said patiently. "You go along now, or sit here by your fire."
"It ain't fittin'. I'm all made up to run and now you--all come along an' shame me. I'll go yonder with you, for better or worse." He paused. "My name is Reppato Pratt. I'm from the Highland Rim country of Kaintucky."
When they had made themselves known, Cris indicated the packs. "If you have anything to eat, we'd be grateful to share it with you. We've had nothing today but water."
"I've no choice but to feed you, I reckon. When I lit out of there, I taken unto me one of their pack bosses, carryin' what I could lift on him, an' most of it is grub. I taken some bullets, too, not being wishful of lacking lead for shootin'."
Reppato Pratt stirred up the fire and toed the coffeepot further toward the coals. Taking out a huge hunting knife, he began to slice bacon into a skillet with amazing dexterity. It spoke not only of his skill but of the sharpness of his blade.
"They'll be headin' for Cherokee country. Leastwise, so it seems to me. That's southeast o' here, Mick. But I don't figure they'll keep the sodger long... soon's they've had their fill of vengefulness and meanness, they'll knock him in the head."
"Who's in command?"
Pratt shaved a few slices of bacon, then glanced up. "Now I done some ponderin' on that, Justin Parley, calls hisself Major Parley, he shows up front most o' the time. But there's two others a body would have to take into account. One of them is a gun--handy killer called Del Robb.
"This Robb is a good--lookin' man and a mighty fine horseman. He killed a couple of men down in Mississippi and headed west. For a time he shaped around down by the Sulphur River in East Texas, but he didn't get along with Cullen Baker, Bob Lee and them so he pulled out and trailed west.
"He killed a man in Fort Worth, shot one up in Beeville but that one lived, and then Robb trailed around down on the Neuces for a spell. That's all gossip I picked up when I was a--settin' by.
"Parley, he takes the lead, but Del Robb is right there to hand, and there's some among 'em believe he's the power.
"The other one is Silver Dick Contego. They call him that because of his silver--gray hair. He's a slender, quiet man who has the beautifullest hair I ever seen on a man, and he combs it all the time. He's got him a funny, old--fashioned comb with a round back to it. They make no move without him, but he never pushes on anything or anybody. He sets quiet, but nobody makes much of a move until he thinks it's all right. Silver Dick is a friendly--seemin' man but something about him makes me uneasy, an' I don't know why."
As Pratt talked on, Cris listened hard, and the picture slowly unfolded of a body of men most of whom were former guerrillas from the Civil War; few of them had been regulars, and some were just a rough lot picked up as they moved through the country, a band of cutthroats led by Parley with his two lieutenants. Such an outfit was basically unstable, usually held together by fear and greed.
He had known of such groups in Ireland. They often began as men fighting for liberty, and then the best of them pulled away or were killed and what remained were those who had lost perspective and thought only of murder and loot and their own image of themselves.
"You rode with them a time," Cris said. "How many are there?"
"Seventeen, but more are scattered 'round Fort Sanders, an' some comin' to jine up from Texas."
"Have you any idea where they'll camp the next two nights?"
Reppato Pratt considered that, then nodded. "I can figure one camp 'most for sure. Reason is, it's hid good, and there's plenty of water an' fuel. We stopped by there on the way up." He looked over at Cris. "You ain't figurin' to tackle them head--on?"
"No," Cris said, and a thought came to him as he spoke. "We must attack, we can't just sit back. But we can't take them by force, so we've got to be smart; hit them where it will hurt them most, and stop them from running. So we'll either
"It ain't fittin'. I'm all made up to run and now you--all come along an' shame me. I'll go yonder with you, for better or worse." He paused. "My name is Reppato Pratt. I'm from the Highland Rim country of Kaintucky."
When they had made themselves known, Cris indicated the packs. "If you have anything to eat, we'd be grateful to share it with you. We've had nothing today but water."
"I've no choice but to feed you, I reckon. When I lit out of there, I taken unto me one of their pack bosses, carryin' what I could lift on him, an' most of it is grub. I taken some bullets, too, not being wishful of lacking lead for shootin'."
Reppato Pratt stirred up the fire and toed the coffeepot further toward the coals. Taking out a huge hunting knife, he began to slice bacon into a skillet with amazing dexterity. It spoke not only of his skill but of the sharpness of his blade.
"They'll be headin' for Cherokee country. Leastwise, so it seems to me. That's southeast o' here, Mick. But I don't figure they'll keep the sodger long... soon's they've had their fill of vengefulness and meanness, they'll knock him in the head."
"Who's in command?"
Pratt shaved a few slices of bacon, then glanced up. "Now I done some ponderin' on that, Justin Parley, calls hisself Major Parley, he shows up front most o' the time. But there's two others a body would have to take into account. One of them is a gun--handy killer called Del Robb.
"This Robb is a good--lookin' man and a mighty fine horseman. He killed a couple of men down in Mississippi and headed west. For a time he shaped around down by the Sulphur River in East Texas, but he didn't get along with Cullen Baker, Bob Lee and them so he pulled out and trailed west.
"He killed a man in Fort Worth, shot one up in Beeville but that one lived, and then Robb trailed around down on the Neuces for a spell. That's all gossip I picked up when I was a--settin' by.
"Parley, he takes the lead, but Del Robb is right there to hand, and there's some among 'em believe he's the power.
"The other one is Silver Dick Contego. They call him that because of his silver--gray hair. He's a slender, quiet man who has the beautifullest hair I ever seen on a man, and he combs it all the time. He's got him a funny, old--fashioned comb with a round back to it. They make no move without him, but he never pushes on anything or anybody. He sets quiet, but nobody makes much of a move until he thinks it's all right. Silver Dick is a friendly--seemin' man but something about him makes me uneasy, an' I don't know why."
As Pratt talked on, Cris listened hard, and the picture slowly unfolded of a body of men most of whom were former guerrillas from the Civil War; few of them had been regulars, and some were just a rough lot picked up as they moved through the country, a band of cutthroats led by Parley with his two lieutenants. Such an outfit was basically unstable, usually held together by fear and greed.
He had known of such groups in Ireland. They often began as men fighting for liberty, and then the best of them pulled away or were killed and what remained were those who had lost perspective and thought only of murder and loot and their own image of themselves.
"You rode with them a time," Cris said. "How many are there?"
"Seventeen, but more are scattered 'round Fort Sanders, an' some comin' to jine up from Texas."
"Have you any idea where they'll camp the next two nights?"
Reppato Pratt considered that, then nodded. "I can figure one camp 'most for sure. Reason is, it's hid good, and there's plenty of water an' fuel. We stopped by there on the way up." He looked over at Cris. "You ain't figurin' to tackle them head--on?"
"No," Cris said, and a thought came to him as he spoke. "We must attack, we can't just sit back. But we can't take them by force, so we've got to be smart; hit them where it will hurt them most, and stop them from running. So we'll either
Similar Books
