ur report accepted, Sergeant."

It was plainly a dismissal. As Drew saluted, the General laid his hat
back on the tallest pile of papers. Busy at the table, he might have
already forgotten Drew. But the Kentuckian, pausing outside the door to
examine the hat cord once more, knew that he would never forget. No,
there were no medals worn in the ragged, thin lines of the shrinking
Confederate Army. But his birthday gift--Drew's fist closed about the
cord jealously--that was something he would have, always.

Only, nowadays, how long was "always"?

"That's a right smart-lookin' mount, Sarge!" Drew looked at the pair of
lounging messengers grinning at him from the front porch of
headquarters. He loosened the reins and led the bony animal a step or
two before mounting.

Shawnee, nimble-footed as a cat, a horse that had known almost as much
about soldiering as his young rider. Then Hannibal, the mule from Cadiz,
that had served valiantly through battle and retreat, to die in a
Tennessee stream bed. And now this bone-rack of a gray mule with one lop
ear, a mind of his own, and a gait which could set one's teeth on edge
when you pushed him into any show of speed. The animal's long,
melancholy face, his habit of braying mournfully in the moonlight--until
Westerners compared him unfavorably with the coyotes of the Plains--had
earned him the name Croaker; and he was part of the loot they had
brought out of the bushwhackers' camp.

As unlovely as he appeared, Croaker had endurance, steady nerves, and a
most un-mulelike willingness to obey orders. He was far from the ideal
cavalry mount, but he took his rider there and back, safely. He was
sure-footed, with a cat's ability to move at night, and in scout circles
he had already made a favorable impression. But he certainly was an
unhandsome creature.

"Smart actin's better than smart lookin'," Drew answered the disparagers
now. "Do as well yourselves, soldiers, and you'll be satisfied."

Croaker started off at a trot, sniffling, his good ear twitching as if
he had heard those unfriendly comments and was storing them up in his
memory, to be acted upon in the future.

January and February were behind them now. Now it was March ...
spring--only it was more like late fall. Or winter, with the night
closing in. Drew let Croaker settle to the gait which suited him best.
He would visit Boyd and then rejoin Buford's force.

The army, or what was left of it hereabouts, was, as usual, r