There was merit in the Texan's suggestion. Drew, from past experience, knew that. His only hesitation was Boyd. The youngster was right. Short of subduing him physically and taking him back tied to his saddle through the spreading Union web, Drew had no chance of returning Boyd to Oak Hill. But to lead him into the chancy sort of deal Kirby had outlined was entirely too dangerous. "You mean--we hold up some Yankees and just take their uniforms an' carbines an' things?" It was already too late. Boyd had seized upon what must have seemed to him an idea right out of the dashing kind of war he had been imagining all these past weeks. "It has been done, kid," the Texan affirmed. "'Course we got to find us two or three poor little maverick blue bellies lost outta the herd like. Then we cut 'em away from the trail an' reason with 'em." "That ought to be easy." Boyd's enthusiasm was at the boiling point. "The Yankees are all cowards--" Kirby straightened in his saddle, the lazy good humor gone from his face. "Kid, don't git so lippy 'bout what you ain't rightly learned yet. Yankees can fight--they can fight good. You saw 'em do that today. And don't you ever forgit it!" Boyd was disconcerted, but he clung doggedly to his belief. "One of Morgan's men can take on five Yankees." Drew laughed dryly. "You saw _that_ happen just this mornin', Boyd. And what happened? We ran. They fight just as hard and as long, and most of them just as tough as we do. And don't ever think that the man facin' you across a gun is any less than you are; maybe he's a little better. Keep that in mind!" "Yes, you read the aces an' queens in your hand 'fore you spreads your money out recklesslike," Kirby agreed. "So, if we find the right setup, we move, but--" Drew swung up one hand in the horseman's signal of warning. "Something--or someone--_is_ on the move ... ahead there!" he warned. 4 _The Eleventh Ohio Cavalry_ They had worked their way around the edge of the cornfield, and now they could look out on a hard-surfaced road which must be the pike. Riding along that in good order were a company of men--thirty, Drew counted. And four of those had extra horses on leading reins. He also saw ten carbines ... and the owners of those were alert. "Stand where you are!" The slight man leading that skeleton troop posted ahead. His shell jacket had the three yellow bars of a captain on its standing collar, and Drew saluted. This was the first group of fugitives he had seen who were more than frightened men running their horses and themselves into exhaustion. "Rennie, Private, Quirk's Scouts," Drew reported himself. Kirby's salute was delivered with less snap but as promptly. "Kirby, Private, Gano's." "Captain William Campbell," the officer identified himself crisply. "Any more of you?" He looked to Boyd and then at the cornfield beyond. "Barrett's a volunteer," Drew explained. This was no time to clarify Boyd's exact status. "There're just the three of us."