ember dark, their
already pitiful chance of locating the wagons dwindled fast.

There was a distant crackle of carbine and rifle fire. The struggle must
still be in progress back there. At least the stragglers about them were
still moving up. No retreat from Spring Hill, unless the Yankees were
making that. All Drew's party could do was to continue on down the road,
asking their question at each wagon, stalled in the mud or traveling at
a snail's pace.

"D'you see?" Boyd cried out. "Those men were barefoot!" Involuntarily he
swung one of his own booted feet out of the stirrup as if to assure
himself that he still had adequate covering for his cold toes.

"It ain't the first time in this heah war," Kirby remarked. "They'll
ketch 'em a Yankee. The blue bellies, they're mighty obligin' 'bout
wearin' good shoes an' such, an' lettin' themselves be roped with all
their plunder on. Some o' 'em, who I had the pleasure of surveyin'
through Sarge's glasses this mornin', have overcoats--good warm ones.
Now that's what'd pleasure a poor cold Texas boy, makin' him forgit his
troubles. You keep your eyes sighted for one of them theah overcoats,
Boyd. I'll be right beholden to you for it."

Hannibal brayed again and switched his rope tail. His usual stolid
temperament showed signs of wear.

"Airin' th' lungs that way sounds like a critter gittin' set to make war
medicine. A hardtail don't need no hardware but his hoofs to make a man
regret knowin' him familiar-like--"

Drew had reached another wagon.

"Ordnance? Buford's?" He repeated the well-worn question without hope.

"Yeah, what about it?"

For a moment the scout thought he had not heard that right. But Kirby's
crow of delight assured him that he had been answered in the
affirmative.

"What about it?" Boyd echoed indignantly. "We've been huntin' you for
hours. General Buford wants...."

The man who had answered Drew was vague in the dusk, to be seen only in
the limited light of the lantern on the driver's seat. But they did not
miss the pugnacious set of knuckles on hips, nor the truculence which
overrode the weariness in his voice.

"Th' General can want him a lotta things in this heah world, sonny. What
the Good Lord an' this heah mud lets him have is somethin' else again.
We've been pushin' these heah dang-blasted-to-Richmond wagons along,
mostly with our bare hands. Does he want 'em any faster, he can jus'
send us back thirty or forty fresh teams, along with go