The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

with men on the run. We’re gonna take Calhoun and take her good!” He grinned at the two veterans. “Jus’ like we took Mount Sterlin’.”
    Kirby was sober. “There was a take theah which warn’t no good. Somebody cleaned out the bank, or else I wasn’t hearin’ too well afterward. I can see some impressin’—stuff an hombre can put in his belly as paddin’, an’ maybe what he can put on his back. That’s fair an’ square. The Yankees do it too. But takin’ a gold watch or money outta a man’s pants—now that’s somethin’ different again.”
    Driscoll stood up. “Ain’t nobody said anything about gold watches or money or banks,” he replied stiffly. “There’s stores in Calhoun, and there’s men in this heah outfit what needs new shirts or new breeches. And since when have you seen any paymaster ridin’ down the pike with his bags full of bills, not that you can use that paper stuff for anythin’ like shoppin’, anyway!”
    “Thanks for the tip,” Drew cut in. “We take it kindly.”
    Driscoll’s ruffled feelings appeared soothed. “Jus’ thought you boys oughta know. Me, I have in mind gittin’ maybe two or three cans of them peaches like we got from the sutler’s wagon. Them were prime eatin’. General store might jus’ have some. Yankee crackers are right good, too. Say, that theah stud you got, Rennie, how’s he workin’ out?”
    “So far no trouble,” Drew remarked. “Only I’m lookin’ for a trade—maybe in town.”
    “Trade? Why ever a trade?”
    “We got a couple of river crossin’s comin’ up ahead,” the scout explained. “And one of them is a good big stretch of deep water—you don’t go wadin’ across the Tennessee. I don’t want to beg for trouble, headin’ a stud into somethin’ as dangerous as that.”
    Driscoll seemed struck by the wisdom of that precaution. “Now I heard tell,” he chimed in eagerly, “as how a mule is a right sure-footed critter for a river crossin’. An’ a good ridin’ mule could suit a man fine—”
    “A mule!” Boyd exploded, outraged. But Drew considered the suggestion calmly.
    “I’ll keep a lookout in town. May be swappin’ for that mule yet, Driscoll. You’ll have to pick up my share of peaches if that’s the way it’s goin’ to be.”
    There were more plans laid for the taking of Calhoun as the hours passed and the harried company plodded or spurred—depending upon the nature of the countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their general state of energy at the time—southwest across the length of Kentucky. Days became not collections of hours they could remember one by one afterward, but a series of incidents embedded in a nightmare of hard riding, scanty fare, and constant movement. Not only horses were giving out now; they dropped men along the way. And some—like Cambridge and Hilders—vanished completely, either cut off when they went to “trade” mounts, or deserting the troop in favor of their own plans for survival.
    The remaining men burst into Calhoun as a cloud of locusts descending on a field of unprotected vegetation. Drew did not know how much Union sentiment might exist there, but he judged that their actions would not leave too many friends behind them. Jugs had appeared, to be passed eagerly from hand to hand, and the contents of store shelves were swept up and out before the outraged owners could protest.
    It had showered that morning, leaving puddles of mud and water in the unpaved streets. And at one place there was a mud fight in progress—laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the new clothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud’s prancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitching rail before the largest store.
    A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching the excitement in the street. As Drew came up the man glanced at the scout, surveying his shabbiness, and his mouth took on the harsh line of a sneer.
    “Want a new suit, soldier?” he demanded. “Just help yourself! You’re late in gettin’ to it.…”
    Drew leaned against the wall of the store front. He was so tired that the effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed, fought over selections, was too much to face. This was just another part of the never-ending nightmare which had entrapped them ever since they had fled from the bank of the Licking at Cynthiana. Listlessly he watched one trooper snatch a coat