The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

upon one of those, a tall man, limping on feet covered with strips of filthy rag. But he still had his musket, and on its bayonet was stuck a goodly portion of ham. He had been sitting on a tree trunk, but at the approach of the scouts he moved to meet them.
    “Howdy, fellas,” he spoke in a hoarse voice, and wiped a running nose on his sleeve. “What command you in?”
    “Forrest’s Cavalry…Scouts—”
    “Forrest’s!” He took another eager step forward. “Now theah’s a command! Ain’t bin for you boys, th’ blue bellies woulda gulped us right up! Nairy a one of us’d got out of Tennessee.”
    “You ain’t rightly out yet, amigo,” Kirby pointed out. “Kinda lost, ain’t you?”
    The man shrugged and grinned wryly. “Feet ain’t too good. But I’m makin’ it, fast as I can.”
    “Can you fork a mule?” Drew asked. “This one is for ridin’. We’ll take you to one of the wagons—”
    “Now that’s right kind of you boys, right kind.” The man hobbled up to Hannibal as if he feared they might withdraw their offer. “Say, you hungry? Git us wheah we can light a spell, an’ I’ll divide my rations with you.” He waved the musket with its impaled ham.
    “Maybe we’ll do jus’ that,” Kirby promised.
    Drew dismounted to give the straggler a leg up on Hannibal before they headed on toward the Tennessee and the promise of a breathing space.
    CHAPTER 15
    Independent Scout
    “What did the doc say?” Kirby, his blue overcoata splotch of color against the general drabness of the winter scene, came up towing Hannibal and his own mount.
    “Doesn’t think he should try it.” Drew made a lengthy business of pulling on the knitted gloves he had acquired only that morning as a swap for a captured Yankee Colt.
    The infantry, back under the solid security of Joe Johnston’s leadership, had marched on into North Carolina—to face Sherman’s destructive sweep there. In the west, the only effective Confederate force still in the field east of the Mississippi was Forrest’s Cavalry. And they had been granted twenty days’ furlough to return home if they could get there, and gather clothing and fresh horses. The sun was far down the western horizon of the Confederacy, but to the men who rode with Forrest it had not yet set.
    “Th’ kid wants to go.…”
    That was the worst of it. When they listened to Boyd’s eager talk, saw him make the effort to get on his feet again, they were almost convinced that the youngster could make the trip back through enemy-held territory to Oak Hill. Kirby, though he had no ties in Kentucky, was willing to chance the journey to help Boyd home. But those miles between, where they must skulk and maybe even fight their way—living out, eating very light—Boyd could not stand that. The surgeon’s verdict was that such an idea was utter folly.
    “I’ll try to get a letter through with one of the boys,” Drew said. “Major Forbes ought to be able to furnish Cousin Merry with safe conduct on that side; we could have the General take care of it from this end. Then she could take him home with her when he was able to travel.”
    “You write the letter fast. The Kaintucks are makin’ tracks today—”
    Drew swung into the saddle, and they headed back to camp.
    “Now that we ain’t headin’ north, you thinkin’ of joinin’ Croff an’ Webb?”
    Men on furlough had been given their orders to collect supplies from home, but also to devil the Yankees when and where they could. They were to fire into transports along the rivers and rout and capture any Union patrols small enough to be attacked when and where they came across them. The Cherokee scout and others who could not return home asked for their own type of furlough, determined to hunt the district below Franklin. Since such men could be of great nuisance value well within the enemy lines, they were granted permission and were even now preparing to move out.
    Drew, who had held off from committing himself to the expedition until he had the final verdict on Boyd, knew that Kirby was eager to go. And Drew felt that old restlessness, which gripped him whenever he thought of spending days in camp. He could do nothing for Boyd, but they might be able to accomplish something in Tennessee.
    “All right.” He saw Kirby grin at his answer. The plan was one after the Texan’s heart, and Drew knew what it had meant to him to hold back from it.
    “You tell the kid?”
    “Dr. Fairfax did.” At least he