Flags in the Dust Read Free Page A

presently from the cyclonic demolition of it, bearing plunder. Stuart and the three officers with him halted their dancing mounts at the table and one of them swept up a huge blackened coffee-pot and tendered it to the General, and while the enemy shouted and fired muskets among the trees, they toasted each other in sugarless and creamless scalding coffee, as with a loving cup.
    “General Pope, Sir,” Stuart said, bowing in his saddle to the captured officer. He drank and extended the pot.
    “I’ll drink it, Sir,” the major replied, “and thank God he is not here to respond in person.”
    “I had remarked that he appeared to leave hurriedly,” Stuart said. “A prior engagement, perhaps?”
    “Yes, Sir. With General Halleck,” the major agreed drily. “I am sorry we have him for an opponent instead of Lee.”
    “So am I, Sir,” Stuart answered. “I like General Pope in a war.” Bugles were shrilling among the trees far and near, sending the alarm in flying echoes from brigade to brigade lying about the forest, and drums were beating wildly to arms and erratic bursts of musketry surged and trickled along the scattered outposts like the dry clatter of an opening fan, for the name ‘Stuart’ speeding from picket to picket had peopled the blossoming peaceful woods with gray phantoms.
    Stuart turned in his saddle and his men came up and sat their horses and watched him alertly, their spare eager faces like mirrors reflecting their leader’s constant consuming flame. Then from the flank there came something like a concerted volley, striking the coffee-pot from Bayard Sartoris’ hand and clipping and snapping viciously among the dappled branches above their heads.
    “Be pleased to mount, Sir,” Stuart said to the captive major, and though his tone was exquisitely courteous all levity was gone from it. “Captain Wylie, you have the heaviest mount: will you——?” The captain freed his stirrup and hauled the prisoner up behind him. “Forward!” the General said and whirled rowelling his bay, and with the thunderous coordination of a single centaur they swept down the knoll and crashed into the forest at the point from which the volley had come before it could be repeated. Blue-clad pigmy shapes plunged scattering before and beneath them, and they rushed on among trees vicious with minies like wasps. Stuart now carried his plumed hat in his hand and his long tawny locks, tossingto the rhythm of his speed, appeared as gallant flames smoking with the wild and self-consuming splendor of his daring.
    Behind them and on one flank muskets still banged and popped at their flashing phantoms, and from brigade to brigade lying spaced about the jocund forest bugles shrilled their importunate alarms. Stuart bore gradually to the left, bringing all the uproar into his rear. The country became more open and they swung into column at the gallop. The captured major bounced and jolted behind Captain Wylie and the General reined back beside the gallant black thundering along beneath its double load.
    “I am distressed to inconvenience you thus, Sir,” he began with his exquisite courtesy. “If you will indicate the general location of your nearest horse picket I shall be most happy to capture a mount for you.”
    “Thank you, General,” the major replied, “but majors can be replaced much easier than horses. I shall not trouble you.”
    “Just as you wish, Sir,” Stuart agreed stiffly. He spurred on to the head of the column again. They now galloped along a faint trace that was once a road. It wound on between vernal palisades of undergrowth and they followed it at a rapid controlled gait and debouched suddenly upon a glade, and a squadron of Yankee cavalry reined back with shocked amazement, then hurled forward again.
    Without faltering Stuart whirled his party and plunged back into the forest. Pistol-balls were thinly about their heads and the flat tossing reports were trivial as snapping twigs above the converging