k
one man down and allowed his neighbor to march on unscathed.

"You men--over there--close up!" A officer, hardly to be distinguished
from the men he rode among, waved them back to the column. Then they
were dismounting. As Drew handed Hannibal over to Boyd's care, he was
glad again that the other was safely behind the battle line moving up in
the thin woods.

During the night the enemy had thrown together the breastworks on the
ridge, weaving together axed trees, timbers torn out of the abandoned
houses of the village--anything the Union leader could commandeer for
such use. And between that improvised fortification and the cover in
which the Confederates now waited was a section of open ground, varying
in width with the wanderings of a now dry river. Where the Kentuckians
were stationed, there must have stretched about three hundred yards of
that open, Drew estimated, and the woods bordering it on this side were
so thin that any charge would take them into plain sight for five
hundred yards of approach.

Fieldpieces brought into line on the woods side, hidden above by the
breastworks, opened up in a dull _pom-pom_ duel. Drew saw a shell strike
earth not far away, bounce twice, still intact, and roll on toward the
Confederate lines.

The _zip-zip_ of the Minies had not yet begun. And this waiting was the
hardest part of all. Drew tried to pin all his powers of concentration
on a study of the ground immediately before him, the slope up which they
would have to win in order to have it out with the now hidden enemy. He
made himself calculate just which path to take when the orders to charge
came. Although his arm prevented his using a carbine or rifle, his two
Colts were loaded, and one was in his hand. He glanced around.

Kirby? There was a Morgan trooper next--Drew tried to remember his name.
Laswell ... Townstead ... no, Clinton! Tom Clinton. He'd done picket
duty with Drew. And beyond Clinton--there was Kirby, his lips pulled
tight in what might have been a grin, but which Drew thought was not.
Then ... Boyd! But Boyd was back with the horses; he had to be!

Drew edged forward a little, trying to see better. If it were Boyd, he
had to wrench him out of that line and get the boy back. A hot emotion
close to panic boiled up in Drew.

Somewhere, through the pound of the artillery, a bugle blared. And
Drew's muscles obeyed that call, even as he still tried to see who was
fourth in line from him.

Slowly at firs