y bars through their wet hides.

"Git!" The driver raised his whip as a weapon of offense until he saw
where Croff's carbine was aimed. A little pale, he sank back on the
seat. A bush of whiskers hid most of his dirty face, and there was
something about him which reminded Drew of the guerrilla Simmy.

"Watta yuh want?" he whined.

"Orders," Drew told him shortly. "Pull over there and dump your load!"

"Whose orders?" The driver bristled, still fingering his whip.

"General Forrest's. Now get to it!" Drew put snap in that. "All right,
boys," he called to the patiently waiting line of infantrymen, "here's
another one ready to carry you as soon as you empty it."

The ragged half company fanned forward, bearing down upon the wagon as
if it were a Yankee stronghold. They swarmed over and in it, pitching
the contents out on the ground in spite of the futile protests of the
driver.

"Lordy! Lordy!" One of the willing unloaders paused, his arms about a
box. He was staring into its interior, bemused. "Lookit what's heah! I
ain't seen such a lovely, lovely sight since I had me a chance on the
river at that blue-belly supply ship!"

He placed the box with exaggerated care on the ground and dived into it,
coming up with a can in each hand. "Boys, we has us a treasure; we sure
enough has!" He was immediately the core of a group eager to share in
his find. The driver half raised his whip. Kirby brought his horse
closer to the wagon, caught at the lash, pulling the stock out of the
other's hands with a quick jerk.

"Reckon the boys must have lighted on your own private cache, eh, fella?
Don't hump your tail none 'bout it. They ain't in no mood to listen to
any palaver on the subject. Better ride it out peaceablelike."

"Much obliged, Sarge." The original finder of the treasure trove broke
from the circle and handed Drew some crackers. "The boys want you should
have a taste, too."

Drew laughed and began sharing the windfall with the scouts.

"Better break it up, soldiers. The General wants us on the move."

They were already busy throwing the last articles out of the wagon,
settling in. Barefoot, cold, hungry, until the last few minutes, they
were Forrest's indomitable rear guard, riding between brisk spats with
the enemy.

Kirby tested the edge of a cracker between his teeth as they trotted on
in search for another wagon to turn over to the infantry.

"This heah army is bound to git mounted, one way or the other," he