The scout's hand paused in his currying of Hannibal as that idea struck him for the first time. Now he thought he could understand why Red Springs and all it stood for was so removed and meaningless, was lost in the dim past. To Drew Rennie now, the squad, his round of duties, the army--these were home, not a brick house set in the midst of green fields and smooth paddocks. The house was empty of what he had found elsewhere--acceptance of Drew Rennie as a person in his own right, friendship, an occupation which answered the restlessness which had ridden him into rebellion. He stood staring at nothing as he thought about all that. Kirby startled him out of his self-absorption. "Butt your saddle, amigo! We're hittin' the trail again." As he swung up on the Yankee horse and took Hannibal's lead halter, Drew asked a question: "Ever seem to you, Anse, like the army's home? Like it's always been, and you've always been a part of it?" Kirby shot him a quick glance. "Guess we all kinda feel that sometimes. Gits so you can hardly remember how it was 'fore you joined up. Me, I sometimes wonder if I jus' dreamed Texas outta m' head. Only I keep remindin' myself that someday I can go back an' see if it's jus' the way I dreamed it. Kinda nice to think 'bout that." They cut away from the main line of march, ranging out and ahead. Stragglers from the army must be moved forward, directed. And they came upon one of those, a tall man, limping on feet covered with strips of filthy rag. But he still had his musket, and on its bayonet was stuck a goodly portion of ham. He had been sitting on a tree trunk, but at the approach of the scouts he moved to meet them. "Howdy, fellas," he spoke in a hoarse voice, and wiped a running nose on his sleeve. "What command you in?" "Forrest's Cavalry ... Scouts--" "Forrest's!" He took another eager step forward. "Now theah's a command! Ain't bin for you boys, th' blue bellies woulda gulped us right up! Nairy a one of us'd got out of Tennessee." "You ain't rightly out yet, amigo," Kirby pointed out. "Kinda lost, ain't you?" The man shrugged and grinned wryly. "Feet ain't too good. But I'm makin' it, fast as I can." "Can you fork a mule?" Drew asked. "This one is for ridin'. We'll take you to one of the wagons--" "Now that's right kind of you boys, right kind." The man hobbled up to Hannibal as if he feared they might withdraw their offer. "Say, you hungry? Git us wheah we can light a spell, an' I'll divide my rations with you." He waved the musket with its impaled ham. "Maybe we'll do jus' that," Kirby promised. Drew dismounted to give the straggler a leg up on Hannibal before they headed on toward the Tennessee and the promise of a breathing space. 15 _Independent Scout_ "What did the doc say?" Kirby, his blue overcoat a splotch of color against the general drabness of the winter scene, came up towing Hannibal and his own mount.