tered up through the trees, and an
officer, his insignia of rank two-inch strips of yellowish ribbon sewed
to the collar of a mud-brown coat, was conferring with Wilkins. Then the
clear notes of the bugle charge rang out.

Forrest's men were as adept as Morgan's raiders in making a show of
force seem twice the number of men actually in the field. They now
whirled in and out of a wild pattern which should impress the Yankee
picket with the fact that at least a full regiment was advancing.

Three miles from Pulaski the Yankees made a stand, slamming back with
all they had, but Buford was pushing just as hard and determinedly.
Gray-brown boiled out of cover and charged, yelling. That electric spark
of reckless determination which had taken the Kentucky columns up the
slope at Harrisburg flashed again from man to man. Drew tasted the old
headiness which could sweep a man out of sanity, send him plunging
ahead, aware only of the waiting enemy.

The Union lines broke under those shock waves; men ran for the town
behind them. But there was no taking that town. By early afternoon they
had them fenced in, held by a show of force. Only in the night, leaving
their fires burning, the Confederates slipped away.

Rains hit again; guns and wagons bogged. But they kept on into
rough-and-rocky country. They had taken enough horses from the Union
corrals at the blockhouses to mount the men who had tramped patiently
along the ruts in just that hope. Better still, sugar and coffee from
the rich Yankee supply depot at the Brown farm was now filling Rebel
stomachs.

Drew sat on his heels by a palm-sized fire, watching with weary content
the tin pail boiling there. The aroma rising from it was one he had
almost forgotten existed in this world of constant riding and poor
forage.

"Hope it kicks in the middle an' packs double." Kirby rested a tin cup
on one knee, ready and waiting. "Me, I like mine strong enough to rest a
horseshoe on ... gentlelike."

"Yankees are obligin', one way or another." Drew licked his fingers
appreciatively. He had been exploring the sugar supply. "I've missed
sweetenin'."

"Drink up, boys, and get ready to ride," Wilkins said, coming out of the
dark. "We've marchin' orders."

Kirby reached for the pot and poured its contents, with careful
measurement, into each waiting cup. "Wheah to now, Sarge? Seems like
we've covered most of this heah range already."

"Huntsville. We have to locate a river crossin'."