CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Red slept, but Tim was too cold to sleep. He looked up at the boughs of the sheltering tree. He gazed into the cold night sky. A full moon was shining somewhere behind the pines. The wind moaned softly in the boughs, filling the valley with mournful music. The brighter stars winked clear in the crystal air. Tim rolled out of his blanket and moved away from their camp, swinging his arms and working his knees to restore circulation.
He sat in the open on a jagged rock and picked out fragments of constellations. There was Pegasus to the west, and if he turned his head he could see Orion’s Belt above a hill in the east.
This was their second night under the stars since the death of the woman.
Tim had kept his mind on things that lay ahead. He had dreamed of home, of sleigh rides and skating on the pond behind the schoolhouse and thawing out in the blacksmith shop.
Now he remembered a winter so cold that the river had frozen clear across. He and Peter Gleason had skated allthe way to the other side. Cold was fine, as long as you could thaw out, sitting by a fire with a cup of chocolate in your hand.
For the first time he let himself think back to the thing that had happened on the ridge.
They had stripped the cartridges off the dead men and taken their firearms. They had left the bodies where they had fallen. They had ordered the third man to mount his horse and had sent him on his way, burbling off a stream of thanks for sparing his life.
The ground had been frozen solid and they’d had no tools for digging, anyway, so they had buried Missus Flint under a cairn and set her musket, muzzle down, in the top of the pile of rocks.
When they had turned to go Tim had looked back again the way they had come. Smoke had still curled above the cabin.
Tim studied the stars again, trying to remember the pictures they made and which way was right side up. Then he gave it up and went back to his blanket. As he lay there he remembered a far-off day in spring when he had walked with Kate. All at once she had picked up her skirts and started to run.
He remembered having been in a solemn frame of mind. Somehow he hadn’t caught her spirit. She had stood in the path and waited for him, suddenly serious, trying to share his solemnity.
Now he closed his eyes and her face came clear. He drew his blanket close around him and went to sleep.
Tim woke up before the sun had cleared the hills. Snow had fallen during the night and their blankets and coats were sifted over with flakes. Tim looked down at his feet, wrapped now in the strips of blanket wool. The cold hadnumbed his feet and hands, and when he felt his face it seemed like ice.
He woke Red and they made breakfast. When they finished eating they pushed on into the wilderness of white. When they had walked for an hour or so they came to a stream that tumbled through a gorge, into a valley below. Their route lay across the stream and they were scouting along it to find a crossing when Tim caught sight of something moving in the trees in the valley below. He grabbed Red’s sleeve and together they watched as three horsemen made their way south along the valley. The horsemen were several hundred yards below, but the air was clear and the sun struck their uniforms. This time there was no room for doubt. They were Yankee soldiers.
Red cupped his hands and shouted. The horsemen stopped, turning their faces up. Tim waved his arms above his head and he and Red jumped carelessly into the water. They ran down the hill, slipping and skidding on the snow-covered rock, their firearms knocking against the coats Missus Flint had made them. The ends of their mufflers flapped behind them.
As they approached the horsemen they looked into the muzzles of Yankee firearms.
One held a pistol. He wore no visible insignia. He had a black pointed beard and bright eyes. The visor of his cap stuck out from under a blue knitted scarf that was tied around his head. He carried a sword in a brightly polished sheath. “Stop there,” he said, “and raise your hands. Who are you and where have you come from?”
Red gave their names. “We escaped from a jail in Columbia, South Carolina. We came across the mountains.”
The man smiled faintly, studying their overcoats.“Looks as if you might have had some help along the way.”
Tim nodded. “Without help we wouldn’t be alive.”
One of the men was a sergeant. He sported a big sand-colored mustache. Beside him, sitting his horse a little stiffly, was a very young man who reminded Tim of Private Greene. They both held rifles.
The man with the pistol, who must be an officer, turned to the young man. “Corporal, relieve the gentlemen of their arms.”
As the corporal dismounted the officer looked sharply at the rifle and the shotgun. Red said, “Both of us carry revolvers in the right-hand pockets of our coats.”
As the corporal took their arms the man with the pistol looked straight at Tim. “Where did you get the rifle and shotgun and the pistols?”
“We had a fight with some guerillas back in the mountains. Our guide shot one and Lieutenant Kelly here shot another. The third was a poor excuse for a man. We took his shotgun and let him go.”
The officer questioned them closely about their capture and asked to see their identifications. They showed him their papers and opened their coats and showed him their tattered uniforms. When the officer was satisfied that they were neither deserters nor spies he holstered his pistol and motioned toward the man with the sandy mustache. “This is Sergeant Scully, and the man who searched you is Corporal Simms. I’m Captain Platt. I’m thankful we found you alive. My detachment is quartered in the farmhouse of a loyal Unionist, just north of here. The man has gone to war. We’ve been resting a while with his wife and children. We start for Knoxville tomorrow. We’ll take you along.”
Tim said, “We heard that Knoxville was under siege.”
“The siege was raised in early December.”
Red asked, “Where were you bound when we caught sight of you?”
The captain laughed. “We were going out to find a tree.”
“A tree?”
The sergeant grinned. “Tomorrow is Christmas.”
Red said, “Well, fancy that. Did you say there were children at the farm?”
“Three girls and two boys. Attractive little devils.” The captain looked down at the feet of the men who stood in the snow. “You must be perishing from cold. Sergeant Scully and I will take you back and set you by the fire. Corporal Simms can find us a tree.”
The corporal touched his cap. When he smiled he was even more like Greene. “You can trust me, sir. The other boys would have my hide if I came back with a scragglytree.”