Under the Stars and Bars Read Online Free Page A

the valley and started up the other side. Dusty once more assumed his upright posture.
    ‘Come on, men!’ screeched an excited voice as Dusty’s straining stallion completed the ascension. ‘If he can do it, so can we!’
    Darting a glance across his shoulder, Dusty saw the Volunteers plunging into the valley. All of them went, he noticed gratefully. Then he turned to the front and made ready. Ahead was a big old white oak tree, its heavily-foliaged branches offering sanctuary and a safe hiding-place—if Dusty could reach them.
    Another swift check on the rear told Dusty that none of the Volunteers could see him. Carefully he eased back until he could raise his feet to the seat of the saddle. Then he stood up, balancing on the fast-moving stallion with the ease of a circus performer. What had been a trick learned to improve his skill as a horseman—and, like his ambidextrous ability, as a means of taking attention from his small size as a boy—now served a most useful purpose.
    They were passing under the outer fringes of the tree’s spread of branches. Ahead, a sturdy limb stretched across in a manner ideally suited to the small Texan’s needs. Gauging the distance with his eyes, Dusty thrust his arms above his head.
    Would he make it?
    The question ripped through Dusty’s head and received its answer. Fingers curled, his reaching hands slapped against the top of the branch. An instant later the black had passed from beneath his feet, racing onwards under the inborn impulsion to run when being pursued.
    Drawing himself upwards with all the strength in his powerful shoulders and arms, he rested the tops of his thighs against the branch. Then he thrust his feet forward with all the force he could muster and tilted his body to the rear. Under the power of the swing, his legs started to rise into the air. During the brief moment he hung upside down, his campaign hat slipped off. Unable to stop it, Dusty hoped that the Yankees would not draw the correct conclusion on seeing the hat under the tree. Completing a semicircle, Dusty came to a halt laying belly-down on the limb. Hooking his right leg upwards, he mounted the branch to rise and climb until he had put the thickness of the trunk between himself and the valley.
    Peering cautiously around the trunk and through the dense foliage, Dusty felt sure that he was hidden from the Volunteers. In fact he could only obtain a limited view of the valley’s rim. Already the blue hats of the Yankees rose into sight. Going by what he could see, Dusty concluded that the Union lieutenant was holding all the party in a bunch. Certainly there were no stragglers as they appeared up the incline.
    Without the need for conscious thought, Dusty’s right hand crossed to draw the left side Colt from its holster and his thumb eased back the hammer. For a moment he thought that he would need the firearm.
    ‘There he is!’ roared an excited New England voice.
    ‘Keep after him, men!’ urged the officer an instant later. ‘We’ll get the son-of-a-bitch Reb before dark.’
    A faint grin twisted at Dusty’s lips as he realised the Yankees had either heard or seen the stallion without realising that it no longer carried a rider. From the glances he obtained as they approached the tree, sufficient of them had lost their head-dress during the chase that they attached no importance to the sight of his campaign hat laying on the ground.
    Urging their horses to greater efforts, the Yankees passed under Dusty on either side of the tree. None of them looked up and they went crashing away on the wild-goose chase. Letting them get about a hundred yards away, Dusty returned his Colt to leather. Going to the limb on which he had swung from the stallion, he lowered himself and dropped to the ground. Collecting his hat, he donned it with a grin.
    ‘Good ole Dick,’ Dusty mused as he started to walk in the direction of the Saline River. ‘I’m surely pleased you had me wear these cavalry