Croff chuckled. "He's got a point there, Sarge."
"Seein' as how what happened back there on the road could be pinned on us, we have to do something," Drew returned. This whole section of country would boil over when those bodies were discovered. "And we ain't the only ones. Any of our boys comin' through here on furlough are like to be jumped for it if the Yankees catch them."
"That's the truth if you ever spoke it, Sarge. I can see some hangin's comin' out of that ambush."
"Theah's still twenty hombres down theah, an' four of us. We can pick off a few from up heah, but they ain't gonna wait around to git sniped. So, how we gonna spread ourselves—?"
Kirby's was the unanswerable question. They had trailed the fugitives from the ambush back to this tangled wilderness with infinite caution, bypassing two sentries so well posted and concealed they had been forced to judge that the motley collection of guerrillas were as experienced at this trade as the scouts. There was no time to try to round up any other bands of homing Confederates or prowling scouts, even if they knew where they could be located. This was really a Yankee problem partly as well.
Because of that murderous ambush, the local Union commander should be out for blood. But how could they get into enemy hands the information about this rats' nest?
"We can't take 'em ourselves, and we've no time to round up any of the boys who might be passin' through."
"So we jus' leave heah an' forgit it?" Webb demanded.
"There's another way—risky, but it might work. Take the Yankees off our trail and put them to doing something for us...."
"Sic 'em in heah, eh?" Kirby was watching Drew with dancing eyes. "How?"