"He'll be there."
"Who else?"
"The two you saw last night."
"The greasers," Arlen said.
"Yeah, call 'em that we eet out in the wood-."
"How they gonna keep John Rau out of it?"
"You gonna do that," Robert said. "Take the man prisoner and tie him to a tree."
Arlen reset his hat thinking about it. "I never saw that done."
"It happened at Brice's," Walter said. "Old Bedford took hundreds of prisoners. Hell, most of the eighteen hundred the Yankees listed as missing."
Robert said, "You don't want him watching, do you? Those fellas over there look like hillbilly bikers-get them to do it. Bring him back here and tie him up, a sack over his head. Have some fun with him."
Arlen didn't say if he would or not. He said, "Where you gonna be?"
"Right around here. Take a stroll through the camp, look at those cannons. I'll be back."
"Ain't gonna stroll off, are you?"
"I had that in mind I wouldn't have strolled over here, would I?"
They watched Robert walk off through the orchard, Walter waiting for whatever Arlen would have to say now, get Arlen's take on the uppity colored fella.
What he said, his gaze still following Robert, "That smoke's got some kind of scheme in mind. I can feel it.”
"It's your business," Walter said, "not mine. I don't want to know anything about it, whatever happens."
"I think he's trying to set me up."
"Arlen, it was your idea to get him in the woods. I can hear you saying it, in my office. Shoot 'em and after dark bury 'em. That still your plan?"
"We was talking about the nigger and the diver. Now they's four five of 'em."
"Well, just shoot the ones you want," Walter said.
It got Arlen to turn and put his dirty look on him.
"You think you're out of it? You're gonna be there with me, partner, loads in your pistol. I tell you to shoot, you better start shootin'."
Robert roamed through the camps getting looks, inspected the cannons, went up to the edge of the woods, came back thinking the battle was about to begin-uh-unh. What they said about being in the army all hurry up and wait? It was even true pretending to be in the army. He hung around the edge of Arlen's people now, not wanting to push any more of their buttons. They were all juiced and seeing how ugly they could act.
Two of them, Fish and the one they called Eugene, kept yelling at each other about what happened to Rose, whoever Rose was, sounding like it was somebody the Fish had shot and killed. Man, these people. Eugene having a fit, getting into a high-blood-pressure kind of rage over it, the Fish raging back at him to defend himself, saying he had to do it. Next thing they were shoving each other and throwing punches-the one called Newton egging them on-till pretty soon they were both sitting on the ground trying to catch their breath in the heat, close on to a hundred degrees.
Robert asked Walter who Rose was and Walter said Eugene 's dog. Robert said, "They trying to kill each other over a dog?"
Walter had his own problems, telling Robert that Arlen was making him go with them, saying they would have loaded guns when they went in the woods.
Robert said, "You didn't know that?" He said, "Don't shoot me, Walter, and I won't shoot you."
It didn't help. Walter's stunned expression remained set, the man appearing lost.
Robert kept a close eye on Newton, the dedicated racist with tobacco stains in his beard. His brother, Bob Hoon, was the one ran the methamphetamine lab Robert had spoken to about future business and seemed to have a larger-size brain than these other peckerwoods. They'd wonder out loud where Bob Hoon was today and ask Newton and Newton would shake his head and say he was suppose to be here. Robert took Bob Hoon 's absence to mean he was interested in a future deal, didn't care who he sold his meth to or what happened to Newton, maybe even glad to be rid of him, Newton the kind of person should have a bounty on him.
Right before they finally went up on the line and the show got started, Arlen brought Newton over to where Robert was waiting.
"Newton don't understand," Arlen said, "what you're doing here on our side."
"Tell him I'm a freed slave, can do what I want."
"Newton says shit, you're the nigger we're after and you're standing right there. Why don't we hit you over the head and string you up?"
"Tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself."
"No, I said there'd be a time for it," Arlen said. "See, there's a bridge right over here on the Coldwater? The river's a mud puddle this time a year, but the bridge has a good height to it." Arlen said, "You ever thought you'd be hanging from one like your old grampa?"
"My great-grampa," Robert said.
"And I'll be standing on the bridge in the pitcher. I imagine, though," Arlen said, "one of us'll shoot you first." He nodded toward Robert's holster. "That gun loaded?"
Robert shook his head. "Not yet."
"It better not be. Weapons are checked before we go out there and put on the show. You know how to load it, you get in the woods?"
"I practiced," Robert said, "how you do it."
It got Arlen staring at him, Arlen rigged for war, that salty hat curling toward his eyes.
"You practiced. Have you fired it?"
"Couple of times."
Arlen squinted at him. "You lying to me?"
"No, I'm fuckin with you," Robert said. "You want to know can I shoot, come on out to the woods."
Arlen turned his head to look at Newton standing by, Newton 's eyes glazed from the shine. Arlen turned to Robert again and for a moment looked like he might smile, wanting to. But he didn't, he stared and finally said, "You're pulling some kind of scheme on me, aren't you? Acting dumb like that."
Robert said, "You coming or not?"
All he wanted to know.
"You take off," Arlen said, "we gonna be after you.
25
"AND THE FIRST PRIZE," Charlie announced over the PA system, "goes to Miz Mary Jane Ivory for her Yankee Doodle double-crust Concord grape pie. Nice going, Mary Jane. Save me a piece if you can and I'll be around later to have a taste."
Charlie sat at a table with his papers in the barn's upstairs loading bay. Most of the spectators were spread over the slope directly below him, facing the battlefield. He tried to think of a segue from Yankee Doodle to the New York Yankees, but nothing came to mind that wasn't awkward. He settled on telling the folks there were plenty of Yankees here today, not in pinstripes-the kind he was used to facing during his eighteen years of organized baseballbut wearing Federal blue.
"They've come to what we're calling Brice's Cross Roads," Charlie's voice announced to the spectators, "to put Nathan Bedford Forrest out of action and keep open the Federal supply lines to their army in the east. Hear the drums?… Those are Federal troops moving up. And across the field comes General Forrest's cavalry, scouting ahead of his army."
The six Confederate cavalrymen had come out of the orchard to the right and were starting across the field.
Now Union soldiers were appearing out of the thicket to the left, firing puffs of white smoke at the cavalrymen, forcing them to wheel their mounts and head for cover.
"The Yankees' advance guard stops them. But now you're gonna hear the famous Rebel yell as the main body of Forrest's brigades charge the Federal line. You see the Yankees bringing up their cannon to meet the charge. Get ready. And here they come."
Charlie took the mike off its stand and walked around the desk to stand in the loading bay. He watched the reenactors out there in the hot sun giving it their all.
The Federal line along the thicket were now firing at will, the sound of their rifles coming in hard pops, and the powder shooting out to become a wispy white cloud in front of them.