7
_A Mule for a River_
For a Confederate patrol, they looked respectable enough as they rodeinto Cadiz. Though they lacked the uniformity of a Yankee squad, theirdark shirts, "impressed" breeches, and good boots gave an impression ofa common dress, and Kirby had even acquired a hat.
They slung their captured rifles before entering town and progressed ata quiet amble which suggested good will. But there was no mistaking thefact that they attracted attention, immediately and to some purpose. Asmall boy, balancing on a fence, put his fingers to his mouth andreleased a piercing whistle.
King's response to that was vigorous. Rearing, until he stood almostupright on his hind feet, the stallion pawed the air. Drew barely kepthis seat. He fought with all his knowledge of horsemanship to bring thestud back to earth and under control. And he could hear Kirby's laughand Boyd calling out some inarticulate warning or advice.
"Better git that mule--or run down this one's mainspring some," theTexan said when Drew had King again with four feet on the ground, thoughweaving in a sideways dance.
"You men--what are you doing here?" A horseman looked over the heads ofthe crowd to the four troopers.
"Passin' through, suh. Leastwise we was, until greeted--" Kirby answeredcourteously.
Drew assessed the questioner's well-cut riding clothes, his good linen,and fine gloves. The rider was middle-aged, his authority more evidentbecause of that fact. This was either one of the wealthy planters of thedistrict or some important inhabitant of Cadiz. There was a wagondrawing up behind him, a span of well-cared-for mules in harness with aNegro driver.
The mules held Drew's attention. King's reaction to that sudden whistlewas a warning. He had no wish to ride such an animal into a picketskirmish. The sleekness of the mules appealed to his desire to ridhimself of the unmanageable stud.
Now he edged the sidling King closer to the wagon. The driver watchedhim with apprehension. Whether he guessed Drew's intention or whether hedreaded the near approach of the stallion was a question which did notbother the scout.
"You there," Drew hailed the driver. "I'll take one of those mules!"
As always, he hated these enforced trades and spoke in a peremptory way,wanting to get the matter finished.
"You, suh--" the solid citizen turned his horse to face the scout--"whatgives you the right to take that mule?"
With a visible sigh of relief, the Negro relaxed on the driver's seat,willing to let the other carry on the argument.
"Nothing, except I have to have a mount I can depend upon." Drew did notknow why he was explaining, or even why he wanted the mule so acutelyright now. Except that he was tired, tired of the days in the saddle, ofbeing on the run, of these small Kentucky towns into which they rode toloot and ride off again. The Yankees in Bardstown had been fair game,and their bluff there had been an adventure. But Calhoun left a sourtaste in his mouth, and he didn't like the vague order which had broughthim to Cadiz. So his dislike boiled over, to settle into a sullendetermination to rid himself of one irritation--this undependable horse.
"Do I assume, suh, that you are part of General Morgan's command?" Sharpblue eyes studied Drew across the well-curried backs of the mules.
"Yes, suh."
The man gave a nod, which might have been for some thought of his own.
"We have heard some rumors of your coming, suh," the other continued."You, Nelson," he spoke to the Negro, "take this team up to the liverystable and tell Mr. Emory I want Hannibal saddled! Then you bring himback here and give him to this gentleman!"
"Yes, suh. Hannibal--wi' saddle--for this young gentlem'n."
"Hannibal, suh," the man said to Drew, "is a mule, but a remarkable one,riding trained and strong. I think you will find him quite usable. Do Iunderstand we are about to be favored by a visit from General Morgan?"
Drew dismounted. Now he made a business of squinting up at the sun as ifto tell time. "Not for a while, suh." He remained cautious; though heguessed that his questioner's sympathies were at least not openly Union.
There was a stir in the gathering crowd. Hart was leaning from hissaddle, talking earnestly to two men flanking him on either side.
"May I offer you some refreshment, gentlemen. I am James Pryor, at yourservice--"
Automatically Drew responded to the manners of Red Springs. "DrewRennie, suh. Anson Kirby, Boyd Barrett...." He looked around for Hart,only to see the other disappearing into an alley with his two companionsfrom the crowd.
"Suh, that's a right heartenin' offer," Kirby said, smiling. "Trail dustsure does make a man's throat dryer'n an alkali flat!"
"Mark Hale over here has just the answer for that difficulty, gentlemen.If you will accompany me--"
They left the glare of the sunlit street, following their host into asmall shop where a quantity of strange smells fought for supremacy.Kirby stared about him puzzled, but his look changed to an expression ofpure bafflement and outrage as Pryor gave his order to the smaller manwho came from a back room.
"Mark, these gentlemen need some of that good lemonade you make--if youhave some cold and ready."
Drew heard Kirby's muffled snort of protest and wanted so badly to laughthat the struggle to choke off that sound was a pain in his chest. Mr.Pryor smiled at them blandly.
"M' boys, nothing better on a really hot day than some of Mark'slemonade. Nothing like it in this part of Kentucky. Ah, that looks likea draft fit for the gods, Mark, it certainly does!"
Hale had bobbed out of his inner room again, shepherding before him aNegro boy who walked with exaggerated caution, balancing a tray on whichstood four tall glasses, beaded with visible moisture. There was asprig of green mint standing sentry in each.
"Drink up, gentlemen." Under Mr. Pryor's commanding eye they each took aglass and a first sip.
But it was good--cool as it went slipping down the throat bearing thatblessed chill with it, tart on the tongue, and fresh. Drew had sipped,but now he gulped, and he noted over the rim of his own glass, thatKirby was following his example. Mr. Pryor consumed his portion at amore genteel rate of intake.
"This allays that trail dust of yours, Mr. Kirby?" He inquired with nomore than usual solicitude, but there was a faint trace of amusement inhis small smile.
Kirby met the challenge promptly. "Ably, suh, ably!" He raised hishalf-filled glass. "To your very good health, suh. I don't know whenI've had me a more satisfyin' drink!"
Pryor bowed. He was still smiling as he glanced at Drew.
"You have business in Cadiz, suh? Beyond that of swapping thatfirebreather of yours for another mount, I mean? Perhaps I can be ofservice in some other way...."
Drew cradled his glass in both hands. The condensing moisture made itslippery, but the chill was pleasant to feel.
"Do you have any news about the Cumberland River, suh?" he asked. Pryormight have usable information, and there was no reason to disguise thatpart of their objective. Short of turning about and fighting their waythrough about a quarter of the aroused Yankee army, the fugitives didhave to cross the Cumberland and the Tennessee, and do both soon.
"The Cumberland, suh, is not apt to give you much trouble." Pryor sippedat his glass with a relish. "If, of course, you contemplate a try at theTennessee--that will be a different matter. I trust your commander willbe amply prepared for difficulties there. But General Morgan is not tobe easily caught napping, or so his reputation stands. I wish you thebest of luck."
"Is that your horse out there, young man?" the proprietor of thedrugstore addressed Drew. "That big stallion?"
Drew put his glass on the counter and spun around. "What's he doin'now?"
"Nothing," Hale returned quickly. "Ransome!" Out of nowhere Hale'sservant appeared. "Get the saddlebags from that horse."
Surprised at this highhanded demand for his property, Drew waited forenlightenment. When Ransome returned with the bags, Hale took them,moved quickly to a cabinet, and unlocked it. By handfulls he took smallboxes from the shelves inside, added some pape
r packets, and thenbuckled the straps tightly over the new bulge.
"I understand," he said in his dry, precise voice, "there is a pressingneed for quinine, morphine, and the like in the South?"
Drew could only nod as Hale held out the bags.
"Give this to your surgeon, young man, with my compliments. There islittle enough we can do, but this is something."
Drew stammered his thanks, knowing that those boxes and packets crammedinto his bags meant a fortune to a blockade runner, but far more to menin the improvised hospitals behind the gray lines. Hale waved awayDrew's thanks, adding only a last warning: "Keep your bags dry if youcontemplate a river crossing! I would like to make sure that those drugsdo reach the right hands intact."
"Rennie!" Hart hailed him from the door. "There's a boy here with amule; he says it's for you."
Pryor put down his glass. "It's Hannibal. I think you will find himacceptable, suh. An even-tempered animal for the most part, and thesurest-footed one I have ever ridden."
"Then you do _ride_ him?" Boyd spoke for the first time.
"Naturally he has been ridden--by me. I would not offer him otherwise,suh!" Pryor's flash of indignation was quick. "Hannibal's dam was Dido,a fine trotting mare. He's an excellent mount."
The mule stood in the street, ears slightly forward, eyeing King warily.He was a big animal, groomed until his gray coat shone under the sun,wearing a well rubbed and oiled saddle and trappings. As Drew approachedhe lowered his head, sniffing inquiringly at the scout.
"Your new master, Hannibal," Pryor addressed the animal with the gravityof one making a formal introduction. "You are about to be mustered intothe cavalry."
Hannibal appeared to consider this and then shook his big head up anddown in a vigorous nod. Boyd laughed and Kirby offered vocalencouragement.
"Mount up an' see if you have to go smoothin' out any humps."
"If you're goin' to ride that critter, git on!" Hart called. His toneexpressed urgency as if he had learned something in town which shouldsend them out of Cadiz in a hurry.
Drew's previous experience with mules had not been as a rider. He hadheard plenty about their sure-footedness, their ability to keep going aspack animals and wagon teams when horses gave out, their intelligence,as well as that stubbornness which lay on the darker side of the scales.He advanced on Hannibal now a little distrustfully, settling into thesaddle on the animal's back with the care of one expecting someunpleasant reaction. But Hannibal merely swung his head about as if tomake sure by sight, as well as pressure of weight on his back, that hisrider was safely aloft.
Relaxing, Drew saluted Pryor. "My thanks to you, suh."
"Think nothing of it, young man. Luck to you--all of you."
"That we can use, suh," Kirby returned. "Adios...."
Hart's impatience was so patent that Drew had only hasty thanks for Halebefore the trooper had them on their way out of town. When they were ata trot Kirby joined their guide.
"How come you workin' on your critter's rump with a double of rope? Gitsight of some blue belly hangin' out to dry-gulch us?"
"We ain't too welcome hereabouts." Hart did look worried, and Drew wasalert.
"Yankees?" he asked.
Hart shook his head. "Just some of the boys; they don't want noattention pulled this way, not right now."
The bank money--and the guerrillas. Yes, holding up the Cadiz bank ifand when any gold reached there, would appeal to the local irregulars,who might be so irregular as to be on the cold side of the law, even inwartime with the enemy their victim. Drew fitted one piece to anotherand thought he could guess the full pattern.
Kirby looked from one to the other. Boyd was completely at a loss. Amoment later the Texan spoke again.
"Me, I'm never one to argue with local talent, specially if they weartheir Colts low and loose. Doin' that is apt to make a man wolf meat.Wheah to now--this heah river?"
Drew nodded. The Cumberland must be scouted. And, after that, the moreformidable barrier of the Tennessee. He had not needed Pryor's warningabout the latter. Ever since they had left Bardstown and knew they wereheaded for that barrier, Drew had been carrying worry at the back of hismind.
But Pryor was also right about the Cumberland. Hart agreed to ride backto the company with the information to direct them to the best crossing.While Drew, Kirby, and Boyd went on to the last barrier between them andeventual escape southwest.
Here the Tennessee was a flood, a narrow lake more than a river. As theytraveled its eastern bank Boyd halted now and again to study the wasteof water dubiously.
"It's wide," he said in a subdued voice. Kirby spat accurately at a leafdrifting just below.
"Need us some fish fixin's heah," he agreed. "You swim?" he asked theother two.
There had been ponds at home where both of them in childhood had paddledabout with most of the young male populations of Red Springs and OakHill. But whether they could trust that somewhat limited skill to getthem over this flood was another matter.
"Some." Boyd appeared to have discovered caution.
"Me, I'm not sayin' yet," Kirby commented. "Splashin' 'round some in alittle-bitty wadin' pool, an' gittin' out in this, don't balance none.Ain't every hoss takes kindly to water, neither. I'd say we'd better seewhat's the chances of knockin' together a raft or somethin'. 'Less wecan find us a boat."
But boats were not to be found, unless they were willing to riskdiscovery by trying to cross near a well-settled district. And whenCaptain Campbell joined them that afternoon he insisted on the need ofspeed over a longer reconnaissance.
"The Yankees are closing in," he told the trio by the river. "If we tryto cross at a town, they'll have a point to center on. Rafts, yes, wecan try to build rafts--have to ferry over the men who can't swim, andour gear. This is the time we must push--fast."
The remote section of bank which Drew had chosen became a scene ofactivity as the company came in--a tight bunch--not long after Campbell.The stragglers came later, pushing beat-out horses, one or two ridingdouble. They had no tools other than bowie knives, and their attempts atraft-building were not only awkward but in the most cases futile. Whenthey did have a mat which would stick together after a fashion, theywere determined to put it to the test at once.
None of them had much practice in getting horses over such a wide bodyof water, and there were a great many freely voiced suggestionsconcerning the best methods.
Kirby stood watching the first attempt, his face blank of expression, asign Drew had come to recognize as the Texan's withdrawal from asituation or action of which he did not approve. There were five mensqueezed together on the flimsy-looking raft and they had strung outtheir mounts in a line, the head of one horse linked by leading rope tothe tail of the one before him.
"You don't think it's goin' to work?" Drew asked Kirby.
The Texan shrugged. "Maybe, only hosses don't think like men. An' alotta hosses don't take kindly to gittin' wheah theah ain't no footin'.Me, I want to see a little more, 'fore I roll out--"
Kirby's misgivings were amply justified. For that first voyage wasdoomed to a tragic and speedy end. The second horse in line, losingfooting as the river bed fell away beneath him, reared in fright, caughthis forefeet over the rope linking him to his fellow, and so jerked hishead underwater by his own frenzied struggles. Before the men on thewildly dipping raft were able to cut the now fright-maddened animalsloose, three in that string had drowned themselves by their uncontrolledplunges, and the others were being dragged under.
Boyd dived from the upper bank before Drew could stop him. It wasmadness to go anywhere near the struggling horses. But somehow Boyd'sblond head broke water at the side of the last gasping animal. He took agrip on the water-logged mane, his body bobbing up and down with thejerks of the horse's forequarters, until he had sawed through the leadcord and was able to start the mount back toward the shore, swimmingbeside him.
Drew was waiting with Kirby to give Boyd a hand up the bank.
"You could have been pull
ed under!"
Boyd was grinning. "But I wasn't. And the horse's all right, too." Hepatted the wet haunch of the shivering animal. "That was bad--theypulled each other down."
It was a disheartening beginning. But as the hours slipped by they hadbetter success. One horse, two, three could be towed on separate ropesbehind the raft. And in the morning there was a cockleshell of a boatoared in by one of the men who had found it downriver.
They had ferried and crossed well into the dusk of the evening. And atthe first dawn they were at it again. Drew tried to remember how manytimes he had made that trip, swimming or rowing, always with some mountas his special charge. More than half the company had sworn they couldnot swim, and so the burden of the transfer fell upon their fellows.
"Rennie--" That was Campbell climbing up from the raft after anotherweary passage across. "There's trouble on the other side. You've beenusing that mule of yours to get some of the horses over, haven't you?"
Drew was so tired that words were too much trouble to shape. He noddeddully. Pryor had been right about Hannibal. The big mule had not onlytaken his own passage across the Tennessee as a matter-of-courseproceeding, but had shouldered and urged along three horses as he went.And twice since then Drew had taken him back and forth to bring inskittish mounts causing trouble.
"That horse of mine's running wild; he broke out of the water twice."The captain caught at Drew's bare arm so hard his nails cut. "Think youcould get him over with the mule's help?"
Drew wavered a little as he walked slowly to where he had picketedHannibal after their last trip. He was tired, and although he had eatenearlier that morning, he was hungry again. It was warm and the sun wasclimbing, but the air felt chill against his naked body and he shivered.The one thing they were all getting out of this river business, Drewdecided, were much-needed baths.
Kirby, his body white save for tanned face and throat, sun-darkenedhands and wrists, crouched on the raft as Drew brought Hannibal down tothat unwieldy craft.
"Tryin' for the cap'n's hoss?"
"What's wrong with it?" Drew helped the Texan push off.
"Reaches no bottom, an' then it plain warps its backbone tryin' to pawdown the sky. Maybe that mule can git some sense into the loco critter.But I'm not buyin' no chips on his doin' it."
Drew located Campbell's horse, a rangy, good-looking gray which remindedhim a little of the colt he had seen at Red Springs, snorting andtrotting back and forth along the path they had worn on the banks duringtheir efforts of the past twenty-four hours. One of the rear guard heldits lead rope and kept as far from the skittish animal as he could.
"He's plumb mean," the guardian informed Drew. "When he jumps, get outfrom under--quick!"
Yet when Drew, mounted on Hannibal now, brought the horse down to thewater's edge, the horse appeared to go willingly enough. The scouttossed the lead rope to Kirby, waiting until the raft pushed off withits load of men and fringe of horses, then took to the river besideCampbell's horse. When they reached the deeper section he saw the graygo into action.
Rearing, the horse appeared about to try to climb onto the raft. And theman holding its lead rope dropped it quickly. Drew, swimming, one handon Hannibal's powerful shoulder, tried to guide the mule toward thehorse that was still splashing up and down in a rocking-horse movement.But the mule veered suddenly, and Drew saw those threatening hoofs loomover his own head. He pushed away frantically, but too late to miss anumbing blow as one hoof grazed his shoulder.
Somehow, with his other hand outflung, he caught Hannibal's rope tailand held on with all the strength he had left, while the water washed inand out of a long raw gouge in the skin and muscles of his upper arm.