at large had never
matched the colorful sketches hopefully issued by the Quartermaster
General's department. Perhaps in Richmond or some state capitol the
gold-lace exponents did appear in tasteful and well-tailored gray with
the proper insignia of rank. Forrest's men, equipped from the first by
the unwilling enemy, wore blue, a blue tempered tactfully and
ingeniously by butternut shirts, dyed breeches--when there was time to
do any dyeing--and slouch hats. But as Drew rode out with his squad he
might have been leading a Union rather than a Rebel patrol, which, of
course, was part of the necessary cover for venturing into the jaws of a
very alert lion.

Parts of West Tennessee were still Confederate-held and through those
they rode openly. But the countryside could offer them nothing in the
way of forage. Two armies had stripped it bare during the past few
months. Sometimes foraging parties on opposite sides had been known to
combine forces under a private truce, or had fought brisk, bitter
skirmishes to decide which would collect the spoils. If there remained a
hog or chicken still running loose, it certainly possessed the power of
invisibility.

They slipped across the river in one of the boats kept by local contacts
acting in the scouts' service. Drew questioned the boy who owned their
transportation.

"Sure they's bummers-out. Yankees say they's ourn, but they ain't!" he
returned indignantly. "They ain't ridin' for nobody but their own
selves. Cut off a Yankee an' shoot him for the boots on his feet--do the
same if they want a hoss. Git ketched an' they tell as how they's
scouts, workin' secret-like. Scouts o' ourn--if we ketch 'em;
Yankees--do the blue bellies take 'em. But they ain't nothin' but
lowdown trash as nobody wants, for sure!" He dug his pole into the water
as if he were impaling a guerrilla on it. "They's mean, plenty mean,
suh. Don't go foolin' 'round them!"

"Any special place they hang out?" Drew wanted to know.

The boy shook his head. "Oh, they holes up now an' then somewheahs. But
they's a lotta empty houses 'bout nowadays. An' the bummers kin hide out
good without no one knowin' they be theah--till they git ready to jump.
Cut off a supply wagon or raid a farm or somethin' like that."

"Ridin' the south side of the law." Kirby settled his gun belt in a more
comfortable circle about his thin middle. "Bet they know all the tricks
of hoppin' back an' forth 'cross the border ahead of the sheri