General Buford turned, gazing at Dan Bale and again at his host. He had a soiled hat balanced on his knee, and his breeches were soaked to the crotch with the moisture of bushes through which he had been riding. “Did either of you see the rebels hereabouts, yesterday?” he asked.

“Rebels?” repeated Mr. Fanning.

The general shrugged. “They were here, according to farmers out along the turnpike, west.”

Dan said, “I was at work in my yard most of the forenoon. I saw none.”

Mr. Fanning asked once more, “Rebels?” His hand shook brown splashes from his cup.

Buford drained the last of his coffee. “At least a scouting party of infantry. They were seen near the school up here, but they cut for it when our folks came to town … No, thank you. No second cup.” He stood up, twisting his tired shoulders, rubbing his buttocks. “Well, gentlemen,” he said to his staff. He turned toward Mr. Fanning. “That hit the spot, after a night in the saddle. Is your family here?”

The older man raised his eyebrows. He still wore the white night-cap. “Certainly. My wife and my—”

“Get them into the cellar as soon as you hear any firing.”

The room was still. Far away sounded the rumble of wide wheels—wagons or artillery, Dan could not tell which.

“Firing.” Fanning’s jaw clicked. “Do you expect—?”

Buford slapped his hat against his thigh. He swung on his heel, facing the door; he spoke with flat detachment, relating a very tiresome fact. “It’ll be fought at this point. I’m only afraid it’ll be commenced before the infantry can get up. We’re thankful for the coffee, Mr. Fanning.” He walked out to the stoop, his damp boots squeaking in leather agony at every step. His officers followed, saluting, saying their thank-yous, jingle and crunch across the floor … a rapid thud grew into hearing—a horse, and galloping. “Here’s Colonel Devin, sir,” the young captain announced.

Buford’s dry voice rapped out, shrill and curt. “Hello, Tom! Are your videttes all in place, as ordered?”

A man on an ugly, short-barreled horse came trotting through the open gate from the north pasture. Dan could see him leaning forward, saluting, pivoting in a quick circle. Buford had moved out of sight.

“General, I’ve got them out, but there’s not such necessity as you think.”

Through the chatter and trampling, the commander’s words found their way. “You’ll see, Tom,” he said.

The officer laughed. “I’ll take care of all that will attack my front in the next twenty-four hours.”