by Andre Norton
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.
