For the civilians, answering calls of nature was just one of the many challenges of the march. Those who felt impelled to relieve themselves had to make do with finding a convenient tree or a clump of underbrush to go behind. The soldiers and the Indians were long used to a lack of amenities but to those less worldly, attending to such a basic need in public was a salutary experience, even though everyone was subject to the same indignity. When the column was on the march it didn’t grind to a halt because one person was caught short between rest stops. If you had to go, you moved off the path, found a spot to carry out your business and then you rejoined the line, without taking too long about it. It had become a common sight to see people slip away. It wasn’t as if they required an armed escort to accompany them.

But if that’s what had happened, Johnson thought to himself, the boy wouldn’t have moved that far off the trail. It wouldn’t have taken him a couple of hours to catch up, surely?

“What do you want to do, sir?” Scott asked, breaking into Johnson’s thoughts. “Reverend De Witt tells me the lad has his own horse, which makes it even more curious that he hasn’t caught us up, the rate we’re moving. Unless he got thrown,” he added pensively.

“Oh dear Lord!” Esther De Witt gasped. “The poor child could be lying hurt somewhere!” Mortified, she stared at her husband. “It’s our fault, Thaddeus. We should have been more mindful.” No longer able to suppress her emotions, her face finally crumpled and she began to sniffle.

Damned right, you should, Johnson thought, though his anger was assuaged by the sight of the woman’s obvious and genuine distress. And could he place all the blame for the boy’s absence at the De Witts’ door? From Lieutenant Wyatt’s account of the catastrophic events at the Archer farm it was clear that the boy had suffered massive turmoil. Who knew what went through a twelve-year-old’s mind at a time like this? Could it be that the lad was trying to return home?

Johnson looked along the line. The troops were forming up, awaiting the order to move out. Even the civilians were looking restless, wondering why the march hadn’t resumed.

He turned to Scott. “Pick a search party. Four men, including a tracker. Give them horses; cut out some of the baggage animals or commandeer civilian mounts.”

“Yes, sir,” Scott said.

“Trouble is it’s not just when; we don’t know where he left the damned column, either,” Johnson said pensively. “When you checked the line, Reverend, you did enquire if anyone had seen him leave – correct?”

“No one noticed, Colonel.” De Witt stared bleakly back along the trail, as if by sheer force of will he could make the boy reappear.