Horses clattered away from the gate. I shall want you in about an hour, General, at General Hill’s headquarters. Who was General Hill? Tyler must despise all fate because he isn’t a general. Let them kill him; power to their powder, ruthless selection to their lead.

The room had grown much hotter … very long time. Paralysis like sleep overcame him, and yet his eyes were open every hour … He heard a stutter of gunfire, another Fourth of July. Such a sound you heard for a great while before you were aware of it; how long had this been happening? Big boots pounded around the house, men running toward the stable. The firing rose out of the distant south and faint as it was, each single report seemed more fanged and vicious than any firing Dan had heard yet.

At last he went down to the yard and he could see smoke soaring at the southern tip of the ridge: a battle, near where the Emmetsburg road crawled up out of the flat valley, two or three miles away. General Duncan and his family were gone but a rim of men roosted on the old stable. One sat in lonely state atop the privy, arms wound around his doubled-up knees. Sometimes a strata of impenetrable air hedged in front of the firing and for long minutes you couldn’t hear the sprinkle of shots—only watch the smoke stealing beyond McMillens’. A gun or two talked, over near the cemetery; those were big guns. Dan looked at his watch. It was ten minutes after twelve. Now, surely, it was late enough; he had waited, and he would cross the field to Irene—she could not expect him to remain patient forever.

He declared stubbornly, I’ll eat something first. When I cross that field, it shall be as slowly as ever I crossed it before … In his kitchen, the perspiring slave brought out cold bacon and bread and a bottle of peach brandy. Yasso, how you like you eggs? Don’t bother to fix any … He ate, and a staccato whisper still came from the south. He thought, you bastard guns, if you knew what you were doing … Some meek privates hung around the kitchen porch and begged for food, saying little, staring with eloquence. Dan gave them whatever was within reach; the big negro drove them away with a torrent of curses and threats, and glared at Bale for his prodigality.

Dan stood up and finished his brandy. He walked out of the door, down the yard and into the scorching pasture; the air was smelling here as well. It seemed as if he were walking through deep water, with the heat waves trailing like tissue as he crossed the field. Irene was waiting for him at the fallen fence beside Fannings’ garden, and for awhile they stood without speaking, listening to the unrest of muskets.