Part 25 (1/2)
”Which means we gotta keep company from movin' in. If we could raise us a few of the boys now....” Kirby was speculative.
”If you went back to camp, gave the alarm. Traggart doesn't want a gang like this runnin' loose around here. They say they're Union; maybe they do have some connection with the Yankees.”
”With a Reb cap'n throwin' in with 'em? Most of these polecats play both sides of the border when it'll git them anythin' they want. An' they could try an' pay their way with the Yankees by tellin' 'bout our movements heah.”
”Could you make it to camp, fast?”
Kirby grunted. ”Sure, easy as driftin' downriver on one of them theah steamers. But leavin' you heah with that mess of skunks is somethin'
else.”
”Weatherby's out there. Anything or anyone gettin' by him would have to come in on wings.”
”An' wings don't come natural to this breed of critter! All right, I don't see how theah's much else we can do. We can't go pullin' the kid 'round any more. I'll give Weatherby the high sign an' make it back as quick as I can. Let's see if these heah ropes is staked out tight.”
He made a careful inspection of their three captives' bonds, and Drew laid the a.s.sorted armament to hand. But Kirby hesitated by the door.
”You keep your eyes peeled, amigo. Weatherby--he can pull that in-and-out game through the loft like he did before. But one man can't be all over the range at once.”
”I know.” Drew studied the remnants of battered furniture about the room. He thought he could pull the bed frame across the outer door, and shove the table and bench in front of the door to the lean-to. And there was a section of wall right under the broken window which could not be seen by anyone outside. ”I've some precautions in mind.”
”I'm ridin' then. See you.” Kirby was gone with a wave of hand.
Boyd was quiet again. The broth must have soothed him. Drew s.h.i.+fted the other's body to the floor on the spot of safety under the window. As he returned to gather up the arms he noted that Jas' was watching him.
Some of the first shock of his wound had worn off so that the guerrilla was not only aware of his present difficulties but was eyeing Drew in a manner which suggested he had not accepted the change in their roles as final. Drew hesitated. He could tie back that wounded hand, too, but he was sure the other could not use it to any advantage, and Drew could not bring himself to cause the extra pain such a move would mean. Not that he had any illusions concerning the bushwhacker's care for him, had their situation been reversed.
Simmy, once Kirby had gone, moved against the wall, holding up his head with a sigh of relief. He, too, watched Drew move the furniture. And when the scout did not pay any attention to him he spoke. ”Wotcha gonna do wi' us, Reb?”
Hatch's eyes, over the gag, were glaring evil; Jas' was watching the two Confederates with an intent measuring stare; but Simmy wilted a little when Drew looked at him directly.
”You're prisoners of war. As Union scouts....”
Simmy wriggled uncomfortably, and Drew continued the grilling.
”You _are_ Union scouts?”
”Sh.o.r.e! Sh.o.r.e! We's Union, ain't we, Jas'?” he appealed eagerly to his fellow.
Jas' neither answered nor allowed his gaze to wander from Drew.
”Then you'll get the usual treatment of a prisoner.” Drew was short, trying to listen for any movement beyond the squalid room. Weatherby was out there, and Drew put a great deal of trust in the Cherokee's ability.
But what if the ”captain” and the remaining members of this outlaw gang arrived before Kirby returned with help? Seeing that Boyd appeared to be asleep, Drew once again inspected his weapons, checking the loading of revolvers and rifle.
Jas's rifle was one of the new Spencers. The Yankees loaded those on Sunday and fired all week, or so the boys said. It was a fine piece, new and well cared for. He examined it carefully and then looked up to meet Jas's flat stare, knowing that the guerrilla's hate was the more bitter for seeing his prized weapon in the enemy's hands.
The Spencer, Simmy's Enfield, old and not very well kept, five Colts beside his own, Hatch's bowie knife and another, almost as deadly looking, which had been found on Jas', equipped Drew with a regular a.r.s.enal. But it was not until he settled down that Drew knew he faced a far more deadly enemy--sleep. The fatigue he had been able to battle as long as he was on the move, hit him now with the force of a clubbed rifle. He knew he dared not even lean back against the wall or relax any of his vigilance, not so much over the prisoners and Boyd, as over himself.
Somehow he held on, trying to move. The pile of wood by the hearth was diminis.h.i.+ng steadily. He would soon have to let the fire die out. To venture out of the house in quest of more fuel was too risky. And always he was aware of Jas's tight regard. Simmy had fallen asleep, his thin, weasel face hidden as his head lolled forward on his chest.