The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

The Confederates also held Paris Landing. Now they were set to put the squeeze on any river traffic. Guns were brought into station—Buford’s two Parrots, one section of Morton’s incomparable battery with Bell’s Tennesseeans down at the Landing. They had moved fast, covered their traces, and Drew himself could testify that the Yankees were as yet unsuspecting of their presence in the neighborhood.
    He found General Buford now and reported.
    “Rennie, see this bend.…” The General’s finger stabbed down on the sketch map the scouts had prepared days earlier. “I’ve been thinkin’ that a vedette posted right here could give us perhaps a few minutes of warning ahead when anything started to swim into this fishnet of ours. General Forrest wants some transports, maybe even a gunboat or two. We’re in a good position to deliver them to him, but before we begin the game, I want most of the aces right here—” He smacked the map against the flat of his other palm.
    “A signal system, suh. Say one of those—” Drew pointed to the very large and very red handkerchief trailing from Buford’s coat pocket. “Wave one of those out of the bushes: one wave for a transport, two for a gunboat.”
    The General jerked the big square from his pocket, inspected it critically, and then called over his shoulder.
    “Jasper, you get me another one of these—out of the saddlebags!”
    When the Negro boy came running with the piece of brilliant cloth, Buford motioned for him to give it to Drew.
    “Mind you, boy,” he added with some seriousness, “I want that back in good condition when you report in. Those don’t grow handily on trees. I have only three left.”
    “Yes, suh,” Drew accepted it with respect. “I’m to stay put until relieved, suh?”
    “Yes. Better take someone to spell you. I don’t want any misses.”
    Back at the scout fire Drew collected Boyd. This was an assignment the boy could share. And shortly they had hollowed out for themselves a small circular space in the thicket, with two carefully prepared windows, one on the river, the other for their signal flag.
    It was almost evening, and Drew did not expect any night travel. Morning would be the best time. He divided the night into watches, however, and insisted they keep watch faithfully.
    “Kinda cold,” Boyd said, pulling his blanket about his shoulders.
    “No fire here.” Drew handed over his companion’s share of rations, some cold corn bread and bacon carefully portioned out of their midday cooking.
    “’Member how Mam Gusta used to make us those dough geese? Coffee-berry eyes.… I could do with some coffee berries now, but not to make eyes for geese!”
    Dough geese with coffee-berry eyes! The big summer kitchen at Oak Hill and the small, energetic, and very dark skinned woman who ruled it with a cooking spoon of wood for her scepter and abject obedience from all who came into her sphere of influence and control. Dough geese with coffee-berry eyes; Drew hadn’t thought of those for years and years.
    “I could do with some of Mam Gusta’s peach pie.” He was betrayed by memory into that wistfulness.
    “Peach pie all hot in a bowl with cream to top it,” Boyd added reverently. “And turkey with the fixin’s—or maybe young pork! Seems to me you think an awful lot about eatin’ when you’re in the army. I can remember the kitchen at home almost better than I can my own room.…”
    “Anse, he was talkin’ last night about some Mexican eatin’ he did down ’long the border. Made it sound mighty interestin’. Drew, after this war is over and we’ve licked the Yankees good and proper, why don’t we go down that way and see Texas? I’d like to get me one of those wild horses like those Anse’s father was catchin’.”
    “We still have a war on our hands here,” Drew reminded him. But the thought of Texas could not easily be dug out of mind, not when a man had carried it with him for most of his life. Texas, where he had almost been born, Hunt Rennie’s Texas. What was it like? A big wild land, an outlaws’ land. Didn’t they say a man had “gone to Texas” when the sheriff closed books on a fugitive? Yes, Drew had to admit he wanted to see Texas.
    “Drew, you have any kinfolk in Texas?”
    “Not that I know about.” Not for the first time he wondered about that. There had been no use asking any questions of his grandfather or of Uncle Murray. And Aunt Marianna had always dismissed his inquiries with