Ride Proud, Rebel!, Page 2

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  _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 Minie 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'cloc
k 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.