managed. Boyd's head, still rolling back and forth, moved
now against Drew's sound shoulder. Kirby steadied his trailing legs,
then went ahead with the lantern. Before they moved off, Drew turned his
head to the breastworks.

"Thanks, Yankee!" He called as loudly and clearly as his thirst-dried
throat allowed. There was no answer from the hidden picket or sentry--if
he were still there. Then Hannibal paced down the slope.

"The Calhoun place?" Kirby asked.

Hannibal stumbled, and Boyd cried out, the cry becoming a moan.

"Yes. Anse ..." Drew added dully, "do you know ... this was his
birthday--today. I just remembered."

Sixteen today.... Maybe somewhere he could find the surgeon to whom last
night he had turned over the drugs in his saddlebags. The doctor's
gratitude had been incredulous then. But that was before the battle,
before a red tide of broken men had flowed into the dressing station at
the Calhoun house. The leg wound was not too bad, but the sun had
affected the boy who had lain in its full glare most of the day. He must
have help.

The saddlebags of drugs, Boyd needing help--one should balance the
other. Those facts seesawed back and forth in Drew's aching head, and he
held his muttering burden close as Kirby found them a path away from the
rending guns and the blaze of the fires.

9

_One More River To Cross_

"The weather is sure agin this heah war. A man's either frizzled clean
outta his saddle by the heat--or else his hoss's belly's deep in the mud
an' he gits him a gully-washer down the back of his neck! Me--I'm a West
Texas boy, an' down theah we have lizard-fryin' days an' twisters that
are regular hell winds, and northers that'll freeze you solid in one
little puff-off. But then all us boys was raised on rattlesnakes,
wildcats, an' cactus juice--we're kinda hardened to such. Only I ain't
seen as how this half of the country is much better. Maybe we shouldn't
have switched our range--"

Drew grinned at Kirby's stream of whispered comment and complaint as
they wriggled their way forward through brush to look down on a Union
blockhouse and stockade guarding a railroad trestle.

"Weather don't favor either side. The Yankees have it just as bad, don't
they?"

The Texan made a snake's noiseless progress to come even with his
companion's vantage point.

"Sure, but then they should ... they ought to pay up somehow for huntin'
their hosses on somebody else's range. We'd be right peac