Part 8 (2/2)
Hills then, and among them Bardstown. Drew borrowed a carbine, stringing a dubiously white strip of s.h.i.+rt 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 a.s.sumption 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 b.u.t.t 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 spoke directly to the elder of the two in the carriage. ”Would you be so kind as to direct me to where I may find the Union commander?”
”You're from John Hunt Morgan, young man?” She shut her parasol with a snap, held it as if she was considering its use as a weapon.
”Yes, ma'am. General Morgan, Confederate Army--”
She sniffed. ”You'll find their captain at the inn, probably. Yankees and whiskey apparently have an affinity for one another. So John Morgan's coming to pay us a visit?”
”Maybe, ma'am. And where may I find the inn?”
”Straight ahead,” the girl answered. ”You really are Morgan's men?”
Kirby did not have a hat to doff, but his bow in the saddle was as graceful as Drew's.
”That's right, ma'am. My, did we know what we'd find in Bardstown now, we'd bin ridin' in right sooner!”
”Suh! ... Louisa!” The elder lady's intimidating glare was divided, but Drew thought that Louisa got more than a half share of it.
”No offense meant, ma'am. It's jus' that ridin' 'bout the way we do an'
all, we don't git us a chance to say Howdy to ladies.” The Texan's expression was properly contrite; his voice all diffidence.
”The inn, young men, is on down the street. Drive on, Horace!” she ordered the coachman. But as the carriage started, she pointed her parasol at Drew as a teacher might point an admonis.h.i.+ng ruler at a pupil. ”I hope you'll find what you're looking for, young man. In the way of Yankees....”
”We generally do, ma'am,” Kirby commented. ”For us Yankees jus' turn up bright an' sa.s.sy all over the place.”
Drew laughed. ”Bright and sa.s.sy, then on the run!” For the success of his present mission and all those listening ears he ended that boast in as fervent a tone as he could summon.
”See that you keep them that way!” She enforced that order with a snap of parasol being reopened as the carriage moved from the shade back into the patch of open sunlight.
”That sure was a pretty girl,” observed Driscoll as Drew and the Texan wheeled back into line with him. ”Wish we could settle down heah for say two or three days. Git some of the dust outta our throats and have a chance to say Howdy to some friendly folks--”
”You'd be more likely sayin' Howdy to a Yankee prison guard if you did that,” Drew replied. ”Let's find this inn and the garrison commander.”
”That's the proper way of layin' it out--the inn an' _then_ business.
Yankees an' whiskey go together; that's what she said, ain't it? I maybe don't weah no blue coat regular, but whiskey sounds sorta refres.h.i.+n', don't it, now?”
”Just so you only think that, Anse, and don't try any tastin',” Drew warned. ”We make our big talk to this captain, and then we move out--fast. You boys know the drill?”
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