impressive as he could, whether it was
worded correctly according to military protocol or not. It was, he
thought with satisfaction, a nicely rounded, important-sounding speech,
although a bit short.

"Yes, sir!" The boy started for the door, but he was too late.

The man who erupted from that portal was short and stout, his face a
dramatic scarlet above the dark blue of his unbuttoned coat. He stopped
short a step or two into the open and stood staring at the three on
horseback, that scarlet growing more dusky by the second.

"Who ... are ... you?" His demand was expelled in heavy puffs of breath.

"Flag from General Morgan," Drew repeated. Then to make it quite plain,
he added kindly, "General John Hunt Morgan, Confederate Cavalry, Army of
the Tennessee, detached duty."

"But, but Morgan was defeated ... at Cynthiana. He was broken--"

Slowly Drew shook his head. "The General has been reported defeated
before, suh. No, he's right here outside Bardstown. And I wouldn't
rightly say he was broken either, not with a couple of regiments behind
him--"

"Couple of regiments!" The man was buttoning his coat, his red jowls
sagging a little, almost as if Drew had used the carbine across his
unprotected head. "Couple of regiments ... Morgan ..." he repeated
dazedly. "Well," sullenly he spoke to Drew, "what does he want?"

"You're a captain," Drew spoke crisply. "You'll return with us to
discuss surrender terms with an officer of equal rank!"

"Surrender!" For a moment some of the sag went out of the other.

"Two regiments--an' you have maybe eighty or ninety men." Kirby gazed
with critical disparagement at such Union forces as were visible.

"One hundred and twenty-five," the officer repeated mechanically and
then glared at the Texan.

"One hundred and twenty-five then." Kirby was willing to be generous.
"All ready to hold this heah town. I don't see no artillery neither." He
rose in his stirrups to view the immediate scene. "Goin' to fight from
house to house maybe--?"

"General Morgan," Drew remarked to the company at large, "is not a
patient man. But it's your decision, suh. If you want to make a fight of
it." He shrugged.

"No! Well, I'll talk ... listen to your terms anyway. Get my horse!" he
roared at the nearest soldier.

They escorted the captain with due solemnity out of Bardstown to meet
Campbell, a well-armed guard in evidence strung out on the pike. The
Union officer picked up enough assurance to d