Read Online Wildwood Boys by James Carlos Blake - Free Book Online

state of anarchy. This state
of things must be terminated and the guilty punished. All those found in arms and opposition to the
laws and legitimate authorities, who are known
familiarly as guerrillas . . . murderers, marauders,
and horse-thieves, will be shot down by the military
upon the spot when found perpetrating their foul
acts.
    James Totten
     
Brigadier General
     
Central District, Commanding
    The larger war was now more than a year under way and the bushfighting along the Missouri border was reported to have grown
meaner. The Berrys occasionally rode to the Anderson place of an
early evening and joined them on the porch to share in a jug and the
latest news before taking supper together. On this occasion they were
speaking of the new company of border scouts the Federals had
formed, the redlegs, so named for the color of their Moroccan leggings. The outfit’s captains were George Hoyt—a lawyer who had
vainly defended John Brown at his trial—and the hated Doc Jennison, who’d recruited many of his old jayhawker comrades to the
redlegs with him.
    “I never thought I’d hear of a worse pack of bastards than those
reivers of Jim Lane’s,” Will Anderson said. “But I’ll kiss all your
asses if these goddam redlegs ain’t the ones.”
    “It was redlegs hung Ellsworth Mallory in front of his wife and
children down in Cass County last month because he wouldn’t tell
where Quantrill was hiding,” Jim Anderson said. “In the past two
weeks they burned a half-dozen farms in Jackson for the same reason. I can’t help but wonder if those farmers just wouldn’t tell on
Quantrill even if they knew where he was, or if they were just more
scared of what
he’d do to them if they did.”
    They had first heard of this man Quantrill two months ago and
heard much more of him since. Of the various guerrilla bands harrying the Federals and jayhawkers along the border, his had been the
most effective, his name become the most widely revered by Missouri rebels, the most despised by Union loyalists. Bushwhackers
they were called, because the bush, the wildwood, was their hideaway, and their preferred tactic the ambush.
“I heard he ain’t even from Missouri,” Ike Berry said. “From
    Maryland is what I heard.”
     
“I recent heard how come he hates the damn jayhawkers so
     
much,” Butch Berry said. “You all know why?”
     
Will Anderson snorted and said, “That’s like asking do we know
     
how come somebody don’t like the smell of shit.”
     
“Him and his big brother were headed for California when jayhawkers fell on them on the Santa Fe,” Butch said. “Montgomery
     
men. They shot him up bad and killed his brother and robbed them
     
of everything, including their clothes and boots. Left him for dead,
     
they did. But some old Indian come along and found him and saved
     
his life. After he healed up he grew a beard for a disguise and took a
     
false name. Pretended to be a Unionist and searched out Montgomery’s party and joined up with them. He recognized those among
     
them who killed his brother and he found out the rest of them over
     
time. They say it took him months, but he killed every last one of
     
them sonofabitches one by one when there was no witnesses about.
     
More than twenty all told. That’s how I heard it. Then he went on
     
back to Missouri and started his band of raiders and been giving the
     
Feds hell ever since.”
     
Will Anderson spat over the porch rail. “I’ve heard that story.
     
Sounds sham to me.” He turned to Bill Anderson who sat puffing his
     
pipe. “You reckon?”
     
Bill shrugged and stared out into the gathering gloom and at the
     
first visible winks of starlight. His favorite dog Raven lay at his feet.
“Well, it’s for sure no sham that neither the Federal regulars nor
     
the jayhawkers have been able to run him to ground for all their trying,” Jim said.
     
“He rode into Independence with not more than