k, and the militia, trusted by none, in
the middle. Thin lines stretched to the limit, so that each dismounted
trooper in that pitiful fortification was six or even ten feet from his
nearest fellow. And gathering under the afternoon sun a mass of blue, a
vast, endless ocean....

The enemy was dismounted, too, coming in on a charge as fearless and
reckless as any the Confederates had delivered in the past. With the
sharpness of one of their own sabers, they slashed out a trotting arc of
men, cutting at Armstrong's veterans in the earthworks to be curled
back under a withering fire, losing a general, senior officers, and men.
But the rebuff did not shake them.

A second Union attack was aimed at the center, and the militia broke.
Bugles shrilled in the small reserve, who then pushed up to meet that
long tongue of blue licking out confidently toward the city. This time
there was no stopping the Yankee advance. The reserve neither broke nor
followed the shambling panic-striken flight of the militia, but were
pushed back by sheer weight of numbers to the unfinished second line of
the city's defenses.

Blue--a full tidal wave of it in front and wedges of blue overlapping
the gray flanks and appearing here and there even to the rear--

Having thrown away his rifle, Drew was now firing with both Colts, never
sure any of his bullets found their targets. He stood shoulder to
shoulder with Boyd in a dip of half-finished earthwork when the bugle
called again, and down the ragged line of gray snapped an order unheard
before--

"Get out! Save yourselves!"

Boyd fired, then threw his emptied Colt into the face of a tall man
whose blue coat bore a sergeant's stripes. His own emptied guns placed
in their holsters, Drew caught up the carbine the Yankee had dropped. He
gave Boyd a shove.

"Run!"

They dodged in and out of a swirling mass of fighting men, somehow
reaching the line of horse holders. Drew found Croaker standing stolidly
with dragging reins, got into the saddle, and reached down a hand to aid
Boyd up behind him. In the early dusk he saw General Forrest--his own
height and the proportions of his charger King Phillip distinguishable
even in that melee--gathering about him a nucleus of resistance as they
battled toward the city. And Drew headed Croaker in the General's
direction.

Boyd pawed at his shoulder as they burst into a street at the
bone-shaking gallop which was the mule's fastest gait. A blue-coated
troope