r sat with his back against the paling of a trim white fence, one
lax hand still holding the reins of a horse. Drew pulled Croaker up so
Boyd could slip down. As he pulled loose the reins the Yankee slid
inertly to the ground.

A squad of blue coats turned the corner a block away, heading for them.
Somewhere ahead, the company led by the General was fighting its way
through Selma. Drew was driven by the necessity of catching up. The two
armies were so mingled now that the wild disorder proved a cover for
escaping Confederates.

Twilight was on them as they hit the Burnsville road, coming into the
tail end of the command of men from a dozen or more shattered regiments,
companies, and divisions, who had consolidated in some order about
Forrest and his escort. These were all veterans, men tough enough to
fight their way out of the city and lucky enough to find their mounts or
others when the order to get out had come. They were part of the
striking force Forrest had built up through months and years--tempered
with his own particular training and spirit--now peeled down to a final
hard core.

In the darkness their advance tangled with a Union outpost, snapping up
prisoners before the bewildered Yankees were aware that they, too, were
not Wilson's men. And the word passed that a Fourth United States
Regulars' scouting detachment was camped not too far away.

"We can take 'em, suh." Drew caught the assurance in that.

"We shall, we certainly shall!" Forrest's drawl had sharpened as if he
saw in the prospect of this small engagement a chance to redeem the
futile shame of those breaking lines at Selma.

"Not you, suh!"

That protest was picked up, echoed by every man within hearing. Finally
the General yielded to their angry demands that he not expose himself to
the danger of the night attack.

They moved in around the house, and somehow confidence was restored by
following the old familiar pattern of the surprise attack--as if in this
small action they were again a part of the assured troops who had fought
gunboats from horseback, who had tweaked the Yankees' tails so often.

Drew and Boyd were part of the detachment sent to approach the
fire-lighted horse lot, coming from a different angle than the main body
of the force. It was the old, old game of letting a dozen do the work of
fifty. But before they had reached the rail fence about that enclosure,
there was a ripple of spiteful Yankee fire.

"Come on!" The offi