“Cross the pasture—” Dandy directed with a thumb—“then a cornfield, and you’ll hit the pike again. Cuts off about a mile.”
“That sounds right invitin’.” The Texan led the way back to the yard and their waiting mounts. “Obliged to you, suh. Now,” he spoke to Drew, “I’d say it’s time to raise some dust. Ain’t far to sundown, an’ we oughta git some countryside between us an’ them rip-snortin’ javalinas—”
“Javalinas?” Drew heard Boyd repeat inquiringly.
“Kid—” the Texan reined his bay—“there is some mean things in this heah world. Theah is Comanches an’ Apaches, an’ a longhorn cow with a calf hid out in a thicket, an’ a rattler, what’s feelin’ lowdown in his mind. An’ theah’s javalinas, the wild boars of the Rio country. Then theah’s men what have had to ride fast on a day as hot as this, swallerin’ dust an’ thinkin’ what they’re gonna do when they catch up to them as they’re chasin’; an’ those men’re ’bout as mean as the boars—”
Drew lifted his hand to Jim Dandy and followed the other two through the pasture gate. Now he grinned.
“You sound like one speakin’ from experience—of bein’ chased, that is.”
Kirby chuckled. “I’m jus’ a poor little Texas boy, suh. ’Course we do a bit of fast ridin’. Mostly though I’ve been on the other end, doin’ the chasin’. An’ I know how it feels to eat dust an’ git a mite riled doin’ it. I’d say we could maybe help ourselves a bit though.”
“How?” Boyd asked eagerly.
“You”—Drew rounded on him—“can cut cross-country and get home!” There was nothing in Boyd’s clothing or equipment to suggest that he had been a part of the now scattered raiders. “If the Yankees stop you,” Drew continued, “you can spin them a tale about riding out to see the fight. And Major Forbes’s name ought to help.”
Boyd’s scowl was a black cloud on his grimy young face. “I’m one of General Morgan’s men.”
“Only a fool,” remarked Kirby, “stops to argue with a mule, a skunk, a cook, or a boy what’s run away to join the army. You figgerin’ to take this kid home personal?”
“You’ll have to tie me to a horse to do it!” Boyd flared up.
“No thanks for your help.” Drew frowned at Kirby, then turned to Boyd again. “No, I can’t take you back now. But I’ll see that you do go back!”
Boyd laughed, high, with a reckless note. “I’m comin’ along.”
“As I was sayin’,” Kirby returned to his half suggestion of moments before, “we can see ’bout helpin’ ourselves. Them Yankees are mighty particular ’bout their rigs; they carry ’nough to outfit a squad right on one trooper.”
Drew had already caught on. “Stage an ambush?”
“Well, now, let’s see.” Kirby looked down at his own gear, then critically inspected Drew and Boyd in turn. “We could do with carbines. Them blue bellies had them some right pretty-lookin’ hardware—leastways them back by the river did. An’ I don’t see no ration bags on them theah hosses you two are ridin’. Yes, we could do with grub, an’ rifle-guns…maybe some blue coats.… Say as how we was wearin’ them we could ride up to some farm all polite an’ nice an’ maybe git asked in to rest a spell an’ fill up on real fancy eats. I ’member back on the Ohio raid we came into this heah farm…wasn’t nobody round the place at all. We sashayed into the kitchen an’ theah, jus’ sittin’ easylike an’ waitin’ right on the table, was two or three pies! Ain’t had me a taste since as good as them theah pies. But maybe with a blue coat on us we could do as well heah ’bouts.”
There was merit in the Texan’s suggestion. Drew, from past experience, knew that. His only hesitation was Boyd. The youngster was right. Short of subduing him physically and taking him back tied to his saddle through the spreading Union web, Drew had no chance of returning Boyd to Oak Hill. But to lead him into the chancy sort of deal Kirby had outlined was entirely too dangerous.
“You mean—we hold up some Yankees and just take their uniforms an’ carbines an’ things?” It was already too late. Boyd had seized upon what must have seemed to him an idea right out of the dashing kind of war he had been imagining all these past weeks.
“It has been done, kid,” the Texan affirmed. “’Course we got to find us two or three poor little maverick blue bellies lost outta the herd like. Then we cut ’em away from the trail an’ reason with ’em.”
“That ought to be easy.” Boyd’s enthusiasm was at the boiling point. “The Yankees are all cowards—”
Kirby straightened in his saddle, the lazy good humor gone from his face.
“Kid, don’t git so lippy ’bout what you ain’t rightly learned yet. Yankees can fight—they can fight good. You saw ’em do that today. And don’t you ever forgit it!”
Boyd was disconcerted, but he clung doggedly to his belief. “One of Morgan’s men can take on five Yankees.”
Drew laughed dryly. “You saw that happen just this mornin’, Boyd. And what happened? We ran. They fight just as hard and as long, and most of them just as tough as we do. And don’t ever think that the man facin’ you across a gun is any less than you are; maybe he’s a little better. Keep that in mind!”
“Yes, you read the aces an’ queens in your hand ’fore you spreads your money out recklesslike,” Kirby agreed. “So, if we find the right setup, we move, but—”
Drew swung up one hand in the horseman’s signal of warning. “Something—or someone—is on the move…ahead there!” he warned.
RIDE PROUD, REBEL! (Part 2), by Andre Norton
CHAPTER 4
The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry
They had worked their way around the edge of the cornfield, and now they could look out on a hard-surfaced road which must be the pike. Riding along that in good order were a company of men—thirty, Drew counted. And four of those had extra horses on leading reins. He also saw ten carbines…and the owners of those were alert.
“Stand where you are!” The slight man leading that skeleton troop posted ahead. His shell jacket had the three yellow bars of a captain on its standing collar, and Drew saluted. This was the first group of fugitives he had seen who were more than frightened men running their horses and 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