emnants
of a badly shattered command, weld them together, and lead them up from
Georgia to their old fighting fields--the country which they considered
rightfully theirs and in which during other years they had piled one
humiliating defeat for the blue coats on another. General Morgan could
_not_ lose in Kentucky!

And they already had one minor victory to taste sweet: Mount Sterling
had fallen into their hold as easily as it had before. Now
Lexington--with the horses they needed--friends and families waiting to
greet them.

Captain Tom Quirk's Irish brogue, unmistakable even in a half whisper,
came out of the dark: "Pull up, boys!"

Drew came to a halt with his flanking scout. There was a faint drum of
hoofs from behind as three horsemen caught up with the first wave of
Quirk's Scouts.

"Taking the flag in ..." Drew caught a snatch of sentence passed between
the leader of the newcomers and his own officer. He recognized the voice
of John Castleman, his former company commander.

"... worth a try ..." that was Quirk.

But when the three had cantered on into the mouth of the street the
scout captain turned his head to the waiting shadows. "Rennie, Bruce,
Croxton ... give them cover!"

Drew sent Shawnee on, his carbine resting ready across his saddle. The
streets were quiet enough, too quiet. These dark houses showed no signs
of life, but surely the Yankees were not so confident that they would
not have any pickets posted. And Fort Clay had its garrison....

Then that ominous silence was broken by Castleman's call: "Bearer of
flag of truce!"

"... Morgan's men?" A woman called from a window up ahead, her voice so
low pitched Drew heard only a word or two. Castleman answered her before
he gave the warning:

"Battery down the street, boys. Take to the sidewalks!"

A lantern bobbed along in their direction. Drew had a glimpse of a
blue-uniformed arm above it. A moment later Castleman rode back. One of
his companions swerved close-by, and Drew recognized Key Morgan, the
General's brother.

"They say, 'No surrender.'"

Perhaps that was what they said. But the skirmishers were now drifting
into town. Orders snapped from man to man through the dark. The crackle
of small-arms fire came sporadically, to be followed by the heavier
_boom-boom_ as cannon balls from Fort Clay ricocheted through the
streets, the Yankees being forced back into the protection of that
stronghold. Riders threaded through alleys and cross