ing upon the nature of
the countryside, the activity of Union garrisons, and their general
state of energy at the time--southwest across the length of Kentucky.
Days became not collections of hours they could remember one by one
afterward, but a series of incidents embedded in a nightmare of hard
riding, scanty fare, and constant movement. Not only horses were giving
out now; they dropped men along the way. And some--like Cambridge and
Hilders--vanished completely, either cut off when they went to "trade"
mounts, or deserting the troop in favor of their own plans for survival.

The remaining men burst into Calhoun as a cloud of locusts descending on
a field of unprotected vegetation. Drew did not know how much Union
sentiment might exist there, but he judged that their actions would not
leave too many friends behind them. Jugs had appeared, to be passed
eagerly from hand to hand, and the contents of store shelves were swept
up and out before the outraged owners could protest.

It had showered that morning, leaving puddles of mud and water in the
unpaved streets. And at one place there was a mud fight in
progress--laughing, staggering men plastering the stuff over the new
clothes they had looted. Drew rode around such a party, the stud's
prancing and snorting getting him wide room, to tie up at the hitching
rail before the largest store.

A man in his shirt sleeves stood a little to one side watching the
excitement in the street. As Drew came up the man glanced at the scout,
surveying his shabbiness, and his mouth took on the harsh line of a
sneer.

"Want a new suit, soldier?" he demanded. "Just help yourself! You're
late in gettin' to it...."

Drew leaned against the wall of the store front. He was so tired that
the effort of walking on into that madhouse, where men yelled, grabbed,
fought over selections, was too much to face. This was just another part
of the never-ending nightmare which had entrapped them ever since they
had fled from the bank of the Licking at Cynthiana. Listlessly he
watched one trooper snatch a coat from another, drag it on triumphantly
over a shirt which was a fringe of tatters. He plucked at the front of
his own grimy shirt, and then felt around in the pocket he had so
laboriously stitched beneath the belt of his breeches, to bring out one
creased and worn bill. Spreading it out, he offered it to the man beside
him. To loot an army warehouse was fair play as he saw it. Morgan's
command had