The soldier shrieked in agony. When he instinctively brought both of his hands to his blistered face, with his cocked revolver still in his grasp, it discharged, searing his face yet again with the side blast from the weapon’s cylinder gap. He fell to his knees, next to the dying sergeant, bloodied, blinded, and howling in pain.

“What’s going on here?” Lieutenant Gabel demanded. He pushed his way through the crowd, as Pritchard and Ditch were swarmed and held by a mob of Confederate troops. The burned soldier continued to writhe and holler.

“This man attacked Sergeant Stein,” the corporal declared, pointing to Pritchard. “His friend attacked Private DeSaltier.”

“He’s got it the other way around,” Ditch said.

“Get the injured men to the surgeon’s tent,” Gabel ordered. “And for God’s sake, tie those two prisoners up.” The soldiers scrambled to comply.

“I reckon we ain’t guests anymore,” Pritchard said to Ditch.

The lieutenant approached Pritchard and Ditch, once they were restrained. “You two certainly didn’t waste any time causing mayhem,” he said.

“We were just returning the hospitality,” Pritchard said.

“You realize, of course, you’ll both be shot for this.”

“Beats diggin’ graves,” Ditch said. He spit at the lieutenant’s feet.

“Been shot before,” Pritchard shrugged.

“Get these men out of my sight,” Lieutenant Gabel said.

“Looks like that’s another one I owe you,” Pritchard said to Ditch, as they were dragged away. “Thanks for saving me. Again.”

“Gettin’ to be a habit,” Ditch grumbled. “And you’re welcome.”

Chapter 15

Chapter 15

“Evidently,” Ditch said to Pritchard as they were marched past the mess tent, “they ain’t givin’ us a last meal.”

“Sure they are,” Pritchard countered. “They’re gonna feed us lead.”

The pair spent the remainder of the day under guard, chained to one of the corral posts. At sunset they were once more offered corn gruel, which Pritchard again refused to eat, and given blankets.

“Wouldn’t want you two to freeze to death before you’re properly shot,” the guard issuing the blankets remarked.

“That’d be a shame,” Pritchard said, pouring out his gruel and tossing the tin bowl at the guard’s feet.

Later that evening, Lieutenant Gabel returned. With him was an old man wearing a clerical collar and carrying a Bible. Pritchard and Ditch looked up at them.

“There’s an officer present,” a guard said, prodding them with his boot. “On your feet.”

“Or what?” Ditch said. “You’re gonna shoot us?”

The guards started to prod the seated men with their bayonets, but Gabel halted them with a wave of his hand. “You may remain seated.”

“Thank you kindly,” Pritchard said sarcastically.

“I’ve just come from your court-martial,” Lieutenant Gabel began.

“Too bad we weren’t invited,” Ditch said.

“Your presence would have made no difference,” Gabel said. “Sergeant Stein died less than an hour after you attacked him. Private DeSaltier is now blind in one eye.”