Kill Dusty Fog by J. T. Edson

standing exposed while reloading their rifles. Others of their party continued to advance. In the lead, the young lieutenant made for Red’s position with his sword in the right hand and revolver in the left.
    Pumping lead through the red-hot barrel of his Henry, Red was momentarily dazed by the limber’s disintegration. Across the river, the Arkansas Rifles were wavering under the hammering of the Napoleons, reduced though it had been. They also faced the volley-firing of the Zouaves and Dragoons. So Red ignored the danger to himself and concentrated on getting off as many aimed shots as he could at the battery.

CHAPTER SIX

YEEAH, TEXAS LIGHT!
    EVEN as Red worked the Henry’s lever and tried to remember how many bullets he had fired since last replenishing the magazine, he heard the wild, ringing notes of a bugle blowing the ‘charge’. Twisting his head involuntarily towards the sound, he saw Dusty galloping over the rim, followed by most of the Company.
    A revolver barked close at hand, its bullet tearing the hat from Red’s head. That brought his attention to more pressing matters than admiring his companions’ riding skill, or blessing his cousin’s timely arrival. Swinging to face the direction from which the shot had come, he saw the Yankee lieutenant looming towards him. Again the Zouave’s revolver spat. Its bullet struck the barrel of the Henry and spun it from Red’s hands. With a yell of triumph, the Zouave sprang forward and swung up the sword. Red threw himself to one side, right hand turning palm-out to close on the butt of the off-side Colt. Fetching it from leather as he landed on his back, he fired upwards. Caught under the chin by the bullet, the Yankee officer staggered into the path of one of his men who was trying to draw a bead on Red. Thwarted in his attempt and seeing the Rebel cavalry rushing down the slope, the soldier dropped his rifle and fled.
    Knowing that he could not join in the charge while afoot, Red holstered his Colt and rolled across to pick up the Henry. He found that the bullet had only glanced off the top of the octagonal barrel. Satisfied that the rifle was operative, he turned his eyes towards the battery once more.
    On hearing Hassle’s news, Dusty had wasted no time. Signalling in the flanking pickets to increase his fighting-strength, he had left Sergeant Weather and six reluctant men to control the captured horses and brought up the rest as fast as he could. By the time he reached the rim, he had been prepared to launch an immediate attack. Many Confederate cavalry regiments placed their assault emphasis on firearms, but the Texas Light Cavalry always made use of their sabres in a charge. So every man his reins fastened to the saddlehorn, guiding his horse with knees while holding a sabre in one hand and revolver in the other.
    ‘Yeeah, Texas Light!’
    Loud rang the Texans’ battle-shout, mingling with the bugler’s spirited rendition of the ‘charge’, sounding above the drumming of over fifty sets of thundering hooves. Forming a single line parallel to the river, the grey-clad riders urged their horses with wild, grim determination.
    Becoming aware of the new peril, the crew of the number three gun sprang to its trail-bar. Under the profane urgings of the chief-of-piece and battery commander, they lifted the stock of the gun and started to drag its 2332 pounds of tube and carriage around to face the Texans. Red and Prince saw what was planned and turned their weapons towards the gun. Under the combined hail of fire, three men fell and the remainder were prevented from bringing the piece to bear on Company ‘C’.
    Taking heart at the sight of the cavalry, the Arkansas Rifles raised a cheer. Their line, faltering before the depleted battery’s canister, straightened and pressed forward. From a hesitant walk, they swung back into quick-time and built up to a double march into the shallow water of the ford. Down went the bearer of the regimental colour, shot by