Raiding With Morgan by Jim R. Woolard Page B

of your Reb.”
    General Morgan opted for a two-horse buggy with fringed top cover to escape the heat. Two troopers swooped past his buggy with bolts of calico tied to their saddle horns, streamers of bright-colored cloth unfurling behind them. Not the least perturbed, General Morgan laughed and waved to them.
    Ty stood in his stirrups for a last look at Salem. For a few seconds, he thought he was accompanying a different army, as a large number of troopers had donned stolen linen dusters in an attempt to keep hoof-stirred dust from coating their sweat-laden uniforms.
    The black smoke from the roaring fires in Salem stained the entire western sky. Ty sighed. Whether done in the guise of war or not, rebuilding the destroyed structures would require much expense, time, and labor. He felt a twinge of sorrow for Salem’s citizens.
    Ty’s father always seemed to arrive faster than a lightning bolt. He was aboard a seal-brown gelding, with a black mane and tail. “Sooner or later, there will be hell to pay for what we’re doing. We have stuck a big stick in a very large hornet’s nest. People are capable of anything when they’re infuriated and scared. Mark my word, they will know we’re coming, and they will stop at nothing to impede our progress until the Yankees overtake us.”
    â€œDo you think the Yankees will catch us before General Morgan decides to cross the Ohio again?”
    Owen Mattson looked Ty straight in the eye. “We’re in a tight race, a mighty tight race. Odds are, we’ll be lucky to escape with our lives and avoid a Yankee prison.”
    While he had the opportunity, for there might not be another one for who knew how long, Ty said, “I overheard a conversation at the sinks after our meeting with General Morgan that I must tell you about.”
    â€œI talked to Shawn Shannon earlier. He told me what happened,” Owen Mattson said.
    Not wanting Ty to be distracted by the incident and neglect his duties, Owen Mattson continued speaking. “Trust me, the man you overheard isn’t the first who’s wanted to kill me for whatever reason, so don’t spend time worrying about what he’s supposedly planning to do. Never waste time fretting about anything until actions match words. Understand?”
    Ty could only say, “Yes, sir.”
    Since he lacked his father’s courage, that advice didn’t alleviate Ty’s fears. However, it was obvious from the tone of his father’s voice that the subject was closed for now.
    And a good trooper obeyed orders.
    Or tried to, as best he could.

PART 2
F OR THE O HIO
    We crossed the Ohio-Indiana border and arrived at Harrison, Ohio this morning. We have covered 188 miles in 6 days since departing Brandenburg. Our most pressing need around the clock is suitable horses. By my rough estimate, we have impressed 1,850 mounts since crossing the Ohio. The exchange has been so rapid troopers are far past weeping over the loss of their beloved Thoroughbreds. To their disgust, their replacement mounts of indiscriminate breed last but a day or two, some not that long. Ahead awaits our greatest and most demanding challenge to date, a challenge that will test the stamina and lungs of every animal we ride, for General Morgan has decided we must skirt well-armed Cincinnati to the north in the dark of night, a beastly venture.
    â€”Journal of Clinton J. Hardesty, Morgan’s Confederate Cavalry, 13 July 1863

CHAPTER 10
    T y leaned from the saddle and emptied his stomach in spasms of violent retching. Lieutenant Shannon reined close and studied his contorted features, especially the dark spittle dangling from his chin. “You sick, Corporal? Your face is yellow, green, and three shades of blue.”
    Ty fought for breath. “Ebb White gave me a wedge of Mule Harness to chew. He told me it would keep the dust from drying my mouth out.”
    â€œEbb’s been chewing that black tobacco for years.