Morgan that he could
have his guns, providin' he kept his side of the bargain."

"As far as the Yankees in Bardstown may know, General Morgan could be
headed their way right now with a regiment. I don't think they've had
time yet to learn just how badly we were scattered back there by the
Licking River. You willing to take the flag in when we get there,
Rennie? Pick a couple of outriders to go with you!"

It was risky, but no more risky than bluffs he had seen work before. And
they did need the weapons. Cutting westward now only kept them well
inside Union territory. Somehow they would have to skulk or fight their
way down through the southern part of Kentucky and then probably all the
way across Tennessee--a tall order, but one which was just possible of
accomplishment.

"I'll do it, suh." Riding into Bardstown was no worse than riding over
the rest of this countryside where any moment they might be swept up by
the enemy.

It was lucky they had brought rations with them from McKeever's, for
they took no more chances of trying for such supplies again. Once more
they altered their advance, riding the pikes at night, hiding out by
day.

Hills then, and among them Bardstown. Drew borrowed a carbine, stringing
a dubiously white strip of shirt tail from its barrel, and flanked by
Kirby and Driscoll, a trooper Campbell had appointed, rode slowly up the
broad street opening from the pike. Great trees arched overhead, almost
as they had across the drive of the McKeever place, and the houses were
fine, equal to the best about Lexington.

A carriage pulled to the side, its two feminine occupants leaning
forward a little under the tilt of dainty parasols, eyes wide. While
their coachman stared open-mouthed at the three dirty, tattered
cavalrymen riding with an assumption of ease, though armed, down the
middle of the avenue.

"You, suh." It was the coachman who hailed Drew. "You soldier men?"

Drew reined in the black, who this time obeyed without protest. The
weary miles had taught the gelding submission if not perfect manners.
Transferring his reins to the hand which also steadied the butt of his
carbine against his thigh so that his "flag" was well in evidence, Drew
swept off his dust-grayed hat and bowed to the ladies in the carriage.

"General Morgan's compliments, ladies," he said, loud enough for his
words to carry beyond the vehicle to the townspeople gathering on the
walk. "Flag of truce comin' in, ma'am." He s