pistol. The impact of the ball shattered the bone from just below the shoulder to halfway down to the elbow.
“Dear God, that’s done it for certain,” Clark cried.
“You shot a little too far to the right, Dan,” Moses announced laconically. “Not your best, but still rather fair, I’d say.”
“Damn wind,” Dan muttered, as he pulled his rifle back and hurriedly started to reload.
“They’re on us!” Clark shouted.
Dan looked up and saw where Clark was pointing.
From out of the orchard to the west of the farm, several horsemen were already emerging, urging their mounts to a full gallop. Behind them, skirmishers and the light infantry were turning and coming on fast. To the east of the farm, he could see other mounted troopers approaching as well. In the farmyard, every lobsterback was scattering. The man he had just shot was on the ground, writhing with pain.
One more imaginary notch for this rifle, he thought with grim satisfaction. Last time you’ll ever hit a civilian, you bastard.
Moses raised his rifle to shoot.
“Don’t give ’em more smoke!” Clark cried, as he turned to run back into the woodlot.
Moses laughed and fired anyway. Dan saw a horse go down, its rider tumbling to the ground.
“You shot the horse, not the man!” Morgan shouted. He fell in behind Clark and reloaded as he ran.
Moses shuffled beside him, sliding down into the creek bed, and then they were up onto the other side. The six men with him already up, two of them behind trees, rifles lowered, aiming, waiting.
Clark cursed the lack of military discipline of all riflemen as he continued to run with Dan.
A scattering of shots erupted behind them. Musket balls whizzed through the trees, one smacking a branch above Dan. He turned and looked back. The Jaegers were on the edge of the woodlot he had rested in but a minute ago. Several of them were dismounting; one had just fired while still mounted.
The two men bringing up the rear fired in reply, and the mounted Jaeger leaned forward, clutching his stomach.
Two more of his men covered the retreat of their comrades, who were now running full out. None of the Jaegers dared to venture into the woodlot, but from the corner of his eye he saw a troop of mounted dragoons galloping hard across a field of winter wheat, trying to flank the north end of the woods and cut off their retreat.
Their own horses were at the far end of the woods; four of his men waited with the mounts.
It was a hard run on the cold, frozen ground. Old Moses cursed as he shambled along on the stumps of his feet, but he still kept the pace.
More shots could be heard. Glimpses of red uniforms flitted in the woods behind them. A line of light infantry moved fast, dodging from tree to tree; some were already across the creek, where they lay flat on the far side to take advantage of the natural trench.
One of their horses screamed, kicked up its hind legs, and collapsed onto its side. Dan realized it was Moses’s horse. He muttered a curse under his breath. “Double with me, Moses!” he cried.
As he reached for his mount, he flung himself into the saddle. Moses needed no urging to grab hold of Dan’s waist and pull himself up as Dan spurred on.
Clark was in the lead, racing at a full gallop fifty yards ahead into an open pasture. Dan did not blame him in the least. Clark knew the names of everyspy and counterspy working in Philadelphia. Although the Brits did not condone the Shawnee way of torture, if he were to be captured they would still try to persuade him to talk before he finally danced at the end of a rope.
Perhaps Major Clark had been right after all. Perhaps that shot was not worth it. The response by their light infantry and mounted troopers was indeed getting faster and more effective.
The British dragoons to their right were momentarily stymied by a high, well-made split rail fence; they were forced to ride parallel to their quarry for a hundred and fifty yards until at last they came
“Dear God, that’s done it for certain,” Clark cried.
“You shot a little too far to the right, Dan,” Moses announced laconically. “Not your best, but still rather fair, I’d say.”
“Damn wind,” Dan muttered, as he pulled his rifle back and hurriedly started to reload.
“They’re on us!” Clark shouted.
Dan looked up and saw where Clark was pointing.
From out of the orchard to the west of the farm, several horsemen were already emerging, urging their mounts to a full gallop. Behind them, skirmishers and the light infantry were turning and coming on fast. To the east of the farm, he could see other mounted troopers approaching as well. In the farmyard, every lobsterback was scattering. The man he had just shot was on the ground, writhing with pain.
One more imaginary notch for this rifle, he thought with grim satisfaction. Last time you’ll ever hit a civilian, you bastard.
Moses raised his rifle to shoot.
“Don’t give ’em more smoke!” Clark cried, as he turned to run back into the woodlot.
Moses laughed and fired anyway. Dan saw a horse go down, its rider tumbling to the ground.
“You shot the horse, not the man!” Morgan shouted. He fell in behind Clark and reloaded as he ran.
Moses shuffled beside him, sliding down into the creek bed, and then they were up onto the other side. The six men with him already up, two of them behind trees, rifles lowered, aiming, waiting.
Clark cursed the lack of military discipline of all riflemen as he continued to run with Dan.
A scattering of shots erupted behind them. Musket balls whizzed through the trees, one smacking a branch above Dan. He turned and looked back. The Jaegers were on the edge of the woodlot he had rested in but a minute ago. Several of them were dismounting; one had just fired while still mounted.
The two men bringing up the rear fired in reply, and the mounted Jaeger leaned forward, clutching his stomach.
Two more of his men covered the retreat of their comrades, who were now running full out. None of the Jaegers dared to venture into the woodlot, but from the corner of his eye he saw a troop of mounted dragoons galloping hard across a field of winter wheat, trying to flank the north end of the woods and cut off their retreat.
Their own horses were at the far end of the woods; four of his men waited with the mounts.
It was a hard run on the cold, frozen ground. Old Moses cursed as he shambled along on the stumps of his feet, but he still kept the pace.
More shots could be heard. Glimpses of red uniforms flitted in the woods behind them. A line of light infantry moved fast, dodging from tree to tree; some were already across the creek, where they lay flat on the far side to take advantage of the natural trench.
One of their horses screamed, kicked up its hind legs, and collapsed onto its side. Dan realized it was Moses’s horse. He muttered a curse under his breath. “Double with me, Moses!” he cried.
As he reached for his mount, he flung himself into the saddle. Moses needed no urging to grab hold of Dan’s waist and pull himself up as Dan spurred on.
Clark was in the lead, racing at a full gallop fifty yards ahead into an open pasture. Dan did not blame him in the least. Clark knew the names of everyspy and counterspy working in Philadelphia. Although the Brits did not condone the Shawnee way of torture, if he were to be captured they would still try to persuade him to talk before he finally danced at the end of a rope.
Perhaps Major Clark had been right after all. Perhaps that shot was not worth it. The response by their light infantry and mounted troopers was indeed getting faster and more effective.
The British dragoons to their right were momentarily stymied by a high, well-made split rail fence; they were forced to ride parallel to their quarry for a hundred and fifty yards until at last they came
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