By the time the end of the column came into the colonel’s sight, the rest period had drawn to a close. Canteens and pipes had been stowed and packs shouldered. From his stops along the line and the briefings he’d received from his officers, all appeared to be well. There had been some griping from the civilians about the heat and the brevity of the halt and the pace at which they were being forced to walk, but the complainers had been mollified by the news that, all being well, at the speed they were travelling they would reach their destination the following day. With spirits lifted, the overall mood had become one of increased optimism. Or so the colonel thought until he came upon his second-in-command, who was looking anything but cheerful.

Scott was talking with a heavy-set civilian whose face was hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. A grubby, once-white shirt and a pair of mud-stained breeches showed all the evidence of the march. He was one of a small group of similarly attired and weary-looking men and women that had attached itself to the rear of the column, tucked in among the last few horses of the baggage train.

At the colonel’s approach, Scott turned, his normally laconic features uncharacteristically tense.

Johnson felt the first flicker of unease. “Captain?”

Taking hold of Johnson’s halter Scott steered the horse to one side. “We have a problem, Colonel. It appears we’re missing a civilian.”

“Who?”

“One of the children.”

Johnson steeled himself. A missing adult would have been bad enough. A child was far worse. “Do we have a name?”

“A lad named Hooper, Matthew Hooper.” Scott hesitated. “I understand you know him, sir.”

“Is he missing or merely mislaid?” Johnson tried to keep his voice calm.

“Sir?” Scott frowned.

“You’re certain he’s not with us. You’ve checked the rest of the line?”

“Not yet, not personally. The reverend has.”

“Reverend?”

“Reverend De Witt, sir.” Scott nodded back towards the civilian with whom he’d been talking. “The boy was travelling with the pastor and his family. It was Lieutenant Wyatt who arranged it. The boy’s an orphan. He—”

Johnson held up a hand to belay Scott’s explanation. “I’m familiar with the boy’s background. It was I who directed Lieutenant Wyatt to find him a suitable guardian.” He looked towards the pastor, who’d been joined by an equally stout, apprehensive-looking woman whom he assumed was the pastor’s wife.

“Colonel …” De Witt stepped forward. He did not extend his hand but indicated the woman. “My wife, Esther.”

“Madam.” Johnson regarded them both for several seconds before asking, “You’re positive the boy’s not with the column?”

“We’ve checked all ways, Colonel. Up and down. He’s not here.”

“When did you see him last?”