The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories
pursuit, but it would not deter it entirely. They must put as much distance between themselves and the out-foxed Union garrison as they could. And Campbell continued to point them westward instead of south, since any enemy force would be marching in the other direction to cut them off.
Even if men could stand that dogged pace, driven by determination and fear of capture, horses could not. And through the next two days the inference was very clear: fall behind at your own risk; there will be no waiting for laggards to catch up. Nor any mounts furnished; you must provide your own.
Drew discovered the black gelding an increasing problem, but at least the horse provided transportation, and he tried to save the animal as best he could. Though when it was impossible to unsaddle, when one had to ride—and did—some twenty hours out of twenty-four, there was not much the most experienced horseman could do to relieve his mount.
Drew pulled up beside Kirby as he returned from a flank scout. The Texan had dropped to the rear of the small troop, holding his horse to not much more than a walk. Now and then he glanced to the receding length of the road as if in search of someone.
“Where’s Boyd?” Drew had ridden along the full length of the company and nowhere had he seen that blond head.
“Jus’ what I’m wonderin’.” Kirby came to a complete halt. “I came back a little while ago, and nobody’s seen him.”
Drew pulled in beside the other. His horse’s head hung low as the gelding blew in gusty snorts. He tried to remember when he had seen Boyd last and when he did, that memory was not too encouraging.
“With Hilders…and Cambridge…” he said softly.
“Yeah.” Kirby’s thought seemed to match his. “Hilder’s mare is jus’ about beat, an’ Boyd rides light; that bay he got is holdin’ up like a corn-fed stud.”
“They were talkin’ to him when I went out on point.” Drew followed his own line of thought. “And he won’t listen to me—”
“It don’t foller that because you advise a hombre for his own good, he’s goin’ to take kindly to your interest in him,” the Texan observed. “You tell him Hilders an’ Cambridge are wearin’ skunk stripes, an’ he’s apt to claim ’em both as compadres. Suppose he don’t come in when we bed down; he coulda jus’ cut his picket rope an’ drifted, as far as we can prove.”
“Not if his bay turns up with one of them on top,” Drew replied.
“Them two are of the curly wolf breed.” Kirby shifted his newly acquired Enfield. “No tellin’ as how they would join up with us again did they make such a switch; might figure as how they could make it better time driftin’ on their own.”
The Texan had put his own fear into words. Drew pointed the gelding back down the road and booted the animal into a trot. A moment later he heard more drumming hoofs behind him; Kirby was following.
“This ain’t your trouble,” Drew reminded him.
“No, maybe it ain’t. But then, me, I’m jus’ a rough string rider from way back, an’ this may end in a smoke-up. Odds seem a mite one-sided now—Hilders is easy on the trigger. He won’t take kindly to anyone tryin’ to hang up his hide for dryin’—”
Drew studied the hoof-churned dust of the road. He could only hold a very slim hope of some trace along its margin. The gelding stumbled and tried to cut pace. Drew hardened his will, holding the animal to the trot. He knew that under saddle and blanket, sores were forming, that soon he would have no choice but a “trade” such as Hilders might be forcing now, though not at the expense of one of his own fellows.
Kirby was reading sign on the other side of the road. His sudden hand signal brought Drew to join him. Hoofprints marked the softer verge.
“Turned off not too long ago,” Drew commented.
Kirby nodded toward the brush. They were facing a small woodland into which a thin trace of path led. Good cover for trouble. Looping reins over his arm, Drew walked forward, Colt in hand, using scout tricks to cover the noise of his advance into the green shimmer of the trees.
The trail led ahead without any attempt at concealment. The other two troopers must have tricked Boyd into taking that way; maybe they had even put a revolver on him once they were off the road. It was only too easy for a man to straggle from the company and not be missed until hours and miles later.
“Now, sonny, there ain’t no use makin’ a big
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