Colonel Washington Faulconer ignored Starbuck for almost the entire journey home. Faulconer rode with Captain Hinton, sometimes with Murphy, and at other times alone, but always setting a fast pace, as though he wanted to distance himself from the scene of his raid’s failure. When he did speak to Starbuck he was curt and unfriendly, though he was hardly any more forthcoming with anyone else. Even so, Starbuck felt hurt, while Truslow was merely amused by the Colonel’s sulking. “You have to learn to walk away from stupidity,” Truslow said.

“Is that what you do?”

“No, but who ever said I was a good example?” He laughed. “You should have taken my advice and helped yourself to the money.” Truslow had made a fair sum from the raid, as had the men who had gone with him into the train.

“I’d rather be a fool than a thief,” Starbuck said sententiously.

“No you wouldn’t. No sensible man would. Besides, war’s coming, and the only way you’ll get through a war is by thieving. All soldiers are thieves. You thieve everything you want, not from your friends, but from everyone else. The army won’t look after you. The army shouts at you, shits on you and does its best to starve you, so you get by as best you can, and the best getters-by are the ones who thieve best.” Truslow rode in silence for a few paces. “I reckon you should be glad you came to say a prayer for my Emily, ’cos it means you’ve got me to look after you.”

Starbuck said nothing. He felt ashamed of that prayer he had uttered beside a grave. He should never have said it, for he was not worthy.

“And I never thanked you for not telling anyone about my Sally, either. How she married, I mean, and why.” Truslow cut a slice of tobacco off the plait he kept in a belt pouch and shoved it into a cheek. He and Starbuck were riding alone, separated by a few paces from the men before and those behind. “You always hope your children will do you proud,” Truslow went on softly, “but I reckon Sally’s a bad one. But she’s wed now, and that’s the end of it.”