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“Fall out,” the sergeant ordered, his voice low. “Be on your feet in five minutes.” “Five minutes?” mumbled a gangly-legged private. “ain’t enough time to get set, even.” He parked himself on a huge Sycamore windfall and when everybody laid back with their eyes shut he rolled over the log, pushed in close behind and went to sleep. He didn’t intend it. Just happened. When he opened his eyes the daylight had about run out. “Jumpin’ Jehosophat,” he yelped, scrambled over the fallen log and stood gawk-eyed with mouth hung loose. They’d been on patrol for three days now and had pushed hard since sun-up to get back to the main outfit. Seemed everybody was so dog tired they didn’t notice him not being there when they pulled out. “Two Jay,” he said aloud, “you’re some kind of knucklehead, there’s trouble waitin’.” He wasn’t concerned about being left to find his own way back. Didn’t get yanked up in the hills of Tennessee and not know his way around. Might’ve hunted these same hills for all of him. He’d cradle that old squirrel gun under his arm, it being longer than him, and head out. When it came time to turn around there was never any wondering. Always got back in time for chores. He slung on his pack, picked up the ball and cap and with his long legs stretched out headed north through the thick stand of oak and hickory trees. Everybody figured this senseless war to be about over. They’d beat General Lee at near every turn and wished for an end to it. Didn’t seem right somehow. Brother fighting against brother. He had no heart for it. Signed up when everybody else did. Some went for the glory he supposed. Glory? He’d found none. He wasn’t looking for any. He had intentions ahead of him and this war stood in the way. Not one to go back on a pledge he’d stand and fight as long as it lasted. Stories of the west had been simmering inside his head for years. He’d been gone long past if it weren’t for his pappy. “Ain’t no snot-nosed seventeen year old got enough sense to be lightin’ out on his own,” he’d heard time and again. Reckoned his pappy was right. The last two years fighting the south taught him more than he thought he had room for. The tales Lewis and Clark brought back about the flat plains that went on forever then butted smack up against the Rocky Mountains was something he couldn’t just listen to. He had to see it and the minute this war got fought out he meant to be on his way. He found no trouble in following the tracks of his outfit. A blind man could do it but it took a sharp eye to see when the bushes wiggled in a heavy thicket some fifty yards ahead. Ain’t no wind, he thought and slowed his step. More than likely a rabbit or some such, but no matter, he loved getting up on wild critters and them not know it. He eased from the trail and went slow from tree to tree, each step put down soft. He sank to his belly at the edge of the thicket, pushed a branch aside and looked into a pair of the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Five feet in front, maybe and him wearing a grey uniform of a Confederate soldier. Their eyes locked and Two Jay could see the pain in the other’s face. “You look to be hurtin’ some. Been wounded?” “One of you northern boys put a hole through my leg. Reckon you got two choices,” and tried to laugh. “Shoot me or help me. Whichever it is,” and gritted his teeth, “I’d like you be about it.” “There’s one more besides,” Two Jay chuckled. “I could leave you layin’ and be on my way.” He stretched out an arm. “Gimme your hand. Let’s get you outa’ there so if I gotta’ cut off your leg I’ll have some room.” The young soldier squirmed out of the brush with Two Jay a-hold of an arm and laid out flat, his face a pasty white. “Whooee,” breathed Two Jay when he’d slit the bloody leg of the grey uniform. “How long since you got hit?’ “Dunno’. Two, three days maybe. Crawled a mile or so. About done in.” “Don’t reckon it matters none but what’s your name?” “Bedford Sheets. You can more’n likely guess what folks call me.” “Reckon I can see that, Bed,” he chuckled. The ball went through above the knee, took some bone with it and left a ragged hole on the other side. The leg was swelled up ugly and red as fire. “You got any water?” panted the wounded man and took the offered canteen. “That your outfit went by me a few hours ago?” “Went to sleep,” Two Jay laughed, “and they walked off without me. Now,” and locked his eyes to the blue ones. “Looks to be only one thing to do. Get you to a medic. But,” his voice soft, “it’s gonna’ hurt like the dickens.” Bedford stood, hung tight to Two Jay’s arm and said, “No idea what you’re aimin’ on. Hope I got the guts for it.” Two Jay turned and backed against the greycoat. “Put your arm tight around my neck and give me your good leg.” He’d packed in many a deer that weighed a hundred pounds so the hundred and forty on his back now he could handle for maybe a mile at a time. “This bum leg might hurt less if you was to hold it up,” grunted the man on his back, “and…hey, you’re headed south. What you…?” “Your lines are a durn sight closer than mine.” Book Titles Available | | The BANYON NETWORK | Betty Byers | Whitlow Synopsis | INNER-VIEWS WITH CELEBRITIES | ECLECTIC REVIEWS | BOOK REVIEWER'S CORNER | The NEWS | SHORT STORIES CORNER | | Return Home | GREAT LINKS | WHAT'S NEW? | CONTACT US | |
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