streets; lamps
flared up in house windows. There was a pounding on doors, and shouted
greetings. Fire made a splash of angry color at the depot, to be
answered with similar blazes at the warehouses.

"Spur up those crowbaits of yours, boys!" Quirk rounded up the scouts.
"We're out for horses--only the best, remember that!"

Out of the now aroused Lexington just as daylight was gray overhead,
they were on the road to Ashland. If Red Springs might have proved poor
picking, John Clay's stables did not. One sleek thoroughbred after
another was led from the stalls while Quirk fairly purred.

"Skedaddle! Would you believe it? Here's Skedaddle, himself, just aching
to show heels to the blue bellies, ain't you?" He greeted the great
racer. "Now that's the sort of stuff we need! Give us another chase
across the Ohio clean up to Canada with a few like him under us. Sweep
'em clean and get going! The General wants to see the catch before
noon."

Drew watched the mounts being led down the lane. Beautiful, yes, but to
his mind not one of them was the equal of the gray colt he had seen at
Red Springs. Now that was a horse! And he was not tempted now to strip
his saddle off Shawnee and transfer to any one of the princes of equine
blood passing him by. He knew the roan, and Shawnee knew his job. Knows
more about the work than I do sometimes, Drew thought.

"You, Rennie!"

Drew swung Shawnee to the left as Quirk hailed him.

"Take point out on the road. Just like some stubborn Yankee to try and
cut away a nice little catch like this."

"Yes, sir." Drew merely sketched a salute; discipline was always free
and easy in the Scouts.

The day was warm. He was glad he had managed to find a lightweight shirt
back at the warehouse in town. If they didn't win Lexington to keep, at
least all of the raiders were going to ride out well-mounted, with boots
on their feet and whole clothing on their backs. The Union
quartermasters did just fine by Morgan's boys, as always.

Shawnee's ears went forward alertly, but Drew did not need that signal
of someone's approaching. He backed into the shadow-shade of a tree and
sat tense, with Colt in hand.

A horse nickered. There was the whirr of wheels. Drew edged Shawnee out
of cover and then quickly holstered his weapon, riding out to bring to a
halt the carriage horse between the shafts of an English dogcart.

He pulled off his dust-grayed hat. "Good mornin', Aunt Marianna."

Such a polite gree