the captain by a small margin, as he saw the
spark his bullet struck from a roadside stone. Then he pumped one shot
after another over the heads of the startled men. As he mounted Hannibal
he caught a glimpse of Kirby cutting across the slope. The Texan rode
Indian fashion with most of his mount between him and the return fire
from the road. Drew kicked Hannibal into a leap, taking him half way out
of range and out of sight.

Then, with Kirby, he was pounding away. A branch was bullet-clipped over
his head, and he heard the whistle of shots. Unless he was very lucky,
this might be one piece of recklessness he would pay for dearly. But he
also heard what he had hoped for--the shouts of the hunters, the thud of
hoofs behind.

Now it was a game, much the same as the one they had played to lead the
Union troops into the cavalry trap at Anthony's Hill. They showed
themselves, to fire and fall back, riding a crisscross pattern which
would confuse the Yankees as to whether they were pursuing two men or
more. Drew watched for the landmarks to guide them back. Less than half
a mile would bring them to the gorge. Then they must ride fast to put a
bigger gap between them and the enemy so they could go to cover before
they struck the valley of the guerrilla camp.

They must depend upon Croff and Webb having successfully taken over the
sentry posts. But Drew faced those heights with some apprehension.
Kirby, on one of his cross runs, pulled near.

"They're laggin'. Better give 'em somethin' to try an' bite on!" He
brought his bay to a complete stop and aimed. When his carbine barked, a
horse neighed and went down. Then Kirby flinched, his weapon fell from
his hand, and he caught quickly at the horn of his saddle. From the
foremost of the blue riders there was a wild yell of exultation.

Drew whirled Hannibal and brought him at a run to the Texan's side.

"How bad?"

"Jus' creased me." But Kirby's expression gave the lie to his words.
"Git goin' ... don't be a dang-blasted fool!"

Drew scooped up the reins the other had let fall. Kirby must not be
allowed to lag. To be captured now was to lose all hope of being taken
as an ordinary prisoner of war. He booted Hannibal into the rocking
gallop the big mule was capable of upon occasion, and pulled the bay
along. Kirby was clinging to the horn, his language heated as he
alternately ordered or tried to abuse Drew into leaving him.

The Texan's plight had applied any spur the purs