A small unit of cavalrymen crested the hill behind the wagon and the mounted gun spoke again. Six horses and their riders went down, mingling their blood in the rich Virginia earth.
"I want to join the artillery!" Seward shrieked as the survivors from the cavalry unit veered away.
"How about the navy?" Hedges asked him as he whipped the horses at full gallop into the Bull Run, trusting to luck that he had picked a shallow place.
"I can't swim," Scott screamed as spray from the flailing hooves of the team showered over the wagon. He didn't have to. The wagon sank to the level of its floor, but the horses, driven by the bite of the whip and their own fear of the gun exploding behind them, used every ounce of their considerable collective power to drag their burden against the pull of the water and burst into a full gallop as it came clear. There were no longer any pursuers hard on the heels of the escaping wagon, but Forrest continued to supervise the loading and firing of the field gun and with each report and recoil the horses were terrified into greater speed.
"Jesus, will you look at those stupid bastards!" Hedges shouted at the top of his voice as he struggled to change the course of the team's flight, angling towards the road that led northwards all the way to Washington.
Forrest poked his head through the front of the wagon, ripping aside the remnants of canvas which had survived the race through the trees. The grin which reflected his enjoyment of his period as an artillery man was suddenly wiped from his features by an expression of incredulous shock.
"They're having a goddamn picnic," he yelled. The cruel-faced man was not coining a metaphor. The road to Washington was actually lined with hundreds of civilians in all manner of conveyances who were eating dainty sandwiches and drinking coffee from delicate china as they viewed the battle. Excited by newspaper accounts of the opening stages of the Civil War, many of Washington's citizenry had decided they wished to see what all the fuss was about. The warm weather and prospects of some fighting only about twenty miles south of the capital had provided an excellent opportunity to accomplish this. So carriages, wagons and buggies had been hurriedly laden with hampers and a civilian convoy had been hot on the heels of the military on the route south. As the battle commenced the civilians had spread themselves on the road and in the fields east of the Bull Run and delighted in the sights and sounds of war. Then, when the first signs of a rout appeared, it took these spectators longer than was safe to decide it was time to leave.
"They're waving at us like we was in a parade or something," the still incredulous Forrest exclaimed. "Run the lunkheads down."
The panicked horses of the wagon team smashed through between two buggies and skidded on to the road, swaying dangerously and cannoning off the stationery vehicles of the shocked civilians. Back down the road other army wagons and hundreds of infantrymen and cavalry troopers spilled on to the road.
"They're coming. They're coming. The rebs are coming."
"They're raping and killing."
"Mommy, I wanna go home."
"McDowell's dead."
"McDowell says head for the Potomac."
"Let's get out of here." An infantryman tripped over his own musket and sent a ballshot into the laughing face of a year-old baby.
An elderly man fell beneath the wheels of a rumbling wagon, crushing his skull.
Two soldiers gun-whipped a man and his wife and stole their buggy.
Carriages smashed into wagons and axles snapped.
A rumor spread that a crack Confederate cavalry unit was speeding in for the kill and a thousand soldiers dropped their weapons and scrambled through the snarl of tangled traffic and terrified civilians.
Hedges drove the wagon over a small bridge as a stray rebel shell arced in through the cooling evening air and overturned another wagon immediately behind, blocking the road.
A hundred pairs of trembling hands tore at the wreckage to clear a way through.
"Captain," Douglas called as he peered back through the gathering dusk, his vision further impaired by the billowing dust from the spinning wheels of the speeding wagon.
"You want something" Hal?" Forrest answered.
"They ain't following us. Rebs are staying where they are."
Hedges stopped whipping the horses and hauled on the reins as Forrest clamped on the wheel brakes.
"You sure?" Hedges asked as the wagon slewed to a halt and he peered back down the road to see for himself.
"Yeah, they ain't even shooting no more," Seward confirmed, his voice dejected. "I thought we was winning, and now we lost."
Hedges spat and clucked the team forward into an easy walk. "You ought to be dead, but you're alive," he said softly.
"Right!" Seward exclaimed after a moment for thought. "Hell, you're right Captain. We're all alive, ain't we? It sure is a great war."
Hedges recalled the men pitching forward out of his gun-sight, spilling blood; the face of the Confederate officer he had blinded; the light-headed enthusiasm of the charge towards the enemy line at the Storie Bridge. His face was suddenly carved into a humorless grin that narrowed the blue eyes to slits of ice cold blue and curled back his thin lips to reveal teeth that looked as dangerous as those of an enraged animal.
"It's got its moments," he agreed.
Forrest saw the expression and heard the tone. He recognized both and slapped Hedges hard on the back "Hey, Captain, you're one of us now."
Hedges fastened him with a hard stare and shook his head as he felt another facet of his new character hammered into place. "You aren't even in the same league," he hissed.
*****
THE sheriff was not a big man and his courage could also be measured on a scale that took no account of the more than average. His appointment was a relatively new one and he had no personal recollections of the Hedges family and the killings out on the farm. But he knew where to find the right poster among the file of wanted notices and it was with some trepidation that he unfurled it for Grace Hope to see.
This was a quiet town, unused to major trouble in recent times, which had been a prime reason for him accepting the appointment as peace officer. He did not, therefore, relish the prospect of going after a double killer whom legend had built up into a vicious animal.
"That's him!" Grace exclaimed as Sheriff Layton unfurled the poster across the desk top to reveal the image of a younger, healthier Josiah C. Hedges than the living one at present wracked by fever at the farm.
Layton was a man in middle years with a long face that lengthened even more as the girl made the identification.
"You're sure, Grace?" Billy West asked. He was the same age as Grace, as handsome as she was pretty. He put a hand on her waist and leaned close to her over the desk, experiencing a stirring from her nearness.
"Yes, Billy. That's the man at the farm." She straightened and pulled away from his embrace, ashamed because she had compared him unfavorably with Hedges.
Leyton sighed and folded up the poster, small enough to fit into his shirt pocket. "Better round up a posse," he told his deputy. "He's sick, but he's an animal. Sick animals can be the most vicious kind."
Billy nodded and smiled at Grace. "Don't worry," he said with great self-assurance, hoping to impart confidence to the girl. "We'll take care of him."
She forced a small smile to her lips, knowing it did not reach her eyes. "I know you will, Billy."
"Get moving," Layton said as he fished a key from a drawer of the desk and rose towards the rifle rack. "If Hedges wakes up he might not take too kindly to the Hopes moving in on his land."
Grace drew in her breath and put a delicate hand to her mouth. She had not previously considered that the man may have come back to claim his own land. She was suddenly stricken by a fearful anxiety for her mother's safety and she followed Billy out of the office and climbed hurriedly into the buggy.