The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

picket calling out the guard. Yet there was no indication that the enemy ahead was alert.
    Near two o’clock he made it, and the advance were walking their horses into the fringe of Lexington—this was home-coming for a good many of the men sagging in the saddles. Morgan’s old magic was working again. Escaping from the Ohio prison, he had managed to gather up the remnants of a badly shattered command, weld them together, and lead them up from Georgia to their old fighting fields—the country which they considered rightfully theirs and in which during other years they had piled one humiliating 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 Sterling had fallen into their hold as easily as it had before. Now Lexington—with the horses they needed—friends and families waiting to greet 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 of hoofs from behind as three horsemen caught up with the first wave of Quirk’s Scouts.
    “Taking the flag in…” Drew caught a snatch of sentence passed between the leader of the newcomers and his own officer. He recognized the voice of 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 the scout 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. The streets were quiet enough, too quiet. These dark houses showed no signs of life, but surely the Yankees were not so confident that they would not have any pickets posted. And Fort Clay had its garrison.…
    Then that ominous silence was broken by Castleman’s call: “Bearer of flag of truce!”
    “…Morgan’s men?” A woman called from a window up ahead, her voice so low pitched Drew heard only a word or two. Castleman answered her before he gave the warning:
    “Battery down the street, boys. Take to the sidewalks!”
    A lantern bobbed along in their direction. Drew had a glimpse of a blue-uniformed arm above it. A moment later Castleman rode back. One of his companions swerved close-by, and Drew recognized Key Morgan, the General’s brother.
    “They say, ‘No surrender.’”
    Perhaps that was what they said. But the skirmishers were now drifting into town. Orders snapped from man to man through the dark. The crackle of small-arms fire came sporadically, to be followed by the heavier boom-boom as cannon balls from Fort Clay ricocheted through the streets, the Yankees being forced back into the protection of that stronghold. Riders threaded through alleys and cross streets; lamps flared up in house windows. There was a pounding on doors, and shouted greetings. Fire made a splash of angry color at the depot, to be answered 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 poor picking, John Clay’s stables did not. One sleek thoroughbred after another was led from the stalls while Quirk fairly purred.
    “Skedaddle! Would you believe it? Here’s Skedaddle, himself, just aching to show heels to the blue bellies, ain’t you?” He greeted the great racer. “Now that’s the sort of stuff we need! Give us another chase across 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 before noon.”
    Drew watched the mounts being led down the lane. Beautiful, yes, but to his mind not one of them was the equal of the gray colt he had seen at Red Springs. Now that was a horse! 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. He knew the roan, and Shawnee knew his job. Knows more 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 and cut away a nice little catch like this.”
    “Yes, sir.” Drew merely sketched a salute; discipline was