The Cowboy MEGAPACK ®. Owen Wister

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 it was either taking him or being put afoot. If he could back this one even as far as Calhoun tomorrow—or the next day—he might be able to make a better exchange in town. It would depend on just how hard the stallion was to control.

      Making soothing noises, he worked fast to bit and bridle the big chestnut. His experience with the Red Springs stud led him aright now. He came out of the barn leading the horse while the dog, its first incessant clamor stilled, growled menacingly from the end of its chain. The woman had disappeared, maybe into the fields beyond in search of help. 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 far the chestnut had proved amiable. But how the stud might behave in troop company he had yet to learn. He mounted and waited for any signs of resentment, remembering the woman’s warning. King snorted, pawed the dust a bit, but trotted on when Drew urged him.

      Kirby whistled from where he rode with the rear guard as they rejoined the company. But Captain Campbell frowned. And King put on a display of fireworks which almost shook Drew out of the saddle, rearing and pawing the air.

      “Makes like a horny one on the prod,” commented the Texan. “That’s stud’s a lotta hoss to handle, amigo.”

      “Too much,” the captain echoed Drew’s earlier misgivings. “Keep him away from the rest until you’re sure he won’t start anything!”

      But that order fitted in with Drew’s usual scouting duties. And when he did bed down for one of the fugitives’ limited halts he was careful to stake King away from the improvised picket lines.

      Drew was eating a mixture of hardtack and cold bacon, the last of their captured provision from Bardstown, when Driscoll sauntered over to the small mess Kirby, Boyd, and Drew had established without any formal agreement.

      “The boys are plannin’ ’em a high old time,” Driscoll announced.

      Kirby’s left eyebrow slanted up in quizzical inquiry. Drew chewed energetically 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. They won’t be too choosy. Only thought I’d tell you fellas, seem’ as how you been ridin’ scout and ain’t maybe heard the plans. If you want to load up, better git into town early. Some of them fast workers from B Company are gittin’ set.…”

      “The cap’n know about this?” asked Kirby.

      Driscoll shrugged. “He ain’t deaf. But the cap’n also knows as how you can’t be too big a gold-lace officer when you’re behind the enemy lines 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 СКАЧАТЬ