Under the Stars and Bars by J. T. Edson Page A

traitorous Secessionists.’ He looked about him quickly and went on, ‘Are you alone, brother?’
    ‘Only for a spell,’ the scout replied.
    ‘Then you are fortunate enough to have companions at hand?’ Wightman insisted.
    Interest showed amidst the scowls on the Maxim brothers’ faces, but they refrained from making any hostile gestures and awaited the answer to their leader’s question. Their future relationship with the scout would depend on what he said.
    ‘ “Californy” Bill’s bringing Major Galbraith ‘n’ Troop “G” along,’ replied the scout frankly. ‘They’ll likely be about four, five miles back by now.’
    ‘How come you ain’t with ‘em?’ demanded Abel Maxim. ‘The Major left me to take this Reb captain on to Little Rock while him and the Troop run his Company off,’ answered the scout, returning the Colts to the slits in his sash. ‘Should have done it ‘n’ be headed this way by now. “Californy” said’s how he’d bring ‘em on my trail.’
    From his position to one side, Dusty heard and understood. Unless he missed his guess, the scout was running a desperate bluff to keep them both out of the guerillas’ hands. Whoever that long-haired jasper might be, he would make a mighty tough enemy in a poker game. Nothing about him hinted he was telling other than the truth. Replacing the Colts created the impression that, with help so close at hand, he did not need fear the quartet. Even the selection of the distance separating him from ‘Californy’ Bill and Troop ‘G’ of the 6th ‘New Jersey’ Dragoons had been carefully made. The scout did not know from which direction the guerillas had come, or how far behind they had observed. So he had picked a distance to which they would have been unlikely to be able to see; yet close enough for speedy reprisals to be taken in the event of treachery on the part of Wightman’s men.
    Still weakened by the effects of the scout’s blow, Dusty knew that he could not move fast enough to attempt an escape at that moment. So he remained motionless and silent, watching every move and taking in each word. Studying the guerillas’ acceptance of the scout’s treatment and interplay of questioning glances, Dusty could tell they were uncertain whether the westerner had reinforcements close by or not. So was Dusty, come to that.
    Although Aaron Maxim scowled in surly disbelief, he left his doubts unspoken. One taste of the scout’s hard hand had been enough for him and he suspected that, if there should be a next time, the response to further criticism might be a bullet. Of the others, only the largest of the brothers raised any comment.
    ‘I didn’t know California Bill was hereabouts,’ Abel growled, looking a mite uneasy and concerned.
    ‘Colonel Benteen lent him ‘n’ me to the “New Jersey” Dragoons for a spell,’ the scout explained. ‘Figured us being such all-fired good Injun-fighters ‘n’ all’s we could maybe help ‘em ag’in the Texas Light Cavalry. You know ole “Californy” from someplace, mister?’
    ‘We’ve heard tell on him,’ Abel admitted sourly.
    ‘I tell you, I ain’t never seen his better at reading sign ‘n’ following tracks,’ the scout continued cheerfully, as if imparting information of importance. ‘Which, I sure didn’t try to hide which way we was coming.’
    If there was one part of California Bill’s character upon which the scout did not need to elaborate, it was his ability at following tracks. All of Wightman’s party had good reason to remember it.
    One of the men who had braved the terrible over-land journey to the West Coast during the gold rush of 1849, California Bill had not made his fortune. Instead, he had received a thorough education in all matters pertaining to Indian warfare. Serving the Union Army as a civilian scout, it had been he—sent East for the duration of the War—who had guided Benteen’s battalion to what Wightman’s guerillas had fondly believed to be