camp, Red reported to the major commanding the guard. After hearing what had happened at the Snake Ford, the major said that the Napoleons had moved into position the previous night. He had received no orders to attack and nodded his agreement with Colonel Barnett’s instructions that he ignore them should they arrive. Arranging for the body to be brought in as soon as possible, Red looked across the river. ‘If that feller’d got here—’ Red breathed.
‘Yes,’ the major replied. ‘It’s just what you’d expect a stinking Yankee soft-shell* to try and pull.’
‘Sure it is,’ Red drawled. ‘After he’s tried to pull it.’
Continuing their fast-paced journey, Red and Kiowa made for the next ford. On arrival, they found similar conditions to those at their last point of call. A battery of six-pounder cannon had been brought up the previous night, the pieces being concealed, yet able to lay a cross-fire on the ford. Until he had heard Red’s news, the guard commander was at a loss to explain why the cannons had made their appearance. At first he had kept his men stood-to in their defensive positions, which explained why the Texans had not met a patrol between the two fords. The Union attack feared by the guard commander had not materialized and he had been on the point of sending a patrol along the river’s bank when Red and Kiowa came on the scene. Repeating Colonel Barnett’s orders, Red took to his horse once more. After covering about a mile, the Texans met an infantry patrol travelling towards the ford they had just visited. Halting, Red learned that no orders to attack had been received by the next guard down-river; although it too was now covered by a battery of six-pounders. There had been no reports of trouble, or even artillery movements, from the lower fords. Learning of the incident at the Snake Ford, the infantry lieutenant stated his intention to watch extra carefully for fake couriers. Red warned him to make sure the courier was a fake and, if possible to take him alive.
‘I’d sure hate the puddle-splashers to shoot down one of our boys who’s riding dispatch, Kiowa,’ Red said as they watched the patrol march away. ‘There’s no need to keep going.’
‘We headed back to the Company?’ the sergeant inquired.
‘Not by what you’d call the quickest way,’ Red answered. ‘I’ve been thinking about what Cousin Dusty’s trying to do—’
‘And?’
‘The Yankee’ll have at least three batteries against our one — soon’s they can get the guns from the other fords to the Snake. Which they couldn’t do happen somehow they was to lose all their hosses in the night.’
‘They do say Yankees are real careless with their stock,’ Kiowa grunted and fingered the knife on his belt. We could go see if it’s true.’
‘That’s just what we’ll do,’ Red decided; then a thought struck him and caused a grin to flicker across his face. ‘Wouldn’t it be a pistol if those guerillas take them fake orders to sell to the Yankee soldiers? I’d give money to see old Trumpeter’s face, happen he thought up this fancy twirl-me-round, when he gets his own orders handed back to him?
oooOooo
* Soft-shell: a liberal-intellectual.
CHAPTER EIGHT
YOUR GUERILLA FRIEND KILLED
ONE OF OUR SPIES
BEING a man who enjoyed his creature comforts, the Yankee general who had originally captured Little Rock selected a fine old colonial-style house in the best section of the town for his official residence. Ever optimistic, subsequent generals saw no point of seeking other quarters when at any time they might be continuing their advance towards the borders of Texas.
On the afternoon of the fourth day after his grand review had been disrupted and ruined, General Horace Trumpeter paced restlessly about the first-floor front room which had been converted into his private office. Back and forwards he tramped; from the door, passing the large desk in the centre of the room and almost brushing against
‘Yes,’ the major replied. ‘It’s just what you’d expect a stinking Yankee soft-shell* to try and pull.’
‘Sure it is,’ Red drawled. ‘After he’s tried to pull it.’
Continuing their fast-paced journey, Red and Kiowa made for the next ford. On arrival, they found similar conditions to those at their last point of call. A battery of six-pounder cannon had been brought up the previous night, the pieces being concealed, yet able to lay a cross-fire on the ford. Until he had heard Red’s news, the guard commander was at a loss to explain why the cannons had made their appearance. At first he had kept his men stood-to in their defensive positions, which explained why the Texans had not met a patrol between the two fords. The Union attack feared by the guard commander had not materialized and he had been on the point of sending a patrol along the river’s bank when Red and Kiowa came on the scene. Repeating Colonel Barnett’s orders, Red took to his horse once more. After covering about a mile, the Texans met an infantry patrol travelling towards the ford they had just visited. Halting, Red learned that no orders to attack had been received by the next guard down-river; although it too was now covered by a battery of six-pounders. There had been no reports of trouble, or even artillery movements, from the lower fords. Learning of the incident at the Snake Ford, the infantry lieutenant stated his intention to watch extra carefully for fake couriers. Red warned him to make sure the courier was a fake and, if possible to take him alive.
‘I’d sure hate the puddle-splashers to shoot down one of our boys who’s riding dispatch, Kiowa,’ Red said as they watched the patrol march away. ‘There’s no need to keep going.’
‘We headed back to the Company?’ the sergeant inquired.
‘Not by what you’d call the quickest way,’ Red answered. ‘I’ve been thinking about what Cousin Dusty’s trying to do—’
‘And?’
‘The Yankee’ll have at least three batteries against our one — soon’s they can get the guns from the other fords to the Snake. Which they couldn’t do happen somehow they was to lose all their hosses in the night.’
‘They do say Yankees are real careless with their stock,’ Kiowa grunted and fingered the knife on his belt. We could go see if it’s true.’
‘That’s just what we’ll do,’ Red decided; then a thought struck him and caused a grin to flicker across his face. ‘Wouldn’t it be a pistol if those guerillas take them fake orders to sell to the Yankee soldiers? I’d give money to see old Trumpeter’s face, happen he thought up this fancy twirl-me-round, when he gets his own orders handed back to him?
oooOooo
* Soft-shell: a liberal-intellectual.
CHAPTER EIGHT
YOUR GUERILLA FRIEND KILLED
ONE OF OUR SPIES
BEING a man who enjoyed his creature comforts, the Yankee general who had originally captured Little Rock selected a fine old colonial-style house in the best section of the town for his official residence. Ever optimistic, subsequent generals saw no point of seeking other quarters when at any time they might be continuing their advance towards the borders of Texas.
On the afternoon of the fourth day after his grand review had been disrupted and ruined, General Horace Trumpeter paced restlessly about the first-floor front room which had been converted into his private office. Back and forwards he tramped; from the door, passing the large desk in the centre of the room and almost brushing against
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