Ride Proud, Rebel!

by Andre Norton

  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.

&nbs
p; 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.