“That’s quite a tale,” the colonel remarked, drawing on his pipe.

“It ain’t a tale,” Ditch said. “It’s the truth.”

“What were your plans, once you arrived in Arkansas?”

“We aim to find his brother Paul,” Pritchard said, “and become Confederate cavalrymen.”

“So,” the colonel said, “you two are horsemen, are you?”

“As good as any you’ll find,” Ditch said.

“I’ve got all the horsemen I need,” the colonel said abruptly. “And I’m not in the habit of putting lying young whelps on good mounts and sending them off into battle alongside men who’ve earned the right to be called Confederate cavalrymen.” He turned on his heel and went back into the tent.

Ditch and Pritchard exchanged glances.

“Lieutenant Gabel,” the colonel said as he resumed his seat. “Put these youngsters in uniform and assign them to burial detail. When all the graves are dug, assign them to the mess. Give them no access to weapons and ensure they are fully informed about what happens around here to deserters.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant acknowledged with another salute.

“What about our horses?” Ditch said.

“Your horses are now the property of the Confederate States of America,” the colonel said. “They will be assigned to cavalrymen who will know how to use them. Dismissed.”

“You’ve got no right!” Ditch protested.

“Get moving,” Lieutenant Gabel ordered. The soldiers prodded Ditch and Pritchard from the tent with bayonets and herded them across the camp. They passed the mess tent without being offered food, and were handed shovels by an ancient corporal with a filthy beard and no teeth. A dozen or so disheveled Union prisoners bearing shovels, also being steered by a squad of bayonet-bearing graycoats, joined them.

“They called us liars,” Ditch said aloud, elbowing Pritchard, “and took our horses, guns, and property. Now they’re going to make us dig graves. You sure this ain’t the Union army?”

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Pritchard and Ditch waited in line for food with the rest of the prisoners. It was noon, overcast, chilly, and the gray reb tunics they wore offered far less protection against the Arkansas November than their coats, which had been confiscated.

They were marched back out to the meadow of dead horses and men they crossed on the way into camp and ordered to find Confederate uniform shirts and caps that fit them from among the scattered corpses. Ditch had no problem locating a reasonably clean tunic in his size, but Pritchard had to examine more than a score of bodies before he found a fit, and even then, he was barely able to wriggle into it. Both of their tunics were damp from being in the field, were adorned with ball holes, and were liberally splattered with dried blood.