The following day the Bucktails crossed the Potomac River on the Brunswick bridge. A gentle rain fell, and the riflemen tramped along, gazing at the war-ravaged Virginia countryside. To break the monotony, Sergeant Curtis taunted, “Ya know, Powers, if all you scarecrows hadn’t run off an’ joined the army, maybe these farm fields wouldn’t be picked so clean.”
“It wasn’t crows that made off with them crops,” answered Zeke. “It was foragin’ apes like you.”
“An’ we’da done a lot better job o’ it, too,” remembered Boone, “if that goggle-eyed old snappin’ turtle, General Meade, hadn’t caught us.”
“How can you say that about the general who just saved Pennsylvania?” gasped Jimmy.
“I didn’t see gol-dang Meade take fire at the Devil’s Den,” grunted Curtis. “It was us fellas helped turn the tide at Gettysburg.”
Again the men marched along in silence. The July sun came out in the afternoon to bake them, adding greatly to their fatigue. Later, the red Virginia dust swirled from the dry roads to stick to their skin and clog their throats. It was then that Jimmy coughed, “Boy, this country sure looks familiar.”
“It should,” choked Sergeant Culp. “Last year we come this way after the Battle o’ Sharpsburg. Every time I leave Sarah, it’s ta go chase Bobby Lee.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to spend more time with Sarah after your wedding, Bucky. It’s got to be tough on both of you,” said Jewett softly.
“You’re never alone when ya really love a gal, Jimmy. Every time I close my eyes I see her waitin’ back at the farm fer me. Marryin’ her was the best thing I coulda done. It give me peace I didn’t have be-fore.”
“Praise God for giving you that chance, then!”
“Now, Jewett, if you could only git that God o’ yers ta bring us some grub, we’d be all teary-eyed an’ grateful as that bridegroom,” mocked Hosea.
“How are you holding up, Zeke?” asked Jimmy, observing the sudden paleness of Private Powers’ face.
“Fair ta middlin’. I ain’t walked this far in a long while, but it sure beats scratchin’ vermin in a stinkin’ prison. Thanks fer askin’. I jess hope I git plenty more chances ta avenge myself on them Rebs. That’s all that’s keepin’ me goin’.”
“It’s oil o’ gladness that keeps my legs churnin’,” laughed Curtis, taking a belt of wedding whiskey. “When I finish this bottle, I’m gonna wet my lips with Bobby Lee’s blood. Then all o’ us kin git back ta the place we be-long.”
The Bucktails trudged on through the afternoon heat. Despite his brave talk, Bucky felt isolated and alone. Sarah was tugging on him like a magnet, and he longed to sprint back to Sharpsburg and hold her close against him. Only thoughts of the dead deserters kept him from breaking rank.
Zeke Powers was having an even more difficult time than Sergeant Culp. His head was swimming with fatigue, and his eyes no longer focused. An acrid sweat poured out of him until the stench of it caused Curtis to remark, “Are ya sure ya didn’t die in Reb prison, Zeke? I swear I smelled corpses sweeter ’n’ you.”
Instead of replying, Powers fell flat on his face, knocking down Jimmy in front of him. The squad gathered around Zeke, loosening the buttons of his coat and fanning him with their caps. When he came to, Bucky offered him a drink from his canteen.
“What’s the holdup?” barked Major Hartshorne, riding back on his black mount to check on the halted squad. “What’s with you slackers? Can’t stand a little hike?”
“It’s Private Powers, sir,” replied Culp. “I think the heat done got ’im.”
“Get that man back in rank!” ordered the major. “And hurry!”
With some difficulty, Jimmy and Bucky got Powers to his feet. He was still dizzy and pale, and Jewett offered to help him limp along. Boone carried Zeke’s gun, and Bucky carried his haversack. Only Hosea refused to give a hand. Instead, he grunted, “Too bad that fella got shed o’ his lice. They could o’ carried ’im the rest o’ this here campaign.”
For three more hours the excruciating march continued. When word finally passed down the line to fall out, Bucky’s squad did just that in a ditch by the road. Totally spent from their endeavor, they sucked on their canteens and panted and gasped until it was almost dark. Then, they crawled into a meadow, where they wrapped the fevered Powers in his blanket and took turns putting cool, damp rags on his head.
When the sun burned through the morning haze, the Bucktails were again ordered forward. Zeke was still in no condition to travel. His fever had not broken, and his wobbly legs would not allow him to stand.
“What are we gonna do, Hosea?” asked Bucky. “We jess can’t leave Zeke fer the turkey buzzards.”
“Maybe we could build a litter ta lug ’im on,” suggested Boone.
“With what?” groaned Jimmy. “I don’t see any trees growing here.”
“You boys fetch his e-quipment,” ordered Hosea, throwing Powers over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “I reckon it’s better ta carry ’im than hear gol-dang Hartshorne rag us all day. It seems like I jess whipped Jewett an’ Culp inta shape, an’ now I gotta wet-nurse another new fella.”
Clouds returned to obscure the sun most of the morning. A light drizzle put down the road dust. With no heat to drain Curtis of his strength, the muscular sergeant paid Zeke as little mind as if he were a pack full of contraband whiskey. Bucky noticed that Hosea did not drink anything but water, though, as he tramped south on the slick byways.
That night, the Bucktails erected their doghouses and sat around a smoldering fire to chomp down the last of their hardtack. Zeke snored in his tent as the others sat glumly discussing Union strategy.
“Why do we keep shadowin’ Bobby Lee, instead o’ finishin’ ’im off?” wondered Boone. “I reckon none o’ these generals got a lick o’ fight in ’em.”
“Look around you,” replied Jimmy. “Our army’s pretty beat up, too.”
“Yeah,” agreed Hosea. “The Yanks an’ Rebs is like two fellas that was in a rip-roarin’ brawl. It’s gonna take awhile fer their bruises an’ split lips ta heal be-fore they go at each other ag’in.”
“Well, I git sick o’ all this dancin’ ’round,” grumbled Crossmire. “This here war’s gone on too long. Can’t Mr. Lincoln find one scrapper among his generals?”
Before Hosea could cheer Boone with irreverent humor, an orderly slipped out of the darkness and asked, “Is there a Sergeant Culp here?”
“Yep. That’s me.”
“A letter’s come for you.”
“Thanks!”
“How ’bout me?” yelped Boone. “Don’t my kinfolk know I’s still down here fightin’ fer ’em?”
“Sorry. Better luck next time,” replied the orderly, rushing off again.
“Who’s your letter from?” inquired Jimmy.
“Sarah.”
“Well, don’t jess set there starin’ at it!” chided Hosea. “I wanna know how them folks is gettin’ along since I drunk all their liquor.”
“Okay. Okay,” replied Bucky, opening the envelope and bending closer to the firelight to read. “I-I-It says the patrol that come after you an’ me was mighty rough on the Pfaffs. They busted in the front door an’ turned the place upside down lookin’ fer us. Sarah said she was scared o’ the way them fellas kept eyein’ her. Finally, her pa clubbed a leerin’ sergeant with the butt o’ his shotgun, an’ the soldiers got way more respectful. When they didn’t find us, they warned the Pfaffs ’bout the con-sequences o’ hidin’ fugitives.”
“We shoulda stayed long e-nough ta whip them fellas’ tails!” growled Curtis.
“Then we’da been the ones down in them graves,” said Bucky with a shudder.
“It was best for all of you that you escaped unseen,” observed Jimmy. “Did Sarah mention getting my letter?”
“Yes, she wanted ta thank ya fer lettin’ her know Hosea an’ me got back safe. She ain’t too happy that I ain’t wrote her yet.”
“You’re jess like a hunter that done got a trophy buck,” teased Crossmire. “Once the thrill o’ the chase is over, he soon fergits ’bout them horns mounted on his wall.”
“Oh, go suck an egg, Boone!”
“Hey, is that Zeke I hear moaning?” asked Jimmy. “We should go check on him, Bucky.”
“Maybe the fever’s gettin’ the best o’ ’im ag’in. Let’s go.”
“You better write to Sarah,” urged Jewett when he and his friend were out of earshot of the rest of the squad. “You know how she worries about you.”
“I-I-It’s that firin’ squad business that’s still got me rattled. I-I-I’ll write her tomorrow. I promise.”
“Good! And I’ll do the same.”
The two soldiers approached Zeke Powers’ tent and found him delirious. They gave him a drink of water and again applied damp rags to his forehead. Just before dawn his fever left him, and the weakened man croaked, “Who’s there? I see you. Identify yourselves.”
“It’s jess us,” whispered Bucky calmly. “Culp an’ Jewett. How’s ya feelin’?”
“Like a snakebit polecat.”
“You’ve been through an awful lot, Zeke,” said Jimmy. “If you don’t improve soon, I think you should apply for a medical discharge. Nobody would fault you after the treatment you received in prison.”
“Ain’t gonna quit, no siree!” raved Powers. “Not ’til I gits revenge on them Rebs, curse their hides! I was the best marksman in m’ old squad. Ain’t gonna quit ’til I shoots every one o’ them Johnnies in the guts er ’tween the eyes!”
“Hey, knock off that gol-dang shoutin’!” demanded Curtis as he stomped into Powers’ tent. “You ready fer yer piggyback ride?”
“Piggyback ride be damned!” howled Zeke. “I’ll walk barefoot on broken glass all the way ta Richmond ta git another crack at Johnny Reb. Feed ’em rats. Feed ’em lice. Pelt ’em hard. With beef bone dice!”