Free Kill Dusty Fog by J. T. Edson Page A

major raked the slope with his field-glasses and located his attackers. Only three men, but they posed a serious threat to the battery’s efficiency. Snapping an order to his orderly, he sent the man racing with a message to the Zouaves’ commanding officer.
    Watching the orderly, Red guessed at the nature of his mission. Across the river, the Arkansas Rifles were still marching at quick-time with their colonel striding in front of them. Not until within a hundred yards would they make their charge. The harassing of the Napoleons must continue if the charge was to succeed.
    Although his Henry still held five rounds, Red rested its butt on the ground and began to reload. Opening the magazine-tube after forcing its spring towards the muzzle, he fed ten flat-nosed .44/28 bullets base first down the tube to refill it. While working, he blessed the fact that he had brought the Henry along instead of his Spencer — also a battle-field capture. The Spencer might be more powerful, but had a slower rate of fire and only a seven-shot magazine.
    While Red reloaded the Henry, his companions’ single-shot carbines continued to crack. Clearly they were having some effect, for the Napoleons’ fire slackened,
    ‘Bunch of Yankee puddle-splashers coming, Mr. Blaze!’ called Prince.
    ‘Go for the battery as long as you can,’ Red replied, closing the magazine tube and returning to his firing position.
    A dozen Zouaves led by a sergeant ran by the guns towards the slopes, but they would have to be ignored until the last minute. Already the Arkansas Rifles had entered the zone in which canister could be used against them. Nor did they show signs of halting while rifle fire beat down the menace of the Napoleons.
    With a grim-set face Red poured bullets at one of the centre guns. Watching men go down, he noticed that the piece at the left of the line stood unattended. Clearly he and his men had inflicted sufficient casualties for the battery’s commander to concentrate the depleted crew on other guns.
    Down below, a Springfield rifle banged. Its .58 calibre ball spattered rock chips from Red’s cover. Changing his line of sight, the red head sprayed lead at the Zouaves. He dropped the sergeant and one man, then wounded another before the rest took cover. The speed at which he had fired warned the Yankees that they were facing a good shot armed with a Henry, fastest-shooting rifle of the War. So they flung themselves to shelter instead of carrying out their orders. Once more Red turned his attention to the Napoleons.
    When the Texans continued to shoot at his guns, the major sent another message to the Zouave entrenchments. Red saw the Infantry major stare up the slope and hesitate, wanting to retain as many men as possible to meet the Rifles’ onslaught. Yet he also saw the danger if the harassment of the battery continued. Its fire had already been reduced to a half and at a time when it should be at its highest. So he gave an order which sent a further twenty men under the command of a lieutenant towards the slope.
    Seeing support on its way, the first party of Zouaves resumed their advance. Darting from cover to cover, they ascended the slope. Once again Red began to reload the Henry. Unnoticed by him, a Zouave rose from behind a bush and lined a long-barrelled rifle at him.
    Catching a movement from the corner of his eye, Tracey Prince turned his head to take a closer look. He saw the Zouave behind Red and twisted around to aim and fire his carbine. In doing so, he saved his and Red’s lives. Even as he moved, another Zouave appeared and took a shot at him. The bullet spanged off the rock where Prince’s body had been resting an instant before, but without affecting his accuracy. The Sharps spat and blood masked the face of the man beyond Red. Dropping his Springfield he turned and stumbled blindly down the slope.
    On firing, Prince swung to face the threat to his own existence. Standing in plain sight, as the reloading could be