"Nobody's," replied the chief, boastfully. "We go it alone."
"Oh, I see," said the other, a slight inflection of contempt in his voice. "Er—ah—partisan rangers?"
"What?"
"Bushwhackers?—Guerillas?"
"That's what," replied Yeager. "I want to see General Price."
"General Price is not here," stated the Lieutenant. "This is General Clark's brigade of Marmaduke's division. You can see General Clark if you wish."
"All right," said Yeager. "Show us in."
The officer of the guard instructed one of his men to conduct the guerilla band to the house occupied by General Clark as headquarters, near the centre of the town. The streets were swarming with Confederate soldiers, and long lines of cavalry horses were hitched along the sidewalks or tied to their picket lines in the middle of the streets. Some of the soldiers were little better clothed than the guerillas, in civilian garments of various hues and cuts, while others wore threadbare suits of butternut jeans, and others still, many of them, were attired in new uniforms of Federal blue, doubtless recently captured.
As they approached General Clark's headquarters, Jim suddenly left his place and, spurring up beside Yeager, exclaimed, earnestly,
"Say, Cap, honest, I've got to be goin'. It's almighty important fer me to get to Lexington."