Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1954 Read Free Page A

           Karl
still sat in the saddle, unhurt, but the revolver was gone from his hand and he
goggled blankly. Grimes, facing Karl, held a vicious-looking pistol in each
hand. The muzzle of one of them smoked.
                 “I
could have drilled you through the head just as easily as I shot that young
cannon out of your fist, soldier,” said Grimes, calm as ever. “Now be quiet,
and ride along beside us. Push ahead, Barry.”
                 In
utter silence they traveled a full mile along the road into the country—Barry
driving, Karl riding alongside under the threat of Grimes’ pistol. Then: “Halt,
everyone,” said Grimes. “Get off that horse, soldier.”
                 Karl
dismounted. “What happens to me now?” he asked, steadily enough.
                 “Nothing,
if you don’t act the fool. Pass me the bridle reins. Now,
good day to you. Barry, let’s go.”
                 Barry
drove on. Beside the buggy trotted Karl’s horse, Grimes holding it by the
reins. Barry glanced back once.
                “Karl’s just standing and watching
us,” he reported.
                 “Good.
The longer he waits before he walks back to Bowling Green , the longer they’ll take before they get
after us. Hand me the buggy whip.”
                 Barry
passed it over, and Grimes guided the led horse along, then gave it a brisk cut on the flank. It whickered nervously and went bounding away
ahead, galloped up the road, and then into a ploughed field. Grimes laughed.
                 “Its
master will find it heading home some time tonight,” he said. “Meanwhile,
youngster, I’m afraid I’ve brought you into trouble with me.” His gray eyes
studied Barry. “I’m leaving; they won’t catch me. But these Bowling Green folks who were after me will call you a
rebel spy. That soldier knows you, and I’d hate to have him get you into jail
because of me.” “Take me with you,” begged Barry.
                 “You’d
leave your home—”
                 “It’s
not home,” interrupted Barry. “Not now. Anyway, I’ve been
wanting to run off and join my father in the Confederate army.”
                 Grimes
took the reins. “Your father’s a Confederate soldier? But what would your
mother say?”
                 “She
died when I was a little boy. The only other kin I have is my father’s cousin,
Buckalew Mills. He’s the one who was trying to trap you and collect the
reward.”
                 “I
heard you and the judge name him,” nodded Grimes. “So he’s Union and you’re Confederate.”
                 “That’s
the way it is now,” said Barry, feeling his anger rising. “My father, Jefferson
Mills, enlisted with the South in 1861. I was fifteen then, and he left me with
Cousin Buck. I can still hear what Cousin Buck said.” He imitated his fat
kinsman’s unctuous tones. “ ‘Count on me, Cousin Jeff.
You can trust me to care for the poor motherless young ’un like he was my own.
You go ahead, fight and win for Southern rights, and we’ll be welcoming you
back home like a hero before you know it.’ ”
                 Grimes
headed the buggy into a rough, narrow track between fields.
                 “A
man in my line of work makes sure of short cuts like this one,” he remarked.
“There’s a side road beyond, and that leads to a main road. While we slide
along through these trees and bushes, keep on talking. Your big cousin started
out for the Confederacy, and now he wants to catch a Confederate mail runner,
eh?”
                 “Yes,
now that it looks bad for the Confederate States of America ,” said Barry warmly. “He used to whoop his
loudest for Jefferson Davis and the Stars and Bars, when he was sure Missouri would secede and go with the South. But
now, with the Yankees winning, it’s a