closed about the butt of a Colt.

"What--" Drew asked in the faintest of whispers.

The Cherokee dropped the remainder of the uncut beef into the pot. Knife
in hand, he moved with a panther's fluid grace to the begrimed window
half-covered with a dusty rag.

12

_Guerrillas_

Boyd stirred. "Shelly?" His call sounded loud in the now silent room.
Drew set his hand across the boy's mouth, dividing his attention between
Boyd and Weatherby. They had no way of putting out the fire, whose light
might be providing a beacon through the dark. The Indian moved back a
little from the window.

"Riders ... coming down the lane." His whisper was a thread.

Now Drew could hear, too, the ring of hoofs on the iron-hard surface of
the ground. A horse nickered--one of those which had brought Boyd's
stretcher, or perhaps one of the newcomers.

Kirby whipped about the door and was now lost in the shadows of the next
room. Weatherby looked to Drew, then to the loft ladder against the far
wall. In answer to that unspoken question, Drew nodded.

As the Cherokee swung up into the hiding place, Drew eased one of his
Colts out of the holster, pushing it under the folds of the blankets
around Boyd. Then he swung the pot, with its burden of beef and water,
out over the fire--to hang on its chain to boil.

"Shelly?" Boyd asked again. His eyes were open, too bright, and he
stared about him, plainly puzzled. Then he looked up at his nurse, and
his forehead wrinkled with effort. "Drew?"

But Drew was listening to those oncoming hoofs. The strangers would see
two horses. If they came in, they would find two men--it was as simple
as that. And if they wore the wrong color uniforms, Weatherby above, and
Kirby in the lean-to, would be ready and waiting for trouble. Drew laid
fresh wood on the fire. Since he could not hide, he felt he'd better get
as much light as possible in case of future trouble. The last they had
heard the Yankees were concentrating at Murfreesboro and Nashville. But
scouts would be out, dogging the flanks of the Confederate forces, just
as he had done the opposite during the past few days.

There was silence now in the lane, a suspicious quiet. Drew deduced that
the riders had dismounted and might be closing in about the cabin. A
prickle of chill climbed his spine. He touched the lump under the
blanket which was his own insurance.

The door burst open, sent banging inward by a booted foot. And at the
same time a s