Part 36 (1/2)

_Texas Spurs_

The soft wind curled languidly in through the open church window, stirring the curly lock which Boyd now and then impatiently pushed away from his eyes ... was a delicate fingertip touch on Drew's cheek. A subdued shuffle of feet could be heard as the congregation arose. It was Sunday in Gainesville, and a congregation such as could only have gathered there on this particular May 7, 1865. Rusty gray-brown, patched, and with ill-mended tears, which no amount of painstaking effort could ever convert again into more than dimly respectable uniforms, a sprinkling of civilian broadcloth and feminine bonnets. And across the church a smaller block of once hostile blue....

As the recessional formed, prayer books were closed to be slipped into pockets or reticules. The presiding celebrate moved down from the altar, his surplice tugged aside by the wandering breeze revealing the worn cavalry boots of a chaplain.

”For the beauty of the earth, For the beauty of the skies, For the love which from our birth Over and around us lies.”

Men's voices, hesitant and rusty at first, then rose confidently over the more decorous hum of the regular church-goers as old memories were renewed.

”Lord of all, to Thee we raise This our Hymn of grateful praise.”

The hymn swelled, a mighty, powerful wave of sound. Drew's hard, calloused hands closed on the back of the pew ahead. Hearing Boyd's voice break, Drew knew that within them both something had loosened. The apathy which had held them through these past days was going, and they were able to feel again.

”Drew--” Boyd's voice quavered and then steadied, ”let's go home....”

They had shared the talk at camp, the discussion about slipping away to join Kirby Smith in Texas, and some had even gone before the official surrender of Confederate forces east of the Mississippi three days earlier. But when General Forrest elected to accept Yankee terms, most of the men followed his example. Back at camp they were making out the paroles on the blanks furnished by the Union Command, but so far no Yankee had appeared in person. The cavalry were to retain their horses and mules, and whole companies planned to ride home together to Tennessee and Kentucky. Drew and Boyd could join one of those.

As they moved toward the church door now three of the Union soldiers who had attended the service were directly ahead of them in the aisle. Boyd caught urgently at Drew's arm.

”Those spurs--look at his spurs!” He pointed to the heels of the middle Yankee. Sunlight made those ornate disks of silver very bright. Drew's breath caught, and he took a long stride forward to put his hand on the blue coat's shoulder. The man swung around, startled, to face him.

”Suh, where did you get those spurs?” Drew's tone carried the note of one who expected to be answered promptly--with the truth.

The Yankee had straight black brows which drew together in a frown as he stared back at the Confederate.

”I don't see how that's any business of yours, Reb!”

Drew's hand went to his belt before he remembered that there wasn't any weapon there, and no need for one now. He regained control.

”It's this much my business, suh. Those spurs are Mexican. They were taken from a Mexican officer at Chapultepec, and the last time I saw them they were worn by a very good friend of mine who's been missing since February! I'd like very much indeed to know just how and where you got them.”

Lifting one booted foot, the Yankee studied the spurs as if they had somehow changed their appearance. When his eyes came back to meet Drew's his frown was gone.

”Reb, I bought these from a fella in another outfit, 'bout two or three weeks ago. He was on sick leave and was goin' home. I gave him good hard cash for 'em.”

”Did he say where he got them?” pressed Drew.

The other shook his head. ”He had a pile of stuff--mostly Reb--buckles, spurs, and such. Sold it all around camp 'fore he left.”

”What outfit are you?” Boyd asked.

”Trooper, any trouble here?” A Yankee major bore down on them from one side, a Confederate captain from the other.

”No, suh,” Drew replied quickly. ”I just recognized a pair of spurs this trooper is wearin'. They belonged to a friend of mine who's been missin'

for some time. I hoped maybe the trooper knew something about him.”

”Well, do you?” the major demanded of his own man.

”No, sir. Bought these in camp from a fella goin' on furlough. I don't know where he got 'em.”