The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

themselves into exhaustion.
    “Rennie, Private, Quirk’s Scouts,” Drew reported himself.
    Kirby’s salute was delivered with less snap but as promptly. “Kirby, Private, Gano’s.”
    “Captain William Campbell,” the officer identified himself crisply. “Any more of you?” He looked to Boyd and then at the cornfield beyond.
    “Barrett’s a volunteer,” Drew explained. This was no time to clarify Boyd’s exact status. “There’re just the three of us.”
    “You headin’ somewheah special, Cap’n?” the Texan asked. “Or jus’ travelin’ for your continued health?”
    Campbell laughed. “You might call it that, Kirby. But if we stick together, I think all of us may stay healthy.”
    Kirby turned his horse into the pike. “Sounds like a good argument to me, suh. You have any idea wheah at we are, or wheah we could be headin’?”
    “Northwest is the best I can say. If we strike far enough to the west, we may be able to flank the troops spread out to keep us away from the river. Best plan for now, anyway. And the more men we can pick up, the better.”
    “Scattered some, ain’t we?” Kirby assented. “You give the orders, Cap’n, suh. We ain’t licked complete yet.”
    There was a low growl arising from the company on the pike as the Texan’s comment reached them. They might have run and gone on running most of that long day, but they were no longer running; they were moving in reasonable order and to some purpose, with a direction in view and a form of organization, no matter how patched together they were. Campbell spoke directly to Drew: “You know anything about this section of the country?”
    “Some, but it’s been almost three years since I was here. I know nothin’ about any Union garrison—”
    “Those we’ll have to worry about as they come. But you ride advance for us now. Send in any stragglers you come across. The night is almost here, and that’s in our favor.”
    So Drew and Kirby, with Boyd trailing, ranged ahead of the small troop. And pick up more stragglers they did—some twenty men in the last hour before twilight closed down.
    “I’m hungry,” Boyd said, approaching Drew. “There’re farms around. Why can’t we get something to eat?”
    “Here.” Drew fumbled in the saddlebags he had transferred from Shawnee to this new mount back by the river. He handed over a piece of hardtack, flinty-surfaced and about as appetizing as a stone. “That’s the best you’ll get for a while.”
    Boyd stared at it in dismay. “You can’t eat a thing like this! It’s a piece of rock.” Indignantly he hurled it away.
    “You get down and pick that up! Now!”
    Boyd, flushed and hot-eyed, gazed at Drew for a long moment. The flush faded and he moved uneasily in his saddle, but not out of the range of Drew’s attention. At length, unhappily, he dismounted and went to pick the gray-white chunk out of a weed tangle. Holding it gingerly, he came back to his horse.
    “If you don’t want it—give!” Drew held out his hand.
    Boyd, realizing the other meant just what he said, fingered the hardtack and finally dropped it into that waiting palm.
    “You eat hard and you sleep on the soft side of a board—if you’re lucky enough to find a board. You ride till your seat is blistered and until you can sleep in the saddle. You drink mud green with scum if that’s all you can find to drink, and you think it’s mighty fine drinkin’, too. This ain’t—” Drew’s thoughts flitted back to his meeting with Aunt Marianna on the Lexington road—“all saber wavin’ and chargin’ the enemy and playin’ hero to the home folks; this is sweatin’ and dirt on you and your clothes, goin’ mighty hungry, and cold and wet—when it’s the season for goin’ cold and wet. It’s takin’ a lot of the bad, with not much good. And if you don’t cut off home now, you’ll ride our way, keepin’ your mouth shut and doin’ as you’re told!”
    Boyd swallowed visibly. “All right.” But there was a firmness in that short answer which surprised Drew. The other sounded as if he meant it, as if he were swearing the oath of allegiance to the regiment. But could he take it? A few days on the run, and Boyd would probably quit. Maybe if they got into some town and the Yankees didn’t smoke them out right away, Drew could send a telegram and Boyd would be collected. Drew tried to console himself with that thought all the time another part of him was certain that Boyd intended to