Buford came into view again. He was forcing his boot-toes through his stirrups, reaching forward and adjusting the curb-bit as his big chestnut wrenched her head about … There seemed to be a fatal weight of experience riding his body, making him appear years older than he was. Through the doorway, Bale stared at the blue-clad man with his ragged leather gloves and his shapeless mustache. The war will kill him, Bale knew suddenly. He will die of it. I am looking at a man who is close to death, and seems to know how close.

“No, you won’t take care of them, Colonel,” the general declared. “They’ll attack you this morning and they’ll come a-booming when they come—skirmishers three deep. You watch! You’ll have to fight like the devil to hold out until supports get here. I only hope Reynolds is routing his infantry out of bed afore this.”

The colonel laughed, with little humor but no hint of mockery. “You seem pretty certain, sir.”

Buford nudged his mare a few steps forward and jerked his forefinger in Colonel Devin’s face. “I haven’t been riding all over these hills for nothing, all night long. This place is damn important, and the enemy knows it if he’s got half an eye. They’ll sweat their guts out to take this ridge. We’ll be lucky to hold it, I reckon.” He said, “All right, boys, come along.” The whole posse rode up across the farmyard.

Dan stood watching, his coffee untasted in the cup he held. He heard himself saying, “I hope his fears aren’t realized. There is no—”

“Listen!” exclaimed Mr. Fanning. He lifted his palm, fingers stiff, his arm quivering under the fold of gray fringe. “Listen.” His mouth drooped open.

Bale turned. In the cellarway, Cybo sniffed and scraped against the door with his toe-nails. The chickens were clucking, a comfortable barnyard monotone outside, but faintly above all the domestic clamor pattered the sound of shots—a medley of them, so distant that they seemed half imagined. Then the blue morning fell away into nerveless silence again, and only the waking camp stirred with its innocent pandemonium.

Chapter 2

2.

The dead horse lay in the ditch still. Its belly was swelling rapidly, and the two left legs no longer stretched on the ground but were lifted horizontally by the steady bloating of the carcass. From the front porch of the Bale house could be heard an increasing hum of shiny green and purple flies which crept on the taut skin or twisted in the air above.