He touched the man’s shoulder. The blank, bound head turned slowly. “Har,” it said.

“Don’t I know you?” Dan asked.

The caked lips shook for moment. “Voice sounds … who are you?”

“My name’s Bale. I live here in Gettysburg.”

The voice said, weakly, “Oh.” And after a long wait: “Hid in your pantry. We did.”

“Pantry,” Dan repeated. “Jesus Christ.” He got down on his knees. “Your name’s Fisher.”

Fisher told him, “Never see again. Hard lines, isn’t it? They haven’t told me, but I guess I know. It just looked like a lot of milk spilled over everything, milk that was boiling. It put ’em out for sure.”

“Where is Huddlestone?”

The boy groped around, patting his bandage with uncertain hands. “We left the horse. Those folks’ horse. It’s a farmer named Crawley—hell of a name, like crawl—right near Uniontown, Maryland. You see if we didn’t.”

Rooo, came from the next pew.

“Can’t you remember about Huddlestone? Elijah Huddlestone. He was with you.”

Fisher whispered, “That truss.” Reluctantly, his hands slid down from the bandage. “Well, it was the Army of the Potomac all right. We went along. The rest of the Penn college boys will wonder about that, I guess. It was the One Hundred Forty-eighth Pennyslvania—”

“One Hundred Forty-eighth Pennsylvania—”

The boy repeated it again. “Yes. That was it. So many folks from college in Company C. They welcomed us. They did.”

“Can you remember about Huddlestone?”

“He had a rupture. We thought we’d let our beards grow. He had a start, by that time. Never shaved.”

“Where did you fight?”

“It was wheat.”

“Was Huddlestone with you?”

Fisher didn’t answer. Dan took his hand and shook it in a frenzy. “Now, listen,” he said. “Fisher. Listen to me. It’s his mother. She wants to know what became of him. Is he still with the army? Did they enlist you both, or just let you come along with them because you were part of that temporary regiment?”

The young man swallowed and swallowed. “It’s quite dark,” he said, clearly. “Looked like milk at first—I saw it. Milk in my eyes.”

There was a smell more fiendish than any of the others. A man and two women carried something past Dan’s back and down the aisle and out of the door … wrapped up with a patchwork quilt. “That’s gangrene.” Fisher spoke with assurance. “They can’t fool me by now. I heard them talking.” His hands came up and hunted around. “Where’d you go?” he cried.

“Huddlestone,” Dan said. “Hud, you called him.”

“We—had a picnic there—one time and—and tamarinds. I remember the place, too; it was by that rocky hill, and we climbed up there with the girls. I looked back and I could see the hill, just the same. Rocks.”

“Little Round Top. Was that it?”