Devil's Dream - Madison Smartt Bell [41]
“Kill that man,” Sherman screamed, standing up in his stirrups so abruptly the horse shied under him and he almost fell. Others nearer Forrest were also shouting kill him kill the Rebel and then a trooper pressed the muzzle of his carbine against Forrest’s side and squeezed. The muffled concussion was blunt as a fist banging into him, but Forrest felt his right leg go numb. That infuriated him more than ever, for what if they’d really done him some serious harm? He dropped the empty pistol into his pocket and used his free hand to snatch the scruff of the man who had fired and drag him up behind his saddle, while the left hand slashed at the fingers of a hand that had grasped at his knee.
“Will no one kill that madman?” Sherman howled. Forrest had now broken into the clear, and Sherman saw that his men were holding their fire in fear of hitting one of their own, whom Forrest had hauled up behind him to use as a shield. When once out of range he threw the little man down, shook his fist at him, spurred up and rode on.
Sherman hurled his hat on the ground. “How did you let him get away?”
One of his troopers raised a hand to explain, waggling stumps of two of his fingers. “That was no mortal man,” he said. “That’s the Devil.”
“SIR, ARE YOU HURT?” Kelley called as Forrest cleared the ridge. The gray horse streamed blood from so many wounds it was hard to tell where Forrest himself was bleeding.
“I’ll live,” Forrest said, through his clenched teeth. “Effen I don’t die.”
Cowan came toward him. “Will you get down and let me see to your wound?” he said. “That leg’s not right.”
“I know it ain’t right,” Forrest snarled. “Let me oncet git to Corinth and then ye can pick at it all ye want.”
“Will you not ride in a wagon at least?” Cowan said.
“Damn straight I will not,” Forrest said. “That’d hurt a lot more than it already does.”
Cowan broke from him and came toward Matthew and Henri.
“How bad is it,” Matthew blurted.
Cowan glanced back at the bloody man on the bleeding horse. “By the look of that leg he’s been hit in the spine.” He paused. “I wish you two would ride ahead and send for Mrs. Forrest to come to Corinth.”
“As bad as that?” Henri said.
“Mary Ann’s the only one can talk sense into him,” Cowan said. “And if not, she’ll want to bury him, of course.”
ARRIVED AT LAST in the Corinth square, Forrest made to turn his horse back the way he had come.
“What are you doing,” Kelley asked.
“I believe that damn Yankee has done me in,” Forrest said. “I need to go back yonder and kill him.”
Kelley snorted. “You’ve done all the killing you’re going to for one day.”
But Forrest was no longer paying attention to him, because his horse was melting underneath him, slowly collapsing to the right. Forrest reached down with his right hand and pulled his right foot clear of the stirrup and rolled away from the dead animal as it hit the ground. Lying on his back, he reached out a hand to touch the horse’s blood-stiffened mane. Then he used both arms to turn himself over. The others watched him as if in a trance. All knew he would strike any man who moved to help him. Forrest pushed himself to his knees. Then somehow he was not only standing but limping toward the door of the hotel across the square.
“How in the Sam Hill is he doing that?” Kelley wondered. “That leg wasn’t working a minute ago.”
Cowan looked at him. “I don’t have the least dreaming notion,” he said. “But I reckon I better go try and find out.”
MANY OF FORREST’S ESCORT spent the remains of the day and the evening lingering on the square between the courthouse and the white hotel. The