An urgent pounding on Sarah’s bedroom door woke Bucky from the blissful dream that was his wedding night. “Who’s there?” he grumbled, feeling Sarah tense up beside him. “Ain’t ya got no decency?”
“Brother Bucky,” called Fritz in a voice edged with fear. “Yankees are marching up Smoketown Road. They vill be here in fifteen minutes. I spread the vord at the vedding party for folks to be on the lookout. The Middlekaufs saw the patrol. John’s in the kitchen vith Father and Sergeant Curtis. Vaiting.”
Culp groaned at the news. Sarah grabbed his arm and clung to him. “I-I-I won’t let you go,” she sobbed. “Yankees be damned!”
Bucky hushed his wife by kissing her on the mouth. He ran his hand across the small of her back and pulled her against him one last time. Bucky whispered, “Ya know I got ta go, darlin’. If I stays here, I’ll be shot fer a de-serter. All I gotta do is re-turn ta the army without them ketchin’ me, an’ I’ll be able ta come back on leave when the war slows down ag’in. It’s torture fer me, too, but there ain’t no choice. Don’t ya see?”
“I see all right!” blubbered Sarah. “The stupid army isn’t ever going to leave us alone as long as you’re part of it! Why don’t you just quit?”
“It ain’t that easy, sweetheart. I gotta stay ’til my enlistment’s up. Then I kin muster out an’ come home fer good. I got less than a year left ta serve now.”
“That’s a lot more battles. . .and chances of dying.”
“Everybody risks dyin’, Sarah. I gotta go. Give me one last smile, please. Somethin’ I kin hold onta ’til I git back.”
Bucky ran his fingers across Sarah’s smooth cheek and kissed away her tears. A sad smile flickered across her trembling lips, precipitating another bout of crying. The sergeant crawled from bed and yanked on his uniform with his back turned to his love. He jammed his kepi cap on his head and rushed out the door while he still had the courage. “I-I-I love you,” he stuttered without turning around.
Bucky charged downstairs to find Hosea and a bearded German farmer fidgeting by the stove. The sobbing Mrs. Pfaff was there, too, wrapping some leftover wedding food to give to the soldiers. Mr. Pfaff, with a thundercloud settled on his brow, was cursing the Yankee Army in a mixture of German and English until rebuked by his pert wife.
Fritz appeared a moment later to hand Bucky the Sharps rifle the grief-addled Bucktail had left upstairs. “Gott be with you, brother,” the lad said. “I vill pray for your safety.”
The sergeants said a hasty goodbye and scrambled out the back door. The sun peeked over the horizon to bathe the men in blood red light just before they reached the woods bordering the Pfaffs’ farmyard. No sooner had they taken cover when a Union patrol rushed up the lane with their rifles cocked and ready.
The Bucktails didn’t wait around to see what might happen. Off they slipped through the brush, noiseless as mountain cats. They set out due east before veering to the south where they had left the Union Army.
Curtis and Culp struggled with their own thoughts as the miles melted beneath their feet. They had outperformed cavalry during the Shenandoah Campaign, and being stealthy was a way of life for woodsmen of their ilk. Wisely, they kept to the brush until they reached the road they were seeking. There, they slunk through the trees bordering the highway and ducked low whenever a cavalry patrol clattered past.
“Do ya think them boys is lookin’ fer us?” coughed Bucky after some horse soldiers had showered them with a cloud of dust.
“Naw, they’s in too big o’ a gol-dang hurry ta be lookin’ fer de-serters. I’m mighty glad, too, ’cause I ain’t sure I could make a run fer it.”
“Why not, Hosea?”
“My head’s thumpin’ like a woodpecker’s beak on a hollow stump.”
“Well if ya hadn’t drunk all that brandy,” chided Bucky, “ya’d be more fit fer this here escape.”
“An’ if you hadn’t got hitched, I wouldn’t be dodgin’ critter companies an’ gol-dang Yankee patrols!”
The sergeants rose to their feet and crept along at a steady pace until the sun reached its zenith. Sweat poured from beneath their caps to sting their eyes and further shorten their tempers. The midday heat, also, made them dizzy with fatigue. They had almost reached the end of their endurance when a group of Berdan’s sharpshooters came sniffing through the underbrush like a pack of hounds on the scent of a wounded fox.
“Hosea, duck!” hissed Bucky when he saw the green-coated riflemen working through a nearby laurel thicket. “Under here!”
Culp and Curtis wormed beneath a fallen tree and stifled their breathing just as the skirmish line of determined scouts broke from the laurel. Berdan’s men came so close to Bucky and Hosea that they could see the broken shoelaces of the nearest soldier.
“Boy, would I love to catch me a rogue Bucktail,” grunted a green-coated corporal to the man slinking along next to him.
“What’d these boys do, anyhow?” whispered a Berdan private. “That Major Hartshorne sure had his drawers in a knot over them leaving the regiment.”
“Shamed some farm gal, I heard.”
“No wonder Hartshorne was offering a fat reward out of his own pocket! Let’s be the ones that shoot those rascals when they resist arrest.”
The riflemen seemed to sense the Bucktails’ presence because they searched the area a good twenty minutes. The corporal’s comment intensified their sniffing, and they did four more circles in the brush before disappearing down the sides of a steep gully.
After the sharpshooters had gone, Hosea took several deep breaths and then vomited into the bushes. While Bucky helped up his friend, he whispered, “Are you okay?”
“No, I ain’t. Kin you be-lieve the stories Hartshorne’s been spreadin’ ’bout us? Let’s go! We gotta git back an’ set things straight be-fore every Yankee within a hundred mile tries nailin’ our hides ta a barn door.”
Culp and Curtis continued along the margin of the road until they could hear the roar of the Potomac over the next rise. There, they again slowed their pace, moving downriver one deliberate step at a time. They weren’t sure if the Rebs had crossed back into Virginia, and all they needed was to stumble into a Confederate camp filled with fellows smarting from their defeat at Gettysburg. As luck would have it, they happened upon their own bivouac instead. When they saw the Bucktail banner flapping in the midst of a cluster of doghouses, they shouldered their Sharps and walked nonchalantly across a clover field toward it. Whistling “Camptown Races,” Bucky and Hosea then began erecting their tent.
“Well, look who’s back!” yelped a lanky soldier rushing from a campfire to greet his lost pals. “You fellas look so bad you’d scare yer own mamas out o’ ten years o’ their lives.”
“You ain’t ’xactly a primrose in bloom yerself, Boone Crossmire,” grunted Curtis testily.
“Praise God you’ve returned!” shouted a bespectacled, young private, leaping to his feet to hug Bucky. “We thought for sure you got captured when you disappeared like that. Bobby Lee escaped again. Am I ever glad he didn’t take you with him.”
“No, they didn’t git picked up by no Rebs,” confessed Boone. “Bucky done run off ta marry Sarah. Why, look at them gray hairs sproutin’ on his noggin. He’s an old, married fella, now.”
“Is that true?” gasped the young soldier, a hurt look passing over his face. “H-h-how could you get married without inviting me?”
“Jimmy, it’s mighty simple,” replied Culp softly. “You ain’t been in trouble yer whole life, an’ I didn’t want ya put in front o’ no firin’ squad on my account. That’s what they do ta de-serters, ya know.”
“But I really miss Sarah,” said Jimmy Jewett. “You know how good of friends we became when she nursed my wounds. Did you have. . .a nice ceremony?”
“Yes, the bride done jess fine,” cackled Hosea, “but I still ain’t sure ’bout the groom. All I know is that Pfaff used ta be well-stocked with hard liquor an’ that the grub was plentiful an’ de-licious.”
“Oh, sure,” grumbled Boone. “That was real nice o’ ya ta stuff yer gut while the rest o’ us fellas was livin’ on our own spit.”
“Crossmire, stop yer whinin’,” howled Curtis, tossing him a sack of wedding food. “Stuff that down yer gullet, an’ let me an’ Bucky finish e-rectin’ this here doghouse.”
Hosea’s bellowing brought an immediate response from Bucktail headquarters. A scrappy, dark-haired major with a bristling mustache exploded from his wall tent and shouted for his guards. With fire shooting from his eyes, he rampaged across the field toward the recently returned riflemen.
“Curtis! Culp! Where in tarnation have you been?” barked the furious officer. “I had two patrols looking for your sorry hides. Well?”
“We got turned a-round in a thicket, Major Hartshorne, sir, an’ separated from the other skirmishers,” snapped Curtis, giving a brisk salute.
“Three days ago? You’re lying again, Sergeant, and you know how I treat liars! What do you have to say for yourself, Culp?”
“I went ta Sharpsburg an’ married my darlin’ Sarah,” murmured Bucky. “There ain’t no shame in that, sir. Sergeant Curtis only tagged along ta make sure I’d come back.”
“You mean you actually wed that farm girl?” gasped the major in disbelief.
“Yes, sir! My heart was so burstin’ with love that I had ta marry her be-fore we moved south ag’in. If ya feel I de-serve punishment fer bein’ in love, then do what ya must. But please, Major, leave Sergeant Curtis out o’ it.”
Hartshorne’s jaw dropped at Bucky’s bold reply. After swallowing his Adam’s apple twice, the major declared, “I’m engaged to a wonderful girl myself. Although I miss her something awful, you didn’t see me run off to be with her in the middle of a campaign! If we hadn’t suffered such losses at Gettysburg, I’d put you two clowns in the stockade. As it is, I’ll have to settle for giving you a special duty in the ceremony we’re having tomorrow. That’s all, Sergeants.”
After Major Hartshorne wheeled and marched away with his guards in tow, Boone whistled, “Well, I’ll be fried in hog fat. You boys is either mighty lucky, er chasin’ Lee has addled the old man’s brain.”
“No, even Hartshorne can’t resist the power of love,” sighed Jimmy. “I’m sorry I barked at you earlier, Bucky. I’m going to sit right down and write Sarah a nice letter of congratulations.”
“Hosea, why didn’t you ever git married an’ have kids?” asked Bucky. “I seen how smitten you was with that little child, Jasmine, when we saved her folks from the Rebs. An’ anyone who’d chance what ya done fer me must believe in marriage.”
“I loved a storekeep’s daughter once,” muttered Curtis, “but her folks was ag’in me from the start. I was a lumberman then an’ not re-fined enough fer the likes o’ them townsfolk. Her pa made me a deal that if I’d be a clerk in his store fer three months an’ stay out o’ the home brew, he’d allow me ta marry Betsy.”
“Praise God that he gave you a chance,” said Jewett.
“An’ I made the best o’ it fer a while,” continued Hosea. “Fer my gal’s sake.”
“Why didn’t ya git hitched, then?” asked Boone, gnawing on a hunk of ham.
“Well, one evenin’ the lumber camp cook come ta pick up supplies. Cookie was an old pal o’ mine, an’ he give me a sip er two o’ corn liquor while I was loadin’ bags o’ flour inta the wagon. One bag slipped out o’ my hands an busted all over the street. That set Betsy’s pa ta cussin’ me. I was sick o’ takin’ his sass fer every piddlin’ mistake I made, so I clocked ’im in the jaw an’ went on a real bender with Cookie. Only problem was, the store burned down durin’ the night. I was passed out in the stable at the time, but I figgered I’d git blamed anyhow after punchin’ the old man. That’s when I lit out fer Smethport an’ joined the Bucktails. Betsy’s better off without me. ’Til I git the taste o’ liquor out o’ my mouth fer good, I reckon I ain’t fit fer no decent gal.”
“I’m sorry things turned out so bad fer ya, Hosea,” said Bucky hoarsely. “When ya meet the right gal, you’ll mend yer ways, sure as shootin’.”
“Maybe Sarah has a nice cousin,” offered Jimmy with an encouraging smile.
“An’ maybe I’ll marry yer mama!” replied Curtis gruffly. “Let’s set down now an’ eat the rest o’ this fine weddin’ grub be-fore Hartshorne changes his mind an’ has us bucked an’ gagged er danglin’ from the end o’ a rope.”
“I jess hope that duty the major promised us fer tomorrow ain’t somethin’ worse,” mumbled Bucky with a worried frown.