by Andre Norton
6
_Horse Trade_
"What's this heah Calhoun like?" Kirby watched Drew loosen the saddleblanket, lifting it from the gelding as gently as he could.
"Not much--" Drew was beginning, then he sucked in his breath and stoodstaring at the nasty sight he had just uncovered. He slung the blanketto the ground as Boyd came up, leading the bay. It was the younger boywho spoke first.
"You ain't goin' to try to ride him now, Drew!" That protest camespontaneously. Drew thought that Shawnee's end had put the last bit ofsteel over his feelings, but he had to agree with Boyd now: no one withany humanity could make the gelding carry so much as a blanket over thatback, let alone saddle and rider.
"Here!" Roughly, his face flushed, Boyd jerked on the reins of his ownmount, bringing the bay sidling toward Drew. "You can take Bruce...."
He stooped, reaching for Drew's saddlebags. "You have to ride scout.I'll walk this one a while. Maybe he can carry me later. I ride light."
Drew shook his head. "Not that light," he commented dryly. "No, I guessthis is where I do some tradin'--"
"House-smoke yonder ..." Kirby pointed. They could see the thin trail ofsmoke rising steadily this windless morning. "Best make it fast--thecap'n is already thinkin' about pointin' up an' headin' out."
Drew loosened his side arms in their holsters. He always hated thisbusiness, but it was part of a day's work in the cavalry now. He justhoped that he wouldn't have to do his impressing at gun point. Heentrusted saddle and blanket to Boyd, but made the other wait outsidethe farmyard twenty minutes later as he shepherded the gelding into theenclosure where chickens squawked and ran witlessly and a dog hurledhimself to the end of a chain, giving tongue like a hound on a hotscent.
Drew skirted that defender, moving toward the barn. But he was stillwell away from the half-open door when a woman hurried out, a basket inher hands, her face picturing surprise and apprehension. She stoppedshort to stare at Drew.
"Who are you--what do you want?" Her two questions ran together in asingle breathless sentence. Drew looked beyond her. No one else issuedfrom the barn or came in answer to the dog's warning. He took off hishat.
"I need a horse, ma'am." He said it bluntly, impatiently. After all, howcould you make a demand like that more courteous or soft? The very factthat he had been driven to this made him angry.
For a moment she looked at him uncomprehendingly, and then her eyesshifted to the gelding. She came forward a step or two, and there was ablaze of anger in the gaze she directed once more to the man.
"That horse's galled raw!" She accused.
"Don't you think I know it?" he returned abruptly. "That's why I have tohave another mount."
A quick step back and she was between him and the door of the barn,holding the basket as a shield between them. It was full of eggs.
"You won't get one here!" she snapped.
"Ma'am"--Drew had his temper under control now--"I don't want to takeyour horse if you have one. But I'm under orders to keep up with thecompany. And I'm goin' to do what I have to...."
He dropped the gelding's reins, walked forward, hoping she wouldn't makehim push around her. But apparently she read the determination in hisface and stood aside, her expression bleak now.
"There's only King in there," she said. "And I wish you the joy of him,you thief!"
King proved to be a stallion, stabled in a box stall. Drew hesitated.The stud might be mean, harder to handle even than the gelding. But itwas either taking him or being put afoot. If he could back this one evenas far as Calhoun tomorrow--or the next day--he might be able to make abetter exchange in town. It would depend on just how hard the stallionwas to control.
Making soothing noises, he worked fast to bit and bridle the bigchestnut. His experience with the Red Springs stud led him aright now.He came out of the barn leading the horse while the dog, its firstincessant clamor stilled, growled menacingly from the end of its chain.The woman had disappeared, maybe into the fields beyond in search ofhelp. Drew departed at a swift trot to where he had left Boyd.
"That's all horse!" Boyd eyed Drew's trade excitedly.
"Too much so, maybe. We'll see." He saddled quickly, glad that so farthe chestnut had proved amiable. But how the stud might behave in troopcompany he had yet to learn. He mounted and waited for any signs ofresentment, remembering the woman's warning. King snorted, pawed thedust a bit, but trotted on when Drew urged him.
Kirby whistled from where he rode with the rear guard as they rejoinedthe company. But Captain Campbell frowned. And King put on a display offireworks which almost shook Drew out of the saddle, rearing and pawingthe air.
"Makes like a horny one on the prod," commented the Texan. "That'sstud's a lotta hoss to handle, amigo."
"Too much," the captain echoed Drew's earlier misgivings. "Keep him awayfrom the rest until you're sure he won't start anything!"
But that order fitted in with Drew's usual scouting duties. And when hedid bed down for one of the fugitives' limited halts he was careful tostake King away from the improvised picket lines.
Drew was eating a mixture of hardtack and cold bacon, the last of theircaptured provision from Bardstown, when Driscoll sauntered over to thesmall mess Kirby, Boyd, and Drew had established without any formalagreement.
"The boys are plannin' 'em a high old time," Driscoll announced.
Kirby's left eyebrow slanted up in quizzical inquiry. Drew chewedenergetically and swallowed. It was Boyd who asked, "What do you mean?"
"Calhoun--that's what I mean, sonny." Driscoll squatted on his heels."They 'low as how they're gonna do a little impressin' in Calhoun."
"The town's not very big," Drew observed. "A couple of stores, a church,maybe a smithy...."
Driscoll snickered. "Oh, the boys ain't particular 'long 'bout now. Theywon't be too choosy. Only thought I'd tell you fellas, seem' as how youbeen ridin' scout and ain't maybe heard the plans. If you want to loadup, better git into town early. Some of them fast workers from B Companyare gittin' set...."
"The cap'n know about this?" asked Kirby.
Driscoll shrugged. "He ain't deaf. But the cap'n also knows as how youcan't be too big a gold-lace officer when you're behind the enemy lineswith men on the run. We're gonna take Calhoun and take her good!" Hegrinned at the two veterans. "Jus' like we took Mount Sterlin'."
Kirby was sober. "There was a take theah which warn't no good. Somebodycleaned out the bank, or else I wasn't hearin' too well afterward. I cansee 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. TheYankees do it too. But takin' a gold watch or money outta a man'spants--now that's somethin' different again."
Driscoll stood up. "Ain't nobody said anything about gold watches ormoney or banks," he replied stiffly. "There's stores in Calhoun, andthere'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 hisbags 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 boysoughta know. Me, I have in mind gittin' maybe two or three cans of thempeaches 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--maybein town."
"Trade? Why ever a trade?"
"We got a couple of river crossin's comin' up ahead," the scoutexplained. "And one of them is a good big stretch of deep water--youdon'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 heardtell," he chimed in eagerly, "as how a mule is a right sure-footedcritter for a river crossin'. An' a good ridin' mule could suit a manfi
ne----"
"A mule!" Boyd exploded, outraged. But Drew considered the suggestioncalmly.
"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 wayit's goin' to be."
There were more plans laid for the taking of Calhoun as the hours passedand the harried company plodded or spurred--depending upon the nature ofthe countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their generalstate of energy at the time--southwest across the length of Kentucky.Days became not collections of hours they could remember one by oneafterward, but a series of incidents embedded in a nightmare of hardriding, scanty fare, and constant movement. Not only horses were givingout now; they dropped men along the way. And some--like Cambridge andHilders--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 ona field of unprotected vegetation. Drew did not know how much Unionsentiment might exist there, but he judged that their actions would notleave too many friends behind them. Jugs had appeared, to be passedeagerly from hand to hand, and the contents of store shelves were sweptup and out before the outraged owners could protest.
It had showered that morning, leaving puddles of mud and water in theunpaved streets. And at one place there was a mud fight inprogress--laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the newclothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud'sprancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitchingrail before the largest store.
A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching theexcitement 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 asneer.
"Want a new suit, soldier?" he demanded. "Just help yourself! You'relate in gettin' to it...."
Drew leaned against the wall of the store front. He was so tired thatthe effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed,fought over selections, was too much to face. This was just another partof the never-ending nightmare which had entrapped them ever since theyhad fled from the bank of the Licking at Cynthiana. Listlessly hewatched one trooper snatch a coat from another, drag it on triumphantlyover a shirt which was a fringe of tatters. He plucked at the front ofhis own grimy shirt, and then felt around in the pocket he had solaboriously stitched beneath the belt of his breeches, to bring out onecreased and worn bill. Spreading it out, he offered it to the man besidehim. To loot an army warehouse was fair play as he saw it. Morgan'scommand had long depended upon Union commissaries for equipment,clothing, and food. And a horse trade was something forced upon him byexpediency. But he still shrank from this kind of foraging.
"A shirt?" he asked wearily.
The man glanced from that crumpled bill to Drew's tired face and thenback again. The sneer faded. He reached out, closed the scout's fingerstight over the money.
"That's just wastepaper here, son. Come on!" Catching hold of Drew'ssleeve so tightly that the worn calico gave in a rip, he guided theother into the store, drawing him along behind a counter until hereached down into the shadows and came up with a pile of shirts, someflannel, some calico, and one Drew thought was linen.
"These look about your size. Take 'em! You might as well have them. Someof these fellows will just tear them up for the fun of it."
Drew fumbled with the pile, a flannel, the linen, and two calico. Hecould cram that many into his saddlebags. But the store owner thrust thewhole bundle into his arms.
"Go ahead, take 'em all! They ain't goin' to leave 'em, anyway."
"Thanks!" Drew clutched the collection to his chest and edged back alongthe wall, avoiding a spirited fight now in progress in the center ofthe store. Mud-spattered men came bursting back, wanting to change theirnow ruined clothing for fresh. Drew stiff-armed one reeling, singingtrooper out of his path and was gone before the drunken man could resentsuch handling. With the shirts still balled between forearm and chest,he led King away from the store.
"Ovah heah!"
That hail in a familiar voice brought Drew's head around. Kirby waved tohim vigorously from a doorway, and the scout obediently rehitched Kingto another rack, joining the Texan in what proved to be the villagebarber-shop.
Kirby was stripped to the waist, using a towel freely sopped in a largebasin to make his toilet. His face was already scraped clean of beard,and his hair plastered down into better order than Drew had ever seenit, while violent scents of bay rum and fancy tonics fought it out inthe small room.
"What you got there?" Boyd looked up from a second basin, a froth ofsoap hiding most of his face.
"Shirts--" Drew dropped his bundle on a chair. He was staring, appalled,into the stretch of mirror confronting him, unable to believe that theface reflected there was his own. Skinning his hat onto a shelf, hemoved purposefully toward the row of basins, ripping off his old shirtas he went.
Where the barber had gone they never did know, but a half hour laterthey made some sweeping attempts to clean up the mess to which theirefforts at personal cleanliness had reduced the shop, pleased once morewith what they saw now in the mirror. They had divided the shirts, andwhile the fit was not perfect, they were satisfied with the windfall.Before he left the shop Kirby swept a half dozen cakes of soap into hishaversack.
Boyd was already balancing a bigger sack, full to the top.
"Peaches, molasses, crackers, pickles," he enumerated his treasure troveto Drew. "We got us some real eats."
"Hey, you--Rennie!" As they emerged from the barber-shop Driscolltrotted up. "The cap'n wants to see you. He's on the other side oftown--at the smithy."
Boyd and Kirby trailed along as Drew obeyed that summons. They foundCampbell giving orders to the smith's volunteer aides, some engaged withthe owner of the shop in shoeing the raiders' horses, others making upbundles of shoes to be slung from the saddles as they rode out.
"Rennie"--the captain waved him out of the rush and clamor of thesmithy--"I want you to listen to this. You--Hart--come here!" One of themen bundling horseshoes dropped the set he was tying together and came.
"Hart, here, comes from Cadiz. Know where that is?"
Drew closed his eyes for a moment, the better to visualize the map hetried to carry in his head. But Cadiz--he couldn't place the town. "No,suh."
"It's south, close to the Tennessee line and not too far from the bigriver. There's just one thing which may be important about it; it has abank and Hart thinks that there are Union Army funds there. We stillhave a long way to go, and Union currency could help. Only," Campbellspoke with slow emphasis, "I want this understood. We take army fundsonly. This may just be a rumor, but it is necessary to scout in thatdirection anyway."
"You want me to find out about the funds and the river crossin' nearthere?"
"It's up to you, Rennie. Hart's willin' to ride with you."
"I'll go." He thought the bank plan was a wild one, but they did have tohave a safe route to the river.
"You'll move out as soon as possible. We'll be on our way as soon as wehave these horses shod."
Drew doubted that. What he had seen in the streets suggested that it wasnot going to be easy to pry most of the company out of Calhoun in ahurry, but that was Campbell's problem. "I'll need couriers," he saidaloud. It was an advance scout's privilege to have riders to send backwith information.
Campbell hesitated as if he would protest and then agreed. "You have menpicked?"
"Kirby and Barrett. Kirby's had scout experience; Barrett knows part ofthis country and rides light."
"All right, Kirby and Barrett. You ready to ride, Hart?"
The other trooper nodded, picked up a set of extra horseshoes, and wentout of the smithy. Campbell had one last word for Drew.
"We'll angle south from here to hit the Cumberland River some ten milesnorth of Cadiz, Hart knows where. This time of year it ought to be easycrossin'. But the Tennessee--" he shook h
is head--"that is goin' to bethe hard one. Learn all you can about conditions and where it's best tohit that...."
Drew found Hart already mounted, Kirby and Boyd waiting.
"Hart says we're ridin' out," the Texan said. "Goin' to cover the highlines?"
"Scout, yes. South of here. River crossin's comin' up."
"No time for shadin' in this man's war," Kirby observed.
"Shadin'?" Boyd repeated as a question.
"Sittin' nice an' easy under a tree while some other poor hombre prowlsaround the herd," Kirby translated. "It's a kinda restin' I ain't hadmuch of lately. Nor like to...."
They put Calhoun behind them, and Hart led them cross-country. But ateach new turn of the back country roads Drew added another line or twoon the map he sketched in on paper which Boyd surprisingly produced fromhis bulging sack of loot.
The younger boy looked self-conscious as he handed it over. "Thought ashow I might want to write a letter."
Drew studied him. "You do that!" He made it an order. There had been nochance to leave Boyd in Calhoun. But there was still Cadiz as apossibility. He did not believe this vague story about Union gold in thebank. And the company might never enter the town in force at all. Sothat Boyd, left behind, would not attract the unfavorable attention ofthe authorities.
It began to rain again, and the roads were mire traps. As they struggledon into evening Kirby found a barn which appeared to be out by itselfwith no house in attendance. The door was wedged open with a drift ofundisturbed soil and Boyd, exploring into a ragged straggle of brush insearch of a well, reported a house cellar hole. The place must beabandoned and so safe.
"We'll be in Cadiz tomorrow," Hart said.
"An' how do we ride in?" Kirby wanted to know. "Anotherbearer-of-the-flag stunt?"
"Is Cadiz a Union town?" Drew asked Hart.
The other laughed. "Not much, it ain't. This is tobacco country; youseen that for yourself today. An' there's guerrillas to give the Yankeestrouble. They hole up in the Brelsford Caves, six or seven miles outtatown. We can ride right in, and there ain't nobody gonna care."
"Nice to know these things ahead'a time," Kirby remarked. "So we ridein--lookin' for what?"
Hart glanced at Drew but remained silent. The scout shrugged."Information about the rivers and any stray garrison news. You have kinhere, Hart?"
"Some." But the other did not elaborate on that.
Drew was thinking about those guerrillas; their presence did not matchHart's story about the Yankee gold in the bank. Such irregulars wouldhave been after that long ago. He didn't know why Hart had pitchedCampbell such a tale, but he was dubious about the whole setup now.Better make this a quick trip in--and out--of town.