Nancy continued to pore over the map, studying the terrain in detail, looking to see how she would execute such a maneuver. In the process of doing so she came upon the name of the flatlands that lay between the two mesas. Putting the map down, she slowly turned her head and looked out the window. Having been a professional officer, she didn’t believe in signs or omens. Ancient Roman generals had. Her hero, Joan of Arc, had. Still, she could not deny that there was this thing called Fate which defied all logic. “Do you know the name of that place between the mesas?” she asked.

Lightfoot nodded. “Yes ma’am, I do.” Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he met her stare. “Deadmans Flats.”

The rest of the trip into Boise was made in silence.

THE GOVERNOR’S OFFICE, BOISE, IDAHO • EVENING, NOVEMBER 8

Making her way through the now familiar corridors, Nancy was not paying attention to anyone or anything along the way. She was in a hurry. Nathan Dixon and his platoon would be chomping at the bit to get back into the action. They needed to be restrained now that the Army was on its way. What she would do with this platoon was still a big question. In and of itself, it was not a very powerful force. In a standup fight it could do little. What gave Nathan’s platoon so much potential was the element of surprise its appearance at the right time and place would create. The big question for her was where that time and place was.

She was about to turn the corner and enter the suite of offices where the Governor resided when she ran headlong into an unexpected barricade of desks. Coming to an abrupt halt, Sergeant Lightfoot bumped into her from behind.

“Where you goin’?” a militiaman wearing shiny captain’s bars demanded.

Nancy looked up at the man. “The governor’s office,” she responded sharply. “I have dispatches for the governor from the adjutant general.”

Advancing, he reached his hand out. “Turn them over and I’ll take care of them.”

Stepping back, Nancy clutched the map case in which she carried the letters and reports. “These are for the governor’s eyes only. I have been ordered to hand them over to no one except the governor or his …”

The militiaman closed the space between them. He was now joined by two other militiaman who had roused themselves off chairs they had been lounging on. “I said hand them over,” the militia captain barked.