects around him took
on clarity. He was lying on the ground, not too far from a fire, and
there were walls. There had been a cabin before, but he had not been the sick one then. With the other supporting his head and
shoulders, Drew was able to survey his body. "What's the ... matter--? Dangling it, he
held the buckle-end in Drew's line of vision. "We took this off you," the Cherokee explained. Drew moved a hand, touching the buckle with a forefinger. Drew's hand went out to brace himself up, the compress
slid down his body, and then Webb was forcing him down again. Drew demanded more loudly, and there was a faint echo of
his voice from overhead. "He ain't here," replied the Cherokee. Drew was suddenly silent, no longer wanting an answer. Maybe so, they captured two or three, but
most of them was finished off right theah. No one answered him. You stay
holed up here, and you're safe for a while. "That nest was wiped out by the Yankee patrol, suh. "Well, I was hurt, suh." "Yes, suh!" Drew agreed. Forrest nodded. "One man missin', suh." "No, suh." "In May of '62, suh. "The big raids ... you were in Ohio, Rennie? "No, suh. "Yes, suh." A long line. And you were nineteen last week. "I've heard tell of that, suh." "We don't give medals, Sergeant. He held out the cord, and Drew took it a bit
dazedly. "Thank you, suh. "Well, there's the West, suh. We'll see--we'll have to see. Your report accepted, Sergeant." It was plainly a dismissal. January and February were behind them now. Or winter, with the night
closing in. Boyd sat up straighter. Drew laughed. "Yes, it does," Boyd protested. And when you go, the Yankees are goin' to move
in here. Drew schooled himself into the
old shell, the shell of trying not to let himself care. Drew warned. Look at things straight, Boyd. And more of
them desert every day. Drew smiled tiredly. Only some, like Boyd, would not admit it. "Remember what
I say, Boyd. Drew took the hat from him. "Maybe you do," he agreed soberly. Now Boyd was smiling in turn. He
gave Boyd a shove. "We can take 'em, suh." "Not you, suh!" Drew and Boyd were part of the detachment sent to approach the
fire-lighted horse lot, coming from a different angle than the main body
of the force. It was the old, old game of letting a dozen do the work of
fifty. "Plantersville, I guess." "We're not finished--" Boyd went on, when Drew interrupted:
"We're finished. Why? Now, out of the dark there suddenly arose a voice, singing. Others
picked up the tune, one of the army songs. "For the beauty of the earth,
For the beauty of the skies,
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies." The hymn swelled, a mighty, powerful wave of sound. Drew and Boyd could join one of those. Drew's hand went to his belt before he remembered that there wasn't any
weapon there, and no need for one now. He regained control. "It's this much my business, suh. He was on sick leave and was goin' home. pressed Drew. The other shook his head. "He had a pile of stuff--mostly Reb--buckles,
spurs, and such. Boyd asked. "Trooper, any trouble here?" "No, suh," Drew replied quickly. "Well, do you?" the major demanded of his own man. "No, sir. I don't
know where he got 'em." the officer asked Drew. "Yes, suh." "I'm sorry." "But, Sergeant, the news wasn't all bad--"
"No, suh. "We were on scout in Tennessee, and both of us were wounded. I was found
by our men, but he wasn't. I'll ask around." "Anson Kirby. "I'll keep a lookout. "Thank you, suh. Should you have any news, I'd be obliged to hear it. That's in Fayette County, Kentucky." "Guess so. Maybe so, we'll try somewheah's else now. Then bought 'em. Boyd grinned. "Looky here, Drew, more'n half of this heah Reb army is
footin' it home. Boyd's head lifted. Drew moved, and raised Boyd's head and shoulders to his knee. "All right." "Drew!" He raised his head. "I could take a few tucks," Drew offered. "Oh, I'm not too bad with a needle. Drew faced away from the mirror. Then
she turned back to face Drew. "Why, Drew? Not to go home...."
"Home?" But it _was_ a lifetime. He was not a boy any more, to have to endure
his elders making decisions for him. His future was his own, and he had
earned the right to that. Lord, I never wanted the place. Her mouth tightened. This is important, Drew, more important than you can guess. Come with me, Drew!" "Drew?" Major Forbes held out his hand. "Welcome home, my boy." My boy. The major might almost be
considering Drew an unruly schoolboy now safely out of some scrape,
welcome indeed if he would settle down quietly into the conventional
mold of Oak Hill or Red Springs. But he answered civilly:
"Thank you, suh." She came to him, her
hands on his shoulders as she stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. He shook his head. "I don't belong at Red Springs, ma'am. I never did." Major Forbes put the force of a field officer's authority
into that denial. The major paused. "I don't know. "I might go west. Drew appealed to the major. "Yes. "It was a cruel
thing to do, so cruel. Melanie and Hunt were so
young, young and in love. Drew demanded. "Yes. So he and Melanie ran away. They went back to
Texas, and she was very happy there--I had some letters from her. Then Hunt was reported
killed, his father, too. But just a little, not enough to blame himself any. "So my
father's alive, Major. If I had only had the chance to tell him
the truth about you, Drew. Major Forbes nodded. "He went out to California in '50." You must be sensible. Gently Drew released himself from her hold. I may be young,
only in another way, I'm old, too. Forbes
asked. "No, suh.