

The Blackwood Trilogy

Featuring the stories:

At Harper's Ferry

At Bull Run

At Shiloh

by Paul Westwood

Additional Text by Ann Robinson

Copyright 2011 Paul Westwood

Published at Smashwords

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Book I

At Harper's Ferry

Prologue

Lawrence Hanson gently closed the back door to the office building and craned his neck to look both ways. The flame of the gas streetlights reflected on the puddles of the lifeless street. His pulse quickened with the fear of what he had just done. He held a satchel tightly in his hands and felt the dampness of his palms slide against the leather. Anxiety sent the blood rushing to his cheeks, and he felt sick to his stomach as his eyes continued to dart across the gloomy shadows.

Out of nowhere, a sudden shaft of light struck Lawrence squarely in the face. He froze in panic from the voice that came from the darkness.

"Hold it right there! What are you doing here?"

Lawrence's heart beat so quickly that he could hear the blood rush through his ears. He uneasily turned to the direction of the voice and saw it was a watchman holding his lantern. They patrolled the grounds of the War Office Building at night, keeping it safe from intruders. Lawrence had the bad luck of meeting one making his rounds. "I-I-I work here," he finally stammered.

This watchman was a pudgy man with a sloppy cap hiding a bushy mess of gray hair. His voice was hard and doubtful when he asked, "Do you now? And who exactly do you work for, my lad?"

"Mister Forsythe."

"I see," the watchmen's voice softened. "Why are you out so late? The office was closed hours ago."

"I was asked to work late," Lawrence lied easily as his pulse began to return to normal.

"Well then, be on your way. And make sure to be careful out there since you never know who is prowling around this time of night." He touched the brim of his cap in respect and returned to walking his rounds. His footsteps receded into the night, the shaft of light bouncing along the wooden boardwalk.

Lawrence let out a pent up breath and wiped his sweaty brow. Fighting the urge to run, he forced himself to slowly continue along his chosen path. "In another hour," he thought to himself, "I will finally be free."

He turned onto the main road. As the sound of his footsteps died away, a tall man in a ranger coat stepped out of a shadowy doorway. He silently followed in the same direction as his quarry. The man's steps were quiet and sure as he stayed in the shadows, far enough behind to remain undetected. A smile crossed his thin lips.

*

Lawrence arrived at the Gay Lady Saloon a little later than he had hoped. The normal crowd of workmen was only just beginning to thin as they began to stagger home for the night. However the air was still thick with smoke and the smell of spilled beer. He pushed past the crowded bar and looked in the back corner toward a row of high-backed booths. There sat the man that he was supposed to meet.

The man was impatiently drumming his fingers against the table. Lawrence made his way to the back corner and remained standing. The tall man, who had been following him, came through the door and quickly caught up.

As Lawrence stood there, the man in the booth finally stopped drumming his fingers. He looked up and slowly smiled. He nodded at the tall, dark-haired man coming from behind. "You can go now, Stevenson,' he murmured with the same lazy smile.

"Yes, Mister Abbott" the man called Stevenson replied. Before turning away, he quickly looked Lawrence over again with cold, dead eyes.

"So you came after all," Abbott said to the young man with a smirk. "Now go ahead - sit down and join me in a drink." He poured out a shot of whiskey for the young man and one for himself.

Lawrence sighed, shrugged his shoulders in resignation and sat down across from Abbott. "I didn't mean to be late," he started. "It just took a little longer than I expected. My office is staying busy late into the night with the news of Fort Sumter. I just had to wait until everyone else left."

Abbot waved his hand, dismissing the tardiness. "It doesn't matter. I'm just not used to meeting in such an establishment as this, but places like this do have their uses. Who's going to remember seeing us here out of this crowd?" His hand loosely held the whiskey glass, and the bottle next to it was none too clean and nearly half empty. "Your lateness didn't bother me much, though I was beginning to doubt your courage in this matter. I just hope you brought what I requested. Otherwise, you won't be receiving your – ahem – payment." His smile widened and his voice was thick with innuendo as he continued.

Lawrence's eyes shot daggers at Abbott, his brow lowered. _"_ My courage should never be doubted. And I assume that you would get money out of her if you could, unfortunate woman."

Abbott grinned. "Men in your position should be more careful before they fall in love with a married woman. And especially if it's a woman who sold those letters to me." He gestured lightly to himself, his hand resting on his chest.

Lawrence's face flushed. "It's none of your business who I fell in love with," he said. "If you had any decency, you would have left me well alone."

"Yes, but it became my business. Perhaps you shouldn't have written all of those letters to her in the first place," his face cracked into a nasty grin. "It was only a matter of time before they were in my possession. Little did I know how useful they would end up being."

The young man's face was red with anger and his voice trembled as he spoke. "I've paid for those letters once before, and I've got what you requested here as well. This had better put an end to it all," he said loudly. He corrected himself and lowered his voice, hoping they hadn't been overheard.

Abbot leaned closer towards him and spoke almost gently, "I think not, Mister Hanson. There are several other small matters you can help me with."

"I'm not certain that I know what you mean." Lawrence replied. His anger was rising while the cool words escaped Abbott's mouth.

"Let's not continue to play games. We will need even more secrets from your office. The Secessionists will come to rely on plans such as this, and how better to get them than from the War Department?"

Lawrence's hand slipped off of his glass in surprise. He jerked to his feet and his voice once again rose in anger. "I'm in enough danger as it is. You just can't expect anything more from me. I have taken more than enough risks already. What I have done is traitorous. If I am discovered, it will be the end of me. I will be sure to take you along on the ride to the gallows."

"Be quiet you fool!" Abbott warned him before looking over the saloon, checking to see that the young man's words had not been overheard. No one appeared to be paying them any attention. He continued, "Now sit down and listen to me. This business of selling documents could be quite profitable for all of us. I don't intend to let all that money be had by someone else, and your frail conscience will not stop me. If you don't do what is suggested, it may be a mistake you will live to regret."

Lawrence sat back down, looking miserable. "The only mistake I made was hoping that you could be reasoned with like a gentleman. I will not give you these papers, and by my honor, I shall give you nothing else. I will report this to the Under-Secretary in the morning and will take whatever punishment they mete out."

"Let's think a bit more carefully before we do anything rash," Abbot protested. "Now give me those plans right now, and we can talk about this at a later time." He filled the glasses again and watched him intently.

He looked at the glass for a moment and then slid it away. "No, I've made my mind up." His voice still trembled slightly but had a determined tone. He slammed the table with his palms, stood up and walked away. He was quickly out of the saloon with the satchel and its contents still in his possession.

As the young man departed, Abbott shook his head and then found the eyes of his man Stevenson. He gave him a quick wave of his hand. With a nod in return, the man walked out through the mass of revelers and made his way to the front door to follow Lawrence into the night.
Chapter 1

Jack Blackwood lit a cigarette and leaned back heavily in his old office chair. He had just finished reading the morning paper which lay on the desk before him. It had detailed the latest on the continuing Secessionist crisis. With the election of Abraham Lincoln, several Southern states had already voted to leave the Union. Federal troops were moving to Washington to protect the capitol from the Rebel States. The crisis in South Carolina had resulted in the bombardment of Fort Sumter, which had fanned the flames of war. Virginia, which was directly across the Potomac, was voting soon to determine if they would secede, and their decision was the current concern of the fracturing nation. Already Secessionist sympathizers in Baltimore had cut telegraph lines and destroyed bridges leading to Washington. While reporting to Washington, the 6th Massachusetts Regiment had been attacked by an angry mob. The soldiers were then forced to open fire on the crowd.

He touched his fingers together and blew smoke up at the ceiling, studying the patterns against the morning light flooding through the windows. He wasn't much bothered by the coming war but was more interested in the possibilities it could bring. With the clouds of uncertainty over the city, there was money to be made.

Jack then stood up and walked over to the window, looking over the low-rent district where he lived. His office was in a corner building, above a tailor shop and it gave him an excellent view of the surroundings. The street below was still wet with mud from a light morning rain and the wagon wheels had cut deep tracks in the muddy road. Along the wooden boardwalk, the bustle of foot traffic around the stores could be seen. He could hear the newsboys, the cries of street vendors, and the slow rhythmic sound of horses pulling heavy wagons.

Off in the distance, Jack could see smoke in the air from the many campfires of the large encampment stationed outside the city. The increased presence of the Army had brought in packs of camp followers - ladies of the night, whiskey peddlers, pawn brokers, and traveling salesmen. There was a sense of fretfulness and excitement which hung heavily over the entire city.

Jack turned away from the window, looking over his office; at his desk with his familiar office chair, a coat tree, the chair for the rare customer, the old banker safe in the corner, and a gun rack with several well-polished pieces. He took a turn around the room, continuing to smoke and ponder the future. His head was hurting badly from the night before, but it helped if he didn't stay still for too long.

He rubbed his grizzled chin and swallowed hard, feeling his dry tongue clinging to the roof of his mouth. Last night he had gone out drinking and could still feel the effects in his veins from the almost continual flow of whiskey. The saloon he had visited was busy with activity as people threw caution to the wind and had played their card games like Judgment Day was just around the corner. He himself had little money to spend playing cards, but enjoyed watching the rush of worried humanity act in their foolish ways.

There was a creak of the floorboards as the side door leading into the living area opened. His partner Ezra stepped in. He was a lean ex-slave who had worked with Jack these past many years. His dark face was scarred on one cheek from an old knife fight, but a sharp intelligence could be seen beneath the brown eyes. Self-taught in reading and writing, he had escaped from Mississippi when he was younger and made his way up north. The detective had met him while working on another case, and they had been inseparable ever since. Over the years, his partner had developed a deep knowledge of Washington by knowing the various servants of this well-to-do of the City. He also had several paid informants within the underworld of prostitution and gambling.

Jack smiled at his old friend, and then threw a dollar coin on the desk. He said, "If you don't mind, Ezra, do me a favor and pick me up a pint of whiskey and some more cigars. A little drink is in order right now – you understand, just to get my wits in order."

His partner shook his head and leaned against the door frame to study his friend. "You should be more careful the way you spend your money on liquor. We only have a few dollars left and it's been weeks since we were able to find any kind of work."

"Don't worry, I always manage to find us work. With all these recent troubles, I can feel something good coming. This year is going to bring both of us plenty of money."

Ezra looked at him in disbelief. He said stiffly, "I'm not worried about this year; I'm worried about next week."

"I'm certain we have enough to last us until I can scrounge something up."

"I hope you are right," Ezra said with little confidence.

"Now do me a favor and get that drink for me."

His partner shrugged, took the dollar and then turned to leave, whistling under his breath as he went down the side stairs.

Jack continued to slowly pace the floor, a cloud of smoke following him as he went. The floorboards squeaked lightly as his heavy boots shuffled along. He rubbed the side of his graying temples, and wished his headache away.

A few minutes passed by, and then the silence was broken by a hesitant knock at the front office door. Jack stopped in surprise. He then went to the door. Looking through the thick leaded glass, he saw a young woman standing in the hallway. He slowly opened the door.

A sweet feminine voice said, "Excuse me, I wasn't sure if I had the right place. I'm looking for a Mister Jack Blackwood, the detective."

"Well, missy, you seem to have come to the right place. I am Jack Blackwood at your service." He gave a little bow and motioned her towards the chair across from his desk. "Now what can I do for you? Go ahead, let me hear you out."

He held the chair for her as she sat down and then walked over to the other side of the desk. He stood behind it, waiting for her to begin.

Not looking at him, she instead gave the room a careful scrutiny. Jack, inwardly wondering at her thoughts and hesitation, decided to take his own seat while he waited for to start her story. As he waited for her to begin, Jack looked her over with appreciation – she was in her mid-twenties, with no wedding band on her hand, a pale face, and was wearing an expensive brown dress with burgundy trim. Long blond hair hung down beyond her shoulders where a small matching brown bonnet hung around her neck. She was obviously rich and well-groomed – the product of wealth and proper schooling. He decided that she was quite beautiful, but with that slightly pouty mouth that indicates a woman who was used to getting her way. Her eyes appeared tired, with circles underneath and redness at the corners. She fidgeted and continued to look over the dusty office. She then took off her gloves and nervously twisted them in her hands.

Jack could tell that she was worried. She was also obviously not used to visiting the poorer side of town. He decided it would take some doing to get the story out of her. "Please, what can I do for you?" he said smoothly. "You must not worry since everything discussed in this office is quite confidential."

She licked her lips, revealing a dainty tongue, and began to talk in a high timorous voice. "Dear sir, my name is Faith Hanson. I was sent by my father, the Honorable Daniel Hanson, to ask for your help. You once did a small service for my dear uncle, James Dawson, when he was in a most delicate situation. We are hoping you can do the same for us."

"Yes, I remember that case. It was a violent rather than a delicate situation. I ended up with a knife wound from that blackmailer. But please, do continue."

She gave him a small shy smile before continuing with her story. "My brother has been most mysterious lately. And now he is gone. We need someone to help us." She then shook her head with confusion and sighed.

"What exactly are you asking from me, miss?" he asked.

"Please, I made a bad start of it. Let me start again from the beginning."

"Go ahead."

She cleared her throat. "Last year, my brother Lawrence started working for the War Department as a clerk. My father got him the job and it seemed to suit Lawrence rather well. He spoke highly of his superior and seemed at ease at his new workplace. But the past month he has become most agitated. My brother has been out late nearly every night and rarely comes home anymore after work." Her hand grabbed an embroidered lace handkerchief she'd placed in her sleeve, and she dabbed her eyes, and paused to regain her composure.

As she spoke, Jack imagined he knew the type of person. They would try to lead a secret life, which would eventually catch up to them. The drinking would begin to take over and, after a while, they would feel unable to return home from the shame. They would end up stuck in some cheap room with a bottle in hand, drinking their life away. Jack had seen what could happen to a man when the bottle became his life. He smiled reassuringly at Faith, dropped a little of his formal demeanor, and became more frank. "Perhaps he has met a woman, got drunk, or wants to play a few cards after work. Young men are always out and about these days."

Faith blushed lightly and looked away from Jack's searching gaze. "My brother isn't quite that kind of person," she said shyly. "He has always been most kind to my father and me. We are a good family and are sympathetic towards each other."

"Well, what is your problem then? I could make the rounds and see what business is keeping him up after hours." he said.

"That's not the problem," she sniffed. "You see, he has disappeared. On Tuesday morning, he told me he had to go see a man that evening. He said not to worry, but he looked most troubled. He did not come home that night or even on Wednesday. After making inquiries at his work, we found that he had not been there since Tuesday. That's when we decided to find someone to help us."

"Have you contacted the City Ward?" Jack asked coolly. He was almost ready to dismiss the case since he was not interested in spending his time tracking down a wayward young man who was probably trying to drink his problems away. "They're pretty good at finding out where people are hiding. Your brother could be in jail and is too embarrassed to send word to your father."

"The City Ward?" she replied with a hint of sarcasm. "They are undermanned and are too busy rounding up drunken soldiers to help us. We need someone who is exclusively dedicated to helping our family."

"I see," he said slowly. The thought of dismissing the case faded into the past as he thought of the cash possibilities. He was currently short of money - it would only take a few inquiries and then he could get the payoff from the Hanson family. "Do you have any idea where your brother could have gone?" he finally asked.

She played with the fingers of her gloves and said, "I'm afraid it's not that simple, Mister Blackwood. You see, the War Department is now investigating Lawrence. His supervisor, a Mister Forsythe, came to our house to inquire of his whereabouts."

"What did they want from you?" Jack sat up straighter, now growing more interested.

"Some important papers are missing, and they say they have proof that my brother was involved in their theft," she sighed. "This man Forsythe has accused my brother Lawrence of stealing these documents to sell them to the Secessionist States."

"Do you know what information the papers contain?"

"I do not know. We know my brother cannot have done this. He would never do anything so terrible as to betray the trust given to him. It would be totally against his character."

"You might be surprised what a man can do who is caught in the wrong situation." He leaned back into his chair and frowned at the ceiling, wondering where Ezra was with the pint of whiskey. He then cleared his dry throat and continued on. "This man your brother was going to see, do you know his name?"

"Not quite a name, but a clue to where he could have gone. Early this morning, with my father's permission, I took the liberty of going through my brother's room. I found this message in his dresser drawer." She handed a small slip of wrinkled paper over for Jack to read.

Meet me at the Gay Lady Saloon at Eight O' Clock tonight – A.

He looked the paper over before placing it on the desk. "This indeed may be a clue to where he has gone. Do you know anyone with a name beginning with A?"

"My brother did meet with a man named Abbott on occasion."

"What do you know of this man?"

"There's not much that I can remember, but perhaps my father may be able to answer your questions in more detail."

"I would be more than happy to talk to your father," Jack replied.

"Please stop by to give us a moment of your time." Smiling, she jotted her address down on a slip of paper and then rose to leave.

He looked at her and paused as if remembering something important before he spoke. "I have a few early business appointments this morning, but I will come over as soon as I can spare the time. If your father agrees to my bill of ten dollars a day, then I will be willing to look into this matter."

"We shall agree to pay anything if you can find my brother," she said.

Jack followed her as she walked to the door. "Please make your mind at ease," he said soothingly. "I will be by with my partner as soon as I can. If anyone can find your brother, it will be us."

She turned to smile at him and nodded. She then left, taking the stairs in haste. Jack watched her with interest before shutting the door and returning to his desk.

Some moments later, Ezra stepped in through the side door holding a small pint of whiskey and a packet of wrapped cigars. He saw Jack sitting behind his desk, methodically cleaning his old Starr revolver. Jack looked up and grinned at him with his eyes twinkling. He set the bottle on the desk. "By that look on your face, there is something going on. You only look that way when money is jingling in your pockets."

Jack picked up the bottle and pulled open the cork stopper. "I told you something would come along. We have a missing person case on our hands." He took a long grateful pull from the bottle and sighed with contentment.

"That doesn't sound like much of a job," Ezra said, grumbling.

"Hold on and let me finish. There are some missing papers involved. The War Department is also looking for this Lawrence Hanson. If we can get him back to the family before he is caught by the government then they are sure to reward us rather well."

"That sounds a little more profitable," his partner said with renewed interest.

"Now what do you know about the Hanson family? One father named Daniel Hanson, a son called Lawrence, and a pretty little creature called Faith."

Ezra thought a moment before answering. "They are an old Washington family that has been involved in politics since the Revolutionary War. Until a few years ago, the old man was a Congressman. Before his recent retirement, he was quite popular in the Whig Party. The mother passed on a few years ago. The son was always on the wild side, and his daughter is almost considered an old maid – she's had several suitors but nothing definite."

Jack looked at him slyly. "She didn't look anything like an old maid to me."

He laughed. "That may be so, but you are hardly respectable company. I will have to ask a few of the local servants if you want to hear any more stories about them."

"I'm always surprised what you do know about this town." Jack knew that his partner could always be counted on to know something about every important family in Washington. Jack took another swig from the bottle and put the cork back in. "Do you know anything about a man called Abbott? He was mentioned, but I'm not sure where he fits in this business yet."

Ezra shook his head. "Abbott is a fairly common name. There are a few unsavory characters in the immediate area with that surname. But there is one that really stands out in Washington - Lewis Abbott is a villain of the worst sort and has been involved in several nefarious schemes. I'm not sure if he would have anything to do with this, but he is the only obvious person I can think of. Perhaps your friend Garrett would know more about this disappearance."

"I like that idea. Let's head on over to see Garrett and then pay a visit to the Hanson house. Then we can see if the family can tell us anything else about their wayward son and this mysterious Abbott."

Jack slid the pint of whiskey into his coat pocket. After locking up, the two of them headed towards the livery where their horses were kept.
Chapter 2

Narrative of the Washington gentleman

I can't imagine how such a respected family as the Hansons became involved in a scandal. The Hansons have been established in Washington so long that the whole family seems as much a part of the city as the cherry blossoms in the spring and the frozen mud in the winter. The eldest child, Faith, has grown into quite a lovely creature. She was precocious as a young woman and awkward at times. Her mother, Patricia, had an influence that helped her to become more modest and a shade more retiring. Indeed Patricia's ability to entertain and act the part of the gracious hostess is, in part, responsible for her husband's successful holding office for so long. If only common people really knew how politics were played in Washington. For quite a few years, the people holding invitations to the Hanson's house were envied by the less fortunate.

But I am digressing here, as I had been thinking of the newspaper reports regarding the disappearance of Lawrence Hanson. Lawrence is the older child of Daniel and Patricia. He has seemed content to be unaccomplished in life. While his father was a senator, his mother among the most gracious hostesses in the City, and his sister intelligent and attractive, Lawrence has remained unnoticed. Missus Hanson's final illness and passing seemed to have affected him more than I would have expected. It was possible that he was favored and sheltered by her. At any rate, his father has in recent years felt the need to forward the boy's career. Lawrence had all the access to money for his hobbies previous to his mother's death - which had alarmingly started to include gambling, horses, women, and drinking.

After a rumored scandal, Mister Hanson had issued an ultimatum: no further excesses would be tolerated, and in what was seen as a suggested penance for his offenses, Lawrence was placed in a position in government offices to give him more to do with his idle hours. To all appearances this action has worked, but according to my acquaintances, (and the knowledge of that particular social circle) Lawrence merely became more cautious in his habits, frequenting other drinking establishments and keeping his hours at home more regular so as not to raise his family's suspicions. I myself would refrain from gaining this information first hand, but I can trust the thoroughness of my acquaintances regarding it. A man of my social standing cannot be seen to be seeking idle gossip regarding such establishments nor their patrons. One would wonder whether Lawrence might be better off to leave the City altogether, but perhaps he was afraid to be too far away from his father and his money, or perhaps the city held another attraction for him.

The news of Lawrence Hanson's disappearance staggers me. Perhaps Mister Forsythe has more information about this mystery than he admitted to in the newspaper reports. A number of missing documents was hinted at also in the article but would not be verified by government sources. In fact, it was a typical newspaper account for these times. Since publishers are afraid of being accused of slander and personally feel the possibility of dueling upon someone's honor, they seldom publish all the facts. Readers need to use their deductive faculties at times. Indeed, when the previous scandal involving Lawrence was printed, it merely stated that "A certain Mister H of the Georgetown area had been seen too often in someone's company than was good for his health." Unless one knew the parties concerned it could be difficult to read between the lines of that social page entry.

With the approaching Southern conflict, newspapers are even worse. While every soul is eager to buy each issue, and it is read voraciously, not much actual news can be gained. Rumored assassination plots to prevent Mister Lincoln from arriving in Washington were all over the front page for weeks after his election. His entry into Washington was kept secret in case the plots were true, and it seemed too many people that he entered office more of a coward than a leader for that behavior. Newspapers insinuate that anyone with a Southern background seems to be entertaining suspicion, regardless of the fact that Washington is so very close to Southern states, and also regardless of where their actual loyalties may lie. I personally have felt that the federal government ought not to interfere so much in the way business is done in the South, but I might shy from openly stating this in public. A state ought to be able to decide for itself how a person can do business there.

There also seems to be a feeling recently that so many secretly Secesh persons exist in Washington and that something should be done to ferret these people out. In view of my own long establishment in the city I had assumed certain gentlemen and ladies of the area would be definitely pro-Union, yet I have been mistaken before, and I expect to be mistaken again regarding this. Presently I am preoccupied with this Secessionist business, mostly because I have been reading another account of the actions at Fort Sumter. The rebels are organized enough to be able to fight instead of merely fomenting for their cause.

*

Ezra and Jack rode up to the decrepit building that housed the City Watch. It was a brown brick affair that was in need of repair - several windows were broken and covered since it was a popular sport to throw rocks at the police department. They dismounted and hitched their horses to the post outside. At this time in the morning, a few people were there since it was a popular time to pick up a friend or relative who had been pulled in the night before for drunkenness.

The main job of the City Watch was to round up drunks and keep the peace. Henry Garrett was the current Captain of the Watch and an old friend of Jack's. They knew each other from their days in the Army. They had both seen plenty of fighting in the western prairies and afterwards came separately to Washington to start different careers. Garrett had gone into the police force, eventually promoted to the top position for his hard work. It had been a pleasant surprise when Jack and Garrett had met again in the course of business.

Jack and Ezra brushed past a bleary-eyed man leaving though the front doors. They entered and nodded to the front clerk. The clerk raised his eyes momentarily at them and nodded in recognition, allowing them past. Jack pushed the swinging door open and they went into Garrett's office.

The office was a small affair, cramped with books and in need of a good dusting. The windows were open, letting in a damp cool breeze. The gentle hum of a trapped fly could be heard tapping against the glass. Jack saw Garrett sitting at his desk, studying some reports.

"Good morning, Garrett, it's good to see you," Jack hailed his old friend.

Garrett looked up from his paper-strewn desk and briefly smiled at them. "Well, if it isn't Jack," he boomed with a hearty voice. He was a compact man with a long beard and sparkling blue eyes. His face was lined and tanned from years of living out West. The captain was rough in his language and manners, but he was a good man to work with. "Ezra, I see you are still wasting your time with this old devil. After I spent my time in the army with Jack, I was hoping I would never see him again. Ten years later and he's still showing up like a bad penny."

Ezra smiled back. "It's good to see you again, Captain."

"It's been awhile since I've seen you two. Are you stopping by only to see me? Or is this business?" Garrett asked them. He pushed some papers away, leaning back in his chair to give them a listen.

"I'm sorry to say that this is a business call," Jack replied. "Someone is missing and his family is getting sick with worry. We are trying to track down where he may have gone. We thought we would get some further information from you before visiting the family."

"You always like being prepared. But why are they asking you for help? This sounds more like a job for my men."

"They think you are too busy rounding up pickpockets and inebriated soldiers to be of any use to them," Jack replied with a wink. He knew that Garrett held himself rigidly to the law and didn't always approve of Jack's methods.

"If that is the case, then I'm not sure why you would even come to ask me for my help."

"Of course we would have to stop by to see you," Jack laughed. "You always know what is going on in this town."

Henry shook his head. "I wish I could help you some, but we've been busy ever since President Lincoln has come to Washington. There have been several Secessionist conspiracies against his person. The government is running around making everyone sign silly oaths and trying to get rid of anyone they deem disloyal. This whole situation has made our job even more difficult, and it's bound to get worse before it gets better."

"Always the optimist," Jack said dryly.

"How bad are things?" Ezra asked Garrett.

"There have been several desertions and even cases of sabotage. Ever since Fort Sumter was shelled, this town has been overrun with soldiers. If you haven't noticed, the town is filled with raw recruits from every backwater town and farm village. They are getting their first taste of city life and have brought a whole army of whores and thieves with them. I just don't have enough men to police the entire city."

"We will come to the point then," Jack said. He sat himself in front of Garrett's desk and Ezra joined him sitting in the other chair. "We are looking for someone named Lawrence Hanson. We think he kept an appointment with someone at the Gay Lady Saloon on Tuesday and then disappeared afterwards."

"I know the place," Garrett said. "It's not a pleasant part of town for anyone to visit even during the day. We have to break up fights often and haul away some of the heavier drinkers. I'm not sure why someone of Hanson's background would even be there."

"You know of the Hanson family?" Jack asked, looking incredulous.

"I read the papers like anyone else. But I know everyone in this town, or at least the people worth knowing. Lawrence was here in this very office just over a year ago now. I wanted to throw him in jail for a while to teach him lesson, but his father convinced the accuser to let the matter drop."

"What was he charged with?" Jack asked. He was surprised that he would let Lawrence walk away a free man since Garrett normally followed the law to the very last letter.

"I don't wish to speak poorly of the lad, but he was accused of adultery. It's an old story - the wife was with Lawrence and got caught by the husband while engaging in a less-than-moral activity. There are laws against adultery in this town, but they are hard to enforce and even harder to prove. The husband wanted to press charges, but enough money was passed around to make sure everyone who was involved stayed quiet."

"I see," Jack said. He pulled out three cigars and offered one to Ezra and then one to Garrett. "What ever happened to the woman Lawrence was seeing?"

The captain took the cigar, bit off the end, and took the match offered by Jack. He lit his cigar and pulled deeply on it, letting the smoke roll slowly out of his mouth. "I'm not sure. She just disappeared afterwards. Rumor has it that her husband didn't want her back anymore." A smirk flitted across his face. "I'm not too surprised."

Jack pondered that for a moment and then said, "The night Lawrence disappeared he may have met a gentleman with the name of Abbott. Do you know anyone with that name?"

Garrett gave them a dark look. "I can tell you plenty. If Lawrence has gotten into trouble with the Abbott I'm thinking of, then the poor lad has bitten off more than he can chew."

"What can you tell me?" Jack asked, impressed again at the encyclopedic knowledge of Garrett. "My partner here knew of him as well – I've never had the pleasure of running into him."

"His full name is Lewis Abbott. He's a villain to be sure. We've never had any legal reasons to charge him with anything, but it would make me happy to do so. He is a keeper of whores, and the rumor is that he is less than kind to them. He also does some bill collections for gambling dens. On more than one occasion blackmail has also been mentioned in connection with his name, but no one ever steps forward to ask for our help."

"I can imagine why someone might not want to prosecute a blackmail case," Jack said. "They'd be thinking of the publicity and prefer to let the matter drop; though someone like you would be more inclined to see it through."

"Why haven't you locked him away?" Ezra asked impatiently. "There are a few girls I know who have run afoul of him. He's a bastard."

Garrett smiled thinly at him. "Prostitutes who are beaten or robbed rarely press charges since they are working illegally. We take the regular ladies and make them leave town. A week or so later they are back in town, playing the same old game under a new name. Abbott never has to worry about being attacked either - there is a man called Stevenson who helps keep the tougher customers in line. The pair of them is a dangerous combination. Abbott does all the heavy thinking while Stevenson does the dirty work."

"Stevenson? What's he like?" Jack asked, pressing his friend for more information.

"Well, he's just the sort of man you would want – if you needed a killer. You know the type - born mean. He wasn't given the good graces of society and church, if you know what I mean."

Jack chuckled. "I can't say I've had any such graces. I turned out alright."

Garrett laughed in agreement. "That's true, but Stevenson is not the type of company that a gentleman of Lawrence's background would be seen with. This Stevenson is bad news through and through. A few years ago he had a fair number of troubles with the law, but then he suddenly started receiving help by a few well-paid lawyers. No one knows where this money came from."

This additional information turned out to be quite interesting to Jack. Someone with money was behind all of this. If Faith's brother was being blackmailed, then the Hanson family would be more than willing to pay extra for Jack's services. These old Washington families recoiled at any sense of dishonor. "Is there anything else you can tell me about Lawrence?"

"He struck me as a weak lad who thought too highly of himself. He was the type of rich, spoiled bastard who doesn't think of the consequences of his own actions." Garrett's voice dripped with disdain. "He would be easy enough to influence and even easier to trick. He is a witless boy who has had the good fortune of being rich, but not knowing how to use it to his advantage."

"This is all good to know, Henry," Jack said. "It might interest you to know that some government papers are missing as well. One can't be certain that he is the one who left with them, but the War Department seems to have made that inference, and are now questioning the Hanson family.

"My goodness, that is interesting. I'd not have thought the Lawrence Hanson could have come up with such a plan on his own. Perhaps there is more to him than I thought." Garrett paused, his face turning stern. "I don't like it, Jack," he said with sudden decision. "The two of you get on the wrong side of the government, and it will be bad news for you. Maybe it would be better for you to let the law handle this, that is, the City Watch and the War Department."

"Nothing doing, Henry, I can look out for myself. This case may be delicate in some respects, but I am capable enough to deal with a missing man and a packet of documents."

Garrett shrugged. "If you say so. I've been busy, but I'm also a worried man. Rumor is that soon even more soldiers are going to be pouring into Washington. The army is going to turn this city into a fort. There won't be enough men in the Watch to keep down crime, and I'm afraid we will all be replaced sometime soon." Garrett threw the cigar down on the floor and ground it out with the heel of his boot. "When a man worries like me, he has a hard time sleeping. Thoughts of losing your job can keep you up at night."

"Don't worry, Garrett, an old War hero like you, they can't get rid of so easily," Jack said. He pulled the bottle of whiskey from his coat pocket and stood it on the desk. He knew that his friend liked to drink. It was nothing to give him the bottle that Ezra had just bought. "Here you go. This will help some."

Garrett picked up the bottle and looked at it appraisingly. "It won't cure my troubles, but it can't hurt. Thanks." He pulled the cork and took a long pull from the bottle. "If you run into any trouble with this case of yours, let me know. I'll see what I can do to help."

"Thanks, Henry," Jack said. "If you ever need a job, be sure to come and see me."

The captain stood up and said grimly, "I hope it won't ever come to that." He then shook hands with Ezra. "I want you to make sure to keep this old man here out of trouble. Wherever he goes, trouble is sure to find him."

"Will do, Captain," Ezra said easily. "I've seen my fair share of trouble with Jack, but he always seems to end up on top."

Garrett laughed again. "That's more luck than anything else."

Jack then shook hands with Garrett and clasped him on the shoulder. "If we hear anything you need to know, I'll pass it along."

"I would be much obliged if you did."

"So long, Henry. Don't drink too much, and don't work too hard."

"I would rather drink than work," Garrett replied as he uncorked the bottle again and watched them leave.
Chapter 3

The Hanson home was in the Georgetown district, which was on the outskirts of Washington. It took almost an hour for Jack and Ezra to find it since they had to ask for directions several times before finding the correct road. The lane leading up to the house was sheltered by several cherry trees with early spring blossoms. Jack smelled the thickly scented air which was sweet compared to the filthy stench of the city. The home itself was a large, painted white, Georgian-style surrounded by vast and well-groomed grounds.

Jack shook his head, impressed by the obvious wealth that would be involved in building such a house. "Care to guess what this place would cost?" he asked.

"I couldn't even imagine," Ezra replied sourly.

"Neither could I," Jack said. He knew his partner had a strong dislike for a man who wouldn't dirty his own hands for a living.

They rode past the front garden which was tidy and prepared for springtime. When they got to the entrance, a smartly dressed little boy took the reins of the horses and waited while Jack and Ezra dismounted. The boy then tied the horses to the post and gave a well-practiced little bow with his hand open. Jack handed him a penny. He then carefully brushed the dust off of his coat before walking to the entrance of the house. As the large front door opened, an old butler stood inside waiting for their approach. He was a thin man, with thick whiskers and graying hair cropped close to his temples. He gave both of them a slightly disapproving look. Jack could tell that the butler was not used to letting people of their class through the front door. Someone like him would be happier it they had used the back door like a servant or tradesman.

Jack strode confidently to the entrance. He said to the butler, "I'm Jack Blackwood and this is my partner Mister Miller. I do believe that Miss Hanson is expecting us."

The butler looked Ezra over and frowned. "Will your servant be coming inside with you or staying here?" he asked with barely hidden contempt.

Jack was used to the attitudes of most people towards his partner, but he was never accepting of it. "Mister Miller here is not my servant, and he will most definitely be coming inside with me," he replied coldly.

The butler's jaw tightened and he spoke with his lips tightly pursed together. "Yes, sir, if you would please come this way," he said harshly. He reluctantly held the door open and let them into the entrance hall.

At one time, Jack would not have been bothered by the butler's comments. But over the years, he had grown to appreciate his partner more. He was not only a friend but a trusted business partner. Witnessing the daily hardship Ezra experienced due to his skin color, he marveled at the man's self-control, and wondered what it cost him in self-worth to bite his tongue facing these attitudes.

Brushing those thoughts aside, Jack found himself rather impressed by the interior of the house. It was spotless and well-furnished, but not tastelessly overdone. The floors were laid with thick, plush rugs while the walls were covered with stylish wallpaper and well-done family portraits. They followed the butler through the large hall and into the side parlor.

He gestured towards a low sofa in the well-appointed room. "If you would, you can wait for Miss Hanson here. I will announce your arrival, sir." He nearly spat out the last words. He turned on his heel and then left without even looking back.

Ezra made a face as they both sat down and looked the room over. It was an airy room with large open glass windows that went from floor to ceiling. Darkly stained wood floors were swept clean and covered with a flowered rug. The chairs were formal, but not gaudy. A large portrait of middle-aged, sandy-haired man hung over the small fireplace.

Jack stretched his legs out and crossed his feet. "Well, they are obviously rolling in the money," he said. "I must have gotten into the wrong business."

Ezra chuckled. "Politics apparently pays better than I expected. But you wouldn't be happy here anyways. You couldn't handle the status that comes with a place like this."

He smiled benignly before answering. "I guess not, but I wouldn't mind trying it out for a spell. If someone wanted to do a bit of blackmailing, the Hanson family would certainly make a good target. A son who has been in trouble before will certainly be in trouble again." He was thinking back to his own past, but stopped talking as he heard footsteps approach the room.

Faith came in and they rose in unison as she made her entrance. She was followed by a well-dressed man. Jack could tell they were both trying to hide their shock upon seeing Ezra in the house, sitting comfortably on the sofa as if he belonged there.

"Mister Blackwood, may I introduce you to Mister Ethan Davis," she said uncertainly. "Ethan is a dear friend of mine who came over to see if he could help in any way." She smiled at her friend, apparently glad to have someone else to look at besides these two strangers.

Jack looked Davis over. He was wearing a fine European-cut suit and carried a silver-tipped cane. He was tall, with longish blond hair and a patrician nose. His clothes were obviously tailor-made and he carried himself rather arrogantly. This was the type of man who had never worked an honest day in his life, but lived off the wealth of his ancestors. Davis was glancing at the black man distastefully and kept himself close to Faith as if to protect her from any sudden move.

Davis gave a little bow. "I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Blackwood," he said with a half-hidden southern drawl. "I'm sure you will be of great service to Faith in finding her lost brother."

"I will do my best," Jack replied with disdain. He didn't expect anything of worth to come from the mouth of such a dandy.

"As I said, I hope you can bring him home. She is most worried about her brother and fears for his safety."

"She has the right to be," Jack said. "But I've been rude. May I introduce you both to my partner, Mister Miller?" Jack said this with some relish, expecting the usual social awkwardness that came when he presented his friend to strangers.

They turned to look at the ex-slave with puzzled looks on their faces. Faith blushed slightly while Davis just scowled.

Ezra gave a little bow with a smirk on his face. "It's a pleasure, Miss Hanson. Mister Davis," he said.

"He is your partner?" Faith asked, her voice climbing with amazement.

"We have been working together for quite a few years" Jack replied. "I was in a tight situation with a noose, and he came to my rescue without waiting for me to ask."

"I don't like to see a man being beaten and hung by a mob," Ezra said simply. "Some villains that Jack was trailing took it upon themselves to hang him by the neck. It seemed just a little unfair to me."

Jack relaxed a little since he enjoyed retelling one of his old cases. "I had been on the trail of some horse thieves. I didn't realize that one of my informants had been waiting for the chance to double-cross me. He let the criminals know what hotel I was staying at. I woke up in the middle-of-the-night to find a crowd in my room hauling me out to hang me. Luckily, Mister Miller here came to the rescue most efficiently. We've worked together ever since," he said proudly. "I trust him fully and if you hire me, you also hire Ezra. He has important contacts within Washington and is an invaluable source of information for me."

"I see," Faith replied uncertainly. "But what kind of information could he possibly get?"

"Ezra knows the servants of just about every important family in Washington. Every rumor, scandal, or just interesting bit of gossip eventually comes his way. You would be amazed what servants hear through the course of a day."

Faith said wanly, "I can only imagine what our servants could say about our family."

"Maybe it's something my partner already knows," Jack replied dryly. "You mentioned earlier your father wanted to talk to us. Is he ready to receive us?"

"You must understand that father can only see one person at a time. He has not been healthy of late and can only handle so much strain," Faith explained.

"That will not be a problem," he said while giving his friend a wink. "Mister Miller can wait here while I go see your father." He could tell that Faith was uncomfortable with the idea of taking Ezra to see her father, but did not want to press the issue at this time.

Davis turned once again to Faith. He kissed her hand and pressed it to his. "I must be going now. If you need anything, you know where to reach me."

Faith blushed like a rose and replied, "Thank you, Mister Davis. I am always grateful for your assistance."

"I will do anything to help find your brother," Davis said with sickly sweet tones. He then looked at Jack. "I hope you are good enough to work for the Hanson family. Few men are." With those final words, he left.

Jack watched him leave with distaste, reconsidering his original impression of Davis as a mere dandy. This was someone not to be trusted.

She continued speaking to him, not noticing the expression on his face. "Please, let's go and see my father."

"Very well," Jack replied solemnly. He motioned for Ezra to stay seated as he followed Faith out of the room

"Father hasn't been quite the same since mother died," Faith explained as they walked. "He's quite lonely in this old house. I wish I could spend more time with him, but he always asks me to leave after a while. He doesn't feel it is right for someone young, like myself, to waste my time taking care of him. But what can I do?" Her lips settled into a small frown. "Please don't get him too agitated with the wrong type of questions. His doctor says it is best if he remains calm at all times."

"He doesn't sound like the sort of man who would be easy excited - especially after all the years he spent in Congress."

"Well, yes, but he isn't a young man anymore. I have to spend a lot of my time making sure he gets the help he needs. Lawrence never has any time to help me, and you know how servants are." Her eyes rolled a little as she spoke.

"Not really, I never had one since I've had to make my own way through this world." He stretched out his hands, motioning towards the rich furnishings. "I've never had anything quite like this. Best thing I got for free were the meals I got when I was in the army."

Faith gave a gentle laugh. "I'm sorry," she hesitated "I just assumed Mister Miller would be looking after your wants."

"He does to a certain degree. I'm apparently a difficult man to get along with, but we try to share in the housework. He's a good man and always carries his own weight. I know some people will look down on a freeman, but he's been the most loyal friend any man could ask for."

Faith looked embarrassed. She led him on and began speaking quickly as if to change the subject. "Father is in the garden, enjoying the spring weather. Please follow me out."

They had now walked to the back of the house, having passed through the living room and kitchen. Through the back door, they entered a well-tended garden. A brick pathway led across a manicured lawn which stretched to the fence in the distance. Young leaves on a row of oak trees created a light shade.

Mister Hanson was resting on a wooden chair, using a large overcoat as a lap blanket. He held a cane tightly against the side of his leg. As they drew closer towards him, he looked up and smiled.

"Good morning, Faith" his frail voice said. Jack had the sense of a man almost apologetic for his age and failing health. He began appraising the detective with shrewd eyes jaded by years of service. He had a strong face, wrinkled by time and experience. His hands were liver-spotted and waxy.

"Father, this is Mister Blackwood," Faith introduced them. "He is willing to help us locate Lawrence."

"Good day, sir." He bent forward to shake the old man's hand. The hand was cold and damp. The handshake itself was weak, but Daniel Hanson kept his eyes locked on Jack's.

The old man's voice suddenly became business-like and only trembled slightly with age. "After Lawrence disappeared, I telegraphed my dear sister for advice. She was once in need, and I have word from her that you once helped her husband out of a particularly delicate situation."

This was a man who was used to being listened to, and it was evident that he did not like to ask anyone for help. Jack said, "Yes, I remember that case. It concerned a young lady. With the kind of money that was being asked, the villain was going to make your brother-in-law go bankrupt within weeks. There wasn't much time left when I was called in, but I was persuasive enough to get the photographs back from the would-be blackmailer."

"My niece was such a fool to trust a man like that claiming to be an artist. But I'm hoping that you will have the power to help us in our hour of need. As my daughter has already told you, my son Lawrence has gone missing." He began coughing and afterwards wiped his lips on a handkerchief dug up from his breast pocket. "I want you to understand that whatever I tell you is strictly confidential. If any of this gets out, my family name will surely be ruined."

"We always keep the information of our clients confidential," Jack said. "We are expected to be discreet in all of our doings."

"What about the police? If it were necessary to turn the matter over to them, how would the publicity be handled?"

"I involve the police if the only recourse left is to use the law, or if the situation has gotten beyond my control. If the police have information I need, I will try to maintain my client's anonymity." Jack knew that he was telling a lie, since he had already asked for Garrett's help. But the Hanson family need never know of this since his friend could be trusted to remain quiet.

"Good, I am glad to hear that," Daniel Hanson wheezed.

"Please tell me what you know of your son's disappearance?"

The old man shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked embarrassed as he began telling his story. "Lawrence has always been an impulsive child. He was born shortly after Faith here was. Perhaps I was too old to have children and spoiled the both of them. When his mother Patricia was still alive, she had some control over him. But ever since her death, I have had little time to keep the discipline required for youngsters. You see, the Congress was my home for many years, so he was rarely punished by my hand. Perhaps I was too lenient with the boy, but he was so loved by his mother, I couldn't find it in my heart to hurt him. Faith here has always done her best at helping to raise him, but she was just a girl at the time. She's tried to fill the role of mother, but he rarely listened to her."

"Go on," Jack said quietly. It surprised him how much Daniel Hanson was willing to open up to a stranger and tell the family secrets. Most of the time, he had to cajole and wheedle information out of men. Perhaps Mister Hanson was lonely enough to be happy to have someone new to talk to.

"Lawrence had a few brushes with the law, but nothing too terrible, mind you. He just had some impulsive behavior that had been taken too far. Even the City Ward came looking for him on more than one occasion, but I managed to keep Lawrence out of trouble. A man in my position can usually find the right ear or the right amount of money to change hands. After a while, he seemed to have straightened out. He began going to more social functions and spending his time amongst the sons and daughters of several well-placed friends of mine."

Daniel Hanson cleared his throat and dabbed his mouth before continuing. "That's when the real trouble began. Last year, he met and began to see another woman. For good reasons, he kept it quite secret from Faith and me. She was a beautiful young woman who had the decided misfortune of already being married."

Faith turned away from the both of them, apparently embarrassed by her brother's adultery.

The old man looked at her and shook his head. "Faith doesn't like to hear these kinds of things about her brother. Perhaps she has spent too much time here, taking care of me. She should have married a good man by now and have left this house."

Faith blushed and said, "Please, father, Mister Blackwood doesn't want to hear about our troubles outside of Lawrence."

Daniel Hanson shook his head stubbornly and continued. "This woman that my son was seeing - she was a good looking woman, married to an older fool of a man. Lawrence would have done anything for her, not realizing that he could never have her, at least not the way he wanted to. But he was making a fool out of himself, and when I found out what he was doing, I decided to step in and stop it all."

"And how did you do that?" Jack asked. "It's hard to get a man to stop loving a woman, even if she breaks his heart."

"I shortened the amount of his allowance and made him work for the balance. I also had a friend who helped him get a job with the War Department. I thought the work would do him some good and keep his mind off of her."

"Was that enough?" Jack asked.

"The threat of losing his money and the daily work seems to have cleared out the infatuation in his heart. For the past year, he worked hard at the office. Sure, he may have gone out at night and gambled a few times a month – but he seems to have finally forgotten the woman.

"Just as the Secession broke out, he started to spend less time at home. At first I thought it was just because of the extra hours at the office that would be needed during these uncertain times. But there was word from his supervisor that Lawrence's work was poor and he was showing up late, if at all."

"In what way was his work poor?" Jack asked.

"Apparently Lawrence would often complain of being sick and seek time away from work. Now he has been gone for two days now. The War Department claims he stole some valuable papers and they are busily searching the town for him."

"What do you know about this man, Abbott? Your daughter showed me a note that could have come from him."

He momentarily gazed at the trees as if distracted. He then returned his attention back to Jack with a shake of his head. "As far as Mister Abbott goes, I can tell you very little. I'm not sure what their relationship was beyond occasionally meeting to play cards."

"I will go and ask this Abbott some questions."

"Please, find my son, and if possible, clear his name," Daniel pleaded, his voice wrought with emotion.

"I can only try," Jack replied solemnly. "But I promise that I will do my best. First, I will need you to agree to my daily fee and I will need some further information on his employer. A photo of Lawrence would also help in my search."

"My son worked for a man named William Forsythe. He is an Under-Secretary at the War Department. I will give you a note with an introduction if you need to see him."

"Yes, that will be fine," Jack said. "He will probably be less than pleased to see me, but I'm sure we can come to an understanding. Now about my fee, I will require another note that I am working on your behalf and a signed retainer of one hundred dollars. This retainer will be returned upon completion of the case. I will need to be paid ten dollars a day and I will also require payment of any expenses that come along in the course of my investigation."

"Your fee seems rather high," Daniel Hanson replied with his lips pursed. "Why do you require so much money?"

Jack grinned inwardly at the show of Mister Hanson's tight-fistedness. He said: "I can have many expenses – information costs money and only silver can start some tongues. But with my fee also comes confidentiality."

Daniel Hanson looked thoughtful before answering. "Very well, I will see that everything is arranged. I want you to know that Lawrence is still my son and I expect you to turn over Heaven and Earth trying to get him back to me."

"I will," Jack replied.

*

Faith led Jack back to the parlor. Ezra stood as they entered, clearly impatient to leave the house.

Jack nodded at him and then turned his attention back to Faith. "I will send you a message if we find anything soon. I will also be sure to stop by when I can so you will receive personal updates of our investigation."

"I will be looking forward to hearing from you," she said shyly. "If you need anything else from me, please let me know."

"I will," Jack replied with a grin. This girl was not only beautiful; she had a smile that warmed his heart. "C'mon, Ezra, let's go."

They left the house and pulled themselves onto their horses. Jack threw the boy another penny and gave him a word before riding away. "Don't spend that fortune all at once. Save some for your mother."

"Yes, sir," the boy answered meekly, looking intently at the penny before shoving it into his pocket.

Jack and Ezra rode down the bricked lane leading down to the main road below.

"I don't think that Davis character liked me all that much," his partner joked.

"Ezra, some people take a long time to learn. With his background, he may never learn." Jack gently patted the side of his horse's head. "I'm surprised you didn't beat some sense into him."

"If we didn't need the money, I would have," he replied coldly.

"Well, I don't think we will run into him again. Let's go and visit this Mister Abbott
Chapter 4

A Gentleman's Narrative Continued

I have just returned from a visit to the Hanson house. After reading that newspaper account of her brother's disappearance, I was pleased to be of some service to Miss Hanson, if only as a confidant. Also I must admit my curiosity was aroused as well. Miss Hanson related the facts to me much as they had been reported in the press. I held her hand as she sobbed out her troubles. It was a most touching sight.

Unfortunately our visit was interrupted by the arrival of a detective. Miss Hanson and her father seem to think the City police force needs the help of an outsider to locate their wayward relative. I must say I am not inclined to think much of this detective, Mister Blackwood. To begin with, his partner is a Negro, an ex-slave I assume, with a scarred face. I'm not sure of the wisdom of trusting a delicate affair such as this to a man who befriends a Negro. Secondly this detective's appearance was nowhere near gentlemanly. He looks to be a few years younger than me, perhaps in his mid-thirties at the oldest, has a weathered face, dark eyebrows, hair longer on top, with a pronounced widow's peak. His coat was definitely frayed at the shoulders, and his shirt looked as if it had been slept in.

I cut my visit to Miss Hanson short, shorter than I had intended. I kept most of my reservations to myself about this detective and hoped to convey some of my meaning to him by a glance. Alas, the look was lost on Mister Blackwood, affirming his inability to deduce things, at least to me. He does appear to have some rugged good looks, so perhaps there one can find the explanation as to why Miss Hanson agreed to employ him. I kissed her hand in parting, conscious in the knowledge that her damp handkerchief had pressed a circle into my best suede overcoat. At least I had done my duty.

Perhaps this Mister Blackwood deliberately hides his ability behind this façade of shabbiness to deceive people from the truth. As if in underestimating him, they will then become unguarded and reveal certain facts. Or perhaps he is just slovenly and inept and scrapes for a meager living and these are the only clothes he can afford. I must confess that I am entirely preoccupied with appearances, especially clothing. From the upbringing of my family, it seemed that the most important thing that one might do in a day was dress to prepare for it. Perhaps this blinds me to the value of other men since at times I cannot see past what they are wearing.

At any rate Miss Hanson may need further assistance in this matter, and I will make a point to make myself available to her should I be called upon.

But once again I am letting my mind wander. I had been thinking about the Southern conflict, and how businesses are affected by it. I feel no need to take a loyalty oath to the Union or to declare where my interests lie and how my profits from whatever business which I may be interested in at the time will be invested. I was happy to take business over from my uncle when he passed on. He had launched it on his own, and, on his visits to us at home, imparted to me how satisfying it could be. This business –importing dry goods – kept me traveling from time to time, which came to be a hassle. I sold the business when a reasonable offer came along, but I have kept up with some of my old business contacts in other cities. Most of my time now is spent in leisure pursuits, although I manage to find other work occasionally.

*

They traveled back to the central part of Washington, passing several loaded Army wagons along the way. Lewis Abbot's apartment was on the top floor of a large brick, four-story building on North Capitol Street. It was a highly respectable part of town known to house Senators and Congressmen. The sidewalk up to the front entrance was bricked and swept clean. After they tied their horses to a nearby post, Jack looked grimly up at the building.

"Not exactly the home of a villain," Ezra commented.

"In my experience, some of the richest of men have gotten their gain through unscrupulous means."

Jack presented his calling card to the bored-looking doorman. The doorman raised an eyebrow after reading the card and told them to wait until he returned. He was gone for a few minutes and then smugly answered their query, "You will find Mister Abbott's apartment on the fourth floor." He continued to eye Ezra warily after pointing them towards the stairway.

They went through the exquisite marble entrance, past a sleepy desk clerk and then climbed the dark-carpeted flight of stairs to the top floor. They then went through a richly decorated hallway and stopped at a door with a gold-plated placard indicating that this is where Abbott resided.

"Let's see what kind of man we are dealing with," Jack said to his partner in a low voice. He knocked and waited.

The door opened and before them stood a middle-aged butler with a long nose and dark eyes. "Ah yes, Mister Abbot will see you. If you could come this way," he said. He motioned them into the apartment.

The apartment was well-appointed with new furniture and thick plush rugs. The shades over the windows were drawn and the gas fixtures were turned low, giving an eerie glow to the room. They followed the butler into a large living room, where two men were waiting. One was tall and dark-haired, sitting silently in a low chair with a large Colt Navy pistol resting in his lap. The other man was sitting on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. He was hunched over, studying the large tumbler he held before him. Upon hearing then arrive, he looked up and purposefully dropped the cigarette into his drink.

Jack studied him and saw a middle-aged man who was obviously still proud of his looks. The thinning hair was carefully cut and combed over in feeble attempt to hide a bald spot. He was wearing a fine suit of clothes that looked if they had been pressed just that day. Although fit, he looked like he led a hard life with an excess of drinking. He was also just beginning to grow thick in the middle.

The man nodded to his butler. "Good, good – that will be all, Thomas."

The butler gave a bow and left.

Jack looked around the room and saw several fine paintings and a large rug before an unlit fireplace. He then turned his attention back to face the man at the sofa. "Lewis Abbott, I presume. This is a nice place you have here. My name is Jack Blackwood, and this is my associate, Mister Miller. We were hired by the Hanson family."

"I am Abbott. I've heard of you before. A detective."

"I'm not surprised. Then you know what to expect from me."

Abbott smirked, lifted his hand up toward Jack as if to stop his talking, and said: "Before you even start, I want you to know that I don't deny knowing Lawrence. We met over a year ago at a gentleman's club. We both share a passion for playing cards. You must understand that our relationship is quite casual, and I bear the lad no ill-will."

The man with the pistol shifted in his chair, his cool eyes watching the conversation disinterestedly.

"I'm happy to hear that," Jack said. "Do you know where Lawrence could be at this time? His family is most concerned to know of his whereabouts."

"I really don't know where he could be," Abbott replied quickly. "But I hope he is found alive and well soon."

"You don't seem overly concerned," Jack said plainly. He did not like Abbott's indifference and found the man with the Colt a bit unnerving.

"Stevenson," Abbot said, his voice matter-of-fact. "I want you to remember these two."

The man named Stevenson then stood up and studied Jack and Ezra impassively. He was quite tall and held the gun on his side with the barrel pointed towards the floor. He had the eyes of an experienced killer and his face remained lifeless as he looked them over. "Yes, sir," he replied flatly. "I'll remember them, and take care of them if they make any kind of trouble for you." His voice was the same as his expression - cold. Stevenson then sat back down and continued to watch them impassively with the pistol cradled in his lap.

Ezra sensed the silent challenge from him and stood with his arms crossed and his jaw tensed.

"Don't think that your trained puppy scares me all," Jack said mockingly. "I came here to ask you some questions about Lawrence."

"Then get on with it," Abbot yawned, raised an eyebrow at them and shifted his weight further back into the couch. "You must understand, I had a long night and don't understand why you are even asking me these questions in the first place."

"Lawrence Hanson has disappeared and several sources tell us you were there at the Gay Lady Saloon the night he went missing."

"Who are these sources?" Abbott asked, his face slowly reddening with anger.

"Never mind, just tell us why you met Lawrence there." It was obvious to Jack that Abbot was hiding something. He was also beginning to get impatient with the evasive answers. It was a tiresome business.

"In all the years I've spent in Washington. I've never even heard of such a saloon."

"It's a rundown place over on French Street," Jack replied shortly.

Abbott lazily reached into a wooden box on the table and pulled out a cigarette. Striking a match, he lit the cigarette and looked over the flame. "A man of my means wouldn't be spending his time in a place like that. I'll tell you right here and now that I did not see or meet Lawrence that night."

Ezra took a step towards Abbott. "We happen to know otherwise," he spoke sharply. "We have a note telling Lawrence to meet you there," he bluffed.

Jack motioned his partner back. "What he says is true, Abbott."

Lewis Abbott quickly stood up and pointed with the cigarette at them. "I said I wasn't there. I did not write any note for Lawrence. I may have met him on occasion – he was such a good partner in cards - but I have no idea where he is now. Why would I have a reason to lie to you?"

Jack handed the note over that he received from Faith Hanson. "This isn't your handwriting?

Abbott studied the note, reading it with a frown. He handed the note back to Jack and gave him a smug smile. "Anyone could have written that note to him."

Jack didn't believe him and used another tactic to question him. "How did you know that we were coming to visit you?"

"Lawrence and I were seen together," Abbott replied slowly. "It's only natural that you would come to see me. His sister never liked me, so I'm not too surprised that she tried to hire someone to try to intimidate me. She puts too much stock in me if she can even consider that I am to blame in any way."

"How often did you meet with Lawrence?"

"We had certain common interests in cards and drink. We got along rather well at social events and our friendship grew from there. I'd say we met at least twice a month, maybe more often. His sister grew to hate me, since she considered me such a bad influence on her brother. Well, you know how those churchy women are. In her eyes, I am the devil incarnate."

"That may be so, but I still don't know what you are hiding from us," Jack quickly said. "We just want to discover where Lawrence is right now. If you won't tell us, we will be bound to find out somehow. Just make sure to watch yourself carefully, Mister Abbot, because we'll be watching you."

Abbott laughed. "Am I supposed to be afraid of you two? My man here can easily handle the both of you at the same time."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "You've managed to escape the law before, but I'm afraid this time it will be different. The government has taken an interest in this case. I'm not representing them, but if I find out where Lawrence or those papers are, I may have to tell them."

Lewis Abbott's jaw bulged with anger. "I suggest you leave before I have you thrown out. My man would be more than happy to do the job."

Suddenly, Stevenson was standing, his gun at the ready, his eyes moving between Jack and Ezra. His face was still flat and empty, but his eyes were ablaze with the anticipation of a fight.

Shaking his head with disbelief, Jack turned to his partner and gave him a lopsided grin. "He's quick with the threats."

"He sure is," Ezra replied through gritted teeth. "Maybe a little too quick."

Jack returned his attention back to Abbot. "You'll find me a hard man to get rid of. C'mon, Ezra, let's go and find some better company." With those last words, they turned to leave.

Lewis Abbot followed them. He said, "If you will not listen to reason, Mister Blackwood, perhaps you would listen to money. I have two hundred dollars here to keep you away from me. I do not intend to be implicated in any kind of scandal since I am innocent of any wrongdoing."

This offer, especially after the threats, surprised Jack. "My job is to serve the interest of the Hanson family. I shall not be bought off like a common constable on the street."

"You would be better off if you took my money. If you are waiting for a larger sum, you must understand I won't waste my time haggling with a poor detective like yourself."

Jack stared at him and finally said, "We'll find our own way out." They left, slamming the door shut. He strode down the stairs with his partner following close behind. Outside Abbot's apartment building, they saddled up and began slowly riding down the street where they joined the busy afternoon traffic of men, horses, and wagons.

"I guess we know a little more about Mister Abbott," Jack started. "Although he has a nice place, I don't like the company he keeps."

It took Ezra a moment to answer. Their meeting had left him a little tense, and he was sitting poker straight in the saddle. He spat out, "He makes a nicer gentleman to look at than to talk to. Perhaps he just wanted to get rid of us quickly, before we could find out anything important, and so he resorted to threats and rudeness. His manners won't win him any friends here."

"Makes me wonder - what else do you think he knows..." Jack said, his voice trailing off a little as he thought about what tack to follow next. He finally said, "Ezra, I will head down to the War Department to have a talk with Lawrence's employer. I want you to find out what you can about Abbot. He's the spider in the middle of this web and we need to know more about him. When you're done, let's meet back at the Gay Lady Saloon. It's time we take a look at the last place he was seen. Perhaps we can scare up some more information. There's bound to be someone there who saw Abbott or Lawrence that night."

"I'll ask a few of the servants I know," Ezra said nodding his head. "A man like Abbott will try to cover his tracks very carefully, but he must slip up eventually. Some of his past blackmail victims might have more information as well. If they are silent out of fear then perhaps their servants would be willing to talk."

"Be careful," Jack replied. "I'm sure Abbot would gladly kill either one of us given the chance. That Stevenson looked to be sick in the head."

His partner laughed and turned his horse towards the residential area. "He wouldn't be the first man who tried to kill me," he said. "And you be careful too. There are more than a few people who wouldn't shed a tear if you were found dead."

"I'll keep that in mind." Jack said. "I'll see you at the saloon soon." He slowly rode on in the dusty street towards the War Department, thinking of Faith Hanson and her long blonde hair.
Chapter 5

The War Office on 17th Avenue sat adjacent to the White House. It was a large, white marbled building, originally built before the turn of the century. Jack pulled himself off of his horse and then tied her to a hitching post on the street. He gently patted the mare's side while he watched a number of soldiers coming and going into the building. Guards were standing on each side of the front entrance, their weapons held nonchalantly. Seeing the army guards reminded him of the old days when his regiment was confined to a fort. These soldiers, like any other, would be tired of standing in one place for so long. Jack thought it would be best to be careful when approaching these men since they would be prone to suspicion just out of sheer boredom. Holding his hands out in the open, he made his approach.

One of the guards carefully looked Jack over. He returned the steady gaze and then carefully pulled a calling card from his jacket pocket. "My name is Blackwood. I'm here to talk to a Mister James Forsythe on behalf of the Hanson family," he said. "I have a note of introduction from Congressman Hanson." He handed the paper and the card over to the soldier.

"One minute, sir." The soldier nodded, took the papers, and entered the building. He returned a few minutes later with another man. "This is Forsythe's personal secretary, Mister Johnson."

"Pleased to meet you, Mister Blackwood," Johnson said politely. He had the quiet and inauspicious manner of a career clerk. "Now if you would come with me, I will take you to see Mister Forsythe."

Jack followed Johnson into the high-ceilinged hall. Their footsteps echoed on the tiled floor as they made their way to the large, curving stairway. They climbed laboriously up to the second floor where there were numerous offices opening to the hallway. The atmosphere was one of barely controlled chaos with several clerks scooting back and forth between the rooms, carrying correspondence.

"You're looking busy here," Jack commented.

"Yes, matters have become quite active lately. But please come this way," Johnson intoned solemnly.

He ushered Jack through a doorway, walked past an empty secretary's desk and then into an imposing dark-paneled office. Behind the desk was a middle-aged man with a thin moustache. As Jack entered, he paused from looking at a sheaf of papers. The man gave a minute nod to his secretary, who left, shutting the door. Gesturing to Jack, he pointed at an empty chair across from the desk.

"Mister Forsythe?" Jack asked.

"As you can see, I'm a very busy man. What exactly did you want to talk to me about?" Forsythe said with quick, sharp words. His appearance was haggard – obviously a man who worried too much.

Jack had considered how to approach this man on his ride to the office building. So he measured his words carefully before speaking. "My name is Blackwood. I've been asked by the Hanson family to inquire after Lawrence Hanson's disappearance. I was hoping you could give me some more information about those missing papers."

"Just exactly who are you Mister Blackwood?" Forsythe asked bluntly.

"I am a detective."

"A detective? So you make a living prying into the business of others." Forsythe's tone was one of distaste.

Jack decided at this point it was better to be polite. "I've been working as a detective in Washington for the past four years. I originally worked for Pinkerton's National Detective Agency. I made good money when I worked for him, but I tired of the constant travel. I don't earn as much with my own practice, but I don't have to answer to anyone but myself."

"Pinkerton, eh? They've been useful to us in the past."

"I can also be useful to you if you would let me. As I was saying, what can you tell me about Lawrence Hanson?"

Forsythe's eyes suddenly blazed with anger. "That's simple enough. He's a thief and a scoundrel. That is all you need to know about him." Forsythe looked harshly at him with bloodshot eyes, the lips curling in hatred.

"I'm afraid I'll need to know more than that," Jack said sharply. He kept his eyes level with Forsythe as he spoke. "His family is worried about Lawrence and I'm going to be representing them while this search for him takes place. Now what exactly did he take from here that is so important?"

"He stole some extremely sensitive documents from this very office. Our strategic situation could be dire if that information is leaked to the Secessionists. I have great respect for Daniel Hanson which was the only reason I employed the boy in the first place. Otherwise I had great misgivings about the matter. Rumor was that Lawrence was a ne'er do well, but I was still willing to give him a chance."

"What are you doing now to regain the papers?"

"I have several of my men combing the city to trace the whereabouts of Lawrence, and they will take him by force if necessary." Forsythe then stood up, gripping the edges of his desk and raised his voice. "We should have suspected Hanson of being a spy - he'd behaved less than honorably in the past. But with his father's credentials, it was hard to think that someone like that would be so traitorous." He then gave a short embarrassed sigh and looked out the window, evading Jack's eyes.

Jack was beginning not to care for this man at all, who seemed to have a hair-trigger temper. "I don't care about his guilt or innocence," he said. "My job is to find out where he is."

"I understand your position, but you must know that Lawrence is definitely guilty. When he is caught, he will be tried for treason and most likely hanged if I have anything to do with it."

"His family will attend to clearing his name, if that is possible. If some evidence comes to light proving his innocence, I will pass that on to them. My job is just to find him. I don't care about his innocence or guilt. Now he couldn't have gone far unless he managed to escape from the city. Right now, I know it is difficult to leave Washington through normal channels due to the war situation, but if someone really needed to get out of the city then there is always a way.

Forsythe said impatiently, "We haven't seen or heard anything of his whereabouts yet, but we have several leads that we are following."

"I see," Jack said noncommittally.

"You must understand that this is an extremely sensitive government issue. My suggestion to you, sir, is to leave this matter in our hands. We will find him no matter where he hides. And I personally don't like the interference of outsiders, be they journalists or hired detectives." His expression changed to an expression of forced formality.

Jack pulled a cigar from his pocket. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I will have to do my job unless the family thinks otherwise. I came here hoping we could help each other out." He pulled out a match and lit the cigar, the ghost of a smile on his mouth.

Forsythe waved the cigar smoke away and looked at him with some distaste. But then the face suddenly softened. "Perhaps you may be of some assistance in this matter. Please remember that if you do find Lawrence, you will have to let me know immediately."

"If the family agrees, then I can do that. If I do find the papers, I will immediately return them to you. They are of no concern to me since I've only been hired to find Lawrence."

"You must understand that these are awkward times. Tell me, do you have any ties to the South?"

Jack laughed. "I'm Yankee through and through. You can also check my army record if you have any doubts to my loyalty."

"I will. Keep in mind those plans are more important than any man's life. We need the information held in those papers to remain secret."

"I know you cannot necessarily tell me, but what exactly were the papers about, and what makes them so important to you?" Jack asked. He looked about for an ash tray, found none, so instead tapped his cigar ash on the floor. "If I knew what they contained, perhaps I could figure out who might be after them, and why."

Forsythe cleared his throat, dropped his voice, and spoke in a secretive tone. "This is strictly confidential, even though those blasted newspapers will have the story printed soon enough. The Anaconda Plan was drafted just a few weeks ago. It is too sensitive to share any specifics with you, but they detail future Army and Navy movements. Part of our plan is to stop the South from getting materials to prosecute the war. General Winfield Scott wrote the Anaconda Plan to blockade the Southern ports and take control of the entire Mississippi. By isolating the South, we shall force it to capitulate since without the money from selling their cotton, they won't be able to fight for any length of time."

Jack thought about this before answering. If those plans fell into enemy hands, it would increase the length of the war and put more troops into harm's way. "I can understand how important this would be to the War Department." he said earnestly.

"Keep that in mind, or there may be trouble for you," Forsythe said, his blood-veined eyes narrowing.

Jack stood up to leave. He opened the door and turned to face Forsythe. "I've seen a lot of trouble in my time. I reckon some more won't hurt. I certainly don't expect any real trouble from the likes of you." He then left before he heard Forsythe's reaction.

Johnson, the clerk, was sitting at his desk when Jack passed him by. He smiled at Jack and gave him a nod as if pleased to see Forsythe had been talked to in such a forward manner.
Chapter 6

Jack rode down French Street trying to find the Gay Lady Saloon. The evening was beginning to settle upon Washington, casting long shadows along the streets. In this neighborhood the few decent people scurried indoors before the sun set. The rest tried to find solace in a cup of liquor or the fleeting pleasures that could be bought for a few coins. When he discovered the place, Jack saw that the saloon itself was a sad establishment - an old, graying, one-story building with rough, wooden steps leading up to the front door which had a stained window set inside the wood. He pushed himself off of his gray mare and tied the bridle to the hitching post amongst several other horses.

Ezra's horse could not be seen, so Jack concluded that his friend was still busy tracking down information. Instead of waiting, he walked up the creaking steps, pushed open the decrepit door to the saloon, and walked inside. The tavern was poorly lit, clouded with tobacco smoke, and smelled of sweat and beer. Some of the patrons paused momentarily to look at Jack, but he was mostly ignored by the press of men. The main room had a long bar where a few customers sat. A few tables were scattered on the floor, here card playing seemed to be the principal occupation.

Jack went to the stained bar and stuck his boot on the brass rail below. The bartender had long greasy hair that was unkempt and thinning, but he appeared stout enough to handle any trouble from his usual low-class drinkers. He watched Jack with uneasy eyes.

"What can I get ya?" the bartender grumbled.

"A shot of whiskey will do just fine, and have one for yourself." Jack said kindly. He thought if this bartender was working the night that Lawrence disappeared, he might have seen something of interest. It was best to ply this man with a little liquor first.

The bartender gave a raised an eyebrow, pulled a bottle from behind the bar, and poured two shots into a pair of dirty glasses. "Feeling generous, eh? What are you after?"

"Not much," Jack said taking the glass from the bar, and looking dubiously into it.

"I haven't seen you here before. Most of my customers don't have the time or money to buy me a drink. Well, here's to your health."

"And here's to yours," Jack replied, quickly downing the low quality whiskey with a short gulp. Afterwards he placed the small shot glass back on the bar. "Well, that wasn't too bad," he lied, holding back a grimace. "Let's have another drink, friend, now that you've got the bottle out."

"I'm no friend of yours," the bartender said with contempt. "You can call me Mister Tinen if you need to call me something. I own this place and don't take shit from anyone."

"Well, Mister Tinen, you will learn that I'm a good friend to have. I always buy the first round, and I usually buy the second."

"I'm not the kind to have many words with strangers, even if they are throwing money around." He began to look at Jack more closely in the gloom. "What do you want here?" he snarled.

"Now hold on. I'm just looking for someone. Take a look at this picture and tell me what you know about him." He pulled out the small photograph of Lawrence that he had gotten from the family and slid it towards the barkeep. "I'll be paying for good information, my friend. So last Tuesday night, did you see this gentleman here?"

The bartender squinted at the picture but stopped short of picking it up. He then quickly glanced around to see if anyone was overhearing the conversation. The volume of his voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "How much money are we talking about?"

"How much do you want?"

"For twenty dollars, I can tell you everything I know."

Jack shook his head. "Let's make it ten for now. If I like what I hear, I'll give you ten more."

Tinen shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "Okay, I'll talk," he whispered.

Jack gave him a ten dollar coin.

"That boy was here alright, but he didn't stay long. Now again, why exactly do you want to know?"

"All you need to know is that his family is looking for him. Keep in mind they can give even more money to the man who helps me find him. Now what do you remember about that night?"

Tinen again kept his voice low enough so the other customers could not hear his words over the din. "It was a busy night. I think he was here for just a short time to meet someone. I'm not completely sure since I was busy tending my customers."

Jack slid over another five dollars. "If you could think a little harder, then you'll get the other half."

In the low light of the bar oil lamps, a small man leaning against the rough wall could be seen trying to listen in to the conversation. After a moment, he stood up and walked towards Jack and Tinen. The bartender quickly glanced towards him and gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod. Jack did not notice this interaction.

"Let me see," the bartender suddenly smiled. "By the way, my friends call me Patrick, and they all know that I've never steered them wrong."

Jack was surprised by the sudden turn of friendliness. "Well, Patrick, exactly who did this man Lawrence see that night?"

"I saw that gentleman talking to a local money lender - a Mister Brinker. They had a most animated conversation, and then they both left in a hurry. Brinker appeared to be angry with Lawrence. I'm not sure what they were talking about since they were too far away for me to hear what they were arguing about."

"Brinker? Are you sure about that?" Jack asked in surprise. He had been certain he would hear Abbott's name mentioned and was wondering how this new character could be involved with Lawrence.

"I'm positive. He is rather well known around here since he has done business with just about everyone in this neighborhood. Go ahead and ask anyone." Tinen spread his arms wide and some of the customers scowled at him before returning to their drinks.

"What do you know about a man named Lewis Abbott? Was he here that night?" Jack asked impatiently. He had been sure that Abbott was lying and this information Tinen was so willing to give contradicted what he knew so far.

"Abbott? I don't think I've ever heard of anyone named Abbott coming around here," Tinen said with finality.

Jack changed his line of questioning. "Was this Mister Brinker a regular customer here? What more can you tell me about him?"

"He's been in a few times. Drinks a little, talks a lot, and usually leaves before we close. He lives in a rooming house just near the river. I can even tell you the address."

Jack frowned and gave him the other five dollars. "Go ahead."

Tinen smiled as he picked up the coin. "As I said, everyone in this neighborhood has done business with him. It's 171 Ninth Street, just a few blocks from here. " He pointed eastward, in the general direction of the street. "He has a room on the upper floor."

Jack got ready to leave. "Thanks again for your help tonight. If your information is any good, I'll see that you get a few more dollars for your trouble."

"That would be much appreciated," Tinen said with a grin on. "Now make sure you are careful out there. This neighborhood can be a little rough this time of night."

"Will do," Jack replied as he turned to leave. He was pleased with his good luck. He now had a solid lead on one of the last people who had been seen with Lawrence the night of his disappearance. He pushed his way out of the saloon and stepped into the darkening street. Instead of riding over, he decided to walk the short distance to Brinker's apartment.

Along the street, dirty trash hid in shadows near the buildings. The tenements spilled forth the foul smell of poverty. Not wanting to draw attention, Jack kept his eyes forward as he made his way down the untidy road. Nearby, a local prostitute tried to drum up some business with a drunken soldier, while a gang of men looked on in amusement.

As he came to the street corner and turned onto Ninth Street, Jack tried to see the address numbers on the doors. The road was strangely quiet and he looked warily for trouble. From around the corner of a house, a small rat-faced man in a dirty jacket who was carrying an old battered leather case strode towards him.

"Evening," the man said, looked searchingly at Jack. Without warning, the little man suddenly swung the case and missed as Jack jumped back in surprise. He then whistled twice with his fingers and began stalking the detective again. This time his approach was more cautious. The sound of heavy footsteps could suddenly be heard coming from behind. Before Jack could tell what was happening, a sharp blow landed on his shoulder.

He turned to counter this new attack, his fist smashing into the face of a club-wielding, pug-nosed man. Jack then quickly stepped back to pull his Starr out, but the small man struck quickly with the case, hitting his gun arm. The pistol fell on the dirt of the street and disappeared into the shadows. Jack dodged towards where he had heard the gun fall, but the club lashed out again, forcing Jack back as he clutched his hand in pain. He stumbled into a broken fence.

The man with the club came toward him, a grim smile curling on his thick lips. He swung again, narrowly missing Jack, but striking the fence instead. The wood splintered. Jack kicked him as hard as he could, the blow hitting the man solidly in the stomach. His attacker dropped down to the dusty ground on all fours. Jack kicked again, driving his boot hard into the man's ribs. The man grunted and sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his side in agony.

The rat-faced smaller man then shouted, dropped his case and charged wildly at Jack. He grabbed Jack hard around the waist and tried to pull him over. Jack bent over, grabbed him and twisted hard. The small man fell and sprawled on top of the pug-nosed man who was trying to stand up. They both fell down in a heap, now both groaning in agony.

Jack stopped to get back his breath and looked down on the two men. "You're both damn fools if you think you can take me" he gasped. "I'm harder to roll than the gutter drunks you normally rob."

Both of the men on the ground slowly pushed themselves up, and smiled wickedly, their eyes looking past Jack. He quickly spun around, but before Jack could even see his assailant, a heavy blow landed on the side of his head, forcing him down to his hands and knees. The club lashed out again, hitting Jack squarely in the head. Jack fell down onto his stomach. He nearly passed out from the sudden, red flare of pain.

Jack's vision swam in front of him. He vainly tried to twist away as the new assailant stood over him with the club. The man took careful aim at Jack's bloodied skull and prepared to strike again with a single, killing blow. Jack could no longer focus and found his consciousness slipping away. A clatter of hooves and a distant shot was the last thing he heard.
Chapter 7

Jack opened his eyes and found himself in the bedroom. The room was bright with daylight. A sharp stab of pain throbbed through his temples, making his thoughts come to him in a dizzy spin. He groaned as he shifted his head on the pillow. He looked around and lifted his hand to rub his battered head. The door to his room stood half-open. He could hear the familiar sound of Ezra whistling a tune in the kitchen. The clatter of pans was normally welcome to his ears, but his headache magnified the sound to an uncomfortable volume.

His partner soon pushed open the door and smiled cheerily at him. "Glad to see you awake and still alive," he said. "That hard head of yours must have saved your life." He momentarily disappeared and then returned, carrying a tray with coffee, bacon and eggs. He set it on the bedside table.

"What time is it?" Jack asked, his voice thick and groggy.

"It's getting on in the afternoon. I was wondering if you would ever wake up."

Jack tried to raise himself on the bed and then gave up the struggle. "What happened? Last I remember I was about to be killed over a few dollars."

"I got done talking to my contacts. I then decided to get to the Gay Lady. I was a little late leaving. As I got closer to the saloon, I could see you in the distance. It looked as if someone was following you. I kept the horse at a slow walk and stayed behind to keep watch. When I finally caught up to you, I could see that you were in a bit of trouble."

"I was in trouble alright. What happened after that?"

"I fired my gun into the air. They ran away before they could finish the job on you. In the darkness, they must have thought I was the sheriff."

Jack rubbed his tender head and groaned again. "Did you get close enough to see any of them clearly?" he asked. "You know how I hate to be beaten in a fight. I wouldn't mind paying them back in kind."

Ezra laughed. "I didn't get a good look at them. The street was too dark and I was more worried about the state of your health than anything else. You were half conscious when I got over to you, but I managed to pull you onto my horse. I found your gun in the street and got you and your horse back home in one piece."

"I can imagine that must have been a difficult job. I don't remember anything of the trip back here."

"You were dazed and were mumbling at times. You nearly slid off the horse a few times, so it was slow going. When we got back here, I brought in Doctor Felix. He didn't find any skull fractures, so he suggested that you rest. I kept an eye on you and made sure you lived through the night."

"Well, I'm glad I did, but this headache almost makes me wish it ended there."

Ezra smiled and then stopped when he saw Jack wince once more. "Do you have any idea why they would try to roll you?" he asked. "You weren't staggering drunk and there must have been easier targets to find on the street."

"I'm not sure why anyone would try to rob me," he replied. "I don't exactly look rich," he chuckled, but found the laughter too painful. "They could have seen me spread the wealth with the bartender at the Gay Lady Saloon. I suppose if someone is thirsty enough, they will be willing to rob just about anyone for a drink."

Jack rubbed his head, pushed himself up higher on the bed and started to eat the breakfast that Ezra had prepared for him. He was hungrier than he thought and wolfed down the food.

Ezra quietly smoked a cigarette and waited until his partner had finished his breakfast. "For a man who nearly died, you certainly have a big appetite."

"Thanks for bringing me this food," Jack said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "And thanks again for saving my life."

The black man shrugged his shoulders. "Why were you going down that street? You could have waited for me before you went off by yourself."

"I'm afraid I lost my head. You see, I had a few drinks with the bartender at the Gay Lady and got him to answer a few questions. He told me who Hanson met with the night he went missing. It was a money lender called Brinker. The bartender even knew the address of his rooming house, so I was headed over there to have a talk with him."

Ezra rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I've heard the name Brinker before. He's in the loan business, if you know what I mean. He's the kind of man who preys on the poor, giving them a loan with a very high interest. Of course most of his customers can't pay him back in time and end up paying large fees. And when they don't pay, they get a visit by someone to collect the money."

Jack pulled a cigarette for himself from the tin on the bed stand and lit it. "Did you find out anything interesting yesterday?" he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"I went to talk to some people I know – butlers and parlor maids that have worked for the Hanson family in the past. No one has seen Lawrence lately, but I got some further inside information on the Hanson family. The father, Daniel Hanson, as we know, rarely leaves the home since his wife's death. The family is known to be quite wealthy, which was evident enough when we visited them. His daughter is his favorite child but he is also indulgent towards Lawrence."

"I'm not surprised by any of this, Ezra."

"I know, it sounds like what Garret already told us. I was hoping to find more dirt than this. But I did find out that Faith Hanson has had several suitors, but all have managed to lose interest, partly due to the devotion she has to her father. She spends more time taking care of his needs than spending time with the men knocking at her door."

"I don't know about that, that Davis fellow looked awfully friendly towards her," Jack said with a slight trace of jealousy. He knew that he should have known better than to feel that way about her. They had only just met, but he had found her beauty and manners intoxicating. Perhaps it was an air of naiveté that held his interest.

"There were a few rumors about those two, but nothing that isn't normally gossiped between people when discussing love. He appears to be just a friend of the family now and has been for quite a while."

"I see," Jack said, not really wanting to hear anything more about that strutting dandy.

"When Faith isn't busy at home, she is involved with several charities, church, and advocating temperance."

"Sounds like my kind of girl," Jack said sarcastically, wondering why he would find someone who was so clean-minded so attractive. Perhaps it reminded him of the more innocent days of his life.

Ezra smiled knowingly and continued. "From what I heard, Lawrence resents his father's success to some degree but is grateful to take advantage of the family's standing in the community. He does not appear to care if he succeeds because he is sure his father will bail him out if he runs into any trouble. He is known to frequent certain local clubs to gamble and has been involved in some hushed-up circumstances. Only through his father's good will has he been able to have any appearance of respectability."

Jack nodded his head slowly, feeling the dull pain in his head begin to recede. "Is there any information that could help us find out where he is now?"

"Well, he was seeing that married woman for quite a while. I found that her name is Elizabeth Mulholland. They were apparently quite in love with each other, but that scandal has mostly been swept under the rug. The two haven't been seen together since then. But he may have gone running back to her, and it's possible he was trying to sell those papers to scrape up enough money to leave town."

"That's a point to consider. See if you can find out where she is living now. But first we should track down this Mister Brinker and see what he has to say about Lawrence. If that doesn't pan out, we'll tackle Miss Mulholland next." Jack got up and walked over to the washbasin to splash some water on his face. "I'll change clothes and meet you at the livery."

Ezra nodded and left.

After changing, a small knock at the office door brought Jack out from his bedroom. Behind the leaded glass, he could see the small figure of Faith Hanson. He hastily brushed his hair carefully back with his hand, trying to look presentable. Jack then graciously opened the door for her and said, "Please come in."

"Good morning, Mister Blackwood."

Jack showed her to the chair and then sat at his desk, waiting for her to talk.

"Have you found out anything yet?" she asked nervously.

Jack pulled out his pouch of tobacco and began rolling a fresh cigarette. "Well, I haven't found Lawrence yet, but I'm starting to get some good leads. The government doesn't appear to be too happy about this situation, and I've managed to get one hell of a headache from some local robbers."

"What do you mean?" she asked with concern.

He took a match and lit the cigarette. "Now don't you worry about it," he replied. "I'm fine. I just had someone try to remove my head last night."

She looked down at the floor quickly, perhaps embarrassed by her show of feelings. She licked her lips before continuing to talk, a light blush on her cheeks. "Father is getting worried about Lawrence. We know he couldn't have stolen those papers, but why hasn't he come home yet?"

"Please, I know it is difficult, but try to be more patient. It's going to take some more time to find him. Miss Hanson, do you know anything about your brother's personal life? He was involved with that married woman, Missus Mulholland, at one time. Do you know anything more about this that your father may not have told me? We are wondering if he tried to meet up with her again, or if she may know anything about this."

She looked quite shocked by these words. "Heavens no, I don't know anything of any use. I met her on several occasions at parties and such, but we never developed any type of friendship. I'm sure Lawrence was quite done with her after father told him to leave her."

"I'm just trying to find out where he could be hiding," Jack said defensively. He tapped the cigarette ash onto the floor. "Do you know anything about a moneylender named Brinker? Lawrence may have been seen with him the night he disappeared."

"A moneylender? Why would my brother be seeing someone like that?"

Jack gestured with his palms up. "When men desperately need money, they will go to great lengths to get it. Did Lawrence have any kind of money problems that you know of?"

"If he ever needed money, he could have seen father."

"What if he needed large sums of money, or was too embarrassed to ask?"

"Lawrence may spend his money a little wildly at times, but he wasn't that big of a gambler or drinker. Father and I would have never allowed that kind of behavior at all."

He grinned wolfishly. "Just what kind of behavior do you allow?"

"Please, Mister Blackwood," she said, blushing.

"Don't mind me," said Jack with a smirk. "I'm not that much of a ladies' man. It appears that your brother may have kept some secrets from you – but I'll keep in mind what you said about him. Today we have some further information that we need to follow up on. We are going to visit a man named Brinker today and find out what he knows. If you hear anything about Lawrence that we need to know, send us a message. Once we find out something definite, I'll be sure to stop by."

"Thank you," she said faintly. She made her goodbyes and left with a worried expression.

*

By the light of day, Ninth Street looked even less appealing. Empty bottles and trash were strewn on the dirty road, along with several residents who merely stared at the passing horses. The rooming house where Brinker lived had a small, covered front porch and high windows. They rode up, got off the horses and tied them to the hitching post. Jack walked up the steps and knocked on the door. A landlady answered the door, glancing suspiciously at them. She opened the door only a crack.

"Does a Mister Brinker live here?" Jack asked politely.

"Yes, he does at that," she answered with a drunken slur. "His room is upstairs, the first on the right." The smell of whisky on her breath wafted towards them.

They pushed past her and made their way up the stairs. The glare of the mid-afternoon sun made it difficult for their eyes to adjust to the dusty gloom of the darkened hallway. Motioning to his partner, Jack pulled his gun out and gently tried the door handle to Brinker's room. It turned freely, so he quickly wrenched it open and rushed into the room with Ezra following close behind. In the corner, a large man stood up from a chair in surprise. His rough face had a nose that looked like it had been broken on several occasions. Sitting next to him at a table, an overweight man wearing glasses and a sour expression looked up from counting a pile of small bills. They both looked alarmed from the unexpected entrance.

"You can have your man sit down. We didn't come to rob you. I just wanted to ask you some questions, Brinker," Jack said sharply, waving his pistol at them.

Brinker motioned towards his man, and the bodyguard sat down. The other hand strayed to his chest as if to ward off an evil spell. "Oh, I really thought you were going to rob me." His reply was a little breathless.

Jack shook his head. "I'm not here to take your money. I just want to know what your dealings are with Lawrence Hanson." He stepped further into the room, allowing Ezra to stand next to him.

"Who are you talking about?" Brinker's fat fingers continued to automatically count the small piles of coins.

Jack slowly strode over to the table. There he stopped and leaned forward to make his point clear. His gun stayed pointed at Brinker. "I heard from someone that you were seen Tuesday night at the Gay Lady Saloon with Lawrence Hanson. You appeared to get in an argument with him and you were both seen leaving together." He put his left hand on the table, the barrel of his gun now resting on Brinker's chest. "Now Mister Hanson has disappeared and you are the last person seen with him. Maybe you can tell us where he is?"

Brinker's hands had stopped and were hovering over the money. He looked up at him, a lopsided grin crossing his face. "I assure you that I know nothing about this. I'm just a simple businessman."

Jack reached over and gently slapped Brinker in the face. The bodyguard stood up and reached into his belt to get his gun, but was too slow.

Ezra already had his Colt out and waved it at the large man. "Better watch it there, big guy," Ezra said through clenched teeth. "Put that gun on the floor, slowly now, and let my man here keep on talking." The bodyguard hesitated, but finally slid his pistol down. He sat down scowling, staring at him with hatred.

Jack continued to keep the Starr pointed at Brinker while all of this was going on.

Brinker rubbed the side of his cheek. "Why did you do that?" he asked with a childish whine.

"I expect to be heard. That's just a little lesson. Now let me ask you again – where is Lawrence Hanson? Did he borrow money from you?"

"Look, I do a lot of business around here, but I don't know anyone named Hanson. If I did, I would tell you. I wasn't in the Gay Lady that night anyway."

"The Hanson family would be just the type of people you would try to squeeze money out of," Jack insinuated.

Brinker licked his lips nervously. "Now hold on, I've heard of the Hanson family, and I must say I wouldn't have anything to do with them."

"And why is that?"

"People in their position would be asking for more money than I could even provide. I don't have the pull to provide the kind of cash a Hanson would need."

Ezra and Jack exchanged a look. Jack thought Brinker was perhaps telling the truth. What could such an insignificant opportunist be doing with Lawrence Hanson? Brinker dealt with small loans for small people. He wouldn't be dealing with hundreds or even thousands of dollars that someone rich would require.

"Why would someone place you at the Gay Lady Saloon?" Jack asked.

"I really don't know. But I'm afraid a man in my position can make many enemies."

"I'm sure you don't mind if I come and talk to you about this matter again, do you?"

"I don't mind," Brinker said amiably, rubbing his cheek absentmindedly as he spoke. "Just don't play so rough next time."

They slowly backed out of the room with Ezra keeping an eye on the bodyguard. With no pursuit, they hastily made their way down the stairs to their horses below. Outside, the afternoon sun was baking the street hot.

Jack spoke as they rode back towards the Gay Lady. "I don't think Brinker is our man. He seems a little too small time to me. Someone like Lawrence would go through cash very quickly – high class bars, gambling, and expensive women. If he wanted to leave town, he would need more money than Brinker could arrange."

Ezra nodded. "Brinker is a bastard, but he is still a small crook. He provides money alright, but it's for the poor that live in this neighborhood. If he did have anything to do with Lawrence, it wasn't in a professional capacity."

They stopped in front of the saloon, which was apparently still not open for business. It looked shuttered and desolate.

"I think we better have a talk with the owner again," Jack said. "Either he's hiding something, or he just gave us the wrong lead by accident." Jack then got down from his mare. He then hammered on the closed front door, but there wasn't any response. "Let's see if there is a rear entrance to this place. There has to be someplace where they load the swill in."

They walked to the small alley in the back of the bar and found a stout wooden door. He again knocked loudly and then listened. Nothing could be heard from the inside of the building.

Ezra shrugged. "It doesn't look like anyone's home, but it wouldn't hurt to take a look."

Jack reached down and turned the knob. The old door swung open freely. The sunlight streamed into a dark back office, making a yellow rectangle on the grubby rough wooden floor. It was a cramped room with empty barrels and a small, crowded desk in the corner. Jack pushed the old door open further and looked into the room. Next to the desk and suspended from the ceiling by a rope was Tinen. His neck was bent at an impossible angle. The tongue hung out of his dead, waxy face.

"Damn," hissed Jack. "It seems like someone else wanted to talk to him too, but they got here first. Find a lamp and we'll see if we can find anything. But let's be quick."

The black man looked up at the body and shook his head. "I hate to see anyone hanged," he murmured to himself.

Jack lit an oil lamp on top of the desk. The nicotine-stained walls shined weakly in the light of the lamp, framing the shadow of the dead body on the wall. "Shut that door Ezra, we don't want to be interrupted."

His partner closed and barred the door. With the door shut, the sour smell of death grew even stronger in the small room.

"Let's take a closer look at our friend here," Jack said. Both of them stood on the desktop while Jack held the lamp closer to the bartender's face. Several bruises could be seen on his face. He put his fingers on the back of the head and felt a bloody, dried-out scab. He said, "Tinen was beat up and then knocked out before they strung him up. If they wanted this to look like suicide, it was a clumsy job."

Ezra looked at the body with disgust. "It must have taken at least three men to do this – at least two to pull the body up while the other watched for unexpected visitors."

"Come on, Ezra, maybe we can find some clues in this dump."

He pulled his eyes away from the grisly scene and went to help. They began to go through the drawers, looking at receipts and a small ledger book. Ezra looked closely at the columns of numbers and said, "It appears this place wasn't too profitable. I wonder where he got the money to even open this joint."

Jack replied, "That's a good question. It wouldn't be too hard to rob a place like this. None of the desk drawers are locked, and I don't even see a safe. If this were my place, I would have a hiding place for money and valuable papers." He then got down on his knees and started knocking against the floorboards looking for a cache.

A row of barrels lined the inside wall. Ezra began shifting the barrels back and forth to see what was in them. "Looks like whiskey here and some beer." There was one lonely barrel in the corner. The lid was slightly askew and there was a ring of sawdust on the floor. He turned the barrel to get a better look at it. "Hmm, this one's got sawdust in it, probably for cleaning the floor at closing time."

Jack stood and joined Ezra in the examination of the barrel.

Ezra had the top of the barrel off and was feeling inside. "Wait a minute, there's a box in here." His hand came out holding a tin box with sawdust shavings clinging to the side. He set the box on the desk.

"Well, well," Jack said rising from the floor. "Good job. Let's have a look inside."

Ezra opened the box. Some coins lay inside along with a pile of receipts and a small brown leather book was underneath.

Jack looked nervously about. "Look, we've taken long enough here. I don't want to be found here with a dead body and a pile of money. Let's take this back to the office and see what it can tell us there."

"I'm with you, Jack. I am sure he will be found once his regular customers try to stop for a drink."

They replaced the top of the barrel, closed the desk drawers, and cautiously left the building. No one seemed to be paying them any attention as they rode away.

*

After returning to the office, Jack opened the cheap tin box at his desk and pulled out the money and paper. He counted the money quickly. He looked over at his partner and said, "There's just over two hundred dollars here," he said, surprised by the amount.

Ezra shook his head. "How could a two-bit operator save up this kind of money?" he asked.

"I don't know," Jack replied. "Let's look through these papers."

The receipts were for buying liquor and the other necessities of keeping a bar running. But the small book held some further interesting information. Several columns of numbers could be seen next to a list of written names. Some were for small amounts, while other entries were for larger amounts of money.

Jack studied the receipt book some more before speaking. "I can see our dead friend was making some kind of money on the side, but I'm not sure exactly what he was doing." He flipped to the end of the book and looked at the last page. "There is an entry here - it looks like he received one hundred dollars from Stevenson."

Ezra raised his eyebrows as he turned the book towards himself and looked at the entries. "Stevenson, he's that rough customer working for Abbott. What he would be doing with Tinen?"

Jack thought for a moment about Stevenson and the type of man he was rumored to be. "There has to be a connection between my attack, and Tinen's death. Since I couldn't be silenced, Stevenson must have returned to the bartender and stretched his neck. Tinen must have known something about the disappearance of Lawrence and they didn't trust him enough to keep it quiet."

The black man leaned back in his chair. "We don't have any proof yet, but it sounds plausible."

"Well, I'm afraid I'll have to turn in for the day. I still don't feel right."

"I don't blame you," Ezra said sympathetically. "Get some rest and we can look further into this tomorrow."
Chapter 8

Narrative continued'

Later

It seems that I have been busy pursuing people all over town today. After a brief message from Miss Hanson, I had a luncheon with James Forsythe of the War Department. Without tipping my hand, I hinted that some of my valuable investments could be diverted to the Union cause. I also suggested that he interest himself a little more in Lawrence Hanson's disappearance. My method was ingenious; I wish there had been others there to hear it.

" _So I hear young Hanson has bolted to sell some confidential documents from your office? How I sympathize with you, Forsythe. You must be in a devilish tricky situation!" I exclaimed after our first course had been served._

" _Not at all, not at all," he murmured hastily. "We expect to see him soon rather than hear from him."_

I grinned at his confidence. "Splendid. I am pleased to hear it. Did that detective Blackwood help you in locating Mister Hanson?"

Forsythe busied himself with his bread, turning the knife over in his hand as he buttered it. He looked up at me through his eyebrows and spoke "You do know everything that goes on in this city, don't you?"

He dabbed his mouth with the napkin before continuing again. He still spoke slowly but the quaver in his voice told me he was nervous and a little angry perhaps. "I am certain that Lawrence's loyalties will lead him back to Washington before long. In addition to the City Watch, the government has interested itself in this matter, and a few of my worthy gentlemen are out looking for him. Also the whereabouts of these documents is of interest. Although their being, shall we say, misplaced, looks suspicious. It is possible the papers left through the efforts of another War Office employee. If that is the case, then you, sir, are guilty of slandering the name of Hanson." He had relaxed while taking and smiled easily at me as he said this last part.

I was sure he was in jest. "If challenged I will withdraw and apologize." I grinned back at him. After all I had nothing to lose and was really only in search of a little amusement at this luncheon. I didn't really need to know anything about Mister Hanson; I was only satisfying my mild curiosity.

We parted on terms of mutual good will. My savings were still mine to invest and War Office information was still confidential to the best of my knowledge. I wandered around the city for a while, reflecting on the fact that it is nearly impossible in these times to have a conversation with an old acquaintance which does not focus, at some point, on the war. As much as one might wish to take refuge in discussing trivial subjects, the conversation will touch at least lightly on some political and therefore war-related topic.

As a result a lot of friendships have been severed, or irrevocably changed, since a person's emotions naturally run high discussing topics of such weighty importance. More than neighbors not talking to one another, now families and in some cases whole counties have moved to show where their loyalties lie. I recall reading, in the newspaper again, an account of the town in Southern Illinois that volunteered to move North!

Although the idea of secession has been around for a while, I believe that the threat of it was not taken seriously until the election of this Mister Lincoln. Then of course, late last year and earlier this year the states that first voted to secede, South Carolina and Mississippi, gave the rest of them something to join and be a part of. And of course in the South, the quality of indecisiveness in only a short step away from cowardice. It is another preoccupation of mine to wonder what will become of this country, or these two countries now that we have, and what was in the hearts and minds of the men who decided to go down this path.

As much as I wandered about the city, I could not shake that feeling and my moroseness stayed with me. I tried to distract myself by checking on the progress of a new suit at my tailor's but to no avail. I was preoccupied the rest of the afternoon. I had a quiet meal at home, and I was finishing an after-dinner whiskey when a business associate dropped in to see me. We talked awhile and then he let me know that a bartender had been murdered. This was the man who worked at the saloon where Lawrence Hanson had last been seen, according to Mister Forsythe. This was an interesting development. Perhaps the bartender knew too much, or too little. This matter seems deeper than at first I had imagined.

*

The next morning found Jack behind his desk, looking through Tinen's book. An empty plate sat near his elbow, scattered with the remnants from the breakfast that he had cooked for himself and Ezra. He was smoking a cigar, flicking the ashes into his half-eaten eggs. He looked up as he heard the sound of several pair of feet tromping up the stairs. They came to a stop at the front door. Without a knock, the door quickly opened and in stepped Forsythe with two men who had flat, official expressions. The two also had gun belts strapped around their waists. Forsythe stared at Jack, a blaze of indignation in his eyes.

Jack calmly opened a desk drawer and slipped the receipt book inside. He stood up and said, "The common practice for a gentleman is to knock before entering."

Forsythe scowled. "Don't you dare talk to me in that manner. You know I can have you thrown into jail and have the key lost for a long time. There's a war on, and no one is going to miss the likes of you. So you best listen to me carefully."

Jack sat down again and deliberately put his legs up on the corner of the desk. "Go ahead and tell me why you came here."

"Last night, there was a discovery at the Gay Lady Saloon. Opening time had passed and the place still appeared to be closed. Some of the more ambitious customers forced their way in to the back room and what do you think they found?"

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

"They found the owner, a Patrick Tinen, dead."

"Is that so?" he said without emotion.

"This Tinen appeared to have hung himself in the back of his saloon," Forsythe added.

Jack raised an eyebrow and then inhaled deeply on the cigar. "I'm sorry to hear that. He may have known something about the location of Lawrence."

Forsythe continued. "In case you didn't know, we had a man inside the bar watching the premises. Miss Hanson also told us about the note she found in her brother's room. I know you went there and talked to Tinen."

"I'm not going to deny that," Jack said. "He was an obvious person to talk to concerning Lawrence – I'm surprised you didn't take the same steps."

"We tried, but he didn't have anything to tell us. Apparently my men didn't try hard enough or bribe enough. What exactly did you two talk about?"

Jack stared at Forsythe directly in the eyes. He said slowly and precisely, "I am sure you understand that I am obliged to keep the confidential information I gain about my cases and I am under no pressure to tell you anything." He then paused, and saw that Forsythe was about to speak, but continued talking before he could be cut off. "We talked about Lawrence, of course. Tinen didn't have too much information to offer, other than the fact that Lawrence was there the night he disappeared. I gave him a few dollars for his trouble and then went on my way."

"Do you know why Tinen would have killed himself?"

"I can't imagine why, unless he was heartbroken over Lawrence," he replied sarcastically. Jack then leaned further back in his chair and affected a mood of boredom.

"Don't joke with me," Forsythe said, his face flushed with anger.

"I didn't ask you to come here, Mister Forsythe," Jack said, still leaning back in his chair. "I didn't ask you to bring your two henchmen to try and menace me, either. I suggest you leave before I throw you out."

Forsythe stepped closer, leaned forward and placed his palms on the desk. He stared hard into Jack's eyes. "Well, detective, I'm not leaving until I've finish talking. I came here to discuss the possibility that Tinen was murdered. It doesn't look like suicide when his face is bruised and someone struck him on the back of the head hard enough to crack his skull."

"That does sound like murder," Jack replied with a relaxed smile.

Forsythe raised one hand off the desk to point at the detective. "I think it was you who did this to him. You went back there yesterday to beat some information out of him. I know how you two-bit operators work."

Jack frowned for a moment and stubbed his cigar on the plate. The ash sizzled in the cold egg remains. "I may play rough from time to time, but I'm not going to waste my time or ruin my reputation killing someone like that."

"That may be, but I want you to come with us and answer some more questions," The Under-Secretary said grimly. "I know you are hiding something from me, and I don't want someone like you fooling around in government business anymore. Someone has to pay!" Forsythe stood back up and motioned to his two men. The two henchmen reached for their holstered guns, clearly ready to bring this arrogant detective in for questioning.

Without changing his expression, Jack said, "Hold it right there, Forsythe." A small click could be heard from behind the desk. The Secretary stopped in his tracks. "This old Starr pistol will shoot right through this desk if need be, so make sure your men don't come any closer."

Ezra then stepped through the door from the living quarters and leveled a shotgun at the two henchmen. "I've got these two covered, Jack," he growled.

"Have you ever seen a man ripped in two with a close range shotgun blast?" Jack asked. "It's not a pleasant sight and it makes such a mess." His voice was low and calm.

The men behind Forsythe dropped their hands to their side and stared at Ezra in disbelief. Forsythe was purple with rage, barely able to control his breathing.

Jack pulled the Starr up and put it on top of the desk. "Even in these troublesome days, you still need something to charge me with if you want me to come with you. If you don't have the power to arrest me, then I suggest you leave before I shoot you for trespassing."

"You wouldn't dare! My department can do whatever it pleases," Forsythe replied angrily. "I report to the Secretary of War and Mister Cameron wants these plans found!"

"You may work for the government, but you are not an even an officer of the law. I'm not going with you unless you have someone from the City Watch arrest me. The War Department is obviously putting some pressure on you to find those plans. You want to get me in just to buy some more time. I'm not going to be your scapegoat, because I still have a job to do for the Hanson family."

Forsythe took a moment to compose himself before speaking. "I also have a job to do, Mister Blackwood."

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "Then it's best that we both try to find Lawrence. Now I do believe you are trespassing, so if you could kindly remove yourself, I'm sure we would all be a little happier."

Forsythe gestured to dismiss his men, who reluctantly turned and left the room. Their footsteps could be heard trudging slowly down the stairs. He paused and listened to their retreating steps. "Be very careful, Mister Blackwood," he said, his voice a quiet hiss of a whisper. "I'm not a man to play games with – when we really want you, you will be coming with us. You won't always have your house boy here to protect you."

Ezra's finger tightened on the trigger.

Jack shook his head. "My partner is a better man than you will ever be. Now I suggest again that you leave before he shoots you. If I was him, I would have killed you by now."

Forsythe's face flushed a deeper shade red. He turned to leave in haste. His footsteps could be heard stampeding down the stairs, and then the front door was slammed shut.

Jack reached into the desk and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He filled up two glasses and handed one to his partner. His hands were steady as he passed Ezra the glass. He laughed. "They couldn't have wanted us that badly, or we would have ended up in a shooting match."

Ezra put the shotgun down and leaned it carefully against the closest corner of the room. "That was near enough for me," he said with a sigh of relief.

"Thanks for backing me up there. I would have hated to have shot through this old desk of mine. Now let's relax and have a drink." He drained the glass with one gulp.

"No problem," Ezra said. "After that, I would be a fool to turn down a drink, even this early in the day." He took a small sip of his whiskey. "Those papers must be even more important than they have been letting on. Forsythe is acting unpredictable, so we better be careful and make sure they can't get anything on us."

"Right now, we know a lot more than they do. So let's keep our cards close and make sure the government doesn't louse this all up. We have to find out what Abbott and Stevenson are up to. This book of Tinen's definitely ties them together. If anyone knows where Lawrence is hiding, it will have to be Stevenson. And where there is Stevenson, Abbott is there giving the orders."

"I'll see if I can dig up any more information on Abbott," Ezra said. "There is bound to be a lot considering all of things he has done. Someone out there has to know something we can use." He then picked up the shotgun and left Jack alone to his thoughts.

Those thoughts were interrupted by the sound of more footsteps on the stair. Jack picked up the Starr again to have handy in case it was Forsythe again.

A knock sounded at the door, and a polite voice said, "Mister Blackwood?"

"Come in," he said tersely, his hand hovering over his pistol.

A uniformed messenger opened the door. "I have a message for you," he said, approaching the desk. He handed it over, waiting for his tip.

"Thank you." Jack reached into his pocket for some change and handed over a dime. He then followed the messenger to the door and locked it after him. The message was from Faith Hanson.

Please come see me as soon as possible. I have just received some dreadful news about Lawrence.

Jack walked behind the desk and scribbled a quick note for Ezra. He then locked Tinen's book in the safe, reached for his jacket on the coat rack and left.
Chapter 9

Jack rode to the Hanson house in haste. There he left his horse with the same boy as before. He then hurried to the steps where he saw Ethan Davis leaving through the front door. The butler bowed graciously at the retreating figure and closed the door without even seeing the detective.

Davis came down the steps. He was wearing a jaunty grey jacket and swinging his cane with a confident step. He saw Jack, smiled at him ingratiatingly and stopped to give him a little bow. "Ah, the detective finally made it here," he drawled sarcastically. "Miss Hanson is most worried about her brother, and you were nowhere to be found. One might wonder if you are to be depended on at all."

Jack felt his face turn red with anger. "I regret, Mister Davis, that I'm not at my client's beck and call." It was annoying to deal with weak, ineffectual men such as this who have never seen the wrong end of a gun. Why did Faith even bother to spend her time with this strutting ass?

"Oh, I see. You are much too busy to answer the call of a lady. I'm not surprised, considering your background."

"No one speaks to me that way!" Jack's anger flared. He took a step and shoved Davis roughly backwards. The distinguished gentleman stumbled and fell, landing hard on the paved walkway.

Fuming, Davis looked up at him with a face contorted with rage. Pulling himself off the ground, he quickly swung his cane at Jack. The detective dodged to the right, the cane barely missing his shoulder. Without a word, he rushed forward and grappled with Davis. With a violent jerk, Jack ripped the cane away from him. The detective then took a step back with the cane, gave Davis a sneer, and then broke it over his knee. He threw the shattered cane at the man's feet.

Davis was in shock. "Damn you!" He tightly clenched his fists together and scowled.

"Now remember what I said, because I won't be so kind next time. Next time it will be your neck."

His voice uneven, Davis retorted, "Faith will never be in love with someone like you. Don't fool yourself about her, she is mine and always will be."

"I don't know where you get these ideas, Davis, since I only work for her. I suggest you run along now before I'm forced to break more than your cane."

"I'll remember this, Mister Blackwood. I never forget an insult, and I never forgive. The next time we meet, I swear this moment of dishonor will be restored." He then brushed the dust from his trousers, turned sharply on his heels and stormed away without looking back.

Jack sighed and shook his head in disbelief. He had more than enough to worry about with this case, why did he have to deal with such a fool like Davis? The idiot must be the jealous sort who could did not want Faith to have contact with any other man. Perhaps Davis could sense the woman's interest in him and was only reacting jealously to those feelings. He caught himself thinking about Faith and smiled at his own foolishness. Why should he jump to conclusions of where her romantic interests may lie?

Climbing the stairs, Jack knocked at the front door, and was greeted by the butler. He wondered if this man with such an inexpressive face had seen the encounter with Davis, and if so, what he truly thought of it. The butler said nothing, but only opened the door and motioned for Jack to follow him. He was then led to the same foyer as before. Jack sat on the familiar sofa, lit a cigar and waited earnestly for Faith to arrive. He found himself getting more nervous than he thought reasonable. He was spending more of his time thinking about Faith, and he was surprised at his own feelings. He wondered how she could spend any time with that dandy Davis. Thinking of that fool again made his blood boil. Men like that deserved a sound thrashing.

There was a small polite cough. Jack broke from his thoughts and saw Faith Hanson entering the room. He stood out of politeness and watched her graceful step. She was wearing a long, pearl-white gown and had her hair pulled back with a black ribbon. He was stunned by her beauty. He gulped nervously and looked around for a place to ash his cigar.

"If you could put that cigar out it would be much appreciated," Faith said waving away the smoke in the air. "Ever since his doctors advised him to quit, my father can't abide the smell of tobacco. It reminds him too much of better days."

"Well, it is your house, so I'll follow your rules." Jack stubbed the cigar out sole of his boot before placing the remnant in his pocket. He was happy to see her alone this time. He wondered if she had dressed this time to impress him or Davis, and hoped it was not for the latter's sake.

He took a few steps closer to her. It took some bravery when he took her hands as he spoke. "Now let's not talk any further about my bad habits. What is the terrible news that you have to tell me?"

She freed herself from his grasp, her face flushed with embarrassment. She pulled a piece of paper out of her sleeve. It was wadded up tightly as if someone had clenched it hard over and over. She handed it over. He unrolled it and read it carefully.

Your brother is in certain danger unless our demands are met. We require that you bring One Thousand Dollars to the Washington Monument at Eleven tonight. Failure to meet our demands will put your brother in grave peril – be warned!

He sat down and read the note carefully. The handwriting was sloppy and much different than the previous note that Abbott may have written. "When did you get this message?" he finally asked.

"I received it over an hour ago from a messenger. I immediately sent him off to get you."

"Did the messenger say who originally sent the message?"

Faith shook her head. "When I asked, he said that he did not know. He was merely instructed by his office to make the delivery."

"Do you recognize this handwriting at all?"

"I'm afraid not." Faith began to cry lightly and held a handkerchief to her eyes.

Hesitating, Jack nervously reached over and placed his hand on her shoulder. "I suggest you pay the ransom," he said. "If this message is real, you will get your brother back, and then Mister Miller and I can try to recover the money."

"The money isn't important. What will we do if they don't return him?" she asked quietly.

"I'll personally deliver the money for you. If they don't want to give him up, Ezra and I can convince them to change their minds."

"Do you think that they would hurt my brother? I mean, what happens if we don't pay on time? I'd hate to think that Lawrence was suffering somewhere and we can't help him." She sobbed a little more, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

Jack was always surprised how people dealt with kidnappers. It was his experience that they should be dealt with harshly. Many of them were cowards that were willing to save their own skin if threatened. If you keep giving in to kidnappers, they will continue with their demands. To placate her, he said, "It depends on the kidnapper – some panic and will kill their victim to keep them quiet. But again, some of them don't know what to do, and if they want the money bad enough, they will try to send another note. If I figure this right, we can get your money and Lawrence back."

"We'll have to ask my father," Faith said. "He still has control of the money."

"Have you told him about this note?" he asked.

"Yes, even though I was worried about telling him. But I couldn't see how to deal with this situation without asking for his advice. At least this message provides a glimmer of hope," she said looking at Jack with wide eyes, her face upturned. "At least we have proof that Lawrence is still alive and well."

"Good, let's see if your father will agree to give me the money required to free your brother."

Faith rang for the butler. Within moments he quietly arrived and gave a low bow.

"Mister Blackwood and I would like to speak with father," Faith told him. "Please tell him to expect visitors."

The butler left with another bow, trotting ahead.

Jack and Faith went up the long winding staircase to the second floor. Daniel Hanson's bed was in a large room, taking up half of the upstairs. The room was simply furnished with a large canopy bed and a few scattered dressers and chairs. It was the room of a sick man, devoted to care and not décor. The curtains were closed, except for a thin sliver that allowed a meager patch of light in. The elder Hanson was propped up against the backboard with pillows supporting his head, paging restlessly through a book. As they entered, he set the book down, and then adjusted his glasses to get a better look at them.

Jack leaned over and shook hands with Mister Hanson. "It's good to see you again, sir," he said.

Hanson shook Jack's hand and smiled faintly. "I haven't had many visitors in here lately – it's good to see you again too."

"I hope you are feeling well this morning," Jack looked at him with pity

"As well as can be expected," Mister Hanson replied with some melancholy. "Lately I stay in bed longer than expected. But my well-being is not important right now. You're here to help us find Lawrence. Did you have a chance to examine that note? "

"I think my partner and I can manage to get your son back. The ransom money will also be returned if you let me take the steps I think necessary."

"How can you manage that?" Daniel Hanson asked. "I would assume that once the money is paid, we will simply wait for Lawrence to come home."

"I can see why you would think that, but you must understand that kidnappers don't always play by the rules. They could easily kill Lawrence after they receive payment in an attempt to hide their identities. And of course there is a chance that your son may already be dead." Jack loathed discussing this possibility, but he thought that all eventualities should be covered. It would be unfair to let this family expect that any homecoming would be certain.

Faith gave a little gasp and Daniel Hanson merely looked angry for a moment. His waxy face tightened as the jaw clenched and unclenched.

Jack continued on. "You must understand, Mister Hanson, that I've already run into a gang that tried to kill me. And yesterday, someone died who saw Lawrence during the night of his disappearance."

"What is this? Who are you talking about?" Daniel Hanson asked, clearly taken aback by this fresh news.

"It's a long story, sir. Acting on a tip from the Gay Lady Saloon owner, Tinen, my partner and I went to question a local moneylender named Brinker. According to Tinen, your son had an argument with this man before they left together. We have so far determined that to be a false lead. We went back to question Tinen again and found him dead. It appears to have been murder. He obviously got in the way of someone who wants your son and those missing papers kept hidden."

"Are you sure this man was murdered in connection with Lawrence? If this is the case, then shouldn't the police be notified?"

"Mister Forsythe is already aware of this new development. I'm not one to believe in coincidences, so I will continue to investigate Tinen's involvement."

"I see," Daniel Hanson said plainly. "What do you suggest I do?"

"If you give me the ransom money," Jack said confidently, "I will go to the meeting place with my partner. We will act as your intermediates. We shall make the transaction on your behalf, and then we will make sure to get your son back home."

Hanson shook his head. "And exactly how do you plan to do that?"

"I can be persuasive, Mister Hanson. If we need to, we will use force to get your son back. If they try to cheat us on the deal then we will take the necessary steps."

"Well, my son's life is worth more than any amount of money I could ever pay."

"As long as I'm working for you, your son's well-being is of utmost importance. You hired me to get him back, and I shall do whatever I can to make that happen."

A look of relief crossed his careworn features. "Good, I can tell you're the kind of man I can trust. I will have a message sent to the bank asking for the money to be delivered to your office."

"I'll be sure to keep the cash safe."

"It will take some time to get the money delivered to your office, but it will get there before the evening."

Jack stood up and was making ready to leave when Faith took him by the arm.

"If you have the time, walk with me in the garden," she said. She squeezed his arm tightly before letting it go. Faith then walked over to her father and kissed him on the cheek. "Please get your rest, father."

Her father nodded and began to examine his book half-heartedly again.

Faith escorted Jack down the stairs and into the back garden. The plots were well laid out, but still nearly bare. It was too early in spring for anything to be planted. The garden itself was orderly with a pattern of bricked pathways with planting beds in-between. Several trees provided shade, and a line of bushes hid them from sight of the main house. He was pleased for this additional moment alone with this woman.

With an arm around his elbow, Faith pointed out some rose bushes without blossoms. "Do you enjoy gardening, Mister Blackwood?"

Jack had little time for such pursuits, but did not want to seem impolite. "Well, I really don't know."

"Oh, you must give it a try. I find it quite relaxing to escape the house and make something grow on my own. Father thinks it's silly that I like to spend time getting my hands dirty. But if I left it alone, the gardeners wouldn't do half of the work they should."

"You've done a beautiful job."

"Thank you," she replied softly. Faith leaned closer towards him as they walked arm-in-arm along the bricked pathway. "You must tell me more about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Where are you from?"

"There's not much to say," Jack replied uneasily. "I'm originally from Michigan and I helped my father out on the farm until I joined the army. That seems like a long time ago."

"Why did you join the army?"

"There wasn't a lot of opportunity for me since I'm just a third son of a farmer. So I took one of the only routes available for a man of little money. The army wasn't pleasant at times, but at least they would recognize me for what I was."

Faith smiled and said, "And what exactly are you, Mister Blackwood?"

Jack stopped to face her, pulling his arm away from hers. "Right now I'm wondering why you are spending your time with me in the garden when Ethan Davis is available."

Her face went pale. "I would prefer not to talk about Mister Davis right now," she said stiffly.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk along. Faith trailed behind just momentarily before catching up and slipping her arm into his once again.

He decided to tell her about his meeting with Davis. He said, "The only reason I asked is because your friend and I had a little shoving match outside your front door. He's under the illusion that I'm doing more than working for you."

"What do you mean?" She stopped, gave a little giggle and said, "Please understand that Mister Davis once wanted to marry me. Things have changed since then, but he's obviously still jealous if I spend my time with another man. Don't worry about him."

"I'm not worried about him. I just wanted to be sure that I wasn't getting in the way between you two."

Her voice was warm as she answered. "There's nothing between Davis and I except friendship. I'm hoping that you and I can become friends too."

"I would like that," Jack found himself replying.

They walked in silence and took a turn towards the rear wall of the grounds. He consciously adjusted his gait to match her slower pace.

She asked, "Do you have any other women in your life right now?" Her voice quavered with nervousness.

"I'm afraid not," Jack replied truthfully.

"And I have no man right now. What about your past? Surely a man of your temperament and age has experienced love before."

"I was married once," he said softly. He thought this conversation was getting a little personal. He remembered his Mary with a sharp stab of guilt. No one could ever replace her or make him feel the same way ever again. What would she have made of his dallying with such a young creature as Faith?

"Oh, what happened?" she asked, breaking into Jack's thoughts.

Jack started uncertainly, "It was a few years ago. Before I moved to Washington." His sentences became broken as he dredged up the memory. "We were living at Portsmouth. I was trying my hand at running a local grocery. Business wasn't going well at all. That's when we decided to move to Washington where I could take up detective work again. Before we even had a chance to pack, Yellow Fever struck the town."

Jack stopped and gazed out across the garden. He cleared his throat to cover the clenching feeling in the back of his mouth. "Mary decided it was best to stay and help. Family after family was infected. She went to the neighbors next door to take care of their four children. Well, two of them died and afterwards she came down sick." He turned and faced her again. "After she died, I had nothing left and came to Washington. It seemed to still be a good plan, and staying in Portsmouth was too..." He paused and looked away for a moment. "I've been here ever since."

"I'm so sorry," Faith said quietly. She reached out and took Jack's hand and led him out of the garden.

*

He returned to the office where he found Ezra waiting. He was sitting down at the desk, looking through the notebook they had discovered at the Gay Lady Saloon.

"Hello, I've just got back from seeing the Hanson family," Jack stated.

"I saw your note. What is going on?" his partner asked expectantly.

"Faith had to tell me about her brother. It looks as if he was kidnapped. They have gotten a ransom note for her brother's return." Jack sat down across from Ezra and pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket. "We are to deliver the money to the Washington Monument on behalf of the family and see to the return of Lawrence."

"How much money are they asking for his return?"

"An even thousand dollars. The old man Hanson will be sending the money our way to secure the release."

"That's a tall order," Ezra said. "But I really don't see how this would fit in with the missing plans. If someone has the papers, why would they expose themselves by trying to ransom Lawrence? Surely those government plans are more important than a mere thousand dollars, or even someone's life."

Jack lit the cigarette, took a large draw of smoke and looked at Ezra. He exhaled. "I was thinking the same thing. If someone had an interest in these papers, then they would try to remain in hiding until they could secure the money for them. Perhaps that part of the deal is already done and Lawrence can be freed. By the way, did you find out anything new about Stevenson or Abbott?"

The black man nodded and sighed. "We are running into big trouble here. I questioned a few people to get this information. It appears that Stevenson has been working for Abbott quite a while. As for Abbott, I heard a few choice words about him."

Jack looked up expectantly. "If there's anything I haven't heard yet, let me hear it."

"He may have been involved with the missing diamonds of the socialite Miss Emma Winston. No one could ever pin anything on him, so he managed to escape with his honor intact. He must have made quite a tidy sum in that venture. Then I also heard he was seen with a woman named Ann Taylor. She ended up running away from her husband with most of their life savings. She was later found dead and penniless in a hotel down in New Orleans. Of course the verdict of the court was suicide, and Lewis Abbott was never openly accused of any wrongdoing. There are other similar situations that he's been involved in, but he either bribed his way out or disappeared at just the right time."

"He must be a man with connections," Jack said with a whistle. "He and Stevenson just have to be involved in this situation in some way. Is it possible they could have been working with Lawrence to steal the papers and sell them?"

"But if it was Lawrence who took the papers for Abbott, then why are they trying to ransom him?" Ezra asked.

Jack shook his head. "You are right; something here just doesn't make sense. If they could get the thousand dollars, then that would be enough traveling money to get out of Washington safely. But Abbott doesn't look like he's short on money." He paused and thought for a minute. "Our best bet is to go out tonight and meet with the kidnappers. I'm sure they will be able to answer our questions with a little persuasion."

Ezra grinned. Usually Jack's idea of interrogation consisted of something violent. Eventually any man would break from that kind of treatment and would be happy to answer any questions.

"Do we have anything else on Stevenson?" Jack asked.

Ezra put his finger tips together and looked over them. "I found out where he is staying when he is not with Abbott. It took some asking around, but he lives over on Louse Alley in a little house that he uses for business. If the kidnapping business falls through, I know where we can find him."

"Good," Jack replied. "Before I forget, did you find out anything more about that woman, Elizabeth Mulholland? She may know something about Lawrence."

"She is still here in Washington, living in a run-down apartment on Maryland Avenue. Apparently she has taken to working the streets to earn her keep. If need be, she'll be easy to track down."

"You have been busy," Jack said with a smile. He knew that his partner had many connections, but was always surprised on the quality of information that he provided.

"You just have to know the right people in this town," Ezra replied proudly.

Jack laughed. "The right people, you say? I'm not sure if I would want to meet half the people you know."

A sound of footsteps echoed up the stairway. Then there was a timid knock.

"Come in," Jack shouted.

A small man with glasses and a tidy suit walked in, looking about nervously as he mopped his forehead with a small handkerchief. Behind him stood a man with a dark bowler hat and a shotgun held in his hands. The small man cleared his throat. "Are you Mister Jack Blackwood? I'm from the bank and need to make a delivery on the behalf of Mister Hanson."

"Yes, I'm Jack Blackwood – I'm glad to see you here."

The bank worker pulled out a thick paper-wrapped package from his breast pocket and put it on the desk. "If you could count the money and make sure it matches one thousand dollars and then sign this receipt, I will then be on my way."

Jack quickly counted ten one hundred dollar bank notes and signed the receipt. "Here's a dollar for your troubles." He handed back the receipt and a silver dollar to the bank clerk. The clerk looked surprised by the unexpected tip and slid the dollar into his waistcoat pocket. He turned and left with the guard following.

Ezra eyed the pile of money, his eyes gleaming. "That's a nice pile of cash there. We could probably take it and leave this city far behind. With the war going on, I don't see anyone following us very far."

"True, I've thought of it myself, Ezra. It would be nice to leave this town, but this case has me a little more interested than I thought. Anyways, stolen money is usually nothing but trouble so let's just take care of business."

"Yeah, we would probably blow through that stack of hundreds in a week anyways," he sighed.

"Yes, you'd spend the money on women, and I'd spend it on whiskey," he laughed. "Now let's get ready for the meeting tonight. We'll go out and get some dinner first. Then let's come back to collect some firepower. I want you to carry the shotgun, and fill both barrels with Double-00. Make sure to bring some extra powder and shot. I'll carry my Starr and bring my rifle."

"Seems like a lot of firepower for just Abbott and Stevenson."

"Remember, I got jumped by three men that night. We don't want to be outgunned. Let's also be sure we get there plenty early. It will give us time to set up an ambush."
Chapter 10

Narrative continued

I was having a quiet think and some afternoon refreshments when I had a most welcome visitor. Miss Hanson had come to ask my advice about something regarding her brother's situation. I knew that ransom note had been sent to her. Also I tried to impart to her that Mister Blackwood's advice should have been sought after mine. But a total reliance on my advice she seemed reluctant to give. Perhaps my former charm has failed me in the stronger and more recent influence of Mister Blackwood. My pride suffers in that case, a woman's heart lost, and so on. Or perhaps Faith has become more world-weary after this brush with the crime, and she has become more hesitant to trust where once she had confided all. At any rate, she looked at me in her most endearing way to ask: "Mister Davis do you think it possible that someone could be holding my brother prisoner?"

I had made sure my butler was well out of the room as I leaned nearer to her. "My dear woman, who could imagine such a man existed? I understand these might be desperate times, but..." I trailed off as I gazed into her soft feminine face and sparkling eyes. I might have a few more years behind me than Mister Blackwood, but I had to do the most with what a bounteous Nature had given me. Also my added age did not mean that I felt Miss Hanson's womanly graces any less.

Eventually I pieced together the story from her about the ransom note, the detective's promise to redeem the money or her brother and even some details about the meeting itself. I gather it is scheduled for this evening at some monument. I doubt the ability of Mister Blackwood to extract much information from kidnappers, but perhaps his experience is wider than mine. In the meantime I am sitting in a comfortable chair, a warm fire protecting me from the damp of an April night in Washington, and a lovely vintage wine in my glass. I have been reading a biography of Napoleon and wondering how all these new soldiers will put up with outdoor campaigns. As much as I enjoy my home I can appreciate what a man can do when the need arises. I simply hope the need, for me at least, does not arise.

*

It was ten o'clock in the evening, when they rode past the unfinished dome of the Capitol. The cranes and scaffolding were dark against the white building. The sparse gas streetlights had just started to come on. Only a few Federal troops were patrolling the street. In the distance, they could see the similarly unfinished Washington Monument standing alone in an unkempt field. Cattle were grazing around the monolith, where work had been halted since 1855 due to lack of building funds. Jack wondered to himself if they were ever going to finish the project, since every last scrap of money had been diverted towards the war effort.

As they neared the grounds of the monument, Jack and Ezra silently swung off their mounts. They took and tied the horses inside a copse of trees on the outskirts of the field. Jack looked cautiously around. With a wave of his hand, they quietly moved towards the unfinished granite obelisk. Above, the half-moon cast their shadows through the weeds and along the rutted ground around the abandoned building site. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the cattle and the distant noise of a city preparing for the coming night.

"Let's take it easy here," Jack said softly. "We have to make sure that there are no traps being set for us."

Ezra nodded. They moved stealthily, looking for any possible danger.

The moonlight glistened off the white stone, throwing strange shadows on the ground below. They approached the silent obelisk, stopping to listen for any unexpected noises. Jack paused and looked over his shoulder before they made a circle around the monument. Not seeing anyone, they stopped and waited at the back corner of the edifice.

In the darkness, his partner whispered "After all these precautions, I hope somebody comes."

The night was becoming darker, and the whine of mosquitoes could be heard buzzing past their ears. Jack slapped at a few as he stared out across the weed-ridden field. The street gaslights could be seen in the distance, along with the faint glow from the office windows of a few late night workers. He waited patiently, thinking of the soft face of Faith Hanson. He wondered why she wasn't married yet. She must have had many suitors, but none had yet stolen her heart. He laughed inwardly at his own foolishness and waited for the moon to cross further in the sky.

Sometime later, Jack pulled out his pocket watch from his waistcoat and peered at it intently in the low light of the moon. It was getting close to ten-thirty. "Ezra, I hope someone shows up or else we are on a fool's errand," he whispered.

He pointed into the gloom. "Take a look. I think I see someone coming."

Across the field came two men. Both were walking warily. Jack could tell by their shadows that they were carrying rifles over their shoulders. They stopped before the monument, looked up at it momentarily and then began conversing in low tones. The short man in the front pointed to the right, and the taller, hatless man scurried over to the other side of the monument to hide. It would have been a good hiding space if Jack hadn't been able to see their every move from his vantage point. The shorter man sat down on the low steps and shifted around, as if trying to find a comfortable position for a long wait.

Jack motioned to Ezra. They both slid cautiously out from their place of concealment. They slowly crept towards the man at the stairs who was staring out across the plaza. He pulled out his pistol and held it at the ready, while his partner aimed his shotgun towards the sitting man.

Pointing his pistol in the air, Jack pulled the trigger and let out a single shot. The sudden shot rang loudly, making a hole in the silence of the night. The shorter man at the stairs froze in terror.

Jack then shouted, "Hold it right there or my partner will shoot your head off. Tell your friend to stand up slowly and throw his rifle away."

The man laid his gun in front of him and turned to his right to speak. "Clem, get rid of your gun and come on out. They got us in a jam."

A rifle was thrown to the ground where it landed with a dull thud. The taller man, named Clem, stood up. He stepped out from the shadows with his hands at his side. At this distance, Jack could not make out him out, but he thought the build looked familiar.

Ezra sauntered over to Clem, covering him with the shotgun.

The shorter man stood up and nervously faced Jack. "Now look here, if you expect to ever see your friend Lawrence again, you better play by our rules. We aren't fooling around here. You better have the money on you, or he won't live to see the sunrise."

Jack said, "I have the money, but you aren't getting any of it unless we see some proof that he is still alive." He then slowly went towards the man, holding the Starr aimed towards the kidnapper.

He gulped nervously. "Don't you worry - he's alive and unhurt. We're just holding him somewhere safe until I give the word that we have the money. You must understand if I'm not back soon, they have been told to kill him."

Jack stood only a few feet away from the small man and looked him over. He wore a shabby coat, and his unshaven face was rough and wrinkled. His eyes darted like a trapped animal looking for a way to escape. Jack finally answered him. "You better answer my questions, or it will be you who will be killed." He then quickly lashed out with the Starr. The man fell to one knee, clutching the side of his wounded face.

"Keep your hands where I can see them." Jack said icily.

The man pulled his hands away from his face and looked up. The pistol sight had made a long, ragged cut on the side of his face. The wound slowly oozed blood. Jack took a step forward and then kicked him hard in the side. The man fell over with a groan.

Clem gave a start and started towards his rifle a few feet away.

He got a just a foot towards his gun when Ezra gave a shout. "Hold still! Or you will get a full load of buckshot in your backside." Clem stopped and turned to face the two of them. In surprise, Ezra lowered the shotgun a few inches. "Jack, check him out. This is the man who works for Brinker!"

Jack turned away from the man huddled on the ground and joined Ezra. "Well now we know who is holding our Mister Lawrence. Where is he?"

Clem just stood there and did not meet the gaze of either of them. He shifted nervously from foot to foot, apparently weighing his options.

The man on the ground groaned and rolled over on his stomach. "I think you busted my ribs," he whined.

Jack ignored him and said, "Now Clem, you're going to give us some answers, or you and your friend will get a belly full of lead. This old revolver will open up a big hole in you." He lifted his pistol and pointed it at the kidnapper.

Clem looked at Jack and shook his head. He answered in a panicky low whisper. "It's not worth my life to tell you anything. If Mister Brinker finds out that I sold him out, he'll have me killed."

"Then let's go visit your employer and see if he can add anything." Jack motioned with the pistol towards the distant street lights. "We'll leave your friend here, find your horse, and then we'll all take a ride."

*

Ezra held Clem's bridle as they rode down the dirt street leading to Brinker's boarding house. Jack rode next to them with his pistol held low and pointed at the kidnapper's back. When they reached the house, his partner dismounted first to cover the prisoner.

"Now Clem, you make sure to take it real easy and slow there. I have both barrels ready to fire if you try anything tricky," Ezra said sharply.

The big man nodded grimly and pulled himself off of the horse. Jack followed suit.

Ezra waited in the street while Jack used the butt of his pistol to knock on the door of the boarding house. "Brinker," he shouted up toward the windows. "We want to talk to you."

A window on the second floor squeaked upwards. The fat face of the money-lender could be seen looking down at them, the moonlight glinting off the circles of his spectacles.

"Clem told us everything and we are here to get Lawrence Hanson," Jack lied. "Now open this door before I break it down!"

"I didn't tell them anything," Clem said pleadingly, his eyes pointed up towards Brinker. "You must believe me, boss."

Ezra tapped him in the back with the barrel of the shotgun. "That's enough out of you."

"Keep it quiet! We don't need the whole neighborhood to know about this," Brinker hissed at them. "Just wait a second, I'll come down and let you in."

A few moments passed as they waited for the door to open. The street was nearly empty this time of the night, but their shouting was starting to attract some attention with a few lamps being lit from nearby windows.

The bolt slowly turned in the lock, but Jack had his hand resting on the doorknob. Before the money-lender even had a chance to open the door, Jack wrenched it open. There was the money-lender, his chubby hand shakily holding a pistol. Jack was too quick for him and struck the hand with a downward blow. The pistol clattered loudly down on the wooden floor.

"We'll have none of that," Jack said sharply. "Take us up to your room so we can discuss this in private, otherwise I'll be shouting your business to the rest of the street." He then motioned the fat man back with the Starr.

Brinker gasped and took a step backwards. His breath came in rasps as he massaged his bruised hand. "Fine," he sputtered. "I just hope you have brought the money with you." His thin tongue passed nervously over his lips. He then led the way up the stairs, looking over his shoulder fearfully as he went.

"No more tricks," Jack warned. "I don't know if my trigger finger can hold out much longer."

Brinker opened his door, and Jack pushed him roughly into the room. The others followed, making the cramped room seem even smaller. Ezra was closest to the door, and still held his shotgun on Clem, who had sunk into a nearby chair. The money-lender waddled over and sat behind the desk, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

"I'll get right to the point, Brinker. I understand that Lawrence Hanson is still alive and you know where he is," Jack said. "Your bodyguard here told me that you had him safe."

A question came into his eyes. "What happened to Tiny?" he asked.

"He'll be fine in a day or two. Once we're done here, one of you can go get him, and put him to bed."

Brinker seemed to control himself once again. He said, "Why yes, I found out where Lawrence Hanson was after I talked to you the other day. I can get him out of hiding if you can part with that money I requested - all one thousand dollars of it."

Ezra leveled his shotgun at Brinker. "Two days ago you assured us that you had never met Hanson and now you tell us that you know where he is?" he asked, incredulous.

Brinker grinned, baring a set of yellow teeth. "Well, yes, I decided to interest myself in this affair. I thought maybe a man in my position could find things out." His scalp glowed with perspiration as he looked eagerly from Ezra to Jack.

"Go on," Jack growled impatiently.

"And so when I came across this information regarding his location, I wanted to offer it you, in exchange for a most reasonable amount of money."

Jack fixed his eyes upon Brinker with a cold stare and said, "I'm not here to offer you any money. I'm here to find out where Lawrence is. Either you have him, or you don't. Which is it?" He was tired of hearing Brinker talk and thought briefly about pushing that fat face into the desk. "Now no more games. Where is he?"

The money-lender played nervously with the ink blotter on his desk and looked away from the stare. He seemed unable to answer.

Jack slammed his fist against the desk. "I'll be more than happy to work you over. If you want to wake up in a hospital tomorrow, you can keep your mouth shut. If you start talking, then maybe tomorrow you'll be able to walk."

The sweat began to pour down Brinker's heavyset face. "Now let's not get hasty, Mister Blackwood. I'm sure we can make an arrangement that is satisfactory to the both of us."

"This is not about your needs. No deals. No more stories. Just tell us where Hanson is right now, or I'll jam this Starr into your face and pull the trigger."

Brinker licked his lips and continued to stare at the gun. After a tense moment, he started to talk, the words coming out quickly. "I thought I could get some money out of the Hanson family. When I saw you yesterday, you seemed extremely interested in trying to find out what happened to this Lawrence. I thought if I played this right, I could get his family to believe that it was I who had him kidnapped."

Jack rolled his eyes and sighed. "So you're just wasting our time then."

"I may not have him but I know who does."

"Who?"

"I asked some questions around town and spread the word that I was looking for Lawrence. If you give me some money, I'll tell you what I heard."

Brinker's insistence impressed Jack in spite of himself. He might be a weak man, but he would never call this money-lender a coward since he was still asking for money in the face of a gun. Jack spat out, "No money. Just tell me what you know and we'll be on our way. If you don't, then I can still put a bullet in your head."

Brinker's shoulders slumped in defeat. "It seems that your friend was involved in something dangerous. Too dangerous for my taste. He was seen with that man Abbott. I heard from some locals that they were both seen at the Gay Lady Saloon the night Lawrence disappeared. I had a hard time finding this out since no one wants to cross Mister Abbott. Anyone who messes with him usually winds up dead."

Jack and Ezra quickly glanced at each other. It was Tinen who had recently died and only for being suspected of being an informer.

Brinker continued. "If you want to find your Lawrence, then try talking to Abbott. Just make sure you don't mention my name to him."

Jack lowered his gun and stepped back from the desk. "Brinker, I suggest you stay far away from the Hanson family. And stay far away from my business as well, or next time I won't give you a second chance. You're a two-bit operator, so don't even try to get involved in this game."

Brinker spread his hands apart, his head slightly bowed, "Very well, detective," he said resignedly.

"C'mon, Ezra, let's go." Jack turned and walked out of the room.

His partner followed, walking backwards out of the room with the double barreled shotgun still covering the two men. He said, "Now you two be nice and don't give us any more trouble." With a friendly wave of his free hand, he shut the door and followed Jack down the stairs and out of the house.
Chapter 11

Smoking a cigarette, Jack was sitting up in bed. The blue smoke swirled to the ceiling as the weak morning light shone through the dirty window of his small bedroom. The ransom money was safely locked away in the safe, ready to return to the Hanson family. So far his investigation had given him plenty of clues, but not one sign that Lawrence was still in Washington. It was beginning to look more likely that he was dead or had slipped out of the city undetected.

"Ezra," he called out, "Come on in here if you're awake."

There was a sound of footsteps and his partner stumbled in, yawning and rubbing his stubbly chin. "What's going on, Jack? I was just about to fix some breakfast for us. Last night was a long one."

"I know it was. I can feel the years after a night like that. But tell me, after what we learned last night, what do you think of our case so far?"

His partner leaned against the doorway with his head furrowed in thought. "Well, Stevenson and Abbott are our main suspects now – everything I've seen and heard points to them being involved. If Brinker was telling us the truth, then I don't see who else it could be."

"You are right. First, Abbott tried to silence us by buying us out." Jack said.

"I almost forgot about that," Ezra interrupted. "He might want to be a high-class gentleman by where he lives and the way he talks, but his attempt to bribe us shows he's not who he pretends to be."

Jack nodded, eager to continue his train of thought. "Then after I talked to Tinen, I was waylaid by those thugs."

Ezra cleared his throat. "Most likely some of Abbott's or Stevenson's henchmen, sent to do the dirty work."

Jack nodded back a quick agreement. "But when that plan failed, they ended up killing Tinen to keep him quiet. And looking at his book, he was being paid off for his silence. They obviously didn't trust him, so they had to get rid of him in the fear that he would tell me what he knew."

"It's too bad we had to waste our time with Brinker," Ezra said with a frown. "He was trying to make a fast dollar off of our troubles."

"True, but at least we know that lead is really a dead one," Jack replied. "And we confirmed, thanks to Brinker, that Lewis Abbott was in fact seen with Lawrence at the saloon. With Abbott's past, that makes him the most likely person to know what happened to our missing man. If we can question Abbot further and get the truth, then we can put an end to this case."

Ezra turned and started to walk towards the kitchen. "I'll whip us up a quick meal, and then let's find out."

"Good, I'll come and help." Jack stood up, splashed his face with water from the basin on the dresser, and began to dress in his best suit. He then rubbed the dirt off his shoes and straightened his cravat. He looked in the mirror and pushed the longer dark hair over his graying temples.

Later, as they ate breakfast, Jack spoke to Ezra. "I had better go see Faith Hanson before we go any further. She's probably sick with worry, wondering what happened last night. Too bad we couldn't make good and deliver her brother."

Ezra looked up from his eggs and spoke quietly, "I think you're more worried about her than you are about her brother." He gave a faint laugh and continued concentrating on his plate.

He sat back on his chair and looked at his friend. Ezra could be dangerously insightful at times, and Jack really wasn't in the mood to discuss Faith right now. "Now where did you get that idea from?"

His partner looked up again and gave a small laugh. "I haven't seen you dress that nicely since I don't know when. You've been living in this apartment too long. You're getting lonely for a woman in your life. Every man does eventually."

Jack shook his head. "Ezra, you're imagining things. If I want to find a woman, I'll go out to the brothel and pay her for the night."

"That's not what I meant."

Jack tried in vain to convince his friend that his attention was elsewhere. "Well, I don't think Faith Hanson is going to be leaving her rich father for an old detective who can barely make ends meet." He gestured, his hand taking in the room around them. "I mean, you've been to their house with me. She's used to a rich life and what can I offer her - a room above a tailor's shop?"

Ezra looked at his friend with pity. "She does seem to be taken with you. She's been trapped in that house for a long time and I wouldn't be surprised if she would do almost anything to get out of there. You know when a woman gets to be her age, they are afraid of becoming old maids. Either you or Davis are her last chance."

"Ezra, you are incurable romantic. Why are you so worried about me?"

The black man merely shrugged his shoulders and continued to eat.

Jack had had enough of the conversation and stood up from the table. "I'll get the ransom money out of the safe," he said. "When you're finished, let's go."

*

They reined in their horses at the lane leading to the Hanson home. "Go on," Jack said. "I'll stop in and return the money to them. I'll tell them that kidnapping story was false, and the location of Lawrence is still unknown."

"What do you want me to do while you're in there?" Ezra asked.

"I want you to try to track down Stevenson's recent movements and see what he has been up to lately. I would like to take a look at that house of his too. Perhaps they are hiding Lawrence there. It would be good to check. But be careful - I'm sure we shook up Abbott enough for him to try to pull something else on the both of us. It would be better if we knew beforehand what it was."

Ezra grinned and said, "Don't be too long or you might end up living there." He touched the brim of his hat and gave his friend a sly wink.

*

He knocked at the door and was greeted by the butler who gave a quick bow and led him into the parlor less brusquely than before. "The missus will be with you presently, sir," he said with an unusually servile voice. The butler then left without another look at Jack, who sat down on the sofa and waited.

Only a minute passed by before Faith fluttered into the room. She was wearing a simpler gown this time, but it did not detract from her innate beauty. Her face was worn with worry, and the dark circles under her eyes told Jack that she spent a sleepless night thinking of her brother. However she still gave him an inviting look and stood before him, waiting to hear his story.

"I'm sorry we weren't able to get a hold of your brother," Jack told her. "The note was a fake. It was that moneylender Brinker trying to pull the wool over our eyes and make us pay a ransom for a man he didn't even have."

"Please, tell me in detail, what happened last night? I could barely sleep a wink not knowing if Lawrence was safe or not." She then sat down next to him on the sofa and waited impatiently for him to begin his story.

"Miss, it was a long night," he said. Jack threw the packet of ransom money down on the table before telling her what had transpired. He was careful to omit his more violent actions.

At the end of the story, Faith said, "I'm sorry to hear that you didn't get Lawrence back. But I am glad you came back safely."

Jack was heartened to hear that from her. "At least we now know that Abbott is certainly the man we are after."

"I always knew Abbott was a bad man for Lawrence to be with," Faith said in agreement. She reached for the packet of money on the table, her arm lightly brushing against his knee. "I'm glad you brought the money back, Father was worried that you were going to run off with it."

"That would have been foolish," Jack replied. "If I left with this money, I would have spent it in less than a year. If I was known as a thief, I would have a hard time finding a job as a detective."

"A year can be a long time if you are with the right person," she replied quietly, averting her eyes.

"I would be tracked down eventually," Jack said, oblivious to her suggestion. "No one can hide forever, even with all the money in the world." He stopped as he finally realized what she said.

She continued to look away and spoke in low sad tones. "Sometimes I wish I could hide away forever. This house can be so lonely. Now with Lawrence missing and my father's poor health - I just don't know what I am going to do anymore." Faith darted a shy look at Jack and leaned closer towards him.

Jack felt his throat tighten and felt awkward at her nearness. He thought that he must not be tempted to take advantage of a woman in her position. It could never work. "Well, I don't know what to say" he replied nervously. "Now don't you worry, I'm sure Lawrence can be found. Ezra and I are getting closer to finding him. We have several new leads to follow." He started to make his leave. "I should get going now. Give my regards to your father."

"Do you have to leave now?" Faith asked. She stood up and grabbed his hand. Her hand was cool as she lightly brushed her fingers back and forth against his wrist. "If you ever do have to run away, please take me with you. I don't know how much longer I can stand being here. Just think, we can take this money and go far away from here. Then we can get away from this city and away from this war."

Jack looked at her in disbelief. This girl really wanted to leave her father behind with his illness. The burden of her duty to her father, now a sick old man, must have finally broken her nerves. He looked at her and pulled her hand towards him. "Now, Faith, don't think such thoughts," he said quietly. "I'm not planning to go anywhere until I find out what happened to your brother and those plans."

She leaned closer to him and tilted her face towards him. Her eyelids fluttered and she then pulled herself hard towards his face.

Jack gave a little shrug and took her into his arms. "You're making it hard on me, missy," he whispered. He kissed her deeply on the mouth and brought his hand up to her cheek. "But you still can't expect a kiss to make me change my mind."

"You can at least let me try," she said. She kissed him back and darted her tongue lightly into Jack's mouth. She then took his hand, gently guiding it and letting it fall on her right breast. She whispered into his ear. "Please."

There was a polite cough from the door. They both quickly pulled apart in surprise and faced the butler. He looked at them sourly.

His voice was cold as he spoke. "Miss, your father wishes to see you. He wants to know if anything was found out last night about your brother." He gave Jack a vindictive look as he turned away.

Faith picked up the packet of money and then quickly walked towards the door. Her voice was high and nervous as she spoke. "I'm really sorry, Jack. I really must go see Father. Please, we'll have a chance to talk later."

Jack's voice was thick when he answered, "I would like that, Faith."

She smiled back at him. "Help me and I'll be good to you." Her cheeks were flushed as she left the detective alone in the room with his thoughts.

*

Jack took the long way back to the office. There he sat at his desk. He pulled a whiskey bottle from the desktop drawer and took a large swallow. He grinned and sighed as he took another hit off of the bottle. Now that he knew Lewis Abbott was one of the last people to see Lawrence, it would only be a matter of time before he was able to end the case. Once he did that, Faith would be deeply in his debt. Perhaps he could get to see her more often. She was a fine looking woman, he thought to himself. It was so surprising that she had not been married yet.

Ezra stepped in through the doorway and looked at Jack with an appraising eye. "Well, how was your visit to the Hanson family?" he asked with a slight trace of humor.

"It was very interesting, Ezra. It seems like Miss Hanson wanted to run away with me."

"What? That doesn't make any sense."

"I guess she is getting a little lonely living in that house with her father."

"I imagine so," Ezra said, his eyes twinkling. "Were they upset that we still haven't located Lawrence?"

"I think their patience is wearing a little thin. But before we go visit Abbott again, let's look at what we know." Jack lit a cigar before continuing. "The main mystery is the location of Lawrence. He is the key to this whole thing. If he still has the papers in his possession, then he must be hiding out somewhere. With Lewis Abbott involved, he could use his influence to help Lawrence disappear. But he would be sure to keep a close eye on the papers until payment was received. They must be meeting an agent from the Secessionist states who will come up to Washington and pay for the plans."

"Why didn't they just run south?" Ezra asked.

"That probably was their idea at first, but they weren't planning on the disappearance causing so much trouble here in Washington. Once Forsythe knew about the theft, they could be sure that if Lawrence tried to leave Washington, they would have been stopped. At that point, the best thing was to hole up until they could either safely get away or pass the papers on."

Ezra looked skeptical. "That could be. But why didn't Abbott just leave and take the papers himself?"

"That's a good question. I would guess that he didn't want to take the chance. He's been able to get out of bad situations before, but this is treason, which is making him more cautious than ever. Anyways, why should he leave Washington, when he can sit back and get someone else to come up here instead? As long as he remains in the city, he can continue to serve the Secessionists in his fashion."

"Let's go question Abbott again," Ezra suggested impatiently.

"We shall," Jack agreed. "But first, I want to see Elizabeth Mulholland."

"Why should we even bother seeing her? Abbott is our man."

"Call it a hunch. I want to know more about who Lawrence is before we question Abbott. I want to know if this young man would volunteer for such work or if he is being coerced by the idea that he can be with Mulholland. Lawrence Hanson is not quite the person his family makes him out to be. Who better to ask than the woman who slept with him?"

"There is no evidence that he ever started seeing her again."

Jack shrugged. "That may be so, but if he is away from his father – perhaps he would be willing to take that chance."

"That's a big risk to take if he knows the government is after him."

"You'll be surprised what a man will do for a woman."
Chapter 12

Narrative continued

My luncheon was interrupted today by a short note from Miss Hanson. It appears the ransom was merely a ruse to extort money from the Hanson family. An opportunist had learned of the family's misfortune and sought to make a tidy sum from his knowledge. He exploited their hopes that Lawrence may still be found alive. I know these are extraordinary times we live in, but I am not certain that a case of extortion will be prosecuted very zealously right now. Even though Lawrence Hanson is or was a government employee it appears he left of his own free will. If he had in fact been kidnapped, and then tortured to reveal government secrets, his kidnappers would, of course, have faced treason charges against the United States government. In wartime this would be a capital offense. Now I am afraid this event if it was reported (Miss Hanson's quaint note does not specify this in its rambling, feminine way) would be dealt with as a somewhat more criminal prank resulting in a fine.

I wonder if my old acquaintance James Forsythe has learned of the ransom note. He has a tendency to be quick tempered and at times overly judgmental. Perhaps I will keep this news to myself at present.

*

Maryland Avenue was a rundown street - home to the poor, prostitutes, and terminally drunk. The road was littered with trash and the smell of rotting waste hung oppressively in the afternoon air. Among the alleyways, several unused fire pits could be seen. This afternoon, only a few grubby children were playing in the mud-caked street. They paused from their games to watch the horses as the detectives rode by.

Jack looked over the dirty street and children with surprise. "She lives here, on this street?" he asked Ezra. "It doesn't seem like a fitting place for a person of her background."

"This is the right place," Ezra replied. "It's just a bit further up here. Things must be a little rough for her if she's living in the neighborhood. Don't forget that her husband left her penniless after he found out about her indiscretions."

They stopped in front of a dilapidated old house. The rotted porch leaned precariously and was cluttered with garbage. The paint had peeled long ago, leaving the gray boards exposed to the sun. The front door was open, perhaps to let the faint breeze inside.

Jack looked at the house with some distaste. "Why don't you wait here, Ezra?" he said. "There is no point in having both our horses stolen."

His friend nodded and took the reins as Jack dismounted. "Remember, she was once a lady," he said. "Don't forget that when you question her."

"Don't you worry, Ezra, I'll keep that in mind." Jack waved at his friend and walked up the short stairs to the porch. He entered through the front door, the rough boards squeaking loudly underneath his heavy boots. He read the placard of tenants on the hallway entrance, and found her apartment number on the ground floor. The detective entered the dark hall, listening to the sounds of life through the closed doors. A child could be heard crying, the sound muffled. In another room, he heard the sound of a couple arguing with a drunken slur to their raised voices. He stopped at the door at the end of the hallway and checked the number on the door. He then knocked loudly and listened intently with his ear at the door. He didn't hear anything at first so he knocked again even harder. "Miss Mulholland?" Jack called out.

The sound of footsteps could be barely heard and then the door creaked as a body leaned against it. "What do you want?" a woman's hoarse whisper answered. "I don't have any money, so go on and leave me alone."

"Don't worry, I'm not a bill collector - I'm just looking for Elizabeth Mulholland."

"Why?"

"It's important that I talk to her about Lawrence Hanson."

"Lawrence?" The door opened a foot and she cautiously poked her head out to look at him. "How do you know Lawrence?"

Her brown hair was dirty, and her still-beautiful face had begun to soften from drink. Her breath smelled of whiskey and faint wrinkles of age were forming around her once full mouth. When she saw Jack, she brushed her hair back from her face, trying to look as presentable as she could.

"You are Elizabeth Mulholland?" he asked, barely able to hide the incredulous tone of his voice. This was not the woman he was expecting to see. Although still pretty, her eyes had a dark, haunted look. She had obviously led a hard life the past year and had the air of disappointment of someone living a different life than expected.

"I am," she replied sullenly. "Or maybe I should say I was. Things have changed a lot since anyone called me by my proper name."

"It's important that I talk to you about Lawrence," Jack said, not wanting to hear about her past. "He's gone missing and can't be found."

"Why do you care where Lawrence is? Why should I care as well?"

"I was given a job to find him," he replied. "His family is sick with worry and they want to know where he could be."

"Sick with worry? Ha! More like afraid of getting their precious name dragged through the mud."

"That may be, but I still have to find him."

"Is there a reward?" she asked hopefully.

"No reward," Jack replied with a scowl.

She jerked her head back into the room and tried to shut the door. His boot slid in the crack of the doorway before the door could be closed. She continued to try to pull the door shut against his foot, but Jack pulled it open with a jerk and forced her back into the room.

"No reward," he said again. "But I can personally pay you for any information, ma'am. Provided it's good, that is."

He looked her over, and she returned his watch unabashedly. She was wearing a dress that had seen better days - it had been pulled loosely over her shoulders, and appeared to be unbuttoned in the back. Her shoes were worn and several light stains could be seen on her sleeves. The room was no better, a collection of piled up clothing, dishes, and broken down furniture. Jack looked sadly around at her room. "Why do you live in a place like this?" he asked her.

She laughed sourly and slumped down in a chair near her sagging bed. "I don't have much of a choice these days," she replied nastily. "When my husband found out his wife was a cheap whore, he threw me out. And of course, my very prim and proper father wouldn't take me back. They would rather have me disappear in this slum than risk the scandal of being associated with an adulteress."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "I can't make things any better for you, but I can give a few dollars if you answer my questions."

"Ask away," Mulholland said. "But first, you don't have a drink on you? I'm fresh out."

Pulling out a pint of whiskey from his jacket, he handed it over to her. "I never travel without a bottle."

"Good, I don't trust a man who won't take a drink." She opened the bottle and took a greedy pull from it. "That's a fine bit of whiskey you've got there." She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and leaned further back on the chair to take a deeper drink. "It's much better than the swill I can afford."

Jack grabbed the bottle back, took a small swig for himself, and then returned it. "How did you meet Lawrence?" he asked her.

"I met him through some acquaintances," she said. "It was back when I was married. There was a big gathering I went to with my husband. It was a large party for some of the social elite of Washington."

"Whose party was it?" Jack asked as he kept a careful watch on the bottle.

"Faith Hanson threw it. In the course of the evening I was introduced to Lawrence. I had a fair amount of drink and found him most interesting." She took another gulp of whiskey and sighed. "Oh, that feels better already." Her face began to flush from the alcohol and she studied him with a coy manner. "We spent some time alone in the garden, talking about everything under the sun."

"Why did you continue to see him?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation on track. He could tell that the drink was causing her to drift away already.

"Give me the money first," she replied bluntly, taking yet another pull from the pint. She rested the bottle on her lap, her dress pulled high against her well-formed legs. It was easy to tell she wasn't wearing a slip underneath.

Jack glanced and saw a fine pair of thighs. He then averted his eyes and pulled out a handful of silver dollars and threw a few into her lap. She pulled them from between her legs and squinted hard at the coins in her hand. She then grinned at him and hid them away in her front dress pocket.

"Davis was the man, damn him. I'll never forget that it was Davis who brought me to ruin. Ethan Davis destroyed my life." Her voice began to slur as the now near-empty bottle dangled in her hand. She glared at Jack, who then took the bottle away.

Jack was surprised by her answer. "Davis? Are you sure?" he asked.

"Of course it was Davis," Her voice was sharper now, but her eyelids drooped, and she watched the bottle in his hand.

He wondered why would that dandy would be involved with Mulholland. She must be mistaken in her drunkenness. "Never mind Davis, do you know a man named Abbott?"

"Abbott, I've never heard of him," she replied. She looked at the detective, fluttering her eyelashes. "Is he as nice as you are?"

"Not that much nicer," Jack said.

"Well, you should have brought him along, and then we all could have had a real party," she said with a laugh. Her eyes looked around her room listlessly, but her attention kept returning to the bottle in his hand.

"Back to Davis, why would he want you to see Lawrence?" Jack asked her.

"I don't know. He made me do it and never gave me a reason why. You see, I was not being faithful to my husband at all. I had been seeing Ethan Davis for a time, and he threatened to tell my own husband of my indiscretions if I did not do what he asked. If I agreed to make Lawrence fall in love with me, Davis promised to keep our little secret."

"Did he end up falling for you?"

"What else was he supposed to do? I never saw such a foolish young man. He believed what he wanted to believe and only heard what I let him hear. I am not ashamed to admit that Lawrence was pleasant enough company, even though he was too young and inexperienced." Her hands fumbled towards the bottle in Jack's hand. "Now give me another drink and let's have some fun."

He held the bottle up high, away from her. She looked at him and scowled in a wobbly fashion. "Just a few more questions," Jack said. "What did Davis ask you to do while you were seeing Lawrence?"

"You mean other than sleep with him?" she chuckled humorlessly. "He would write me long letters filled with poetry and his declarations of undying love. Davis wanted me to give him every letter I received, and I had no reason to do otherwise."

"Why did you stop seeing him?"

"My husband found out about my affair. I wasn't careful enough so he was bound to find out sooner or later. My husband then threatened Lawrence with being arrested for adultery. The poor child was cowardly enough to go running back to that old father of his and ask for help. He left me, and I haven't seen him since."

"Has he ever tried to contact you since then?"

"No, he was too scared of losing his father's money. My husband threw me out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back. I've had to find my own way in the world ever since. Lawrence never helped me or even came to see me."

Jack gave her back the bottle with some disgust. She looked away from his expression and drank greedily from the remnants of the bottle. She finished it off, and let it slide to the floor. Her eyes, now glazed red with drink, lost focus as she stood up and stumbled towards him.

"What about Davis? What did he do afterwards?"

"Enough talk about him - why don't you stay for a while?" her voice slurred. "We can get to know each other even better." Her hands rested on his waist, attempting to draw him closer.

"I'm sorry, I don't have the time, missy. I have someone waiting for me right now, but maybe some other time," he replied.

"Now that's too bad. Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?" she asked.

Jack shook his head and made ready to leave.

She slid the dress off of her shoulders and stood in front of him with nothing on. Her body was still slender and her breasts high and firm. "I'm willing to do anything for the man who can get back at that snake Davis for me."

"That bastard will pay his dues, don't you worry."

"I'm not worried, now come here to me."

He smiled, shook his head, and took a step back towards the door. "I'm flattered, but I have my partner waiting for me. Maybe I'll collect on your promise later."

"Damn your partner. Come over here."

"Now look Elizabeth, you are a beautiful woman, but you are more than a little drunk right now. I like my women clean and sober, not falling over. I'll be back if I need anything else from you." He then tipped his hat and walked out the door. She ran and slammed it hard behind him. Jack could hear her begin to sob as he walked down the hallway.

*

They began riding back towards downtown Washington. Jack was deep in thought when Ezra interrupted him.

"Well, what did you find out?" his partner asked impatiently.

"Ezra, the women are throwing themselves at me today."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Oh, never mind. Abbott and Stevenson may not be the only players in this game. Miss Mulholland told me that it was Davis who made her seduce Lawrence."

"Davis? Ethan Davis?" Ezra was incredulous.

"Yes. I'm not sure what the connection is yet." He filled in his partner about the conversation with Mulholland, leaving out no details.

"I don't know what to make of this," Ezra said doubtfully. "Abbott could have learned of the affair through Davis, or maybe he got a hold of the letters between Lawrence and Mulholland, and used them for blackmail. Of course Davis could have been just trying to get rid of Mulholland if he was after Faith."

"There's one way to find out – let's go and ask Abbott what he knows."
Chapter 13

It was mid-afternoon when they came to Abbott's apartment building where they were ushered in. After climbing the stairs, Jack had to knock several times at the door before it was opened by the butler.

Avoiding Ezra's glance, he looked coldly at the detective and asked, "What can I do for you?"

"We're looking for Abbott."

"I'm afraid that he is out for the day," he said brusquely.

Jack looked hard at the butler and frowned. "I think we can sit right here and wait for him. I wasn't planning on doing anything else today." He grinned at his partner. "How about you, Mister Miller?"

"I'd have assumed that a gentleman such as Mister Abbott would not make his guests stand and wait outside for him," replied Ezra.

"You will be waiting for a long time," the butler said sharply. "I don't think you will find it worth your while, gentlemen. Now I suggest you leave." He began to shut the door, but Jack pushed his way past him.

"Now, sirs, I must protest. You can't come in here like this. I will have to get the doorman to remove you by force," he called after them as they walked past.

Abbot was there.

The butler followed, "I'm sorry, Mister Abbott," he apologized. "But they were most insistent."

Abbott, with a drink in one hand, waved away the butler's apology. He turned his attention back to Jack. "It's so good to see you again," he said sarcastically. "Now can't a man get any peace in his own home? Tell me why I shouldn't have you thrown out."

"I can tell you why," Jack replied. "We can tie you directly to the disappearance of Lawrence and also to a murder."

"Murder?" Abbott asked quizzically, but still calm. He finished his drink and walked lazily over to a decanter at a sideboard and poured another. "You had better tell me what you are talking about, so I can make some sense of it." He then returned to his position before the sofa, his movements slow and careful.

Jack said impatiently, "Tinen was the owner of the Gay Lady Saloon. He was found dead the other day. I have a source that places you there with Lawrence the night he left town. It strikes me as an odd coincidence that the man who owned the place where Lawrence disappeared ended up murdered."

Abbott cocked an eyebrow and frowned. "As I said before, I don't have anything to do with Lawrence or any missing papers."

Jack bounded over and shoved Abbot roughly backwards, forcing him down onto the sofa. The drink splattered on his coat. "Now just shut up for once, and listen to me," the detective said angrily. "And you'll only talk when I tell you to talk. You're going to tell me about Tinen. And then you're going to tell me about Davis."

Winston panicked and tried to quickly leave the room to get help, but Ezra grabbed him by the collar and pushed the butler hard against the wall. "I wouldn't want you to rush off and miss all of the fun," the black man said. "I suggest you just stand here and listen to this for a while."

Jack ignored this commotion and continued to speak to Abbott. "I'm not sure where Lawrence is right now, but I do know several things. He was blackmailed by you, but it was Davis who provided the letters. Hell, it was Davis who provided the girl Mulholland in the first place. She was convinced to seduce Lawrence since she was the victim of blackmail herself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Abbott sputtered, his face red with anger. "Davis? I've never heard of the man."

Jack continued, "At first, the idea was to just drain the Hanson bank account. You and Davis could have milked it for a long time, but the girl Mulholland was foolish and her husband found her out. But after the affair was finished, you and Davis were left with the love letters that Lawrence sent to her. At first glance, this wouldn't seem like much to have, but then this war broke out. You had someone working for the War Department whose family couldn't stand to have a hint of scandal. Lawrence had access to sensitive material, and he was also the type who could be blackmailed. If those letters were sent to his employer, he would lose his job and any chance of redeeming himself."

"I tell you, Lawrence was a friend of mine," Abbott said indignantly, his finger pointing at the detective's chest. "I could never do anything to him like that."

"I'm being paid to find him and will do anything I need to do to get him back. The War Department wants Lawrence too, but I would prefer to get him first. Now are you going to tell me where he is?"

Abbott looked nervously up at Jack and tried to stand – looking like he wanted to run for it. "I already told you, I don't know anything about this."

"Enough of the lies!" Jack shouted. "You were the last person seen with him the night he disappeared. You tried to cover that up, but I found out anyways." He raised his hand as if to strike the quaking man.

Abbott slumped on the arm of the sofa and raised his hands to protect himself. "Please," he gasped. He suddenly leaned over, his hands moving towards his jacket pocket. Quickly, Abbott slid a small pistol out of his coat pocket. He tried to fire it, but his hand was raised awkwardly. The detective twisted it roughly from Abbott's hand. The small gun discharged, the bullet striking the ceiling above. There was a sickening crunch as the trigger-guard broke the man's finger. He screamed as he cradled his hand.

Jack loosened the pistol from Abbott's grip. "That was an expected move. Now don't do anything foolish like that again, or I'll make sure the remaining bullet is for you."

"I think you broke my finger," he whined, clutching his hands together in pain.

"Good. That will be a reminder for you as to the kind of man I am. I'm not some jealous husband or old man to be easily cowed with threats."

"Stevenson will get you," Abbott threatened childishly. "He's a bigger man than you are and even tougher."

Jack laughed hollowly. "We'll see about that soon enough. Now I want you to be honest with me. If not, I'll have to open the side of your face. The prostitutes won't like the ugly scar that I will leave. They will be charging double to service you."

"Please, give me a chance," Abbott pleaded, his voice trembling with worry. His face was pale with panic and pain.

"No more chances," Jack replied nastily.

"Please, I can pay you more than the Hanson family will be willing to give you. I have lots of money."

"If I wanted your money, I would have asked for it. No more games. Tell me, where is Lawrence?"

Abbott hesitated before speaking, the pain and fear etched in his face. His shoulders then slumped in surrender. "Lawrence is being held by Stevenson," he finally said.

"Where?" Jack demanded, his hand grabbing ahold of Abbott's lapels.

"He has an old house that he rents in the south side of town. He lives there at times and uses it to take care of any private business that comes up."

Jack looked at his partner, who nodded back. That was the location of Stevenson's house alright. "Good, you're beginning to learn. Now where are those plans being kept?"

"I don't know," Abbott said quietly. "I handed them over to Stevenson, those were the orders I was given from Mister Davis."

Jack gave him a light tap with the pistol on the side of the face. "Are you sure about that?" he asked.

Abbott flinched away from the pistol, swallowed and answered. "Yes. Stevenson was supposed to meet the courier sent by the Rebels. They were supposed to setup the meeting place to swap the plans. Davis is going to make the trade himself, but he wants to make sure everything is setup right first. He fears being double-crossed."

Jack stood back and smiled coldly. "I see. Now my partner and I will have to pay a visit to Stevenson. But first we are going to take you to meet a friend of ours so you don't have a chance to warn anyone. Now get up and let's go."

He stood up meekly, holding to his hand gingerly. "Where are you taking me?"

"A nice cozy jail cell," Jack said. "It will be a fitting place for a villain like you."

"You can't take me to jail," Abbott spat out. "You aren't a constable."

"No, I'm not, but my friend is," Jack said. His smile showed he relished Abbott's fear. "We'll take your butler too. I wouldn't want him to get any ideas and go tell on us. Now let's get going." Grabbing the scruff of the man's collar, he shoved him roughly towards the door.

*

Jack and Ezra pushed Abbott and his butler into Garret's office. The Captain of the Watch looked up from his desk, nodded at Jack, and grinned at Abbott. "What a pleasure it gives me to see you. I see that you met my friend Jack."

Abbott drew himself up proudly and stared angrily at Garret. "I must demand that you let me go now. I haven't committed any crime, and this miscreant here is arresting me illegally."

"Is that so?" Garrett asked. "I'll have to look into the matter for you." He turned his attention to Jack and demanded, "And just why is this bastard here?"

"I need you to hold the both of them here for a little while," Jack replied. "We have a good lead on where Lawrence Hanson has been taken."

Garrett leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. His open fingers rested on each other, making a steeple. He said, "Perhaps we could hold them for questioning? It will only be for the night though. I just don't have a lot of space right now, but I can always find a place for these two." He then called in two of his men to take Abbott and his butler away.

Abbott stared at Jack as he was being led away. "I'll be seeing you in Hell," he spat.

Jack shook his head. "If I don't see you first."

"What have you two been up to?" Garret asked after the prisoners had left. His face was creased with interest. He motioned for them to take a seat, pulled a bottle out of his drawer, and took out three glasses. "Let's have a quick drink and you can tell me." He poured out the whiskey and sat back to listen.

Ezra took the glass and swallowed half of it in a hurry. "Jack and I have been busy. We have found out who was behind the disappearance of the Anaconda Plans."

Jack nodded. "Yes, do you know someone called Ethan Davis?"

"I'm familiar with him."

"We've met him over at the Hanson house. He was a bit of a bore and I would never have suspected him as being involved in this mess."

Garrett filled up Ezra's glass again and took a drink for himself. "Davis - I probably can't tell you anything more than my partner already knows. He is quite popular with the society crowd. But he has never been in any trouble with the law."

"Is he a Secessionist sympathizer?" Jack asked.

"He is from down south, but he has never shown any pro-Rebel sympathies that I've ever heard. What connects him with up with Abbott?"

"I have talked to that woman who Lawrence was seeing – Miss Mulholland. She mentioned that Davis was the one who set her up with Lawrence. She in turn was being blackmailed by Davis who was using her to get the love letters passed between those two."

"So?"

"Well, if that was the case – how did Abbott get a hold of those letters? He had to have some hold over Lawrence to get him to steal those plans. The only way he had to get those letters was from Davis. I bluffed Abbott, and in the end he confirmed what I was guessing at."

"You do realize that Abbott will be a free man by the morning. Will that give you enough time to get Lawrence?" Garret asked.

"We will be heading over to Stevenson's house right now. If we don't come back, then we fell into a trap. You'll know who did it." Jack finished his glass with a swallow and motioned to Ezra that it was time to leave.

"Ezra?" Garret growled. "Take care of Jack, will you? He sometimes rushes into things too fast and won't watch his own back."

The ex-slave smiled at the Captain knowingly as Jack left the room. "I'm used to the job."
Chapter 14

It was evening when they made it to Stevenson's. Louse Alley, one of the poorer parts of town, was populated by the dregs of Washington. Crowded onto small dirt lots, the houses seemed to all be looking over each other's shoulders. A few houses were nearly touching, with small dingy footpaths in between, and walls blocking out the fading sunlight. Weeds surrounded Stevenson's small house and the unpainted side was weathered gray.

Leaving his horse behind, Jack walked by the house and took in the surroundings. His eyes looked down the street where several women and children vacantly watched him from their porches. An old man on a wagon tapped his donkey with a switch and ignored Jack as he passed by.

He walked back around the block and returned to a waiting Ezra. "I don't see anybody suspicious around."

"Everyone looks suspicious in this neighborhood," his partner replied flatly.

Jack laughed. "You're right about that. We had better take the horses away so they won't be stolen. Once we drop them off at the livery, we can wait for night to fall. Then we can take a walk around to the back of his house and see if we can find a way in."

"That sounds like a good idea as long as Stevenson isn't home." his partner replied.

"Don't worry. With Abbott safely away that won't be a problem."

"I hope you're right."

"Come on, let's take a little detour and then see if we can find anything inside."

*

After dropping off the horses at a livery in a better part of town, they hiked back to Stevenson's neighborhood. The street was now mostly empty, and only a few restless residents could be seen. Clouds were beginning to gather above the city, and the wind started to whip up as the darkness of night began to move in.

Ezra shivered and looked up at the sky. "Looks like we might get some rain," he commented.

"That can work in our favor," Jack said. "It's hard to hear a man breaking into a house if it's raining." He pointed to the house ahead as the rain began to come down heavy sheets. "We're almost there - let's go see if our friend is home."

They walked past the front of the house in the gloomy rain. No light could be seen through the windows, which were covered with boards. They stopped and looked around to see if any neighbor was watching them. Seeing no one, Jack motioned for Ezra to follow him behind the house.

The back of the house was also boarded up with rough-hewn wood slats over the doors and windows. A small dilapidated fence shielded the yard from any prying eyes. Jack looked for any unwanted observers and saw that the surrounding buildings were dark and silent.

Ezra stopped his friend: "What's that noise?" They stood still and then Jack pointed toward the fence. A scrawny orange cat held a dead rat in its mouth, and had knocked over some piled-up kindling wood. It looked at them, hesitated, and then noiselessly padded off. The detective sighed in relief. He then walked over to the back door and pulled on the handle. It wasn't just locked, but nailed tightly shut.

"Looks like these nails are on pretty tight," Jack said with a grunt. "Why don't you check the window over there while I keep a lookout?" He took a position at the corner of the house to keep an eye on the neighborhood as Ezra looked over the windows. Jack looked up at the rain-drenched sky and saw lightning flash in the distance. It was a good night for this kind of work.

Ezra went over to the ground floor window next to the door and pulled on the bottom wooden board. There was a loud groan as the nails on the bottom board separated from the rotted window frame. Jack waved his hands, motioning for his friend to stop. He looked carefully around the corner of the house to see if anyone had heard. No one was there, so he went back to help him. Using the freed board, they pried the next slat from the frame. Behind the boards, the window was still intact. They both pushed hard to open the window, but it was nailed shut on the inside.

"Since we've gotten this far, we might was well finish the job." Jack grinned as he smashed the bottom windowpane with the board. Even with the heavy rain coming down, the shattering glass crashed loudly in the night air. They stopped their work momentarily to listen for anyone raising the alarm, but again no one in that neighborhood seemed to care. Using the bottom of his coat to shield his hand from broken glass, Jack pushed the jagged remains of the window off of the bottom pane.

They crawled in, one at a time, through the narrow opening, being careful not to cut themselves on the remaining glass splinters. Inside, the wooden floor had a thick layer of dust, and the boards squeaked loudly as they crept forwards in the gloom. Jack lit a match and held it high in the air. It was a back bedroom which showed some signs of recent use; a newspaper and some matches were on the floor next to a dilapidated chair and a rumpled bed. A kerosene lamp stood on a small table in the corner, along with some dirty glasses and wadded newspaper. Through the arched doorway on the right, there was a hallway with a small kitchen which gave a faint odor of cooking. A closed door stood at the end of the hallway.

The match flared out. Jack walked further into the room to take a closer look. Ezra followed, looking behind them to see if they were being watched. The house appeared to be empty as the only sound to be heard was rain drumming against the roof. Sudden flashes of lightning dimly lit the rooms, causing shadows to momentarily appear on the walls.

They walked into the kitchen. Several dirty pans and dishes were strewn on the table. The old rusty wood oven still felt slightly warm against Jack's hand. They went into the hallway and cautiously opened the door at the end of the hall.

Both of them silently went into the main room that was located at the front of the house. The front door was shut, and everything was quiet. A ratty sofa and a pair of stuffed chairs were the only furniture. The fireplace held nothing but ashes from the previous fire. A single unlit lamp and key stood on the mantelpiece. Past the sofa, there was a door leading to another room.

Jack tried the door knob, but it was locked. Ezra picked up the key from the mantelpiece and fit it into the lock. His partner turned the key, while Jack stood ready with his Starr pistol cocked. The door slowly opened, revealing nothing but a dark room. The curtains inside were apparently drawn tight because neither of them could see anything in the gloom. A dark, sick odor wafted toward them, and they took a step back in recognition.

Jack coughed and held his nose tightly to stop himself from gagging. He knew that smell – it was death. "Let's get some light in here," he said through his hand which he had pressed tightly to his nose. He grabbed the lamp from the front room and lit it. He raised the flame enough to just give a faint glow and went back to the room where Ezra stood waiting.

Sitting on an old wood chair sat the body of a man stripped to the waist. He was tied to the arms and feet of the chair, with his head hanging over his chest. The shirt lay tattered around the man's waist. Not a breath or sound could be heard, only the final stillness that death brings. Jack to a step closer and pulled the man's head up. The youthful face was waxy with the mask of death and a trail of dried blood ran down his broken nose and into his mouth. The cheeks were battered with deep bruises, and the eyes were swollen shut.

Jack sighed and let the head drop. "Well, we found him," he said flatly. "Faith won't be happy, but we found him alright."

"Are you sure it's Lawrence?" his partner asked, nearly gagging.

"It's him - looks just like the photograph we were given." Jack felt sick to his stomach and was full of regrets that he had failed in finding Lawrence in time. He turned around and quickly walked out of the room pushing Ezra ahead. He shut the door and breathed heavily, trying to clear the stench of rotting flesh out of his nostrils.

Ezra was leaning against the wall looking sick. "Stevenson plays rough," he gasped. "He could have just killed him, but he decided to torture him for a few days first. He must have bled to death."

"The poor fool," Jack whispered in reply. "It's a sad way for any man to die."

"At least it's over for him now. I would like to get a piece of the bastard in return."

"I agree. Let's sit in the other bedroom and wait for Stevenson to return. We can beat the truth out of him and get to Davis in the end." His face was grim.

"I would like that," Ezra said coldly.

Jack and Ezra relocked the door and put the key back in its place. They extinguished the flame and put the lamp back above the fireplace.
Chapter 15

Jack sat on the moth-eaten bed, studying the rain as it splashed on the open windowsill. Ezra stood, listening for the return of Stevenson. The roof was old and started to leak small droplets of water on the dust-laden floor. Both were still feeling the effects of seeing Lawrence dead. After a few minutes of silence, they began to talk in low whispers.

"It's a damn shame that Miss Hanson will never see her brother again," Ezra sadly said.

"I feel bad about that. I never would have guessed this would be the outcome of our case. Faith may not want to talk to me after I tell her the news."

"It's not your fault, Jack. I'm sure she won't hold you responsible."

"You never know with women," the detective said stiffly.

"Did you ever think of getting married again?" his partner suddenly asked.

"Why are you asking me that?" Jack asked, taken aback.

"You seem to have more than a passing interest in her. From what you've told me, the feeling is mutual. Why don't you go ahead and take a chance?"

He shook his head. "Maybe she does have an interest in me, but there's not much I want to do about it."

"I don't think you've ever been the same since your wife died," Ezra said. "It would be good for you to find someone else."

Jack stared at his friend, any thoughts broken by the sudden mention of his dead wife. "Well, Ezra, my Mary was a special woman. She didn't try to make anything out of me that I wasn't. I'm not sure if there is anyone else like that in the whole damn world."

"You can't be alone your entire life."

"A woman like Miss Hanson will want to make something out of me. Someone she would be proud of, someone who she could walk in the street with. I don't think I'm that kind of man for her. Do you really think her father would let her marry someone like me?"

The storm was fading and the rain was diminishing its patter on the roof.

Ezra said, "Life is too short to worry about what people might think. She might try to change you, but you can also change her. It might work out for the both of you."

Jack shrugged. "I'm too old, too poor, and too set in my ways for Faith Hanson. There's no future in it."

"There's no future in the way you've been treating yourself." Ezra replied quietly.

"Ah, Ezra, are you my partner, or my mother? Let me be. I can take care of myself."

"Now wait..." his partner's voice trailed off as they both heard the front door open.

They both stopped and waited silently so they could listen. They heard a group of people entering the house. Two voices were raised in argument. Jack raised his finger to his lips and quietly walked over to the hallway door and looked through the open gap. He could just see into the front room and make out three figures.

Stevenson stood in front of the fireplace, lighting the lamp. A leather satchel was in his hand, which he placed on top of the mantelpiece. He then turned and faced a woman standing next to a shorter man. Jack recognized the rat-faced man as the same who had attacked him after the first visit to the Gay Lady Saloon.

The woman took off her hat, revealing graying hair. She was well-dressed, still pretty, and spoke with a slight southern drawl. At the moment she appeared to be angry over her reception from Stevenson.

"I don't know why we had to come here," she said. "A little rain shouldn't have stopped you from seeing me to Davis's house."

"Mister Davis wanted to do it this way," Stevenson replied with a matter-of-fact sneer.

"It's essential that I get the papers tonight so I can be on my way. This information will be invaluable to the cause."

"I'm not about to let you lead me into a trap, Miss Edmonds. Mister Davis doesn't care about the Rebels. He just wants to be paid for getting these plans into the right hands."

"What about his loyalty to the cause?"

"Jacob, go take a seat," Stevenson ordered. "I can see that this is going to take a while."

The little man meekly complied and sat down in a corner chair.

Returning his attention back to Edmonds, Stevenson then said, "We were promised payment for the papers."

Edmonds sighed and put her hands on her hips. "We have your money, but we want to be sure we're paying for real goods."

"They're real alright. It took some work, but these are the detailed Anaconda plans straight from the War Department."

"We know what kind of person your Mister Davis is, and we are well aware of the sort things he – and his associates – have done in the past. Before I part with any money I need to see the papers you have."

Stevenson leaned on the mantle-piece and studied Edmonds as if she was a pinned butterfly. He finally said, "You should trust Mister Davis - he'll do right by you."

"Our money is in short supply, and I'm not about to throw any of it away for a pile of worthless papers." Her expression hardened.

Stevenson shook his head. "It took a lot of hard work to get these plans, Miss Edmonds. The U.S. government may be onto us, and we've had some trouble keeping the papers in our possession. And there's a detective hired by the Hanson family who has been some trouble. We've managed to keep him busy chasing his own tail, but he may wise up soon."

"That's your concern, not mine. I just want to see what we are dealing with here. I can't afford to bring back worthless goods to my friends."

To Jack it was obvious that this man thought that this was mere business, but to Miss Edmonds it was a matter of life and death.

"The papers are real alright," Stevenson replied. He reached over and pulled the leather satchel off the mantel-piece and opened it. Removing some sheets, he handed them over to her. "This is just a small sample of what you will get. As you can see, this is good information we got for you- troop and ship movements – the whole layout of the Federal war plan."

Sarah Edmonds looked over the sheaf of papers slowly, turning her body so the light was behind her. After a minute of studying the few papers, she returned them. "These do look good, but without seeing them all, I can only offer you half of the agreed sum."

Stevenson laughed as he put the papers away. "It's all or nothing, Miss. You get your money together, and we'll meet at the arranged location tomorrow. You can bring one man to meet with Davis and me. No surprises and no extra guests. Anything out of the ordinary and I'll make sure you never leave this town alive."

"Don't threaten me," she said. "I'll have the agreed amount for the swap, just be sure not to double-cross me. There are plenty of sympathizers who would be more than willing to get revenge if you betray our cause."

Stevenson snapped, "That will be enough, Miss Edmonds. The plans will be delivered as promised."

Jack tugged on his partner's sleeve and pulled him deeper into the darkness of the backroom. He then whispered to him, "Now is our chance to get some revenge for Lawrence."

Ezra nodded and pulled out the Navy Colt from his belt. "I'm ready when you are."

"Good. Follow me in, and keep an eye on his friend Jacob in the corner. I'll take care of Stevenson. Any trouble, shoot 'em– these aren't the kind of people to go easy on."

"My pleasure," his friend replied through gritted teeth.

Jack opened the chamber on his Starr and checked the loads. He gently closed the chambers and crept towards the door.

Stevenson was still talking to Miss Edmonds. "You'll have a hard time leaving the city. Davis knows a few people that might be willing to help, but it will cost you a little extra."

"I can find my own way out of Washington," she answered stiffly. She turned and nearly ran into Jack as he entered the room. Her eyes widened with astonishment as he roughly shoved her aside.

Jack had his gun at the ready. Ezra stood next to him, his own pistol pointed at Jacob sitting in the chair. "Nice evening we're having tonight." the detective said with a small smile. He was glad to have this man at a disadvantage – the death of Lawrence needed to be avenged.

Stevenson frowned, his hand slowly inching for the gun sticking out of his waistband.

"Just give me an excuse," Jack said pointing his Starr at the man's stomach. "You grab that gun, and I'll blow a hole right through you." He then waved his gun at Edmonds. "Miss, I want you to hold very still – if you are carrying any weapons I'll just use it as an excuse to kill you. I'm not honorable enough to stop myself from plugging a woman if need be."

She shook her head. "I don't have anything."

"As for you, Stevenson, after what you did to Lawrence Hanson, it would be my pleasure to end your life. Now with two fingers on the butt, slowly put that gun of yours on the floor and kick it away."

With a scowl, he did as commanded.

Jack then said, "Now I want you and the woman to put your hands up and tell your friend to get out of that chair."

Edmonds raised her hands slowly and looked at Stevenson with disgust. He put his hands up and nodded to his friend to follow suit. Jacob stood up and slowly slid his hands up in the air with a curse.

"Was all of this a trap to get me arrested?" Edmonds asked angrily, her voice rising. She then stared at Stevenson. "I thought you had taken care of everything!"

Jack chuckled. "Now don't worry, he isn't as clever as he thinks he is."

Stevenson looked at him woodenly. He spat, "Enough of the jokes. You should know better than to speak to me that way. Get out of my house and stay out of my business."

"We aren't going to steal anything from your home, we're just trying to return some property back to their rightful owners. And what happens? We find a dead man, a Rebel spy, and two thieves."

Edmonds turned to look at the detective. "A dead man?" she gasped in surprise.

Stevenson shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. Lawrence gave us the papers and took off to save his own neck. Just ask Jacob here."

The little man nodded nervously, sweat on his rat-like features as he eyed Ezra's gun.

"I'm not asking him anything, Stevenson; I'm only talking to you. So far you've managed to stay one step ahead of the government, but if you know anything about the way I work, you will know that I'm not the type to give up to easily. Lawrence is dead, and you're the man who killed him."

"You can't prove anything," Stevenson spat out. His eyes betrayed him as he flicked a glance towards the shut door.

"All I have to do is open that door there, and then we can all take a good look at a dead man. You tortured and then killed him, and I wouldn't mind shooting you down like the sick dog you are. Hanging is too good for vermin like you. Now hand me those papers."

Stevenson gave a minute nod to his partner Jacob, before putting his hand on the leather satchel. He then made a sudden move and shoved Edmonds into Jack. "Here, catch!" he shouted and threw himself to the side, clutching the satchel.

Jack had to step to the side quickly to avoid being hit by the stumbling lady. At the same time, Jacob rushed towards Ezra. Edmonds flung herself to the ground, afraid of being shot in the melee. Stevenson dropped to one knee, while pulling a derringer out from his boot.

Ezra shot once, hitting Jacob in the chest. The small man stumbled, holding himself, and then fell to the floor where he twitched in pain. Stevenson's little pistol fired, hitting Jack in the arm. The detective clutched his arm in pain, causing his pistol to fall to the ground. Stevenson then ran past him while Ezra tried to line up another shot, but he held his fire in fear of hitting his friend. The door was flung open and Stevenson disappeared outside.

Miss Edmonds looked up from the floor, and it appeared that she was getting ready to flee. She stopped when she saw the black man pointing a gun her way.

Ezra then ran out the front door into the rain and took two shots at Stevenson who was already far away, mounted on his horse. The two shots missed. He quickly ran back into the room. "I suggest you hold very still, Miss Edmonds" Ezra said, his voice as cold as winter. "There are some people who wish to talk to you."

She nodded and waited silently, her eyes wide and face pale.

"Jack, how is that arm of yours?" Ezra asked.

"It hurts like hell." He shook his head and squeezed his arm tightly with his free hand, causing blood to drip on the floor. He told himself he was a fool for thinking that Stevenson had enough honor not to risk the life of a woman. He leaned up against the wall, and slowly pulled his jacket off. "I don't think it hit the bone. The bullet just went through the flesh."

Ezra could see that his friend was in pain but not in any imminent danger. "Good, we'll take you to the doctor just to be sure."

"Is Stevenson's man still alive over there?"

Ezra kneeled over the small man and felt for his pulse. "He's dead. It was foolish of him to try to take me like that."

"Never mind," Jack said through gritted teeth. "We have to leave here quickly." He shook his head and bit his lip as he rolled his sleeve up as high as it would go. "See if you can find me some clean cloth and I'll wrap this arm up. And then we can get Davis."

"Do you think we will have a chance?"

"I imagine they will try to leave the city as soon as possible. Go get the horses, Ezra. I'll make sure she won't get away."

"Are you sure you can manage that with your arm?"

"Don't worry about me. We'll drop her off at Garrett's and then hurry on to Davis's to see if he was warned in time. We must hurry."

Ezra took off running to the livery, leaving his friend behind. Jack leaned sickly against the door frame but held his gun steady on Edmonds.

The spy studied the detective. "Are you sure you can really shoot me if I try to run away?"

"Go ahead if you want to take the chance."

She shook her head and instead stared at the ground in front of her. "Why don't you let me go," she pleaded. "I have a small bit of money here."

"Just be quiet and wait," Jack said roughly, his voice cracking with pain.
Chapter 16

They rode down Madison Street, the dim streetlights showing the way. Jack and Ezra followed Garrett as they entered one of the better neighborhoods of Washington. After they had taken Miss Edmonds to the City Watch, Garrett insisted on joining them on their visit to Davis. He had grinned gleefully at the prospect of one of the City's best-known gentlemen being arrested.

Davis's residence was a large Italianate home of recent construction. Heavy woodwork cornices hung from the house, painted white against the tan brick. A set of steep steps lead to a green painted door with a large brass knocker. The curtains were all closed, and not a single light could be seen inside. Ezra got down and held Jack's horse as he painfully pulled himself down from the mare.

Meanwhile, Garrett approached the steps. He held a gun in his hand and knocked on the front door. There was no answer at first, so he began rapping on the door with the butt of his gun. "Mister Davis," he shouted. "Come on out. I need to talk to you."

Within a minute, the door opened. An older man holding a lit candle stood there. "Mister Davis is not in, sir," he said sleepily.

"Who are you?" Garrett asked, trying to look past him and into the house.

"Sir, I am the butler and who might you be?"

"I am Captain Henry Garrett of the City Watch. Your Mister Davis needs to come with me and answer some questions."

"He has not been in all night. He is staying with friends." The butler answered him, his impassive expression giving nothing away.

"I would rather find out for myself," he told the butler. "Come on you two, let's take a look inside and see if this man is telling us the truth." Garrett pushed past the butler and walked into the house.

Jack painfully shrugged his shoulders and followed his partner inside.

Garrett and Ezra started to search the house and left the wounded detective at the front door. The entrance was dimly lit by a sputtering oil lamp that had been set aside by the butler. From where he was standing, Jack could see that the house was well furnished. A mosaic tile covered the entry floor. Wide wooden stairs with thick carpeting lead gracefully up to the second floor.

The butler looked harshly at him and said, "This is an unreasonable search of this home. Mister Davis will be most upset."

Jack said nothing. He reached over and turned the entryway lamp up higher. The sounds of Ezra and Garrett searching the house could be heard.

"As I already told the gentleman, he is out for the evening."

"Sure he is," Jack said. "When did he go? After Stevenson showed up? Maybe half an hour ago? How long did it take him to gather his things and take off?"

The butler gulped nervously. "I really don't know what you are talking about."

"Ezra!" Jack shouted.

His partner came down the stairs, holding an oil lamp in his hands. "Yes?"

"Any sign of Davis yet?"

"No, there doesn't appear to be anyone in the house but this butler."

"Ezra, I want you to go on and search the bedroom. Carefully check the closet and dressers to see if Davis has packed anything recently. He only had a few minutes to get ready before running for it."

"Will do," he replied. He disappeared up the flight of stairs.

Garrett soon came down the same hallway. He held his lamp up close to his friend's pale face. "You're looking ill. Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"I will in due time," Jack said resignedly. He put the lamp back down on the table and sat down on the steps. "Our friend here is playing us for fools."

Garrett looked over the butler with a wary eye. "Maybe I should take him down to the jail and let him do some hard thinking. What do you think?" He pushed the butler roughly in the shoulder.

The butler looked at both of them in bewilderment, licking his lips. "Please, I'll tell you the truth - Mister Davis left only a few minutes ago."

"Who came here to warn him?" Garrett asked with a growl.

"We were awakened by Mister Stevenson. Mister Davis then asked me to help him quickly pack some clothes and afterwards he left accompanied by his friend. There's really nothing else that I can tell you."

"Ezra!" Jack shouted. "Find anything up there?"

"No!" Ezra shouted back. He came back down the stairs to join them. "The bedroom was highly disarranged. It appears he packed in a hurry."

"He only took a small bag with him," the butler added. "I assumed he was not going to be gone long."

Jack sighed. "It looks like our quarry has fled the coop. We had better go back to talk to Miss Edmonds." He wasn't surprised that Davis managed to escape. They had ridden to the City Watch as fast as they could, but they had been hampered by his wound and Ezra having to guard Edmonds.

"What should we do with our friend here?" Garrett asked. "Maybe a few nights in jail will help bring back a few more memories."

"Forget it," Jack said flatly. "There's not enough time to worry about him."

"Just remember who runs this town," Garrett spat angrily at the butler. He then turned on his heels and marched out of the front door.

Ezra supported Jack as they left the house. With Garret's help, he then helped his partner back up on his horse, easing him up onto the saddle. They rode back to the City Watch building as fast as they could.

Jack gritted his teeth as they went down the muddy streets. His arm hurt more than he expected for the minor wound that it was, but he was already beginning to feel better after the initial shock had worn off.

The Watch was mostly empty this time of night, with only a skeleton crew left to guard the prisoners inside. The rest of the men were making rounds to pick up the brawlers and town drunks. Ezra helped Jack from his horse and they followed Garrett inside into the office. The office was the same as they had left it, with Miss Edmonds sitting in the chair and one of Garrett's men standing at the door guarding her.

She looked up at them and smiled with smug satisfaction. "I guess Davis has gotten away from you."

Garrett sat down behind his desk and faced Edmonds. He said sharply, "We'll see about that." He then lit a cigar and blew the smoke across the room. "Sam," he motioned to the constable at the door, "I want you to go down to the Secret Service and warn them about Ethan Davis and James Stevenson. We will want the patrols to be on the lookout for him. They will be traveling lightly, and if searched, they will be carrying U.S. Government papers. They must be stopped before they make their way down South."

With an impassive face, the man jotted down a brief note and then walked out of the room.

Jack sat himself down and pulled the wrappings on his arm tighter. "Miss Edmonds, perhaps you would be kind enough to tell us where Davis went."

She shook her head and spoke firmly. "Why should I tell you that? I would be happy to see those papers delivered."

"It would be better for you if you did tell us."

"I was supposed to deliver those papers," she said angrily. "If I can't, then maybe Davis can. At least my job would be done, even if someone else had to do it."

It was Jack's turn to shake his head. "Maybe you don't understand the position you are in. If you haven't noticed, this country is at war. The government won't look kindly at a spy and traitor. More than likely, you'll be hung by your neck until you are dead."

She didn't appear to take Jack's threats seriously. "They couldn't do that. I'm a woman."

Garrett chuckled. "Have you ever seen a hanging Miss Edmonds? It's a nice little dance you'll do up there after the trapdoor has been dropped. I've been to a few myself, and the crowd gets most excited at a hanging. I imagine the newspapers will cover it for quite a while. Plenty of people will come to see the show when a woman gets the rope."

She looked nervously back and forth between Jack and Garrett.

Garrett continued on and said, "I remember one time the hangman messed up. The poor fool was led up the stairs, crying and pleading his innocence. They put the rope around his neck and let him drop. The damn rope broke and he ended up landing on his ass. The worst part is they had to do it all over again. Now would you like to have something like that happen to you?"

"The captain is right," Jack said. "It won't make any difference to them if you are a woman or not. A traitor is a traitor any way you look at it. If you tell us where they have gone, maybe Garrett can work something out and help you."

She licked her lips. "I suppose it doesn't matter if I tell you or not; you will never catch Davis in time. I was just acting the part of a courier and was supposed to retrieve the papers on behalf of the State of Virginia. Davis was aware of that, since he was dealing directly them. He was to be paid when I received the papers. He was supposed to keep furnishing us with information as long as he could."

Jack looked at her sternly. "Courier or not, they will want someone to pin the blame on. You will make a good substitute for Davis if he can't be found."

"Look, Miss Edmonds," Garrett said, "I don't want to turn you over to the Secret Service unless I have to do so. They will arrest you and bring you to the Capitol Prison."

"So?" Edmonds said defiantly.

"I understand they don't have special facilities for women, so it will be an uncomfortable place to stay. If you tell us where he went, then I can stop you from getting put away there."

She looked suspiciously at Garrett. "Why would you do that?" she asked.

"Because Davis is more important to us right now, and with my delicate sensibilities I don't want to see a woman hanged." He smiled at her. "Just tell me what I need to know, and you will be home within a week. You will have to stay here for a few days, and then I can get a pass for you to leave the city. As long as you never come back here, you will be safe."

"Would you really do that for me?" she asked in disbelief.

"I have a soft spot for women. Why spend your time in that prison and face the possibility of being tried for treason?"

She sighed and looked at Garrett directly. "I'll give in if you swear my freedom is guaranteed."

"I can make that promise."

"Very well, I will tell you. I was supposed to deliver the papers at Harper's Ferry. There was the fear that if I tried to travel directly south I would be intercepted by a Federal patrol."

"Why would they make you go to Harper's Ferry?" Jack asked. "That's still under Federal control."

"If they vote to secede, the Virginia State Militia is planning to take the armory there by force."

Garrett looked pleased. "Good. Now you just wait there Miss Edmonds and I'll get you your very own room. You can spend a few days here and then you will be freed." He threw his cigar on the floor and stood up to grind it out. "Jack, now you should go see a doctor."

"I will," the detective said, "but first Ezra has to deliver a message for me. Go on and tell Miss Hanson of her brother's death. Tell her that we will be stopping by in the early morning before we leave for Harper's Ferry."

"I will," Ezra said, getting up to leave.

"I'll go back to the office after I see the doctor. We have to get some things together first."

His friend nodded. "Are we going after Davis and Stevenson?"

"There's nothing else to do."
Chapter 17

Narrative continued

I am writing in great haste, and not a little physical discomfort, as I have precipitously left Washington today. This evening, Stevenson came to tell me that I would be suspected in the disappearance of Lawrence Hanson and the important documents he was carrying. This is so distressing for a man in my position and at my time of life. I doubt I will be able to re-enter Washington society again. My butler helped me to pack a little but he is getting older and more easily flustered. It depressed me to have to leave him, and to see him in such a state. I imagine he couldn't help overhearing some of our conversation. I gave him a small amount of money in the hopes that it would keep his mouth closed until we were well away.

Stevenson seemed most ready to go when he came to alert me. Taking only the barest essentials we left town after running an errand. I am not used to such hurried goings-on. I prefer an orderly routine, and now I find myself on horseback and perhaps bedding down for the night outdoors. Stevenson seems to think we have a decent head start on any possible pursuers. Oh well, I am returning to the land of my family, or near enough at any rate. I am certain my personal appearance shall suffer, but I will be able to buy new clothes if necessary soon enough.

Later

We are taking some rest for the horses and for ourselves right now. We have found a little path from the main road that is under some trees, perhaps leading to a farmer's lane. The horses are chewing some fresh grass; we are resting against some rocks at the side of the path. I'm more used to traveling in comfort than in haste. But for all that, it is pleasant to see the countryside just now. A hint of spring has been in the air for a few weeks, but in the city all one can see are muddy ruts and wet leaves. Riding outside the city limits and into the countryside is something I have not enjoyed for a while. When I travel by train it is from one crowded station to another. Of course, traveling by horseback is slower, but a sense of geography and natural beauty comes stealing over you unawares. Washington has its attractions, it has been my home for some time, it has fashionable places to go, but the open feel of the countryside makes one more peaceful and expansive, even after the haste in which we left Washington.

Stevenson appears to know which route we should be taking. That Rebel spy Miss Edmonds will probably have a lot to tell the police once they get around to questioning her. I regret that the result of our planning for these war papers has turned out this way. I am certain Miss Hanson will feel I am responsible for her brother's death, and hold it against me. I am not sure how fond she was of him in truth, although I dare say she'd make a good show of it for the detective. And perhaps she felt guilty for not feeling more for Lawrence than she did.

Again, this idea about selling war plans could have been profitable for everyone concerned, and I am not sure where it went wrong, but I do know that I am unhappy with the results. If I didn't need Stevenson to help me find the Rebel agents, and be a bodyguard, I would sever all contact with him, as he must be to blame in some way. Perhaps Lewis Abbott is to blame as well, but I have known him so long that I find it hard to place blame there.

I wish we weren't headed to Harper's Ferry as the possibility of hostile action is higher there. But all the soldiers and such in the area might help obscure us better in case we are being pursued. For all that I downplayed Mister Blackwood's ability, I imagine he can figure out where we are headed and that he has already left to follow us, ex-slave partner in tow.

*

There was a light mist in the air as Jack and Ezra rode toward the Hanson house. They had packed for traveling lightly, with only their rifles, food for two days, and a small tarp to use to keep the spring rains out. The blossoms on the trees were almost in full bloom, choking the air with their thick perfumed smell.

Jack winced as his mare stepped jarringly over a hole in the road. He gingerly felt his tightly wrapped arm. Last night the doctor had warned him to be careful and to not use the wounded arm. As usual, he ignored the advice and did not tell the doctor of the long trip he was about to take.

As they rode closer to the Hanson home, Jack felt his throat constrict with nervousness. All night he had wondered how she taken the news of her brother's death. Ezra said she was impassive when she heard it, simply nodding sadly before slowly shutting the door. He had had then quickly made his way back to the office to prepare for the trip.

Faith was waiting for them at the front door. She gave them a weak smile. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but she still looked strong enough to see them. "I got your message last night, Jack," she choked. "Why was he killed? Why?"

Jack pulled himself off of his mare and went over to where she was standing. He hugged her tightly with his good arm and felt her soft hair against his neck. "I don't know. All I can say is that I'm sorry about what happened to your brother," he said plainly. "I'll see that the responsible parties pay for his death."

She wiped her eyes, sniffled and wrapped her arms around him. "I was hoping he was still alive, but I guess I should have known better. It was hopeless all along, wasn't it?"

Jack felt her body against his and had a brief moment of wishing he could hold her for as long as he needed to. He gently stroked the back of her head with his good arm. "Now there was nothing wrong with hoping. I want you to be strong while we are gone. We will be gone for two or three days at best. When I'm back, I'll come and see you."

"Where are you going?" she asked softly.

"The woman courier sent up by Virginia told us where Lawrence's killers went. We will pursue them as need be."

Her voice cracking with emotion, she said, "I wish you could stay with me instead of leaving."

"I told Henry Garrett of the City Watch to keep an eye on you. His men will be stopping by to check on the house."

"Don't worry about me," she said. She hugged him tighter before stepping back to look at him lovingly. "Do you really think you will you be able to get those plans back?"

"They have a head start on us, but we know where he is going. It will take them some time to get to Harper's Ferry. If we're lucky, we can catch up to them before they make their escape."

"Please, be careful," she said. Her voice had lowered; a warm look was in her eyes that Jack knew was just for him. "When you are done, please come back to me."

"Don't you worry, I'll be back in a few days."

"I wish you would reconsider this pursuit. Those papers aren't that important anymore, but you will always be important to me."

He smiled and held her hand in earnest. "That's good to hear, but I'm still working in the Hanson family interest. If your honor is to be preserved then those plans must be returned."

"I could care less about the papers – only Lawrence's safety was ever important to me." She said and then started sobbing again.

Jack hugged her tightly again and kissed her cheek. "Please don't cry," he whispered.

Ezra coughed politely to get Jack's attention. "We best be going if we want to have any chance of catching them."

"Right you are," he replied. "Now Miss Hanson, I'll be back soon enough. Take care of your father."

She kissed him lightly on the lips and quickly turned away to flee into the house. Ezra smiled to himself as his friend painfully pulled himself back up on his horse. Jack then placed his arm into his makeshift sling and turned his horse down the lane.

Jack felt confused. He thought about his conflicting feelings for Faith and the job that lay ahead. It didn't seem to make sense because they could end the job now: Lawrence had been found, and the government could worry about the damn papers. Were the plans really so important to him now? Or did he really just want to get revenge on Stevenson and Davis?

They entered the wide, dirty street, having to ride along the side of the street to allow a large procession of troops to march by. As they continued west out of Washington, the temperature was beginning to rise and dry the mud-soaked streets. They turned onto Virginia Avenue when Ezra caught up.

He said, "Why didn't you tell her it was Davis we are after?"

Jack shook his head. "She's had enough misery right now. What would she think if she heard that a former suitor was tied to her brother's death? She thought that Davis was in love with her. Could it be he was only interested in her due to her family's wealth and her brother's position in the War Office? Would you want to tell her that?"

"I don't see the reason to protect her feelings. Unless you're falling in love with that girl," Ezra said flatly, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him.

Jack turned in saddle and gave his partner a sharp glance. He then shrugged his shoulders and gave a short laugh. "Could be," he said, trying to keep any emotion out of his voice.

"It's about time." Ezra's said, his tone turning friendlier. "She's been waiting long enough for you to make your intentions clear."

"My intentions? I don't know what you mean."

"She's practically waiting for you to take her away from that place."

Jack gave a little laugh. "She is in a sorry state right now, Ezra. I found her brother dead at the hands of that bastard Stevenson. I would not want to take advantage of her feelings right now."

Ezra gave this some thought before changing the subject. "We have a long road ahead of us. Why do you expect that we will be able to catch up? Once Davis makes it to Harper's Ferry, he only has to find the right people, hand over the plans, and then make his way south. Once he is down there, we won't be able to get to our hands on him."

"He may have escaped, but he doesn't have the right passes to get there easily. The Army has pickets around this entire city."

"That may be," Ezra said, "but the pickets won't stop a determined man. Everyone knows that."

The detective answered, "I know. But, they only have a few hours' start on us. Davis and Stevenson may know how to ride a horse, but to me they are still city boys. They will have to slow down on the small side trails and rest their horses more often than us. We're used to hard riding and can make up the time."

"You're used to hard riding, Jack. I was never in the Army like you."

"Don't worry - I'm sure you'll manage."

"Do you really think we can beat them there?" Ezra asked, still cynical.

"I'm not sure, but we have to take the chance. We have some seventy miles of traveling ahead of us, and I aim to try my luck."

Ezra frowned, aware that they had a tough ride ahead.

"Don't worry, Ezra, it won't be that bad. We'll make good time on the road."

"With company like yours, any road will be hard one," he said sarcastically.
Chapter 18

Hundreds of marching feet, the Federal soldiers heading to Washington, had broken up the dirt road outside the city. Jack and Ezra had to stay on the side of the road to allow the lines of men and wagons to pass the other way. It was slow going at first, but their horses managed to keep a consistent pace trudging along the muddy track. The sky was still gray and threatened rain as the afternoon drew on. The inexperienced soldiers were smiling and laughing, their faces excited with the prospect of going to war. Jack shook his head at seeing these young recruits, who still believed in the romance and glory of battle. He remembered his own the excitement that he had felt when he was just a young soldier making his way out West in a long column of wagons. Hastily trained, they had been thrown in to police the Plains Indians. After his first battle, the glory of battle seemed more like a passing illusion than ever before. War was a hard and bloody job that broke a man in more ways than the politicians ever imagined.

Ezra broke Jack's train of thought. "I think it's going to rain," he said while looking up speculatively. "If it does, it's just going to slow us down even more."

Jack looked up at the coming gray clouds. "This may be slow going, but Davis isn't going to have it any easier."

"I don't know, it seems like we're on a fool's errand. How can we be sure he's really going to Harper's Ferry? That Edmonds woman could have lied to us. Davis could have just as easily struck straight south," Ezra pointed in that direction, "And been into Virginia right away. Money, that's the way I would have taken if I wanted to get away from Washington – it's the quickest route."

"So would I," the detective nodded. "But he's in a difficult position. He has the plans but it would be easy enough for the Rebels to just take the papers without paying the amount he requested. That's one of the reasons why he remained in the city even as the search for Lawrence intensified. By remaining within the safety of Washington, Davis was protected by the very government he was trying to sell out. Since he can no longer provide information to the Rebels, they have no reason to upkeep any bargains. He's in a tight spot now."

They rode in silence. As the afternoon hours waned, the number of soldiers on the road had begun to shrink. The troops were now pulling the wagons off into the surrounding farm fields, as yet unplanted, and making camp. A burly sergeant driving a loaded wagon going the other way waved them over as they were passing. They slowed down to talk to him. His face was wet from the light mist of rain that had begun to fall. The wagon stopped and the sergeant wiped his face with a grin.

Jack saluted.

"You two headed to Harper's Ferry?" the sergeant asked.

"We are at that," Jack replied.

The sergeant grunted. "Be careful. There are some bushwhackers in the area. We had a couple of potshots taken at us a few miles back down the road. We fired at them and scared them away, but you never know if they will come back."

Jack answered, "My friend and I are in a hurry. We have to get going, but I appreciate the warning."

"It's no skin off my back, but you'll be safer if you spend the night in camp with us." He was still grinning as he jerked his head at the encampment behind them.

"Thanks for the offer, but we must move along." Jack flicked his reins, and Ezra followed.

"I tried to warn you." The sergeant shrugged his shoulders and watched as they kept going. "Just keep your heads down, you two," he shouted at their retreating backs.

Jack gave him a wave back. They continued on and soon had the road to themselves. The troops had all cleared off and white tents dotted the area like triangular clouds in the dingy mud-soaked fields.

They continued on the road for a while longer until the sky darkened with the coming night.

"Let's give the horses a rest," Jack said, his voice raspy since he was tired from riding all day and trying to keep his injured arm immobilized. The pain wasn't bad, but a sudden jolt would cause it to suddenly flare up, especially as his horse began to stumble with weariness.

"I could do with a rest myself," Ezra agreed, his voice haggard.

Jack studied the road ahead of them. "Over there looks like a good place." He pointed to an empty farm field where a single oak tree provided some cover from the rain.

They dismounted and led the tired horses under the tree. As they pulled the saddles off, the rain then began to come down in heavy, driving sheets. The horses began to feed on the grass. Jack poured part of his canteen for them into an iron skittle. He then sat down with his back to the tree and watched them eat and drink.

Ezra pulled some jerked meat and cheese from his saddlebag. "I'm not sure if we should eat these now or wait 'til the morning. I've got half a loaf of bread and a knife; let's eat it cold so we won't spend the night hungry."

The two of them set to work and quickly finished the food, a little less weary than before.

"Ezra, why don't you shut your eyes for an hour or two? I can take the first watch here."

The black man took a swallow from his own canteen, smiled thinly and said, "I'm not that tired, but I think a rest would do me good."

"Alright," Jack said. He looked nervously at his friend, not sure whether to ask what he was about to say. "Tell me, what do you really think of Faith Hanson?" he finally said in an off-handed manner. He really didn't feel comfortable talking about her, but had some contradictory thoughts on his mind that he wanted to sort through. His partner was always fair, though mischievous with his answers.

"What do you mean?" Ezra asked innocently. "Are you asking my opinion of her as a client or as a person?" He continued looking up at the dark cloudy sky through the spring boughs of the tree, listening to the rain falling around them.

"Oh, I don't know what I'm trying to ask," Jack replied uncertainly. His hands pulled at the cuffs of his coat. "I'm not sure what I think about her. She's so young, and I don't remember what it's like to be that age anymore. Why should she pay me any attention? We're clearly from two different worlds. We can never truly be happy together."

"If you want my opinion, you should take a chance with her. She may be younger, but she still seems more than interested in you. She may even have set her cap at you. Women like her want someone older who is experienced in the ways of the world. They are more interested in security and happiness than some fancy, youthful romance. She clearly spurned that villain Davis, so she must have more sense than you think."

Jack nodded and pulled his pouch of tobacco out. He rolled himself a cigarette and offered it to Ezra. His partner shook his head sleepily. Jack shrugged his shoulders and lit the cigarette, shielding his match from the mist of rain that came down through the branches above. He blew the match out before tossing it in the grass. "Yes, she does seem interested in me. But I can't shake the idea that she is using me somehow. She wants out of that house so bad, she seems willing to do just about anything."

Ezra's voice was now quiet and his eyes were shut. "She's just lonely, Jack."

"Someone could take advantage of the situation if one was so inclined." He took another drag from his cigarette and made a face. The tobacco tasted dry and stale, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. "Well, I just can't help but feeling like I'm being taking advantage of. It's as if she was looking for a horse headed out of town. It doesn't have to be a good horse, just one she can ride on." He stubbed the cigarette out in the ground, smiling ruefully. "Well, never mind my problems. Why don't you try to get some sleep now? I'll sit here and watch the horses. I'll make sure they don't bolt if we get some thunder." Not hearing a response, he looked over at his friend, who was already fast asleep. Jack smiled to himself and continued to watch the rainy sky.

After an hour, he woke Ezra and then took a short rest himself. Afterward, they saddled up the horses and rode through what remained of the night at a hard pace. They kept the conversation to a minimum while the horses trotted uncertainly through the mud-soaked road. The rain continued to fall heavily as the hours passed on the deserted track. Only the fading ruts of the army wagons and muddy imprints of the marching soldiers could be seen. They rode on into the early morning, their riding coats pulled around them to keep out the continuing sheets of rain.

"This is some bad traveling weather," Ezra grumbled.

"Remember, it can't be any better for Davis. I bet you they are holed up somewhere waiting for it to pass."

"They are somewhere nice and warm, with a cup of hot coffee in their hands."

Even in his gloomy mood, the detective still managed to give a short laugh at the complaining. "Don't you worry, my old friend, that rain will give us the chance to make up some time on them. It will keep those bushwhackers away too."

"Jack, at this point I'm getting worried about the horses," Ezra said plainly. "They are going to be too tired to be any good to us. If someone springs an ambush on us, the horses won't last a minute if we have to make a run for it."

Jack knew that his partner had a point. They best let the horses rest again before they were pushed too hard. "We'll stop up ahead and let them feed some more," he agreed.

The rain was beginning to diminish. On the left side of the road was a grove of pine trees. That would provide some cover from the rain, so they stopped and pulled themselves off the wet backs of their mounts. Jack reached deep into his overcoat pocket and pulled out two dry cigarettes. They lit them and sat down in the damp underbrush and listened to the patter of the slackening rain. In the meanwhile, the horses ate the small amount of grain that was put in front of them.

"It's nice to get out of Washington," Ezra finally said. "It has been a long time since we've been able to leave that place."

"Yes, it has been too long. We should take the time and do some hunting more often. Too bad it's hard to make any kind of money out in the country, unless we become farmers on a big spread."

Ezra snorted and said, "I have a hard time imagining you behind a plow."

He frowned, remembering his own childhood on the farm. "You know, Ezra, that's what my father expected from me. He worked the soil year after year and got so little in return. That's when I decided to leave home and join the Army."

"I never knew that," his partner said with interest.

"Yeah, I was sad to leave the old man behind, but I wasn't going to throw my life away digging in the dirt. It just seemed pointless trying to growing crops and praying for rain. There's no money in it."

Ezra took one more drag from his cigarette before carefully putting it out in the pine needles. "I don't know," he said. "There are worse things a man can do. You won't become rich being a farmer, but at least it is honest work."

"You mean unlike the work we do?" Jack asked, throwing his cigarette stub far into the wet grass beyond.

The black man laughed again. "We aren't that dishonest, but we have to deal with people who are. Someone has to solve the little mysteries that people come across in life. If something has been lost or if they are going to lose someone – at least they will know the truth. Is there anything wrong with helping people find the truth?"

Jack shrugged and lit another cigarette, the flame of the match lighting up his face. A shout in the distance suddenly went up and several horses started galloping towards them. "Looks like we have some company coming!" he shouted as he stood up. He threw his just-lit cigarette into the dirt and ground it into the soil. "We had better get ready!"

Ezra nodded and grabbed the bridles of their horses. He then pulled them deeper into the pine trees. Jack followed, taking their carbines from the saddle scabbards.

A nearby voice shouted, "Hold up, men." The group of horses began to slow down as the party approached the tree line. "Where did you see that light, Pickens?"

"I swear it was right over here, Mister Stevenson." a thin, reedy voice answered.

Jack and Ezra froze. Stevenson was here, so perhaps Davis was nearby. Jack quietly handed a carbine over to his partner, who gently cocked the hammer. The rain continued to come down, masking their sound within the confines of the pine trees.

"Pull the horses back further into the trees," Jack whispered, "I don't want my mare to catch a bullet if some shooting starts."

Ezra nodded; the movement was almost imperceptible in the gloom. He then took both of the horses by their bridles and began to quietly move them further back into the dense pines..

The men were talking with the voice of Stevenson rising above the fray. "Get that lantern out and let's take a look," he ordered. "Pickens here may have really seen something."

Jack watched through the boughs as a thin man pulled himself off his horse. Several of the men followed suit with pistols drawn. The thin man then took out a lantern from his bag and tried to light it. His matches appeared to be wet and it took several attempts to start the wick.

"Hurry up, Joseph," one of the men could be heard muttering impatiently.

"Don't rush me, I've got it lit now," he replied. The lantern door was then opened, and the weak light of the lamp began to roam over the pine tree undergrowth.

In the dim light, Jack could now see that the men were dirty, unkempt and dressed in rough work clothes. They were carrying an assortment of weapons and looked scared. He was amazed by their amateurish approach. What men would stand out in the open with a lantern? Perhaps it was time to teach them a little lesson. Jack took careful aim with his Colt repeating rifle and fired a single shot into the lantern.

Chaos ensued as the lamp shattered, splashing burning oil across the carrier and splattering the ground. The man named Joseph screamed as his flesh began to burn.

Jack fired two more shots, downing another of the ruffians.

The rest of the men scattered away from the pine trees, some leaping up onto their saddles and riding away. The tall figure of Stevenson could be seen riding his horse at the head of the group.

Jack took a shot at him, but missed.

The burning man was still screaming with pain as he attempted to smother the oil with his hands.

Out of pity, Jack took another shot. The man slumped over, quiet at last.

Ezra came back and crouched down next to his friend. "How many did you see?" he asked in a whisper.

"I think there are a dozen of them. That was Stevenson on the black horse alright. I didn't see Davis, but I'd guess he sent him with that gang of ruffians to get us."

"They must have known that we would be here on this road, trying to catch up to them."

"I guess so," Jack replied. "I scared 'em off for now, but they will be back. We had better reload and get ready for them."

"We could probably make a run for it," Ezra said. "No reason why we should try to take on a dozen men."

"I don't want to try to outrun them. We don't know how well rested their horses are compared to ours. We are in no condition for a long chase."

"That's true. What kind of guns were they carrying?"

"Mostly muskets, but you never know." Jack reloaded the Colt rifle cylinders by feel with fresh gunpowder and shot. Normally he would have covered the back of the cylinders with wax to minimize the chance of burning gunpowder igniting a neighboring cylinder, but it was too much of a risk right now. This was a known flaw with the Colt rifle, and a few impatient men had lost a hand when all of the cylinders had accidentally ignited at once.

"I've tied up the horses nice and tight. I'll go on and take the right side," Ezra whispered.

"Good," he replied, "Keep your head down until they come back. I'll take the other side. Wait until they get real close and mark your target carefully. We only have five rounds each. Save your pistol until they're on top of us. Also make sure not to fire in between us unless you have a clear shot."

"I know, I know," he replied sulkily. "I've been shooting long enough; you don't have to remind me."

"I just don't want to you to shoot me by accident."

Ezra grinned nervously. "It'll take more than a bullet to kill someone as ornery as you." He then pulled his hat tighter over his head and slowly crawled his way to the right side of the trees.

Jack made his way over to the left side and rested on his stomach, facing out towards the road. The rain had stopped and the clouds parted, allowing patches of moonlight to shine through. From there, he watched the dark muddy road as lightning flashed in the distance. The two corpses of the men he had killed were dark shapeless forms in the grass. He waited quietly, wishing for a stiff drink to calm his nerves. It was times like this that most men were scared. For Jack, fear brought a type of rare clarity. The fear never gets any less, but you could keep your nerves still - if you had enough experience with it. He knew that those ruffians were very afraid. But they wanted to strike back and try to prove their bravery. He imagined the men would be overconfident because Jack and Ezra were outnumbered. They would try to hit them hard instead of taking the safe route of encircling the pines. They would be better off being patient and waiting for them to make their move.

After just a few minutes, his prediction came true. Across the road, he could see a line of nine or ten men walking towards the trees. They walked slowly with their guns at the ready. Behind them a tall figure on horseback goaded them on.

The voice of Stevenson could be heard. "C'mon you men, move on forward. We can get that bastard who shot Joseph and Stu. If you see anyone move, shoot them!"

The men were ignoring his entreaties and were making their way ever so cautiously. They came towards the pines in a loose arc, hoping to outflank anyone inside.

Through the camouflage of the weeds, Jack looked down his barrels and set his sights on the man holding the side of the line closest to him. He tracked this target and slowly squeezed the trigger until the gun fired. The flash from the barrel was momentarily blinding. The man fell backwards, his breath rattling in great gasps. The others fell to the ground, trying to find the source of the shot. Jack rolled a few feet away from his original position. Ezra then fired from his position.

Another man on slumped down on the ground, yelling in pain as the bullet passed through his chest. The rest of the men froze in panic.

"Charge them!" Stevenson yelled from his horse. The men at first looked as though they were about to break away, but with their leader's urging, they ran madly towards the line of trees. They shouted, cursing loudly, as they raised their pistols and blindly fired into the pines. Jack and Ezra fired several more times into the line of men, the shots covered by the sound of returning fire. Two more men fell in their tracks but the remaining group made it into the woods.

Before the detective could get a clear shot, the horse crashed into the pines. Stevenson dismounted and drew out his two pistols, following his men into the undergrowth. "Keep together," he ordered. "If you see anything move, shoot it down."

"I found their horses," a man exclaimed. "It looks like there are only two of them in here."

Stevenson answered back, "Be careful, but just don't let them escape."

By this time, Jack had abandoned his empty rifle and pulled out the Starr pistol. He pulled himself up on his elbows and watched as the men moved through the gloom, looking for a target. Two men were coming towards him, their guns held out low. Jack waited quietly and let them pass. They walked within a few feet of him, but missed seeing his prone body in the underbrush.

Jack turned on his back and fired two times, dropping both men with two well-placed shots in the back. As if in response, he could hear the sound of Ezra's pistol in the distance. The remaining men fired wildly into the bushes.

"They're between us!" one man shouted. "Let's get out of here!"

"Hold up!" Stevenson yelled. It was too late. The men had already seen their comrades cut down by unknown fire, and they fled without listening, happy to escape with their very lives. Now only Stevenson remained behind.

"Come on out, you bastard," Stevenson said, looking desperately at the underbrush around him. "Or are you afraid of me, Blackwood?"

Jack stood up quietly, only ten yards or so away from the big man. The detective's Starr was ready in his hand. "I'm not afraid of you," he said.

Stevenson spun quickly around and fired two shots towards Jack. In his haste, his aim was off and the wild bullets struck a nearby pine tree.

"You'll have to do better than that," Jack said. He fired once, the lead ball hitting the man in the chest.

Stevenson fought to keep his footing and failed. He then slumped to his knees, grunting in pain as he went down.

Jack cautiously moved towards him with his partner approaching Stevenson from behind. "You should know better than to take an old Army scout in the woods," the detective said. His voice was low and steady, but filled with anger.

Stevenson tried to raise his gun to fire again, but the gun seemed too heavy in his hands. It fell to the ground. He looked up at the detective with hate. "Damn you," he said. "At least Davis will still get away from you. I'm sure of that." He then fell forward, his arms clutched around his chest as if to stop his lifeblood from escaping into the dirt.

"We'll see," he said to the dead man. "The game isn't over until the last turn."

Ezra came to stand next to him as they both looked down at the dead man. "Well, that's one of them, Jack. You know, revenge is always more sour than you can imagine," he said quietly.

Jack's face was set, his mouth in a grim line. He looked at his pistol and stuck it back into his holster. "Let's get the horses."

Ezra nodded in silence and began making his way back to the horses. Jack paused for a moment before following him. He looked at the corpses littering the field and shook his head at the pointlessness of it all.
Chapter 19

Narrative Continued

I'm all alone now, on my way to Harper's Ferry, after some unexpected incidents. Stevenson and I were ambushed by a group of ruffians, and though now I am safe it was a bit unexpected. Perhaps they were horse thieves, I don't know. I thought it was pure foolishness on their part to be out at all with the number of soldiers in the area, but perhaps it was an opportunity too good to be refused, the idea that all those men and their horses were about, and the treasure that that represented. More than all the petty thieving available in a year to some of these men, I suppose. But as I say it was foolishness, as someone from either side could have mistaken them for hostile and shot first in protection. Oh well, these men were out tonight with the intention to do harm, or at least to cause mischief.

It has been a damp and windy night, and Stevenson and I were just discussing the possibility of another rest. I don't mind wind by itself, nor rain neither, but once they are together it is hard to feel comfortable no matter how one is dressed. Although it is spring, the possibility of frost is in the air at all times, and the wind blows the cold rain on your cheeks, up your sleeves, and almost through the seams of your coat. At the time we were passing down a lane with some trees partially sheltering us from the constant drip of rain, and talking about where and when to stop. So maybe we were not paying attention as we ought to have been, when suddenly five men on horseback approached us with pistols at the ready. The lane was wooded, and they seemed to have been lying in wait behind some trees.

I was fumbling for a weapon, my hands damp and numb as I got into my coat pocket, when six more men on horse approached from the rear. Stevenson got a shot off that missed, but one of the men who had come in from behind stopped him from any further action.

" _Stop moving, old man," he shouted as he rammed the rifle butt at Stevenson's back. Although I was still breathless from their attack, I was a little amused at this, as Stevenson, who is usually so prepared, was caught short for once, and had no rebuttal either. He hates reference to be made about his age, although he's not old yet, he knows he's not young anymore either. The man was short, still young, and hatless with a grubby coat on his shoulders that he wore open._

The rest of the crowd circled closer, another gesturing at me to put my hands up. This I did obviously, so my movements could be seen in the dim light. The rest of the group was waiting for his orders, as the short man seemed to be orchestrating the group. "Joseph, you see if that one has any weapons," he nodded toward me as he spoke. Joseph, a little older than the short one, came over to me and felt my pockets, keeping my pistol, and patting me around lightly to see if I had anything else hidden on me. "Thompson, you get between them to make sure they can't hide nothing."

" _Here's his gun." Joseph showed it towards the short man._

" _You hang onto it for now. If they have enough money maybe they can have it back when we leave." For a short man, he had a menacing look about him. His coat might have been grubby but it was a quality piece of goods to begin with. Clearly thieving had its benefits. The rest of the group, eleven in all, seemed an ill-matched lot. Some were older, most looked a little underfed and tired. Well, it had been a late night for us as well, though they had the advantage of surprising us._

A small idea was fermenting in my brain, and I was waiting for the right time to bring it forward. I try to be a man who thinks on his feet when the occasion calls for it. Stevenson seemed embarrassed at being caught out like this, and avoided making eye contact with me, even though we were only a few feet away from each other. Thompson, who had gotten between us, was on a somewhat skittish horse that had a hard time staying still, but I did not have anything to hide or pass to Stevenson for us to make a fast move. In fact I preferred waiting to see how these events would unfold.

" _Would you two gentleman mind telling us what brings you this way?" The short one began. He turned to me for his answer, his fair hair glinting in the faint light._

" _I am certain that you are not the law in this area, so I am not bound to answer your question. In fact I think the same question should be asked of you and your fine group this evening... Mister..." I gestured a little with my head, and slowly lowered my hands._

" _I am John Pickens, and you're right, we are not the law in this area." He stopped a little as he lit a small cigar. He exhaled and gestured around the circle of trees we were in. "We are just out to see what the night might bring us." A faint smile crossed his face which was shiny from the mist. "We sometimes find interesting things going on, and these things make us richer."_

" _Well, I do not see how two gentlemen from Washington can be all that interesting," I told him. "But I do think we can see a way toward making you richer."_

Stevenson suddenly looked at me, a question in his eyes. He is smarter than he seems to a lot of people, in fact it is the easiest thing in the world to seem stupider than you are.

" _I was thinking you would make us rich one way or another," Pickens said. "The usual way is for you to empty your pockets for us."_

I gave a small chuckle and nodded at him. "That would make you richer for certain. But if I can hire you and your group to do some work for us, I can pay you even more when the job is completed. What do you say to that?"

His eyes narrowed with interest. "I don't care for daily work; I have a job that satisfies my needs. But I could do an odd job for you, I reckon, as long as I were paid adequately. These friends of mine can decide whether they want to join in or not."

" _Oh this is highly irregular work I am offering you." I started slowly, since the idea was still forming itself in my head. "You see, my friend Stevenson here and I are being chased by two men, opposed to the Southern cause. We think they are following us, and hoping to bring us to justice for some trumped-up charge back in Washington. I'll give you each ten dollars each to go with Stevenson and ambush them. When you bring them back to me, preferably dead, I will give you twenty more." I smiled slowly as I brought out the offer, hoping that it was riches untold to them._

" _Am I right in thinking this is cash you are carrying about you right now?" Pickens asked._

I gave a quick look to Stevenson to make sure he kept his mouth shut. He knows that I am wealthy, but I never let on how much I might carry on me at any given time. "I could pay the ten dollars now to anyone who will go with Stevenson to find these men. The rest of the money I will have to get a hold of in Richmond, or perhaps Harper's Ferry. It might take a day but the money is there."

After that offer, it was quick negotiating with these opportunists. I gave them the money, and not one of them backed down from the offer. Stevenson took over in getting them all their orders and they took off, with the promise to meet me next day in Harper's Ferry. Stevenson and I had a quick word in private before they took off, and he left me hopeful that this business of Mister Blackwood can be taken care of. I am not sure whether I am going to pay them or not when the time comes, though it might not hurt to have some compatriots in this area should the need arise. We shall see.

So now I am headed that way, hoping that the ambush means no one is following me, and taking the time I want to rest and get thoroughly dry and comfortable before I continue on. Stevenson may have been a bit of an ill-mannered brute at times, but he kept the loneliness away. Now by myself, my mind wanders to things I'd rather not think on.

*

Coaxing their horses slowly along, Jack and Ezra arrived at Harper's Ferry in the mid-morning. They had managed to keep up a good pace through the rest of the night, but now felt the long hours catching up to them. The chill of the morning was giving away to the heat of the sun, but it would be some time before they felt warm again. They stopped at the top of a hill overlooking the town of scattered buildings below. Harper's Ferry was located at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers. With the railroad and the armory, the town was of strategic importance to the Army. For now it was quiet with only a few soldiers out in the streets.

Ezra yawned and stretched as he said, "It looks like the Federals are not here in any considerable force. It appears they are moving the majority of the troops to Washington first."

Jack sleepily agreed. He said, "It seems like a foolish mistake, but I'm no general. Let's go on down and see if we can find Davis. I want to take care of this quickly as I still have some business back in Washington." Without any further explanation, Jack trotted his horse forward.

Ezra gave his friend a quizzical look and with a shrug kicked his own horse forward.

As they came into the town, a soldier stepped out from the shadows of a house. He had his rifle raised and ready. "Hold up," he shouted nervously. "What business do you have here?" His uniform was deep blue wool, and so new it was still creased.

Jack reached cautiously and pulled out the papers he received from Garrett from his coat pocket. "We are here on behalf of the City Ward of Washington. We are looking for a spy who may have come this way."

After looking at the papers, the soldier stood aside and said, "You know Virginia seceded just yesterday? We only have a small garrison here, but hope to keep Harper's Ferry out of their militia's hands."

"I wish you luck. But who's in command here?" Jack asked.

"Lieutenant Jones," the soldier replied. "He can be found at the Armory down the road."

The detective tipped his hat and said, "I thank you."

They passed the soldier and made their way towards the Armory. The few soldiers there were busy moving carts and hauling boxes. The men looked frightened. The Armory itself was the site of the failed slavery rebellion in October of 1859. It was here that John Brown was captured and hanged after Colonel Robert E. Lee had put down the insurrection.

Jack and Ezra rode into the courtyard where a few horses were tied up. There, a lieutenant scanned the railway bridges with a set of field glasses. He turned when he heard them ride up. "And who might you be?" he asked impatiently.

"My name is Jack Blackwood. This here is my partner, Ezra Miller," Jack said. "You must be Lieutenant Jones."

"That I am," Jones replied suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"We are here looking for someone named Ethan Davis. He has some stolen government papers in his possession which he means to sell to the Secessionists."

"I see. I would like to help you but we are in a heap of trouble here. As you may have already heard, Virginia voted to secede from the Union. I fear they may march on Harper's Ferry any moment and try to take the Armory. I can't let that happen, but I'm short of men and short of time."

"Mister Miller and I will be willing to help, but I need to know if you have seen any strangers come through here recently?"

"I can't say that I have," Jones replied curtly. "But we aren't exactly keeping track of any citizens coming or going. What does this Ethan Davis look like?"

"He is of a medium build, blonde hair, and dresses well. As far as I know he would be traveling alone."

"There haven't been too many visitors here lately, and I haven't seen anyone of that particular description. Right now there have been more people leaving the town than coming in. They are afraid the Virginians will be coming in here to loot the place."

"Could he have slipped in here unnoticed?" Ezra asked.

"I have a few men patrolling the outskirts of the town, but I don't have enough of them to keep the area completely secure. If someone really wanted to sneak in here, I doubt if I could stop them."

"I see," Jack said hiding his disappointment. He grinned at his partner before continuing. "Lieutenant, you are in luck, I was once in the Army, and we can both use our guns pretty well."

The Lieutenant's tone became less formal and friendlier. "Really," he said. "What did you do when you were in the Army?"

"I worked as a scout. I'm a fair shot with this here Colt rifle and Mister Miller here isn't that bad either."

"That's good. Right now I need some more men to keep an eye out across the Potomac. The Virginians are sure to try to take the bridge in order to get into town. If this Davis of yours is trying to escape, that would be an obvious route for him to take."

"We are running short on ammunition, but my partner and I can watch that area if you think it is suitable." Jack looked over at Ezra, who nodded his assent.

"That would be much appreciated," Jones replied. He wiped his face with his sleeve and pointed towards the railway bridge. "If you need more ammunition it can be gotten from the stores over there. That rail bridge is the only egress across the river in the town of Harper's Ferry. You could cover that point and keep an eye out towards the other side. If you see anything suspicious, run down and let me know."

"Sure," Jack said. "We can manage that for you."

With a salute, Jack and Ezra left. They watered their horses at the trough and then tied them to the post outside the armory. Afterward, Jack looked over to the rail bridge across the river. There was a small white house on a hill near the road that overlooked it. He pointed it out. "That is where we will keep watch."

"Yes, but let's stock up first," Ezra said.

They went to the ammunition stores. A private's official manner gave away to friendliness once they mentioned their assignment from Lieutenant Jones. After receiving a stock of gunpowder and shot, they then climbed their way up the hill, lugging their rifles with them.

The house door was padlocked shut and Jack knocked. No one answered the door. He looked at his partner, and said "It looks like no one is home." He then rammed his shoulder into the door, and the hasp twisted and broke. With a squeak of the rusty hinges, the door opened.

It was a poor little house, obviously not well taken care of. The floor was dusty, and the windows were unwashed. The furniture was simple, and a single pot-bellied stove once provided heat for the departed owner.

"It may not look like much," Ezra said with a laugh, "but it has a nice view."

The front windows faced the railroad bridge one hundred yards below. It was made out of wood with stone foundations sunk into the riverbed. It was some two hundred feet in length and cut straight across the Potomac River which lazed over rough rocks and through yellow weeds. The other side had a road next to a towering limestone butte. A few small buildings stood next to the road that meandered south into Virginia.

Jack studied the view and then said, "Good, now let's drag this table on over to the windows. Gather some bedding from the other room too. I want to make a good gun perch to do some shooting."

They pulled the small kitchen table over to the front windows. Jack wrestled the window open while his partner gathered some sheets and pillows from the other room. He piled the bedding on top of the table and arranged it to provide some support for the rifle.

"Why are we waiting here?" Ezra finally asked. "It seems we would be better off searching for him in the town."

"That's a lot of ground to cover and the way I figure it, we don't have enough time." Jack replied as he sat on the floor, cleaning his Colt repeating rifle. He removed the cylinders and cleared out the existing loads. Afterward, he began to go carefully over the entire rifle. He then said, "If I got this figured out right, Davis is hiding somewhere close by. He knows that the Virginians are going to strike here. He only has to wait for them to come and try to drive the Federals out. If he gets scared, then he may make an attempt to cross here."

"What makes you think he is still here?" Ezra asked. "He could have found a way around the town and forded across the river."

"Perhaps, but what other choice do we have? This town isn't exactly well guarded and this garrison won't last long against any organized force. If Davis doesn't show up, at least we can lend a hand."

Ezra shook his head.

"Doubting my patriotism?" Jack asked sarcastically. "Now in all seriousness, I'm hoping that Davis really is here and won't be able to stand the pressure of waiting. If that is true, then he'll try to flee across that bridge, right into the arms of the Virginians. And when he does, I'll shoot him before he even makes it half-way across."

Ezra frowned and said, "It doesn't sound like you're giving him much of a sporting chance."

Jack laughed. "The way I look at it, he sent Stevenson to try to kill me. I won't mind giving him something in return for his troubles. Now I want you to keep guard around the house. I'm going to be concentrating on that bridge and don't want someone to sneak up on me. Too many hunters have gotten blindsided by looking in the wrong direction at the wrong time. If you see Davis coming towards the bridge, give me a shout so I can ready my shot."

"Will do," Ezra said impatiently. "If there really is anything to see, you'll be the first to know." He walked out of the door with his loaded rifle.

Jack lit his candle stub and started placing wax around the newly packed Colt cylinders. He then looked down the rifle sights and brushed away some dust on the barrel. Afterwards, he pulled himself on to the table and tried to get comfortable. He ended up stretched out on the table on his stomach. The gun was pointed out of the window, straight down the hill and onto the bridge. He slowly went over the landscape with his field glasses and kept his eyes busy looking for any movement across the river. After a few minutes of this, he shifted uncomfortably on top of the piled blankets and tried to clear his mind for any upcoming action.

The rest of the afternoon went by with relative quiet. The river flowed gently under the bridge, and the sun shone brightly over the town. Ezra continued to prowl quietly around the house, looking carefully to see if anyone was trying to approach unseen. He gnawed on a bit of jerky that he also shared with Jack. Only rarely could the movements of the soldiers in the town be seen.

In spite of himself, Jack's thoughts drifted away and he found himself picturing Faith. He thought of her long blonde hair, friendly manner, and the kisses she had given him. He relaxed a little under the influence of these thoughts and forgot his hunger and tiredness. He also thought of Lawrence's corpse, the grief of the Hanson family, and his own recent killing of Stevenson. Would Faith be shocked by the death of Stevenson or would she be happy to hear the news? Perhaps he wouldn't tell her about any of this. It might be for the best if such bloody events were kept from her.

The low rumble of the river made the town seem eerily quiet. Jack yawned, blinked quickly and shook his head as if in a daze. He looked through the glasses again. Across the river, down the road, he suddenly saw four men on horseback approaching warily. Any thoughts of sleep disappeared when he saw they were all wearing the same type of uniform and had cavalry sabers on their sides. He shouted for Ezra who came bounding in.

Jack said, "It looks as if that Lieutenant was right. Those look like Virginian Cavalry scouting the way ahead for the main army. Go on down and warn him that enemy scouts are across the river. Tell him that they will be bringing up their main force soon."

The ex-slave nodded, went out the back door, and ran down the hill towards the armory.

Jack turned his field glasses back to view the scouts. They were on foot now, having left their horses behind to try to view the riverbank without being seen. Their uniforms were simple light blues, with only a feather on the side of their caps to designate their cavalry status. One had a set of field glasses of his own and was sweeping it over the town. He spoke to his fellow soldiers and pointed towards the armory. After a few more exchanged words, they turned and ran back towards their horses. They quickly left in a gallop after mounting up.

Ezra returned, breathless from exertion. "I told the Lieutenant about the scouts. He is putting some of his men in position by the riverbank on this side. If the militia tries to come across that bridge, his men should be able to stop them from making it across."

"That's good," Jack said. "Now I'm going to take a break for a minute and stretch my legs. It might be the last chance I get for a while." He slid off the table and began walking back and forth across the room, smoking a cigarette. He stopped every minute to look along the river with his field glasses. Some two dozen Federal soldiers were now on this side of the river, hunkered low in the shrubs. He waited for a few minutes before he pulled himself up on the table to wait once more.

It was early evening when Jack first spotted the Virginian infantry marching down the road. There appeared to be several companies led by officers on horseback. He estimated well over two hundred men were now approaching. Their bayonets shone in the sunset, and the steady sound of their march could be faintly heard over the gurgle of the river.

"They're here, Ezra. Now I just hope that the Lieutenant's men see them from down there. Remember, I can't spare you for a minute. If you hear a horse heading towards the bridge, you give me a shout. Don't worry about the Federals. They can take care of themselves. I will only have a few seconds to make my shot before Davis will be safely across. I can't let him get too far or else we will never have a chance of getting those papers back."

The peace of the evening was suddenly broken by the sound of rifles firing and echoing off the water. The small group of Federals in place had begun to fire upon the massed men across the river. At that distance, their fire wasn't accurate, but the Virginian ranks broke and took up positions in the small surrounding buildings. Soon a rifle was poking out of every window and was returning fire. Jack watched through his field glasses and frowned. The Federals were heavily outnumbered and had little hope of holding off the Virginians for long.

Ezra said, "How long do you think this will last?"

"It will be hard for the Rebels to cross the river," the detective replied tersely, without breaking his view through his field glasses. "They can either try to swim across and get their powder wet, or they have to take the bridge. Now hold on, what are they trying to do now?"

By now the Federals had moved off the riverbank and were taking positions further back behind what cover they could find. A sizable group of Virginians took advantage of this break and started to make their way across the bridge. They moved quickly with their heads held low and their muskets held forward with one hand. This movement was soon spotted by the Federal troops, but their sporadic fire was not enough to cause the Virginians to retreat back into cover. Jack put his glasses down and readied his Colt Rifle.

He spoke to Ezra over his shoulder, "I know this is a gamble, but if Davis is here, this is a good chance for him to make his break. Keep your eyes and ears open and let me know if you see him coming."

The Virginians made it half way across the bridge before the returning fire was too heavy for them. They were now down on their stomachs, inching slowly forward on the rough wooden beams. From that position, they would return fire on the Federals and then reload with great difficulty.

Ezra was looking out towards the road to the armory when he saw the smoke begin to rise from the buildings. "Jack," he said, "the Armory is on fire."

The detective didn't even turn to look. "That Lieutenant must have realized he can't hope to keep this town. He's decided to burn the Armory down instead of letting the Virginians have the guns and powder."

Ezra shouted, "There's someone coming on horseback! Whoever it is, is heading straight towards the bridge."

Jack sighed with relief. This had to be Davis. "Here we go," he spat out. His heart started to pound and he breathed deeply trying to calm his nerves. His hand itched as he readied himself for the shot.

The black man watched as the man on horseback made his way down the road towards the bridge. The horse pushed through a group of soldiers carrying torches. The dumbfounded men tried to shoot, but their shots went wild in the chaos of the moment. The horse continued on galloping hard and began to turn onto the bridge.

Ezra's eyes widened as he recognized the fleeing figure. "It's Davis!" he shouted. "Shoot!"
Chapter 20

Jack shifted his body, placing the rifle butt squarely on his shoulder. As the horse and rider came across its sights, he followed along, with sights just ahead of his target. When the shot felt right, he gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle fired, and the fifty-six caliber miniball struck Davis in the right leg just as he made the turn onto the bridge. He crumpled over, fighting to stay on the back of the still-moving horse. He failed and slipped off the saddle. His body struck the railing. He flipped right over into the river below. His mount stumbled and collided against the side of the bridge. Dazed, the horse picked itself up and stood at the entrance to the bridge – oblivious to the gunfire on both sides.

"That was a great shot!" Ezra exclaimed. "Is he dead?"

Jack was pleased by the compliment but disappointed by his results. "I was hoping to hit him in the heart," he replied. "But I doubt he lived after falling over the side of the bridge like that."

"I can't tell from up here. I don't see anyone floating in the river either."

Jack picked up his field glasses and scanned along the river, hoping to see a floating corpse. He could see nothing but running water and the Virginian Militia clinging to the top of the bridge.

Ezra said hopefully, "I don't see how anyone could have survived being shot and falling off the bridge."

"Maybe so, but I would rather know for sure. Either way, we'll still have to go down and get those papers."

The Federal fire had slackened, but it was still thick enough to have stopped the Virginians on the bridge from advancing any further. They had made it to the center of the bridge and were desperate to get any little cover they could find. The Federals in turn were picking off anyone trying to run across.

Jack and Ezra left the house and made their way down to the side of the hill. There they stayed, crouched behind the rail embankment, hiding from view. Davis's horse was still standing at the end of the bridge, still unaware of the battle around it. The smoke from the burning buildings began to blanket the town, causing Ezra and Jack to cough and hold their mouths tightly with their hands. Crawling, they made their way to along the embankment ditch. The ditch was dirty, but neither of them cared as long as it provided cover from the miniballs passing overhead.

Jack flexed his sore arm and looked at the horse that was now several yards away from them. It had a saddle bag. He handed his rifle to his partner. He said, "Now Ezra, I want you to cover me. Shoot anyone who gets too close or is drawing a bead on me."

"Not with your arm like that. Let me go."

"I already have one bullet wound, one more won't hurt."

Ezra shook his head. "Be careful, Jack, there's no reason to die over some old papers. No one here knows which side you are on. Anyone will be happy to hit such an easy target."

"I'll be quick," the detective said with a smile. "But remember, there are only four shots left."

Ezra nodded and slapped his friend on the back. He peeked over the ditch and rested the rifle on the edge of the ditch. "Now, Jack! It looks clear!"

Jack crawled out and on his stomach, slowly moving towards the horse. The sound of the miniballs striking the ground or singing by through the air around made him nervous, but he bit his lip and continued on, foot by agonizing foot. The uneven ground dragged roughly against his stomach, but soon he was just a few feet away from the horse. In spite of the fighting around him, he had to appreciate Davis's choice in rides. It was a sleek Appaloosa stallion with excellent markings. Once he was in range, Jack leaped up to grab the horse's bridle and pulled it away from the bridge.

At the same time, a shout suddenly went up on the Virginian side. A company of a dozen cavalry charged on horseback across the bridge. Their sabers were held high and glinted in the setting sun. The infantry stuck on the bridge jumped out of the way as the cavalry thundered onto the wooden timbers. The Federals shot at the oncoming charge, but only managed to pick off a few men. The horses neighed in terror, the cavalrymen shouted, but continued to push their mounts hard towards the other side. Jack looked across the bridge with frozen horror on his face, realizing he would be ridden down.

Ezra shouted, "Come on!"

Without thinking, his partner jumped out of the ditch and went down on one knee. He held his rifle steady towards the oncoming line of cavalry. He fired past his partner and hit the leading horseman straight on. The man grabbed his chest with a bloody scream and tumbled hard off the horse and into the river.

Jack snapped out of his daze, pulled hard on the bridle, and pulled himself up onto the saddle. A few cavalry shots whistled past him, one bullet tugging at his shirt sleeve.

Ezra fired again, and the next lead horseman was hit in the shoulder. "Move it!" he shouted. He only had two rounds left in his rifle, and the cavalry were getting too close for comfort. He snapped the trigger hard two more times, the cylinder turning and discharging the remaining loads in a flash of black gunpowder.

Jack kicked the horse hard in the flanks, turned and galloped the short distance to his partner. Ezra, rifle empty, swung up on the horse as the Virginian cavalry broke to the other side of the bridge. Their pistols were firing wildly, but the bullets went wide.

The stallion was now running scared, but reacted as Jack kicked its sides hard to urge the horse to a gallop. They rode hard down the road towards the Armory, trying to gain as much distance from their pursuers as possible. The air was now thick with dark smoke from the burning buildings.

"Move it, you damn horse, move it!" Jack shouted as the bullets cracked around them.

The remaining Federal troops were running into the street, fleeing out of the burning town. The tide of battle had broken, and there was little resistance left to the oncoming Virginian cavalry. The rest of them ran across the bridge, shouting and cheering as they went.

All around the Armory, the air was hot from the heat of the fires. The Virginian cavalry had now dispersed into the mass of fleeing men, trying to ride down the easier targets. Lieutenant Jones was still there in the courtyard, surrounded by smoke, shouting orders as his men scurried about. He nodded curtly at Jack and Ezra as they galloped into the courtyard.

"Glad to see you both made it back," the Lieutenant said.

Dismounted, Jack was breathing hard. "It was a close call," he said. "I was about to be rode down by that cavalry if Ezra hadn't slowed them down."

His friend grinned and said, "You were just standing there like a fool. What other choice did I have?"

"Did you get the man you were looking for?" Jones asked.

"I managed to shoot him before he made it over the bridge, but I'm not sure if he is dead or not. I did get his horse, and the papers are right here." Jack patted the side saddle bag.

The lieutenant nodded. "We don't have much time now. We have to pull out. I just don't have enough men to hold them back anymore. If I were you, I would come with us." He then shouted a few more commands at his remaining men.

Jack and Ezra returned to their horses. There, Jack tied Davis's mount to his saddle horn. They joined the chaos of smoke and men streaming out of the town. The Virginians had now taken the lower part of the town near the bridge and were firing towards the armory. A few miniballs ricocheted off of the walls, whining through the thick, smoke-choked air.

As they reached the top of the hill looking down on Harper's Ferry, Jack and Ezra stopped to look back. The Federal soldiers trudged by, their faces haggard with defeat. The entire town was now swirling with smoke and fire. In the distance, they could make out a small stream of Virginians still crossing the bridge. The sound of gunfire could still be heard, but it was diminished. They waited until they saw the Lieutenant, now on horseback, make his way up the hill. He was the last Federal soldier to leave the town.

Jack saluted in greeting. The lieutenant stopped to join them in watching the burning town below. By then, the sun was setting. Pockets of fire from the burning Armory added an eerie glow to the sky.

Jones shrugged his shoulders and sighed. "If I only had a few more men, then I could have held that town until we received reinforcements."

"Reinforcements would never have come," Jack said. "They are too busy fortifying Washington. But at least they won't be able to have the guns in the armory."

"We'll see," replied Jones somberly. "I just wish we had had some more time to set the fires. I'm sure they won't be able to get anything too valuable, but some of my men carried out their duties half-heartedly. I'm not sure if they were even on our side."

The sound of gunfire had now completely died away. The Virginians had taken Harper's Ferry.
Chapter 21

That evening, a thick cloud of smoke from the burning town screened the glow of the moon. Jack and Ezra were riding in the back of the column of soldiers limping towards Washington. The pace was slow since many of the men were wounded, and the entire group was short of horses. The cold spring weather helped little.

"Even though you're no longer in the Army, Mister Blackwood, if you could help keep a watch back here I would be much obliged." Jones said wearily.

Jack nodded.

Ezra asked, "We're an open target on this road. Are you expecting any more trouble?"

"I doubt it. They will be more interested in putting those fires out than chasing the remnants of my command. But you can never be sure what will happen in times like these." He sighed and looked back at the smoke-shrouded moon.

"How much longer are you going to keep your men going?" Jack asked sympathetically. "They look all in and could do with a rest. It might be better to hide in the woods over there and wait until your men are more mobile."

"Well, I want to get far enough away so we won't be a tempting target for those damn Virginians. I will head to the front now and take charge up there. Don't worry, we'll be stopping in a few hours." The lieutenant kicked his horse ahead.

Jack shook his head. "I hope they don't send some cavalry after us. They would cut us up into ribbons."

They made slow progress along the road, but no enemy attacks came. After another hour, Lieutenant Jones led them into a field that was sheltered from the road by a large hill. A few of the more fit men were then posted on the hill to watch for pursuers. Several small fires were built, and the men collapsed around them, grateful for the rest. Only a few scraps of food were available to share and drinking water was short as well.

After hobbling their horses for the night, Jack lifted the saddle bag off of Davis's mount before following his partner into the hastily assembled camp. Jack was impatient to examine the bags, but made his way to the fire that Lieutenant Jones had picked. Ezra stood near the fire and warmed his hands. Jones was sitting on the ground, leaning his back against his saddle. He looked worried and haggard from the day's events. The soot from the fires at the Armory had left stains across his face and his uniform, which had not been too clean to begin with. Jack knew that his own appearance could not look much better.

"Lieutenant, are you sure these campfires are safe?" Jack asked. "The smell of smoke would tip off any pursuing scouts."

"No, they aren't safe – but my men need to eat something warm." His jaw tightened from the criticism. "We made it this far without any trouble. Let's hope our luck doesn't run out."

"If they sent any cavalry your way, we will be spotted in no time."

"I don't expect any more trouble today," the lieutenant replied, looking at him with annoyance.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and dropped to the ground beside Ezra. "I hope you're right, I'm tired myself."

"Mister Blackwood, are those the papers that you came to Harper's Ferry for?" Jones asked, looking curiously at the saddlebag.

"Well, I went to Harper's Ferry to find a man. But this will have to do. I was about to take a look inside. I sure hope they are worth the trouble." Jack then opened the bag and emptied the contents onto the grass. Several objects fell out – some beef tack, a small bag that jingled with the sound of coin, a small silver-plated derringer, and a tightly bound satchel.

With shaking hands, Jack carefully opened the leather satchel. It held just a small sheaf of papers which he hurriedly examined in the firelight. They were the plans, but only seemed to be a small portion of them. They listed the number of men needed and the general outline of the plan, but the details of the units and locations were missing. Now where was the rest of the it?

"Seems like a lot of work for just a few papers," Jones commented blandly.

"There has to be more than this," his partner said in disbelief.

Jack ran his hands through the other items with exasperation. "You're right, Ezra. There has to be more than this. I think this is the same material that Stevenson had at his house. I remember Edmonds was demanding to see the rest of the plans before payment."

"Then where is the rest of it?" Ezra asked. His voice was rough from exhaustion.

"I'm not sure. Did you see him carrying anything else when he tried to cross the bridge? Was there any other bags or cases?"

His partner shook his head. "Davis was traveling light and had both of his hands on the bridle. If he was carrying anything else, it was on his person."

"Damn it. We'll have to go back to Washington empty handed." Jack then gave the silver-plated derringer a cursory examination before shoving it into his coat pocket.

Jones yawned and poked at the burning logs. "Perhaps he hid the main papers on the way down to Harper's Ferry." His voice trailed off and then he looked back to Ezra and Jack. "Or someone else is holding them for him."

"You could be right," the detective admitted. "Abbott would be the obvious choice."

"Abbott? How could he get the papers?" Ezra asked. "He was locked away when we went to Stevenson's house."

"There is only one way to find out," Jack replied. "We shall have to return to Washington."
Chapter 22

Narrative continued

For the moment Jack Blackwood has bested me, but perhaps that will change. I suppose I will continue where I left off, though in my current state – after a generous dose of medicine for my pains at a small hospital outside of Harper's Ferry – I cannot guarantee that my telling of the story will be logical.

I made my way to Harpers' Ferry as the plan originally went, not really aware of what Fate had in store for me. The day had cleared up since the previous dripping rain, and the wind had died down as well. After initially missing Stevenson and his conversation, I had settled in to my thoughts, and they did not remain unpleasant as they had before. Perhaps the change in the weather made me more optimistic. Also I had hopes that I could settle my business in a profitable manner, and Stevenson could take care of the rest with the Southern rascals. His ambush of Mister Blackwood seemed to simplify matters and take some of the burden of planning away from me. But that interfering detective and his partner were too smart for Stevenson and the men. Although I have not heard from Stevenson or anyone else for that matter, I cannot hope for the best. It is obvious that Blackwood and his man had weapons and intelligence, and managed to stop the men, even though they were outnumbered.

When I entered Harper's Ferry using a back route, I knew something was about to happen. The residents had a distracted air, and the smell of gunpowder seemed to be floating in the distance. I walked into a tavern and started a conversation with the landlord. He was a talkative man. He told me that Virginia had just seceded, and that news made me get a little restless. I did not want to be getting shot at with my business unfinished and unable to collect the money I had been promised by the Rebels.

I decided to leave abruptly, and I found my way to the bridge leaving the area of the arsenal and towards the rumored Virginian forces. I stayed hidden in the woods around the area, considering what to do. I then saw that some Virginian Cavalry were scouting the area, and I only had to wait for the rest of the army to arrive to get across that bridge. When I tried to cross, the miniballs were buzzing everywhere. My luck did not hold out, and I was shot in the leg. I ended up falling into the river below where I thought I would drown.

Some local citizens took up the work of hauling the wounded to safety. I am recovering in the house of an older lady, Missus Douglas, who is pleased to be helping a fellow Southerner. The bullet has been removed from my right leg. Luckily I passed out before the operation became too painful, but my leg looks a sight. The doctor said if it doesn't improve, I may lose my leg to amputation. I oppose that idea strongly when it is suggested, and I hope to be well enough to leave in a week's time or so. For the moment, I welcome the rest at this hospitable place, and reflect back on the past, and hope to get my chance against that infernal Blackwood in the future.

*

On the outskirts of Washington, Jack and Ezra bid farewell to Lieutenant Jones and his men. Jones had to report to Fort Stevens and tell them of the loss of Harper's Ferry.

It was near midnight when they finally made their way into the heart of the city. Only a few travelers and soldiers were out at this time of night. Jack felt tired. He wanted more than anything else to sleep in his own bed, get a bath and shave, but he knew that he should instead put an end to this case and return those papers. Perhaps Abbott would provide the final clue to their whereabouts.

They saw at the entrance that Abbott's apartment building was dark. Tying the mounts at the post outside of the entrance, they found the front door unlocked. Jack pushed it open and found a fat clerk at the front desk, fast asleep. As Ezra shut the door, the fat man's eyes fluttered open, and he seemed surprised to see these uninvited guests.

He said crankily, "I'm sorry, it's late gentlemen. Now what can I do for you?"

"We wish to talk to Mister Abbot," replied Jack. He could smell the odor of whiskey in the air.

"I'm afraid that is not possible."

"Look, do you want to lose your job?"

"Whatever do you mean?" the clerk asked, his face blanching with fear.

Jack sniffed. "I know the smell of whiskey better than any man. This place reeks of it. Now we're going up to see Abbott."

The clerk stuttered, "It's much too late for you to call on him. Please, it would be better to stop by in the morning."

"This is too important to wait. Can I talk to his butler?"

"His butler is out for the night. He usually has evenings free so Mister Abbott can entertain his guests in his own, shall we say, privacy." He smiled slyly at them.

They headed for the stairs.

The desk clerk called after them, "Gentlemen, if you continue, I shall have to have the police come and forcibly remove you."

"That might be a good idea," Jack called over his shoulder. "Ask for Henry Garrett to come personally."

They climbed the stairs and found that the apartment door was closed and locked. Jack pounded on it with his fist and shouted, "Abbott, come and let us in! We know you're in there." There was no movement or sound from the apartment. He knocked furiously again. No response came.

Jack looked at his partner and shrugged. "Let's go in and wake him up." He stepped back and kicked the door hard with a heavy boot. The door made a cracking noise as it buckled. He leaned back and kicked it even harder. The frame splintered as it swung open, broken at the deadbolt. The inside of the apartment was dimly lit - the low light of two oil lamps in the living room cast dark shadows. Abbott was there - sitting on the sofa with his head slumped on his chest. He was dressed in a dark suit with the front of the jacket unbuttoned. A heavy black stain was spread across the front of his silk shirt. The windows were open and a small breeze lifted the curtains.

Jack went over and felt for a pulse. There was no heartbeat and the flesh had long turned cold with death. He frowned as he looked over the body. "He's been dead for a while," he said to Ezra without emotion.

"I'll take a look around anyways and see if anyone is hiding," Ezra said. He pulled out his Colt pistol and walked into the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Jack stayed in the room and walked over to the oil lamps to turn the flame up higher. He then leaned over Abbott and started to examine him closely. Gunpowder burns had damaged the shirt, so it was obvious that someone had fired at point-blank range. Pulling the shirt open, he saw a small bullet entry wound that went right into the heart. The blood had stopped pumping quite a while ago and had congealed in a thick streak, running down the chest. Jack then pulled Abbot's head back to find a lifeless expression. On the side table near the sofa there was a bottle of wine, half-empty, with a pair of drained tulip wine glasses nearby. The ash tray held a single cigar that had burned out, leaving a trail of ashes. Jack examined the wine glasses and they only had the slight smear of fingers and lip marks on the rim.

Ezra returned, shaking his head. "I didn't find anyone, but the bed was turned for two for the night."

"How do you know that?"

"There was some folded lingerie at the end of the bed. I don't think Abbott would be wearing anything like that for himself unless he is stranger than we imagined."

Jack gave a short sarcastic laugh. "He had a woman over, that is to be sure. With the lights down and the wine, he thought he had a nice little get-together."

"How was he killed?" Ezra asked, taking a closer look at the wound for himself.

"By the looks of the wound, he was shot at close quarters with a small caliber bullet. There was a trace of burn marks on the shirt. Whoever killed him was sitting right next to him when they pulled the trigger. There is no sign of struggle, so he must have died right away."

"One small shot from a small pistol in the middle of the night won't wake most people," Ezra said. He then looked thoughtful as he continued speaking. "If his advances towards said woman were too aggressive, she may have been protecting herself."

"I thought of that too. She may have panicked," Jack said. "But she was still smart enough to take his key and lock the front door."

"If she did that, then it could have been planned from the start."

"Or else she was buying herself some time before the body was discovered. She must have known that Abbott's butler wouldn't be returning until the morning."

"How long ago do you think he died?"

"Three or four hours ago" Jack replied. "Whoever did it got out in a hurry but was careful enough not to arouse the suspicions of the night clerk. Speaking of the clerk, why don't you go on down and have him send for the Watch if he hasn't already. I'll take a look through the other rooms for anything we might have missed. Those papers could have been hidden here."

"If they were, I doubt you'll find anything now," Ezra said as he left.

He knew that his partner was right. Whoever killed Abbott had enough time to get whatever they wanted. If the remaining plans really had been here, then they would be long gone by now. He went to the first bedroom in the hallway. It was small and simply decorated, obviously the room used by Abbott's butler. He skipped this bedroom and went to the last room.

This was a spacious bedroom, richly furnished. The bed was turned for the night, and a short and thin silk woman's gown was neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Jack picked it up and looked at it thoughtfully. He then searched through the drawers of the side tables, finding some trinkets and a few books. He rifled through these and didn't find anything of interest hidden within the pages. The closet held several well-made suits, but nothing else worth investigating. He made it to the dresser, opened the drawers and examined the undergarments, socks, and shirts neatly folded within. There was simply nothing to be found in the bedroom. He started at the sound of someone entering the apartment.

When he entered the front room, he found Garrett examining the corpse. Ezra stood by the front door with a tired look on his face. Garrett nodded grimly at the detective, his searching eyes then returned to look over the evidence. He went through the same motions as Jack, studying the shirt and examining the wound.

"He's dead alright," the captain finally said. "Now what made you come back to see him?"

"It's a long story," Jack replied. "A very long story indeed." He heard that his voice was now ragged with exhaustion.

"I'm not going anywhere right now," Garrett replied sharply. "Let me hear it now."

"Very well, if you want." Jack then proceeded to tell him about Harper's Ferry and their failure to retrieve all of the papers.

When the detective had finished, Garret said, "What do you mean, you only got some of the plans?"

"When we encountered Stevenson at his house, he was showing off part of the plans to Edmonds. The rest were supposedly being held by Davis."

Garrett sighed with exasperation. "Do you know where the rest of the papers are now?" he asked.

Jack and Ezra shared a quick look that Garrett did not see. Jack spoke before his partner could say anything. "Either Davis hid them away, or left them behind in someone's care."

Ezra said, "We were thinking Abbott here would be able to tell us."

"What makes you think he would know anything about this?" Garrett asked. "He was being held in my jail when Davis was forced to flee Washington."

"Ethan Davis was in a hurry to get out of town. He may have feared carrying the papers on him and being found with them. If he could have someone else hold them, he could then safely make the deal with the Secessionists and then have the papers delivered. It would have been safer than carrying the entire set of plans."

"So Abbott held the papers for him?"

"Oh, I don't think Abbott had the papers himself – but he knew who did. He knew Davis well enough and was part of his plans. If anyone knew who had them, it had to be him."

"Well, Abbott is going to keep that secret to himself now," Garrett said, looking sadly towards the corpse again. He then said, "Jack, I feel like Hell. I almost feel as bad as you look. Why don't you two go on home for the night? I'll have my men tear this place apart looking for clues."

"I've already taken the liberty of looking through his bedroom. I didn't find a thing."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of everything and we can talk it through in the morning."

Jack nodded and walked out wearily with Ezra following him. His partner looked suspiciously at him as they made their way past the two City Watchmen that Garrett had brought with him. They went over to the horses. The black man grabbed Jack by the shoulder.

Ezra said angrily, "You know who did this, don't you?"

"Maybe I do, Ezra. I'll let you know." Jack pulled himself away from his friend and then got on the back on his horse.

"Jack, you have to tell me."

"Later."

Ezra angrily shook his head as they started back home.
Chapter 23

Jack stretched in his bed, feeling the sore muscles from the long days of riding. From the way the sun streamed in his window, he guessed it was early afternoon. Groaning as he pulled himself from his bed, Jack sat up and rolled himself a cigarette. He took a couple of drags, made a face and then tossed the still lit cigarette out the window. The tobacco tasted sour in his mouth, and he still felt too worn out to care.

"Ezra," he called out. "Are you awake yet?"

Ezra came in with a yawn. "I've been awake for about an hour, I was wondering when you were going to get up."

"I could sleep another hour or two, but I suppose I'll have to catch up on my sleep later."

"I have some hot coffee on the stove."

Jack stood up and rubbed his grizzled chin. "Coffee sounds good. How did you sleep last night?"

"Good. It's been awhile since I've been in the saddle for such a long time. I'm feeling sore and tired, but it sure is good to be home."

"Yeah," he replied walking towards the kitchen. "What are you making in here?"

They sat down to a late breakfast, having large slabs of bacon with eggs. The day was gray with a light spring drizzle slowly turning the dirt roads into mud. Through the windows, they could see unhappy looking soldiers tramping through the muck, calling halfheartedly to each other as they passed.

There was a sudden knock at the door. When Jack went to answer it, he was greeted by an exhausted Garrett.

"Henry, it's good to see you," Jack said while letting him in.

The captain came in and sniffed the air. "Do you have any extra grub? I haven't eaten since yesterday."

"Sure, come and sit down with us. There is plenty to go around."

Jack poured a cup of coffee for Garrett while Ezra fixed a plate of food for him. They all sat at the table and continued to eat with little comment.

After finishing his meal, the captain leaned back in his chair and lit a small cigar. He drank some more coffee before clearing his throat to say, "I appreciate the meal. I was up all night trying to get some more information on Abbott's murder."

Ezra pushed his plate away. "Did you get anything out of that clerk?"

Jack lit up a cigarette and sat back in his chair to listen to Garrett's story.

"We questioned that drunk, though I do admit he was a hard person to get anything from. I guess he was well-paid by Abbott to be discreet. There sure was plenty of bad stuff going on at that place, but after a few hours with my boys, he was willing to tell us everything. You see, Abbott's butler went out that night. He was often gone and even had his own apartment a few blocks away. We tracked him down and spoke to the old boy. We couldn't get much out of him either. He was the old-fashioned sort who wasn't willing to betray the secrets of his master. But we managed to learn enough from the clerk and the butler to piece together what we do know. It turns out that Abbott would have quite a few ladies visit him at night. How much was business and how much was pleasure we will never know. According to the clerk, some of them would be the same girls, but more often than not it was a new girl every time. Last night, after dinner, the clerk saw Abbott come in with a good-looking blonde. She looked to be very upper-class, not the usual type of woman who would visit. That was enough to make the clerk remember her."

Ezra's eyes widened as he looked at Jack, and he seemed about to speak to Garrett. Jack shook his head almost imperceptibly, and his partner stopped before saying anything.

Garrett did not appear to notice and continued on. "About thirty minutes later, she came running down the stairs and ran right into the street without a word to the porter. He told us he found it quite funny, thinking the woman was running away in shame. About three hours later, you two showed up and bullied your way into Abbott's apartment." He paused and looked back and forth between Ezra and Jack. "I have a pretty good idea that you know who that woman is. Now I want to know right now what you are hiding from me."

Jack slowly shook his head and said, "Right now, I don't know anything worth telling."

Garrett glared at the detective. "We've known each other for a long time, Jack; you can go ahead and tell me what you know."

"If I knew anything for sure, I would tell you. But I am not about to say anything until I have some solid evidence. At least give me that, Henry."

Garrett stood up and looked directly at Ezra to say, "The problem with your friend here is that he is a sentimental fool. Talk some sense into him for me."

His partner merely shrugged and poured himself some more coffee.

Jack said impatiently, "I'll get back with you, Henry. Just give me a little more time. You know you can take me at my word."

"I'll hold you to that. Now don't bother seeing me out, I'll find my own way." Garrett roughly pulled on his coat and stamped noisily down the stairs as he left.

"What are you going to do?" Ezra asked.

"I'm going to go see Miss Mulholland."

"Mulholland?" Ezra said incredulously. "What can she tell you about last night?"

"That's what I'm about to find out," the detective replied with a smile.

*

Jack made his way through the muddy streets. He rode slowly, making easy time on his tired horse. Except for a few people daring the light rain, the street leading to Mulholland's apartment was quiet and deserted. There, he tied his horse tightly on the post and kicked the mud off of his boots at the doorstep.

The hallway was silent this time, the apartments either vacant or the residents were busy sleeping through the afternoon rain. Jack knocked lightly on Mulholland's door and waited while leaning on the frame. He heard some light footsteps come to the door and then pause. Her faint voice could be heard through the old door.

"Who is it?" she asked, her voice sounding suspicious and distant.

"It's me again, Jack Blackwood. I have a few more questions to ask you."

The door opened and Mulholland stood there with an easy smile. She looked fresh, her hair still damp. He could smell a light perfume, and she was wearing a slip that only went down to her knees. He looked her up and down slowly. Jack gave a low whistle and gave her a leer. "You're looking quite nice today, missy."

She smiled shyly and said, "Come on in."

He walked in and kicked the door shut behind him. Mulholland sat down in front of a mirror and began fixing her hair.

Jack sat down on her bed and watched her for moment before speaking. "I'm sorry to bother you again, but as I said, I have a few more questions for you."

She paused and put down the hairbrush in exasperation. "I've already told you I don't know where Lawrence is."

"I already know where Lawrence is now - he's buried six feet deep."

She stood up quickly in shock and faced him. "What do you mean by that? Is he dead?"

"Oh, he's dead alright. One of Davis's men killed him before we had a chance of finding him alive. He was buried just the other day."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She sat back down and continued to work on her hair. "Whatever happened between Lawrence and I was a long time ago, but I'm still sad to hear that he is gone."

Jack said nothing but just watched as began to pin her hair up. Her movements were slow and graceful, and Jack felt she knew he enjoyed watching her. "I wanted to ask you about Abbott again," he finally said. "You told me you didn't know him. Are you sure?"

She paused for a moment as if making a decision. She finally said, "Oh, I knew Abbott." She gave him a sly look. "He was always meeting with Davis. He had quite an appetite for women." She had turned to face mirror again, her back to Jack, the brush pausing in her hand as she listened to his questions.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I hated Davis and wouldn't protect him for all the money in the world. But Abbott came around here to see me a few times. He paid me well enough and I was hoping to keep it that way. Why should I tell on a good customer?"

"I found Abbott murdered in his apartment last night."

Mulholland stopped fiddling with her hair.

Jack continued, "All of the evidence points to a woman. It was a woman that visited with him and ended up killing him in the end."

"Surely you don't suspect me," she said with a faint smile that he could see in the reflection of the mirror. She was certainly being cagey in her answers, he thought.

"Turn around Elizabeth. I have a few more questions for you."

She stood up and swayed towards Jack. "I'm tired of your questions." She pulled the slip off over her head, the silk material whispering against her skin. She stood nude in front of him proudly - her breasts were small and her body still thin. Looking at him unashamedly, she said, "Now take off your boots, mister, I don't want you to get my bed all muddy."

He pulled his boots off and threw them into the corner. He lay back on the bed with his head on a pillow and watched her as she pulled off his pants. She straddled him and began to unbutton his shirt. She looked serious as she worked off his undershirt.

Jack then pulled her roughly down to him and kissed her hard on the mouth. "You're a beautiful woman, Elizabeth."

She hushed him. "No more questions and no more talking."

They kissed for a while longer, their hands exploring each other. He rolled over, pulling her underneath him. He kissed her breasts and stomach. She sighed and pulled him back up to kiss him hard on the mouth. Jack pulled himself up to look in her eyes before thrusting deeply inside of her. She writhed underneath him, her legs wrapped tightly around him as he made love to her.

*

Much later, they sat in bed sharing a cigarette. She sighed and ran her fingers lightly around his chest. They listened together to the sound of the rain against the windows and watched the cigarette smoke drift lazily through the air. Outside, the light of the afternoon was beginning to fade to the darkness of night.

"It's good to make to love to a real man," she said. "I can't tell you how tired I get of young blushing soldiers who got all of their sexual experiences watching the pigs do it on the farm."

Jack laughed and kissed her on the ear. "It's good to know that I can make someone happy."

"As happy as a woman like me can be."

"I still have a question for you."

Mulholland rolled her eyes. "Can't you just be quiet and enjoy this time we have together?" she asked.

She then pulled herself off of the bed, unashamedly naked in the dim evening light. Walking over to her dresser, she sat down and lit a lamp. She began brushing her hair again in front of the mirror, her face in a pout.

He studied her nude body for a while before speaking. "I want to know about Ethan Davis and Faith Hanson."

She froze for a moment and then giggled. "Faith Hanson? You want to know about that tart? She has some secrets that you would love to hear."

His stomach was wrapped up in knots. "Go on and tell me," Jack said quietly.

"Well, I don't like to reminisce over the old days of Davis much, but just for you I'll tell you all about it. The reason that Davis stopped seeing me was because of Faith. Those two were inseparable. There was plenty of talk of those two getting married at that time. Faith seemed to be very much in love with Davis and he with her. It broke my heart at the time, but there wasn't much that I could do about it. I was a married woman and Miss Hanson was available. Davis said he loved me, but I could hardly compete with the wealthy and virginal Faith Hanson," she said vehemently.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, sincerely. His heart felt heavy with his own sorrow as he heard the words come from her mouth.

"I suppose it was for the better. Davis never really loved me, but I was fool enough not to care if he did."

"Tell me again about your first meeting with Lawrence. You said Davis arranged the meeting. How did Faith seem to feel about you and her brother together?"

"I was surprised that the Hansons invited me to that party of hers. She never liked me, especially when it started to be known of my prior involvement with Davis. But she seemed to actually encourage Lawrence's love for me. I guess she was happy that I was spending time with her brother instead of pining endlessly after Davis."

"After your affair with Lawrence was broken up by his father, what happened after that?"

She sighed. "Davis had no further use for me after that. I tried to write to Lawrence, but he never answered me back."

Jack looked thoughtful as he lit another cigarette. He stayed quiet for a while and continued to watch her but this time he was lost in his own thoughts. She finished her hair, stood up, and reached down for her slip. She pulled it on and began searching through the piles of clothes scattered on the floor.

"Well, honey, I have to get ready," she said.

"Ready for what?" Jack asked.

She gave a little flip to her hair. "I can't pay the bills sitting here talking to you. I have to go out and work for a living." She found the dress she was looking for and slid it over her head. "Can you button me up please?"

He stood up and went over to her. He roughly pulled the dress off of her and began to kiss her on the mouth. "Stay with me, Elizabeth, and I'll pay for the night."
Chapter 24

The next morning, after leaving Mulholland's apartment, Jack rode his horse to the Hanson house. The butler answered the door and led him to the same sitting room as before. In the foyer there were several traveling trunks stacked together. He cast a curious glance at these. Arriving at the sitting room, he sat down with his jaw clenched, waiting for Faith to appear.

Within a few moments, she walked in with a faint smile, looking expectantly at Jack to start speaking. He stood as she came in, gave a stiff bow and waited for her to sit. She was still wearing black, apparently in memory of her brother. But strikingly out of place, her hair was pulled back with pair of red ribbons.

Jack cleared his throat before speaking. "I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I had some business to wrap up before I could complete the case."

"That's quite understandable, Jack, but it has been hard for me to wait so long." Her voice still held some sweetness as she said this, and her eyes seemed to reproach him.

"I saw those trunks in the hallway. Are you planning on going somewhere?"

She quickly looked away before answering. "I have an aunt who lives in Baltimore. I was planning on leaving this afternoon to visit her for a few weeks. It's been awhile since I've seen her, and I know how lonely she can get by herself." She spoke rapidly as if telling a well-rehearsed story.

"Your father must have taken Lawrence's death hard," Jack said. "A man in his health must be careful not to have any sudden shocks."

"Father took it surprisingly well, considering everything that happened the past week," she replied. "In his mind, I think he wrote Lawrence off a long time ago. He was always getting into some type of trouble, and my father had to bail him out. Now my father can relax and enjoy his last remaining years."

He replied flatly, "Yes, I suppose so."

Suddenly she had a flurry of questions. "What happened at Harper's Ferry? Did you get the papers back? Has the Hanson family name been cleared?"

His answer was sharp and short. "It was a difficult trip, but the papers were never delivered to the Secessionists. Davis never had a chance against me."

Faith's hand quickly came to her mouth, and then slowly returned to her lap. "Davis? What happened to him?"

Jack felt sick to his stomach, but he continued. "Let's just say that things worked out so that I was able to stop him from escaping."

"What did you do?" she asked, clutching her hands together.

"I shot him as he tried to make his way over to the safety of the Virginia Militia. He fell over the side of a bridge and left the papers in his saddlebags. I got them back."

"I never would have guessed that Davis could do something so evil. So the papers have been returned? There is no more reason for Mister Forsythe to bother us?"

"I didn't exactly say that; not all of the papers have been returned," Jack replied, putting emphasis on each word. "Someone else, I imagine here in Washington, is still holding the rest of them." His mouth became a grim line.

"Who could that be?" she asked. She leaned forward, looking worried.

"It means that Davis gave the rest of the papers to someone else before he made his escape to Harper's Ferry. He did not want to be captured holding something that could very well have hanged him. So he fled Washington with Stevenson, hoping to get over to the Secessionists to sell them the plans. After they came to an agreed price he was going to send for the rest of the papers to be delivered at a different time by a different courier." Jack cleared his throat. He was getting tired of hearing his own voice, and he was even more tired of seeing Faith's false gestures. It would be better to leave, but he had to finish. He felt he owed it to himself and his remaining sense of honor to do it this way.

He sighed before he continued. "Last night, Ezra and I returned to Washington. We then went to visit Abbott. Problem was that he wasn't ready to receive guests. Somebody murdered him. This same somebody wanted to keep their involvement with him secret."

"Who would murder him?"

"We know it wasn't Davis or Stevenson who killed him since they are both dead. And the Secessionist spy wasn't available to murder either."

"How do you know that?" Faith asked; her face was pale, and Jack could see she was breathing harder than normal.

"Miss Edmonds is currently being kept in jail for a few days and can't hurt anyone right now. But I do know who ever killed Abbott was a woman. They wanted to protect themselves from anyone ever finding out their true involvement with the murder of Lawrence."

Faith's face was even paler, and her hands clutched the side of the chair. "Who would do that?" she asked in a whisper.

Jack stood up and took a step closer to her. His voice was rough with emotions he didn't want to think about. "It was the same person who was willing to hold the papers for Davis. It was the same person who was still in love with Davis and was willing to kill Abbott so she wouldn't have anyone left in Washington who could reveal her true motives. Abbott was wise enough to know how Davis operated. He still wanted his cut of the loot even though he compromised Davis. The person that Ethan Davis gave the papers to was you."

Her eyes opened wide in shock, and she half stood up from the chair. She looked at the open door as if ready to flee.

"Now I want you to sit still and listen to me," Jack said. He put his hand on her shoulder and guided her back in to the chair. "You aren't going anywhere until you hear me out."

Faith slowly nodded her head and then stared at the floor.

"You knew your brother was seeing a married woman," he continued. "In the course of our investigation, I spoke to Elizabeth Mulholland. She was having an affair with Davis until he decided he had had enough of her. But he wasn't quite finished with her and wanted to use her to get a hold over Lawrence. It was you who introduced Lawrence to her. You did that on Davis's suggestion."

"I did nothing of the kind! Who told you these lies?" she said, her voice rising.

"Elizabeth Mulholland told me of your love for Davis." Jack's voice dripped with anger. "She told me all about Davis and you. There's no point in lying to me anymore."

"That's not true," Faith countered, a faint sob choking her voice. "I met Davis through my brother, but I was never his lover. He was just a family friend after he gave up the idea of marrying me."

He ignored her and continued. "Lawrence was at first just another blackmail job for Davis and Abbott. But when Lawrence got his job at the War Department through your father, he became something more. Once the war broke out, it was a golden opportunity for Davis. Your brother had access to vital information that could be traded for money. Part of it may have been out of loyalty for the South, but it was mostly his own greed that led him to use your brother. At the same time, Davis dropped you from his life. He no longer wanted to spend his time with you, but you still wanted him."

"I'll tell you again, I didn't have anything to do with this," she protested feebly. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

"You were afraid to lose Davis and more importantly, your cut of the money. After your brother disappeared, you knew all along that he was taken by Stevenson and Abbott at Davis's order. You knew all along that it was Davis was the one who held the plans. That's when you hired me. You wanted revenge, but most of all you wanted to put a scare into the man who once spurned you. The only thing you didn't count on was Davis' experience. He was an old hand at this kind of game. He didn't scare easily and was still willing to take a gamble with you staying quiet about your dealings in this matter. If he could buy enough time, then he could get rid of the papers before Lawrence's dead body was discovered."

Faith was quiet for a while. Her face had become peaceful and her sobs less frequent. The words came slowly. "Davis could be quite ruthless," she admitted, her voice low. "The death of my brother is proof enough of that. But you must be crazy to think I would have let him take Lawrence from me."

"But that's exactly what you did do. You were willing to do anything to get Davis back."

"No!" she shouted. Her face red with anger, she stood up and pulled a derringer from her sleeve. Although her hands were shaking, her movements were quick and determined.

Jack grabbed her wrists and pushed her roughly back down into the chair. He pulled the gun out of her hand and held it in his own. She sobbed and hugged herself as she rocked back and forth.

He looked over the diminutive gun and sniffed the barrel. It had been fired recently and still smelled of blackpowder. He slipped it in his coat pocket. Jack then continued as if nothing had happened. "When Davis left Washington, he gave you the papers, knowing he could bend you to his will. Later you met up with Abbott at his place, and you wouldn't agree to his demands. I'm sure he just wanted a cut of the action, thinking that Davis had left him in the lurch. You killed him. You shot him with the derringer given to you by Davis - the very same one you just tried to shoot me with now. You see, Davis had an identical one in the saddlebag I retrieved."

"Abbott didn't want to listen to me," she whispered. "He threatened to turn me in if I didn't give him the papers. He actually laughed at me and called me a traitor to my own brother. Then he tried to take me by force. I tried to warn him, but my gun went off accidentally and he was killed. I didn't mean to do it." She started to gently sob.

Jack looked at her sadly. He had no reason to love her anymore, but it still hurt to be in the same room with her.

"What are you going to do with me?" Faith asked. Her voice was low, and cracked with emotion.

"Nothing," he replied. "There's very little real evidence against you. Just give me the papers back and I will let you go. If you try to hide them from me, I'll have Henry Garrett come and get them."

She shuffled out to the hallway. Jack followed her to the trunks stacked in the foyer. She opened the case on top and pulled out a bundle of papers tied up with string. She handed them over, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

He untied the string and looked quickly through the papers. They were real. He tied them up again and prepared to leave.

Faith licked her lips, and looked up into his eyes. "Why?" she asked. "Why are you letting me go?"

Jack turned to go, unable to look at her any longer. "I'm not sure and I don't think I ever will be."
Chapter 25

Narrative continued

My leg has begun to heal quite nicely, and though I now walk with a limp, I do not notice the discomfort. Now that this business of the Anaconda Plan is over, I wonder what will come next. I am on my own again now, waiting to find new opportunities and friends in my surroundings. After some contemplation, I have decided a return to Washington might be rash. It is best for me to remain in Richmond for the time being. But I am looking forward to the day when I can return and have my revenge.

*

Jack rode back home, taking his time as he threaded his way through the busy streets. He dropped his horse off at the livery and walked the rest of the way to the office. After he made his way up the steps, he found Ezra was sitting behind the desk waiting for him.

The black man watched as his partner hung up his coat. "How did it go with Faith?" he asked. He held an unlit cigarette in his hand, his face impassive.

"As well as could be expected," the detective replied. He sat down across from his partner and threw the bundled papers onto the desk. "She denied everything at first, but I eventually got the truth out of her. I know she won't be giving us any ringing endorsements anytime soon, that's to be sure."

Ezra took the bundle of papers and put them in the safe with the rest of the plans. "I never would have guessed that someone like her could setup her own brother and then kill a man. How did you guess that she was so deeply involved with all of this?"

"I wouldn't have guessed if I hadn't visited Elizabeth Mulholland that first time. She seemed surprised that we working on behalf of the Hanson family. When I saw her last night, she confirmed that after Davis left her, he began to see Faith. I'm not sure if Faith was ever in love with the scoundrel, but she was willing to use him for her own needs. She wanted to get out of that house and cared for little else." Jack pulled a bottle out from the desk and poured two drinks. He handed a glass to his partner and continued. "When Abbott was killed, he was obviously entertaining a woman that he knew rather well. Whoever that was, she didn't wear lip gloss. I saw that the two glasses were both unmarked."

"So?" Ezra lit his cigarette and picked up his glass from the table.

"Most women in the city don't wear lip gloss, but most of the ladies that he would see would be quite inclined to add some. Faith was careful enough to maintain her innocent look, so that was one clue to who killed Abbott."

"How did she know him?" Ezra asked, sipping his whiskey. "He's not exactly her type of person."

Jack filled his glass again. "She met him through Davis, of course. She recognized him as a man who knew too much about Davis. When he gave her the papers before leaving Washington, Abbott must have suspected it. Abbott threatened her for a cut of the money. If he didn't get his share, he was going to turn her in or kill her. Instead she shot him with the very derringer that Davis gave her."

Jack filled Ezra's glass and then reached into his pocket a cigarette.

"What was the point of all of this?" Ezra asked. "What did she hope to gain out of Abbott's murder? She was already well off and would come into a lot of money once her father was gone."

"That's a difficult thing to consider, my friend. I think it was part revenge for her brother's death and part greed. Lawrence was going to come into all of the inheritance, so she was willing to sacrifice him. She was stuck in that house, looking after her father for the past few years. Her youth was fading away and she was the one doing all that hard work nursing her father. She thought she deserved the money, not Lawrence. But I think when Davis dropped her, that was the last straw. She wanted to take the money to escape that house."

"She must have been really desperate to get out of there," Ezra said as he stubbed his cigarette out.

"Yes, she was," Jack replied. "She was desperate enough to put her trust in Davis, who ended up ordering Lawrence's death. She was desperate enough to kill Abbott in cold blood to protect the stake she had. She was even willing to try to make me fall in love with her."

Jack poured another drink, his hands only slightly shaking.

"Is that why you let her go?" Ezra questioned Jack.

"I let her go because I'm an old fool."

Ezra looked sadly at his old friend. "You know, I think you were really in love with her."

Jack stayed quiet and could not meet his partner's gaze. He then lit a cigarette. He took a sip before facing his partner again. "I didn't turn her in. I just couldn't do it. Her father is a sick man. The shock of Lawrence's death was already enough for him. To know that her daughter was partly responsible for his son's death would be too much. It would have killed him."

"That may be," Ezra said. "But he deserves to know the truth eventually. He is living with a murderer. Are you sure it's safe to let her go?"

"I don't know," Jack replied. "I'm willing to just forget everything about the Hanson family. I'm tired of them and everything else."

"What are you going to tell Garrett?"

"I'll make up some story for him and we can drop the plans off at Forsythe's tomorrow."

"What about Faith?" his partner protested. "She may kill someone again, and then what will you do?"

Jack smiled and stubbed his cigarette on the bottom of his boot.

"You know, Ezra, I can't be held responsible for every woman in Washington. Let's go get drunk - I'm buying."

###

Book II

At Bull Run

Prologue

Gaining consciousness, Lieutenant James Folks awoke to darkness. Groggily, he reached around to find that his hands were tied behind his back. Stretching his numb hands as far as they could go, he could just feel the stomach of the girl lying next to him on the bed. He mumbled frantically through the gag wrapped around his mouth, but she did not respond. Her stomach was wet, but from what, Folks could not tell. He suspected she was dead since he could not hear her breathe. Trying to roll off the bed, he discovered that his feet had also been trussed tightly.

The last thing he remembered was entering her small home and finding the front door ajar. He thought that she must have been expecting him. He had walked in feeling elated. She was a beautiful girl and had taught him pleasures that he had never known even existed. He remembered walking into the room and seeing her tied up, looking at him with pleading eyes. After that, there had been a blow to the back of his head, and he fell into darkness.

James was forced back into the present by hearing approaching footsteps. He pulled desperately on his bonds again but still could not free his hands. He heard a man's heavy breathing and the presence of someone standing over him. A match suddenly flared in the dark, and an oil lamp next to the bed was lit. James blinked hard in the sudden glare of light. He could see a man wearing a black hangman's hood. Two slits were cut out for eyes which were hidden in shadow. Seized with terror, James pulled harder on the ropes and tried to twist away. He managed to turn his body towards the girl, and his eyes widened with terror as he saw that she was nude and covered in blood.

The man laughed as he saw the struggling. He pulled out a long cavalry sword and said, "You shall be good sport for my sword, Lieutenant. Don't bother to cry out or struggle. No one can hear you now."

The blade rose and cut cruelly across the lieutenant's chest. He screamed as loud as he could through his gag. It came out as a muffled grunt, and he arched his body up as the sword was raised again. The cords bit tightly into his wrists. The red fires of pain swirled in front of his eyes.

"Now feel my punishment," the hooded man whispered.
Chapter 1

With his arm lying loosely over his eyes, Jack Blackwood desperately tried to fall asleep on his sweat-stained bed. The morning summer sunlight glared through his worn, moth-holed curtains and shined directly into his eyes. He groaned and turned away from the window and drew the dirty covers over his head. He felt like hell. Swallowing hard, the back of his throat felt dusty and unbelievably dry. Summer had been hot this year, and it drove many men to drink. He was honest with himself and realized that he was one of those men. He had spent the night at the local saloon and had drunk whiskey until he could drink no more. Somehow, Jack had come home, though he couldn't be certain what route he'd taken to get there, and fallen into his bed before passing out.

The faint smell of fried food reached his nostrils. Jack's stomach growled as he thought of hot eggs and bacon. After a brief battle between sleep and hunger, his stomach won. He crawled out of bed. He clumsily opened the door and staggered, still half-drunk, in the direction of the kitchen.

Ezra looked up from his breakfast and frowned as his partner entered, holding himself up against the wall. "You look terrible," he commented blandly. Ezra, an ex-slave, was Jack's business partner of many years, and by now wasn't surprised to see him still drunk in the morning.

Jack felt ill and noticed that his hands were shaking. The pounding in his head was getting worse, and he grabbed the kitchen chair with one hand. He rubbed his grizzled chin before replying, "I feel like hell, Ezra. Is there any food left?"

"I was hoping you would find the strength and crawl out of that bed of yours. I made some extra food just in case you took a chance and decided to face the day."

"I thank you," the detective replied graciously as he could manage.

"Go ahead and sit down," Ezra said as he rose. He grabbed a chipped mug and poured out some coffee for Jack. "I'll go and make a plate for you."

"Coffee would be good - plenty of coffee."

His partner nodded and placed a full mug in front of Jack, who began to cautiously sip at the hot drink. Ezra then scooped some eggs and bacon out for Jack and put it before him.

Jack put his coffee cup down and studied the plate of greasy food before him. His stomach churned uncomfortably. "I'm not sure if I can even eat right now. It looks good, mind you, but my stomach says otherwise."

"Take it easy and have a few bites. Then you'll find out if you're hungry or not. There's plenty of time to find out."

The detective ate slowly at first and then began to eat greedily until the plate was empty. He crudely wiped his chin with his sleeve and drank two more cups of coffee. He began to feel better and was sure after some further sleep he could manage to blink without hurt.

Ezra watched in silence while smoking a cigarette.

After Jack finished, he pushed the plate away and leaned back in his chair. He patted his heavy stomach in appreciation. "I guess I was hungrier than I thought." His voice had a trace of embarrassment for he knew that his friend was never a hard drinker.

"I hope you are feeling better now," Ezra remarked. "It's time you forget that girl and move on with your life."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack said lamely. Last spring he had taken a case concerning the missing son of a retired congressman. He had become romantically involved with the congressman's daughter –a woman named Faith Hanson - but was forced to break off the relationship. It had been hard to leave her but he had no choice in the matter.

"Don't lie to me," his partner snapped. "You've been moping around here and drinking yourself sick every night. The money is getting low, and I don't look forward to living in the gutter again."

"Oh, we aren't doing that bad," Jack lied. His nervous stomach began to churn violently and he gulped nervously. He knew that Ezra was right but did not want to admit it.

Ezra handed over a cigarette and lit it for his partner with a single swipe of the match. "Have you looked into our account books lately? With your constant drinking, we're getting near to being broke again. I'm not sure if we can even make next month's rent."

Jack stood up quickly, his face flushed with anger. "Damn it, man! You're worse than an old woman. Now leave me be."

"I'm not your servant. I'm just telling you what I'm seeing with my own eyes. And right now I'm seeing a drunk who is feeling very sorry for himself."

"Something is bound to turn up. It always does sooner or later." Jack felt dizzy and sat down again, the room spinning. He puffed hard on the cigarette, trying to gain his composure back.

"Something already has turned up for us," Ezra said in a low voice. "I just hope you can handle it right now. While you were sleeping it off this morning, Henry Garrett stopped by to see if you were around."

"What did Henry want of me?" The detective asked. Garrett was an old friend who was in command of the City Watch, and Jack hadn't seen him since the last case. Perhaps the captain was still angry that a murdered had gone free.

"Oh, Henry told me a little about it. It looks like another case of disappearance. You know it seems that Washington isn't becoming safe for anyone these days. I told Henry we would be there as soon as possible."

"You could have woken me up."

Ezra snorted derisively and said, "Henry was a little worried when I told him that you were still sleeping. He guessed soon enough that you were out late last night getting drunk. He knows you as well as I do."

Jack felt angry hearing of the two of them talking behind his back like that. "That old fool worries about me as much as you do. Why don't the both of you stay out of my business?"

"Henry may be an old man, but you aren't much younger. I'll make it my business if I want to get paid anytime soon."

Jack stubbed out his cigarette and studied his friend's face but didn't say anything.

Ezra looked him in the eyes, his face softening. "I know you're hurting something bad inside. Some men put a brave face on their heartache. Other men just try to kill the pain inside with whiskey. I know you'll eventually come around or die trying." He no longer met Jack's gaze and fiddled with his matches instead. He then lit another cigarette for himself and began gathering up the dishes on the table.

The detective smiled, suddenly feeling less dizzy. "Those are some pretty words my friend. I'm not sure I can even believe a single word of it."

Ezra returned his gaze and almost imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders. "I don't care what you think. I just want to keep a roof over my head and keep on eating. We're partners in this business and I can't make any money without you doing your part of the job."

Jack reflected to himself that his friend was right: It must be near impossible for an ex-slave to get work as a detective. "You really are a heartless bastard when you get down to it. I'll go clean up first and get ready to visit Henry." Jack steadily got up on his feet and made his way back to his bedroom. He still felt bad inside, but felt he could function enough to make it over to the City Watch. He also knew that his friend was right about the girl, but right now he didn't care either way.

With a smile, Ezra began washing the plates.

Miss Keller's diary, excerpted

July 13, morning

It seems so long since my dear James has been gone. When he decided to enlist I was so proud and nervous, and I prayed for the best. His father did everything he could to help, doing his best to assure our families about the future. I kept myself from worrying by sewing and knitting some personal items for James. I thought he might like some gloves and a muffler. The weather was cold enough then as they were getting ready, but things have changed so much. Now that I'm getting ready to surprise my darling with these presents, the sky is hot and blue and humid. No matter the weather, my spirits cannot be dampened: I am thrilled to leave New York and I must admit the idea of seeing the Capital is very exciting.

But if I am honest with myself, I am not sure how I feel about seeing James. I am sure being a soldier has changed him somewhat, but will it have changed him enough, so that I truly love him. James and I do love each other, I know. His family and mine have known each other for years. And when he proposed to me, I was relieved, since I knew my family would be pleased. But I always wished I had felt more for him. Now that he has been gone for so long, I am anxious that he will be able to tell, and see that he deserves more.

I am glad that Mister Folks is my chaperon for the trip. He has his business to attend to and although I know he wants to see his son James as well as I do, I think my nervousness will be more easily ignored by him than it would be by someone else. Not to imply that Mister Folks is insensitive. Really I think he is mostly a typical business man. I had thought that my mother would insist that I have another woman to accompany me, but we have known the Folkses so long I assume he'll treat me like his daughter. Also it is nice to have a man to walk with through the train stations, since we came this way. I think my parents were hoping that we'd take a stage, but really that would take such a long time, and the train service can be dependable.

Later

_A most upsetting thing has occurred. James is nowhere to be found! I am so upset I know I shall not relate the story accurately but after we came to Washington we eventually managed to find the 27_ th _New York. It was a frustrating trip through the city to get there though. We had no chance of seeing anything properly on our way to the camp. As we rode through the city, my heart leapt up when I first saw a soldier the same build as James, but then I realized it was someone else. There are so many soldiers in the town, all looking smart and ready in their uniforms, that I hurt my neck turning it so often to see if I could spot him. Mister Folks, who has been here before and recently too I come to find out, did a fair job of locating the camp once we asked an officer where they were. I could tell he was getting a little bit out of temper at times with the slowness of our carriage. It was the only one we could find, strangely enough, when we left the train. Perhaps all the Army wagons I see were once carriages._

Once we did drive up to the gate of the camp, I was so nervous. It had been so long since I had seen James. I was not really sure I really did know what he looked like after all. And there are so many pretty girls about the town I'm not sure how I compare to them. Well anyway, James was not there, otherwise I'd be writing about how glad he was to see me, how surprised and happy, and how we held each other and that all my doubts about marrying him were gone, melted away like some snow on an April morning. His captain said he had not yet returned from the previous night. Mister Folks and I are now stationed at a hotel waiting to get word from this captain. He says he will get in touch with us the moment James returns. Honestly, the captain, an uncouth man if I ever saw one, I think his name was Elspeth, was almost as angry as Mister Folks was on learning that James was not in the camp. As for James's father, I have never seen him so full of fury. He threatened to hire an investigator to find James. The captain cautioned that there was no reason to jump to conclusions, but I think Mister Folks just might have. Perhaps he also (and maybe I am jumping to a conclusion now) is a little mad at himself for not having visited before, like when he was in Washington the last time. He says there would never have been time for it. So, my nervous state remains, and I continue to wait to see James.

Chapter 2

The City Watch was the police department of the city of Washington. They were housed in an old weather-stained brick building that should have been torn down years ago. Normally it could hold just a handful of prisoners, but it was now expected to handle the mass of lawbreakers who had come to Washington in the wake of the soldiers. The worst of the camp followers sold alcohol and women, while the better ones provided several personal services for the soldiers. Some of the soldiers had never left home, or been away from the scrutiny of family and neighbors. With the added temptations, crime had risen dramatically. When Jack and Ezra rode up to the building, there was a long line of visitors waiting to see those detained from the night before.

Jack carefully tied his horse to the hitching post, and Ezra followed suit. They pushed their way through the small crowd waiting outside the building and received a number of dirty looks with a few suspecting they were trying to cut ahead in the line. Jack mumbled something about being on official business, and they passed through the front doors into the office lobby.

The main clerk behind the desk was fruitlessly trying to keep the crowd under some semblance of control. He exasperatedly shoved the visitors back away from the desk and shouted at them as he determined who was next in line. With the summer heat it was stagnant inside the building; the smell of sweat hung heavily in the air. Jack found it hard to breathe. The noise and press of humanity made his head hurt. Tempers were short, and several people looked as if they were about to come to blows.

Jack gave a quick nod to the clerk, who motioned them to continue past the swinging gate. The clerk had seen them often enough to know they were there to see Henry Garrett.

Garrett's office was small and crowded with piles of official papers and well-worn law books. He didn't even look up as they entered, but continued to study the papers on his desk. "Just put those reports on the desk," he mumbled with a pencil hanging loosely in his mouth. His face was furrowed with concentration and didn't even look up at Jack as he drew up a chair and sat down. It was clear that Henry was overworked.

Jack cleared his throat loudly and Henry gave a sudden start as he looked at him. "Oh, it's you - and Ezra. It's good to see the both of you again." His voice was quick with nervous energy as he started to complain about his troubles. "This damn war is giving me nothing but headaches. Did you see that line of people outside? One would think the good folks in this city could keep their hands off the whores. And I never saw so many drunks in my life. But that is no problem of yours - I'm glad to see that you finally had the chance to make it over to see me."

Jack felt a little embarrassed as he replied, "Well, it's never a problem to see you Henry. I'm just sorry that we couldn't make it here sooner."

Henry shot Ezra a glance as he said, "Your partner told me you were sleeping off a drunken binge. I don't understand how you can do that to yourself day after day."

Ignoring the condemnation, the detective replied, "Well I'm here now – you mentioned something about a job?"

"I'm sure your partner already told you the little I said to him. I thought it better to wait to see the both of you and tell you both the whole story. No point of repeating myself, if you know what I mean. I had a visitor this morning, a father who came down from New York, and he's looking for his missing son." A slow smile crossed Garrett's face as he waited for Jack's response.

Jack said sarcastically, "A missing son? Doesn't anyone write a note or leave a message these days? After my last case, I'm not sure I can do another like it."

Garrett laughed. "From what I've heard, you don't seem to have much choice in the matter."

"My financial difficulties should be no worry of yours," the detective snapped back.

Henry ignored the ill-tempered response and continued, "This time it's a little different - the wayward son is in the army, posted here in Washington. He disappeared just last night. It seems that this lieutenant has been charged with deserting, but no one can seem to find him to press the charges. The father went to the camp, but no one is admitting anything about his son's whereabouts. Out of frustration he came to see me even though I have little sway over military law."

Ezra asked, "And why are you asking us to look into this problem? Some of your men would be better suited to searching the town."

Henry waved his hands at the piles of paper on his desk. "You saw that line of people outside. Frankly, we're too busy here to spend time tracking down a missing soldier. My men are overworked, and anyway it's normally something the army should handle, but the father wants someone to start looking into it right now. He has enough money that his words have some sway with me. I told him I knew just the right man for the job – someone who wasn't afraid of starting trouble and knows his way around the army. I told him that you were the right bastard for the job."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jack replied with a laugh. "Now what unit did he go missing from? Some are stricter than others about giving punishment to deserters."

"Oh no, I'm not going to tell you the story – I can't spare you a moment longer of my time. Better that you hear it for yourself from the father. I told them to wait at their hotel until I could locate you."

"Them?" Ezra queried.

"If you must know, the soldier's fiancée came with her future father in-law to see her brave lieutenant." Garrett seemed to begrudge them even this small bit of information.

Jack eyebrows went up upon hearing there was a young woman involved. "Is she pretty?" he asked.

"And Ezra told me that your heart was still broken up over that last woman. I guess he was wrong."

His partner looked away from his friend's sudden vicious stare and pretended to study the street outside.

"Henry, don't you go and start listening to Ezra. He won't be happy until he sees me married again. He thinks it will stop me from drinking too much. Funny thing is I never see him trying to go and get hitched. He's too busy visiting the whorehouses every night."

"Only when we're making enough money," the black man commented blandly.

Garrett slapped his knee and laughed loudly. He gave his eyes a wipe with his sleeve and said, "Well, I'm glad you two are still getting along so well."

Jack looked at Henry sourly. "For now we are. Now where do we go to meet this father?"

"They are staying just around the corner at a hotel called The Willows. The father wanted to be close enough to the Watch to wait for any developments. I gather that this hotel doesn't meet his normal standards, but he is willing to make some sacrifice to his comfort."

"So he is a rich father – even better. What's the name of this character I'm supposed to see?"

"His name is Charles Folks. You are expected there. Just give your name and you'll be taken to his suite."

"Not that it matters, but what is the name of the girl?"

Garrett looked at his friend slyly and said, "Not that it matters, you say. You are a fool with the women, and they'll be the death of you. But I'll tell you anyways – it's Anna Keller."

"That's a pretty name. I hope she'll live up to it."

"She does"

Jack smiled momentarily. "I thank you for the job reference."

"I wouldn't do anything less for an old friend of mine."

"We'll be on our way and leave you to your work." Jack rose from his chair to leave.

Garrett raised a hand and said, "Now wait a minute there, Jack. I'm an old man, and I know you don't like to take my advice. This whole thing doesn't seem right to me. Be careful and take this case nice and slowly."

The detective looked at his friend with some pity. It was obvious that Henry's work was finally getting to him. Perhaps it was time for Garrett to take a rest from his duties. "Now Henry, what exactly are you getting at?"

"I'm not sure - it's just a hunch. From what I was told by Mister Folks, the army is being awfully secretive about this disappearance. They either don't know anything or are hiding something from him. You'll know what I mean once you are done interviewing him. I don't want to tell you anything else right now - you'll probably just think it's my imagination."

"I usually trust your hunches," Jack lied. "You can rest assured that we'll be careful."

"I've heard that one before."

"We'll take our leave now and let you be alone with your papers." Ezra put on his best tone of concern. "Make sure to take a break before you need glasses from the eye strain."

"Now get on out you two," Henry growled.

The ex-slave winked at Henry as he followed Jack out of the office. Garrett gave them a dismissive wave and went back to reading the report on his desk.

Leaving the horses at the City Watch, they walked the two blocks to the Willows Hotel. Jack stayed quiet, lost in his own thoughts. It was too early in the day. He felt as if he needed a drink to gather his wits. The sun was getting high in the sky, too bright for his headache. Sweat began to run profusely down his forehead and he wiped his brow with a dirty handkerchief. With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. The smoke tasted dry, and after a few puffs, he tossed the cigarette into the street. He wasn't sure if he was up to doing a case right now, but he knew that Ezra was right about their money situation.

"Jack," his partner interrupted, "what was Garrett getting at about his hunches?"

The detective replied, "He's just overwhelmed with work right now - too much work and not enough time for drinking. He'll be alright once he took a few days off to rest."

"Henry is usually right."

"If you say so."

The Willows Hotel turned out to be a pleasant enough establishment that catered to the middle class. In the lobby it was clean and neatly appointed, with simple furnishings. A dark rug with only a few threadbare spots covered the dark wood floor. The old clerk took Jack's business card in his liver-spotted hands and beckoned for the both of them to follow. They were led up a flight of stairs where they climbed to the third and highest floor of the building. The clerk led them to the suite and Jack tipped the old man a nickel.

Jack then looked at his partner and said in a low voice, "I was expecting something a little more posh for a rich father."

"It's not that bad of a hotel," Ezra replied. "Better than any place I've ever stayed at."

The detective knocked on the door with a quick rap.

Muffled from the thick oak door, a loud booming voice answered, "Come in."

Jack pushed the door open and entered the room with Ezra following behind. They were greeted by the sight of a large, powerful man sitting down next to a young woman. The man was wearing a light brown suit that wasn't ostentatious but merely well-made. Even sitting in the chair, he was obviously very tall and muscular. His hair was almost all black with just a touch of gray in the temples. Jack guessed that he would be in his early forties. His face was neither handsome nor ugly, but it had the strong determined jaw of an experienced businessman who was used to getting his way.

The woman, at first glance, appeared to be a young girl in her late teens. She was very petite and had her thick black hair set in tight curls. The nose was straight and her face had the perfect oval shape of an artist's painting. The shape of her figure was hard to tell with the current fashion of dresses, but for all her young facial features it was still the body of a fully-formed woman.

Jack and Ezra politely removed their hats and gave a small bow in her direction.

"I'm Charles Folks and you must be Mister Blackwood and Mister Miller," the man said as he rose from his chair. He motioned to the girl and said, "This is Miss Anna Keller, the fiancée of my son."

Jack shook Folks's hand - the grip was hard and unyielding. He could tell this was a man who demanded obedience from his employees. "It's good to meet you, sir. As you have been told by Garrett, my name is Jack Blackwood. This here is my partner, Ezra Miller."

Charles Folks merely raised an eyebrow when he heard Ezra's name. Jack was impressed, as a lot of Northerners had a hard time dealing with an ex-slave because of his background, his race, and the fact that he worked as a detective.

Jack continued and said, "My friend Garrett told me you were in need of the services that I can provide."

"I like a man who comes right to the point. Go ahead and sit down, and I'll tell the both of you what I know about all of this."

They found some chairs to sit on and waited for Charles Folks to compose himself. Jack noticed that the young girl looked at the businessman with some awe. Even with her expression set in lines of worry, the detective could not help but be drawn by her natural beauty.

Folks cleared his throat and began to speak. "I'm a stock broker from New York City, and I must say I'm a fairly good one at that. My son James was sent to some of the finest schools in the city, and I was hoping he would agree to follow in my footsteps." His voice became tinged with regret. "Things were going well enough for him, and James was about to enter my firm. After he finished his last year at college he was to be given a position of clerk. He was also to be married this year to young Anna here."

"But then the war started?" Ezra asked. Jack could always count on his partner to state the obvious.

"As you say, sir, this damned war broke out, and he got the patriotic fever to join up. I could have bought out any conscription that may have passed, but he wouldn't hear of it and went and volunteered to join the cavalry. You know how young people are these days."

Jack smiled to himself, remembering the day he left his own home to join the army. He too was looking for adventure and a chance to escape the domination of his father. "Yes, I'm afraid I do."

"Well, I know some officers in the army and managed to get him in with a good division. He was transferred to the 27th New York Cavalry, and they were sent here to Washington with the rest of the Army of the Potomac. That was just a few months ago. He hasn't been back home since."

Anna spoke for the first time with a sad but sweet voice, "I did miss my James so much. I was looking forward to seeing him again on this trip."

Folks nodded curtly in her direction. "We all miss James. We received some letters from him, but that wasn't enough for me. When my firm wanted someone to go to Washington on a business deal, I jumped at the chance to do it. I wanted the trip to be a surprise for James, so I told him nothing of it. My wife Martha is too timorous to go, but Anna here begged to come along with me."

The girl nodded her head vigorously. "I've never been to the Capitol before, and I was hoping I could spend some time with James before he was sent off to war."

Upon hearing those words, Jack felt a pang of jealousy. He could only imagine the type of time she would want to spend with her fiancée. "I see," he said blandly.

Charles Folks continued on with his booming voice and said, "Well, we made it here last night, and I even managed to get a room at a fine hotel downtown. We had a quick breakfast early in the morning, and then we took a carriage out to his camp. At the gate I immediately asked to see my son. But no one there would give me a straight answer of his whereabouts. I had to make quite an uproar before we could see the colonel. His name is Franklin. He seemed mighty embarrassed, but he told us that James had gone missing that previous night. He seemed truly sorry but could offer us no further information."

Lost in his thoughts, Jack kept quiet. Normally the colonel should have deferred them to the provost-marshals.

"When was the last time he was seen by anyone?" Ezra asked.

Charles Folks quickly answered, "He was apparently given the evening free yesterday, and he went out of the camp on his own. After that, no one seems to know where he went. If they did, they were not forthcoming with me."

Jack looked back and forth between Charles and Anna before speaking. Some questions could anger clients, so he carefully picked his words. "Mister Folks, I have to ask some questions that may shock you. I don't want to Miss Keller here to get upset by the nature of these inquiries."

"Go ahead, Mister Blackwood. Anna here will understand."

"What kind of boy is your son?" the detective asked uneasily.

Charles Folks looked slightly taken aback by the question. "James is a good son who has never hidden anything from me. He has always been dutiful to his family and the church."

"But does he have any kind of wild streak? For example, you didn't seem too happy with him joining the army and leaving a good job opportunity with your firm."

"That is true enough, Mister Blackwood, but we had a long discussion about the matter and eventually came to an agreement. Once his enlistment was up, he told me he was willing to return to work at the firm."

"I see," Jack said thoughtfully. James's decision to join up may have been rash, but the boy still wanted the security of his father's wealth. "What type of friends did he have in New York?"

"Mister Blackwood, what exactly are you trying to say?"

"As I said before, I mean no offense. Look at it from his point of view. Your son was free from the family for the first time in his life. He is in a strange town looking for some type of excitement. There are plenty of bad people here offering just about anything to a man with a few dollars to spend. Everyone is trying to make money off of this war, and your son may have run afoul of some evil influences."

"What do you mean?" Anna asked innocently. She looked confused by the turn of the conversation. "James was always true to me." Her confusion and naiveté were painfully sweet.

"Well, miss, he may have come under the sway of alcohol or have been robbed for his money. I really can't tell you anything more until I start asking around."

Charles Folks face was ashen, while Anna looked faint with anxiety.

Ezra said, "You must understand that we are only asking these questions with the best intentions in mind."

"I suggest you pay my fee of ten dollars a day," Jack said firmly. "You will write me a letter of introduction to this colonel. To start, I will go visit the camp. I promise I will find him soon enough."

Miss Keller's diary

July 13, Later (again)

A detective has been to see us to ask about James. It seems he is considered "missing" as opposed to just not come home for the night. The detective has a partner, a black man. I suppose I should become more used to this the further south we have come. So far I have only seen Negroes as servants in wealthy homes and never as professional people, like this Mister Miller. Mister Blackwood, the detective, seemed to put Mister Folks at ease. He appeared more relaxed knowing that the whereabouts of his son were not totally left up to the Army. Mister Blackwood seems confident, perhaps a bit disorganized, but in command. I am sure that he has dealt with a lot of cases over the years so one more must seem nothing new to him but all this experience has made him tactless. I should not presume to be so judgmental, but in fact Mister Miller seems the more well-bred of the two detectives, and just a little bit better dressed. I imagine that he is more aware of his differences, as a Negro, and so he tries harder than his partner.

Honestly who knows what has happened to James. As much as I miss him, I might prefer if he went missing forever, and then I'd never have to get married. Oh certainly, I'd love to be married, I'm just not sure that James is the most suitable man for me, but I'd hate to hurt his feelings for anything in the world. I do love him; I just wish things could go back to the way they were before we became engaged.

Mister Blackwood, while more than able to investigate, did not do much to take away my anxiety about James. I know this sounds unreasonable, but it would be nice to know when we could see him, or how soon he could be found. But I must realize this is a large city, and James could be anywhere. I can't imagine that he would desert his regiment; his pride is too large for him to do that. And he would never disgrace his family by leaving the Army like that. The most logical thing I can think of is that he became ill somewhere, and someone is taking care of him but doesn't know how to reach his division to tell them that he is alright. If that is the case, I could help him get better if only we knew where he is. It is so frustrating to be so close to him and not know where he is, and to be able to get no messages to him, that we are here to see him. I guess the idea of our surprising him is gone now, especially since Mister Folks has hired detectives to find him.

I still have not seen enough of the Capital. This nation is great, no doubt, but this hotel seems to me not so wonderful, in fact, it is the same as any other in New York. Yet I am so close to other places I have never seen. I assume that Mister Folks will not let me out by myself to see the sights. It is selfish of me I know to want to leave while James is still missing, but I was so looking forward to seeing the monuments and even more of the Army. Now that I have seen the camp I think it is magnificent, and I want to see just how big the Army is and how many men, horses and wagons it will take to fight this war.

It is an amazing and yet a frightening thing to think about: how many people it will take to fight this war. I feel two ways about it, or more than two ways really. I agree with the president that the nation cannot be divided. Also my family has long believed that slavery ought not to be tolerated. And while I am proud of James and his readiness to enlist, I also wish that the issue would just go away and let us live our lives without making people have to change everything about the way they live, just for this one thing. Maybe I really wish that James would have chosen to marry me first, instead of enlist. I don't know why things did not happen that way, but now I am jealous of the war, even though I am still undecided about marriage to him in general.

Chapter 3

It took several asking of directions before they located the 27th Division encampment. It was on the eastern side of the city and was hidden in a large field among several other camps. A rough paddock kept the horses enclosed, and these were looked after by civilian laborers. White tents ran the length of the camp, which was outlined by a roughly cut wooden fence. Several soldiers could be seen sitting on primitively made chairs outside their tents. A smoky scent of cooking permeated the air. The sign above the entrance was crude, but read '27th New York Cavalry Division – Too Far From Home - Too Close For Comfort.'

A young-looking corporal with a friendly face kept guard. He was a compact fellow who stood with his shoulders slumped over. He lazily eyed them as they rode up to the camp entrance. Holding his hand up, he motioned for them to stop. He spat out a brown stream of tobacco and called out, "What can I do for you fellows?"

"We've come here looking for Colonel Franklin," Jack replied. "You can tell him that we've made this visit on behalf of Mister Folks concerning his son Lieutenant Folks."

The corporal drawled, "Ah, yes – the colonel was right expecting someone to come along soon. Just you wait right there, and someone will lead you to him." He took a step back and spoke a few words a nearby private who then sauntered off towards the middle of the camp.

"Is it alright if we leave our horses here?" Jack asked. He had decided to be cautiously friendly but still polite.

"Sure, go right on ahead. It's not exactly busy 'round here, so it won't be a problem." He ended with a smile on his face, perhaps acknowledging the waiting period they were going through.

Jack slid off the horse with his partner following suit. "Excuse me, soldier," he asked, "but did you know Lieutenant Folks at all?"

"I reckon we're a pretty tight outfit here." He gave them a big honest grin. "Most of us even came from the same area of New York. But Lieutenant Folks was pretty fresh. Only been here a few weeks, but he was popular enough with the men. Never took advantage of his rank or station, if you know what I mean."

Jack was beginning to like this corporal. "I do at that. The army hasn't changed at all since I've been in it."

The corporal's eyes brightened. "Ah, an old soldier – were you infantry or cavalry?" he asked suspiciously as he looked Jack over.

"Cavalry – I spent a few years out west protecting the new settlements there."

"I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Eugene Ferran." He shook hands with Jack.

"My name is Jack Blackwood. This here is my partner Ezra Miller."

Ferran shook hands with the ex-slave and then looked into the camp. He said, "Now where did that private go? He should be here soon enough to take you to see the colonel."

"Let me ask you a question, Mister Ferran. When Folks left the camp last night - do you know who was on guard?" Ezra asked.

"That's easy enough to answer - I was."

Jack took over the questioning and asked, "What can you remember about last night? Did he look worried in any way?"

"Well, the lieutenant went into the city with a bunch of the other officers from camp. They were going to do the usual - go out drinking and have some fun. There's not a whole lot to do right now but sit and wait for orders. Most of us are itching to get down south and whup those rebels. But the Army has got their plans, and they aren't sharing them with us at the moment."

"What kind of fun do the boys around here have - gambling or girls?" Jack asked. He knew that whores, drink and cards were on the mind of just about every soldier.

"Well," Ferran replied with a sly look on his face. "I like a good game of poker myself, and the missus back home would kill me if I got into trouble with another girl. But some of the men here get bored and lonely spending day after day in this camp. I rightly can't blame them if some go astray."

"Is Folks the kind of man to go astray? I heard he has a pretty girl waiting for him at home."

Ferran paused before answering, as if weighing what he was about to say. "Yeah, he showed me her picture that he carries in a locket around his neck. She is pretty – the type of girl that would make any man proud. But as I said, a man can get awfully bored and lonely out here. The lieutenant was no stronger in that regard than others."

They were interrupted in their conversation by the return of the private who had been sent to the colonel. He saluted sloppily to Ferran and said, "The colonel asks that I take these men to go and see him. Captain Ellsworth also suggested you stop jawing with these men and do your duty."

Ferran looked around to see if anyone could overhear him and said, "Captain Ellsworth can go to Hell. You can tell him I said that." And then with a wave and a smile, he let Jack and Ezra pass to follow the private into the camp.

The colonel had a large white tent, which had a wooden floor and some slightly more substantial furniture in it. The colonel and a lieutenant were standing in the open air at a small table outside the tent, with a small canopy stretched over it to keep the sun out. When Jack first saw Colonel Franklin, he resisted the urge to salute. The colonel looked every inch the type of soldier that men would follow to the very Gates of Hell. He was tall, had steel-gray hair, was immaculately dressed, and had a handsome, martial bearing. His face was clean-shaven and showed only a few wrinkles. Jack would have guessed his age to be in the late forties. Standing next to him was a young lieutenant with dark hair and a wispy mustache. The lieutenant couldn't have been older than nineteen and shuffled nervously from foot to foot.

"I'm glad to meet you," Franklin said while shaking Jack's hand with a firm grip. He had the easy voice that was used to commanding men. "This here is my nephew, Lieutenant Riley. He acts as my eyes and ears. I don't know what I would do without him."

Jack introduced himself and his partner. He then said, "I wish we could meet under better circumstances, sir. As you already know, we are here on behalf of Mister Charles Folks concerning his son. Have you any further news of his whereabouts?"

"I'm afraid I won't be much help to you. I have some of my men going out to comb the city for our young lieutenant. So far we haven't found a trace of his whereabouts." He looked behind Jack and said, "Ah, here comes Captain Ellsworth. Perhaps he has some further information for us."

They all turned to watch the captain approach. Jack was struck by how ugly the man was. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, had a dark craggy face, thick curling eyebrows, and slovenly manner of dress. Compared to the colonel, he had a sinister look. Ellsworth returned his stare, and it was not a kind pair of eyes.

The captain saluted the colonel almost as an afterthought and said, "I suppose these here two men came to find out about Lieutenant Folks?"

"Yes, they are here on behalf of his father. Have any of the men reported back from their search of the city?"

"They just got back in. I told them to visit his favorite haunts, but no one has found anything yet. It's most mysterious." His voice was most off-handed, almost as if he didn't care either way.

Colonel Franklin sighed. "Yes it is - most mysterious indeed. Folks is a little wet behind the ears but has the makings of a good officer. So many of the recruits we get are nothing but trouble. They don't know how to drill properly and won't listen to orders."

Lieutenant Riley looked away, red-faced, as these words were spoken.

Jack interrupted the colonel and said, "Other than the search parties you sent out, did you question any of your men in the camp on his whereabouts?"

The captain replied curtly, "When we had roll call this morning, no one stepped forward with any information."

"Well, you see I had an interesting conversation with your guard at the gate– a Corporal Ferran. He wasn't exactly forthcoming with me, but I think he knew where Lieutenant Folks went. He may at least be able to give us an idea."

Ellsworth rubbed his jaw and said, "I wouldn't bother questioning that particular corporal. He's a troublemaker through and through. You'll see him at the guard post quite often for general punishment. That's if he is lucky – otherwise he gets harsher duties than that."

"Now, Captain," Franklin interjected, "perhaps Mister Blackwood here is right. It wouldn't hurt to question the corporal a little further. Why don't you go on over and get him. I myself would be most interested in what he has to say."

The captain gave Jack a dark look and stomped off to get the corporal.

"Don't mind him," Franklin said. "He may be quick to anger, but he is a good soldier. Always follows orders, if even he doesn't want to."

"I bet he isn't popular with the men." Ezra said.

"He's alright," Riley interjected defensively.

Franklin laughed. "My nephew is right, the captain never has been exactly popular with the men, but they give him grudging respect because I depend on him so much. He always knows what's going on in the camp and where to get some of the best food around. We are always low on supplies, and Ellsworth manages to find what we need."

"I see," Jack said, not really interested in their supply problems. "Let me ask you – has Lieutenant Folks ever been any problem for you? Have there ever been any signs of trouble with him? His father told me he was a good son."

"No problems that I know of. The lieutenant is always on time and ready to do what was called of him. He is fairly inexperienced, mind you, but I never had any complaints concerning his conduct. His horsemanship is fair and quickly improving under our guidance."

"James has always been friendly to me," Riley added.

"What about your captain? Did he have any complaints about him?" Jack knew that the top of the chain rarely addressed the day-to-day needs of a busy army camp.

"Not that I know of - why don't you ask him yourself?"

The captain just then came back scowling with the smiling Corporal Ferran in tow. They both saluted Franklin, who ordered the corporal to stand at ease.

The colonel transfixed the corporal with hard eyes and asked, "Now Ferran, Mister Blackwood here told me that you were discussing our missing Lieutenant Folks with him. Is there anything that you know that you are holding out on us?"

Ferran shuffled from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. He gave Jack a sour look before answering, "I don't know anything worth your time, sir."

"Come on, out with it man," Ellsworth barked impatiently.

The corporal blushed a crimson red. He said, "Well, I'm not one to judge any man's character. You see, the night the lieutenant went missing, I stopped to jaw with him for a while. We passed the usual talk about the war, but he was in a bragging mood about where he was going that night."

"What was he bragging about?" Jack asked impatiently.

"Well, Mister Blackwood, as I was telling you at the gate – some men get awfully lonely here day after day." He looked up at the canopy, as if it would take away the burden of his words for him. He then took a breath and continued: "They miss the company of women. James was telling me about this girl he met at a saloon the other week. Apparently he got to know her quite well. He told me was planning to spend all of that night with her and get smashing drunk in the process." After a pause he then added, "It's not something I would condone."

Lieutenant Riley blushed when he heard these words.

"Did he mention her name?" Jack snapped. If he knew the girl's name, then it was only a matter of time before he could find her whereabouts.

"That's the funny thing sir," Ferran chuckled. "He told me her name was Lizzie Clayton."

"What's so funny about that, Corporal?" Ellsworth said impatiently.

"Well, the joke was on the lieutenant. You see. Lizzie Clayton is a well-known whore, and half of the men in this camp had already paid that girl for a night of entertainment. She was quite the popular girl around Washington, if you know what I mean. Then there was the poor Lieutenant thinking he had met the girl of his dreams. I didn't have the heart to break it to him, he would find out in his own time once she asked for the bill to be paid."

Jack thought about poor Folks being taken for a fool, and realized the same had happened to him before. It was not an unexpected story for a boy out on his own to be taken in by a woman of the night. "Do you know where this Miss Clayton does her business?"

Ferran turned red and said, "I personally wouldn't know. I can ask one of the boys and find out."

"You do that," Jack said. "It's important that we find the lieutenant before he gets into any more trouble."

"Is this really worth our time?" Ellsworth interrupted. "Are you saying our missing lieutenant is hiding away with this prostitute? Why would he stay there with her all day?"

Jack snapped back, "For the same reason any man would. As of now, this is our only clue. It is best that I go follow this lead. What else would you have me do?"

Franklin merely raised an eyebrow and watched the both of them argue.

Ellsworth didn't answer the question but merely said, "Very well, if you wish to waste your time, then I can do nothing to stop you. Corporal, I suggest you get that information for Mister Blackwood and then return to your post."

Ferran saluted Ellsworth sloppily and then gave Franklin and Riley a smart and precise one. With that, he quickly left and soon disappeared among the maze of tents.

Franklin cleared his throat and spoke, "Well then, Mister Blackwood, if you require anything else from us, please let me know. If you do find Lieutenant Folks, remember he is in the army now. His rich father can't protect him from military justice no matter how much money he spends. His punishment is purely a matter for me to decide."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir. My job is just to find him, not to save him from army regulations."

"Very good – I wish you luck." With a wave of his hand, the colonel dismissed them.

Jack and Ezra made their way back to the gate with the captain trailing behind. He made sure they made it outside the camp and then left them without even saying goodbye.

Jack shook his head. "So Ezra, what do you think of the army life?"

His partner chuckled and looked over the dirty camp. "It's not for me. I had a taste of slavery myself. These men live like animals. And having to report to that captain every day? Forget about it."

"Yes, that Ellsworth does bear watching. I will be happy if we never have to see him again. He doesn't seem to like us that much at all. I had my share of bad officers to report to, but this man shows a total lack of concern about the lieutenant. It could almost be called hatred, if I had any reason to believe it so."

"The captain has had too many men not give him the respect he thinks his title deserves. I wouldn't be surprised if the men shirk their duties just to anger him."

"Oh, I'm not sure about that," Jack said. "They do seem to love their colonel well enough. It's probably the only thing holding this division together. By the way, that boy Riley looked a little embarrassed, perhaps he is hiding something."

Ezra merely shrugged and said, "Some people just don't like talking about sex."

Within a few moments, Ferran came back. He said politely, "I got the information you wanted. The boys told me that she has a small house - more of a shack really. It's over on 16th Street. Number twenty-two. I was told she doesn't get out of bed until late in the afternoon."

"I thank you," Jack said. "And one more thing, Corporal – I'm sorry that I had to bring you into all of this. I'm paid to get information for my clients and sometimes I have to step on a few toes to get it. No hard feelings, eh?" Jack hated to burn this bridge as he knew that Ferran could be a valuable source of information.

The corporal grinned in relief. "Oh, don't worry - I'm not holding a grudge with you, Mister Blackwood. It's that damned Ellsworth. The captain is always trying to bust me for something."

"Well, I'll keep that in mind for the future." Jack took a five-dollar coin from his pocket and slipped it Ferran's hand along with a business card. "Here, take this card of mine. If you hear anything else around the camp about Lieutenant Folks - let me know and I'll give you some more money."

"Why thank you, sir." He bit the coin to mark it and slipped it in his coat pocket. He gave them a cheery wave as they got up on their mounts.

Jack saluted Ferran smartly, and then they wheeled the horses about and left.

Chapter 4

It was hot. Time was getting on to the late afternoon when they had ridden to 16th Street. It was a cramped dirty place located in a poor part of the city. Most of the homes in this area were in rough condition, and a number of children were running through the street, barefooted. Lizzie Clayton's house was nothing more than a roughly painted shack with dirty windows and even dirtier curtains. At one time someone planted bushes around the walls, but they were not well taken care off and sprawled untidily over the cracked dirt. However the walkway to the front door was swept clean as if someone had tried to tidy the place without putting too much effort into it.

Jack and Ezra dismounted and tied the horses to the unpainted gate post. Looking the place over, the detective said, "With business booming here in Washington, you would think the whores here in town could find a better place to live."

Ezra nodded and took a glance over the neighborhood before answering, "There is not enough rooms to go around for anyone right now. People will take whatever they can get. This is pretty upscale these days – at least she has a place to entertain alone. That's worth a few dollars extra."

Jack shook his head, knowing that his friend was personally acquainted with many of the girls who walked the streets of the city. He pushed the gate open and went to the front door. Ezra lagged behind, looking over the neighborhood. The front door was made out of thin pine, and the front window curtains were shut tight. Jack pounded hard on the door and stopped to listen. It was quiet from within the house and not even the squeak of a floorboard could be heard. He could see a few fat flies bumping lazily against the window panes inside.

"Hey mister, who are you looking for?" a high-pitched voice called out.

They both turned and saw a boy who was roughly ten years old, watching them from the street. He was grubby and shoeless, but his eyes were bright with interest.

"We're looking for Miss Clayton. Do you know where she could be this time of day?"

"Oh, you mean Lizzie? My Momma told me to stay away from her. She told me she was one of those women. I don't know what she meant about that, since Miss Lizzie looked like a right proper girl to me. She always smiles pretty and treats me right."

His natural dislike of children rose within, but Jack resisted the urge to shout at him. "Ah, yes. Well we're looking for her. She had a gentleman friend with her, and we've been looking all over Washington for her friend."

The boy's eyes widened. "Is she in some kind of trouble? I don't want to get Miss Lizzie into any trouble."

"No, there's no trouble, boy. His dad is looking for him and hired us to find him."

"Well good. Miss Lizzie always asks me to look after the place while she was out. Even though I know my momma might not like it." He looked around shiftily. "You never know what can happen in this neighborhood, but she always had friends over so I'm not sure what she was worried about."

Jack was beginning to get exasperated listening to him. "Do you know where she could be right now?" he asked, his voice getting louder.

The boy looked like he was thinking hard. "She's usually up by now. She's always sleeping in late."

Jack pounded on the door again, and still no one answered back or stirred within. He then examined the front window and found no visible opening to see further into the house. Stepping away from the door, he made a quick circular trip around the small shack. The two remaining windows on the sides were shut and curtains drawn tight. There were several chinks in the siding but none afforded a clear view within. He noticed that the flies were heavy on the inside of all the windows in the house. Returning, he said, "Now look, son, it's really important that we find this man. Would you keep an eye out to see if anyone is watching us? We're going to have to force our way in to make sure your friend Lizzie is safe."

"There's no reason to do that," the boy said simply. "Lizzie always kept the door key under that rock." He pointed to a smooth rock near the walkway leading to the front door.

Ezra went over to the rock and turned it over. A small hole had been dug into the ground, but no key was to be seen. "Are you sure about that? There's no key here."

"But there always is. I've seen her lift that rock up hundreds of times. Of course she thinks no one is watching her, but she never pays all that close of attention by the time she gets home in the morning."

Jack eyed his and then said to the child, "Boy, go back home to your momma. I don't want to see you back here again. If I do, then the police will be here to question you."

The boy gave him a scared look and ran off without looking back, the dust flying up from his bare feet, making clouds in the rays of the sun.

"Ezra, I'm going to break this door down. I want you to be ready with your gun, even though I don't expect any trouble in there."

"Why are you in a sudden rush to get in there?" Ezra challenged as he fumbled with the gun.

"You'll see soon enough." Jack held the frame of the door with one hand and began battering at the thin pine with his boots. The door quickly began to crack and then suddenly split away from the frame. He pushed the remnant of the door away and walked into the house with Ezra at the ready. There was apparently only one room in the house and in the shade of the drawn curtains they could see the large bed against the far wall.

The smell of rotting death met Jack's nostrils. It was a smell he had known from the killings he had seen on the prairie - the end of an assault on an Indian village or a settler's home burned down to the ground. It was the smell of warm flesh decomposing in the stifling summer heat. He covered his face with his sleeve and walked towards the two figures lying on top of the bed. The buzzing of flies was thick in the air.

Outside at the door , his partner swore under his breath and then began to retch.

The bed sheet and ground around it was splattered deep with drying blood. The lifeless butchered figure of what was once a woman was lying face down. Next to her was a uniformed dead man who was staring blankly at the ceiling. His shirt was open and the chest was a mass of blood-crusted cuts that had stained the sheets underneath red. Jack took a deep breath into his sleeve and took a closer look at the man's face. It was a lieutenant's uniform all right. A locket hung down from a chain and Jack pulled it roughly off.

"Come on, Ezra, let's go back outside," the detective mumbled through the sleeve covering his mouth. The air was too thick for him to think. His partner nodded in agreement, and they both staggered out into the air to breathe some fresh air.

Regaining some of his composure, Ezra said, "Damn it, Jack, what happened in there? I've never seen anyone butchered like that before. Is it Folks?"

Snapping open the blood-stained locket, Jack saw a picture of Anna Keller inside. "It was Folks all right - it has to be. Who else would be carrying a picture of his fiancée?"

His partner glanced at the picture of the locket and nodded.

"When you're feeling ready, I want you to go back and get Garrett first and then Mister Folks. Don't tell him anything in the presence of Miss Keller. I know she is sick with worry about her fiancé, but it would be better for her if she didn't know where we found him."

Ezra nodded bleakly and staggered over to his horse. He weakly pulled himself up and gave his friend a short wave goodbye. He said. "You know, Jack, this is the part I hate about this job. I don't know how you can stand there looking so calm after seeing a woman killed that way."

"It's experience. Experiences I would rather not have," Jack said glumly.

"You can keep them."

"Now go on. I'll be fine, but hurry back."

Without any further words, his partner pushed the horse into a canter and headed down the street. Jack watched him for a minute before returning to the house. He closed the remnants of the door behind him and began opening the curtains and windows. The fresh air stirred up the flies, but the air within became almost passable.

There was now plenty of light to see the two corpses on the brass bed. Jack rolled the woman over, smearing his own hands with her blood. Her empty eyes leered at him as he examined the body. Miss Clayton would have been very pretty when alive - she had smooth skin and delicate features. There was some resemblance with her and Anna. Her naked body had been slashed several times, leaving deep long gouges on her torso and waist. Jack went over her minutely, noting several details as he went along. He paid particular attention to her wrists and ankles. He then turned her back over to the position he had found her.

James Folks was wearing his uniform, the tunic unbuttoned, but his shirt and pants still on. His body had a series of wounds across the chest, and more notably, a single straight cut across his throat that had nearly severed the head. Next to the bed lay a cavalry saber, coated crimson with blood. Jack again went over the body in detail, looking for any further evidence of interest. He also picked up the sword and felt the edge against his thumb. It was sharp but had several nicks where it must have struck bone.

Turning to the dresser, he began rummaging through the dresser. There wasn't much to find there - some dirty clothing, a number of coins, and a cracked makeup case. On top of the dresser sat a half-finished bottle of what appeared to be whiskey. Jack sniffed it and then took a small sip. It was a quality drink, so he shrugged and took a larger pull for strength before putting it back down. Widening his search, he looked under the bed, through the piles of clothing, and finally to the gun belt hanging on the footboard. Jack sniffed the barrel of the pistol and found that it had not been fired recently.

By this time, an hour had passed, and the detective did not register any surprise upon hearing several horses ride up. He looked out the front window and saw Henry Garrett and Charles Folks dismounting, their faces grim. Folks's was white with shock, while Garrett merely looked serious. Ezra stayed sitting on his horse, apparently content with waiting outside.

Garrett took Folks by the shoulder and steered him past the door and into the house. "Come on, it is best that we get this over with quickly."

"I'm sorry you have to see this," Jack said quietly, "But you have to know what happened to your son. Is this him?"

Charles Folks gulped and finally looked at the two bodies. He nodded quickly and then choked out, "It's him."

Garrett turned Folks roughly around and led him outside again. Jack could hear and see them through the open door. "Now I want you to wait out here and take it nice and easy. Sit a spell and take a drink from my bottle here. I'll go talk to Jack, and we'll figure out what's to be done."

"What should I ever tell Anna? And his mother? This will break her heart." His powerful shoulders shuddered and his head sunk, sobbing on his knees.

Handing Folks his pint of whiskey, Garrett came back into the house and from the doorway looked over the scene of carnage without emotion. "Tell me what happened here."

"I'm not sure what Ezra told you," Jack said. When Garrett made no comment, he continued on. "We asked a few questions at the camp, and we were told by a corporal that James Folks was coming over to spend time with this woman here. We got here, and it appeared that no one was home. A neighborhood boy told us where this Miss Clayton hid her key, but it was missing. I took a look around the outside and noticed a peculiar smell and a number of flies on the inside. So I decided to break in."

Garrett nodded and leaned weakly against the door frame. The detective could see that the Captain of the Watch was looking pale and tired.

Jack continued, "I looked over the bodies, and Miss Clayton here appears to have been stabbed and slashed several times with that saber. Young Folks looks as if he was tortured with the same weapon and then died from a single slash across the throat. It was the work of a mad man."

Garrett held his hand up to stop Jack's story. He looked at his friend and explained pedantically: "Let me tell you what I see here. I see a boy who is away from his father for the first time." He paused to look down at the lieutenant's body, then looked back and summed up more quickly. "He comes to Washington and falls in love with the wrong girl, finds out she is a prostitute and in a jealous rage, kills her. In fear of what he had done, he takes his own life instead of the hangman."

"I would think that too, but what man would cut himself like that?"

Henry face turned red and he snapped, "The same kind of man who would kill a girl like that!"

"Listen, Henry, there are some further points of interest that I have found. Grasping his old friend by the shoulders, he walked Garrett over to the bed and pointed at the bodies. "If you look at both of their wrists and ankles, there are some marks that look like rope burns. Both of them were first tied down before being killed. After the murderer was finished, he removed the ropes and took them with him. It's the only explanation that makes sense. How else would the girl have stayed still after being hit with a sword? She would have been running away in pain, splattering the blood all over this room."

Garrett grunted and said, "Not if she was knocked out first. But go on."

Jack felt his own temper rising as he tried to reason with his friend. "Whoever tied them up, also must have gagged them well. Otherwise the screaming would have woken up the neighborhood."

"You think people in this neighborhood are going to be awoken by a prostitute screaming? I think most of her neighbors would have rolled over and gone back to sleep."

"Then there is the matter of the key."

Garrett was clearly perplexed. "What key?"

"I was told that Miss Clayton kept her house key hidden under a rock outside. Well, it's missing from her hiding spot. I looked all over the house for it and haven't found it yet. Whoever has it was able to lock the place up after they left."

Garrett shook his head and said, "Look, Jack, I've listened to your explanation and they may make sense in another situation. But just look at those two – I see a sword on the floor, next to a man who killed her and then killed himself. That's the simplest explanation. Anything else would be foolish to pursue and a waste of my time."

"You've talked about your hunches before, and this is one of mine." Jack's words were coming faster as he spoke. "These two were murdered in cold blood. I don't know who did it or why, but someone has to find out before it happens again." The detective could feel the sweat pouring down his temples, and he tugged hard on his collar. He hated to contradict his friend, but he knew he was right about this.

"It's not going to be me." Henry said flatly.

"Then it will be Mister Blackwood," Charles Folks interrupted. He had regained some of his composure, but one could see the despair deep in his eyes. He smelled of whiskey, having drained half of the bottle. "If you think my son is a murderer, then you are clearly mistaken. He was a good lad and a good son."

Garrett frowned. "I never called your son a murderer - it's just the most likely explanation until some further evidence comes to light. If Jack here can bring that evidence forward, then I'll gladly put some of my men on the job."

Miss Keller's diary, continued

July 13 – before Midnight

Mister Folks and I have had the worst kind of news. James has been found, and he is no more. The detective found his body – he has been murdered – I really am inconsolable. Mister Blackwood sent word about James being found dead, apparently stabbed, but gave no further details. He promises to come here and talk with us soon. My poor darling. How I wish there were someone here to comfort me besides Mister Folks. He left with Mister Miller soon after we got the news. I think they wanted to make sure that the person they had found really was James. He seems disturbed somewhat by his son's death, but mostly stoical. It is so gruesome to think about, but I feel that I must think about it.

Mister Folks is a bit more distant since he returned. I wish he had someone else to comfort him other than me. It could be that he is not comfortable enough with me here to express emotion about this. I'm not sure what I should say to him. He does not seem to grieve; perhaps this seems too unreal to him. I have kept to my room since the news. The hotel landlady made an effort to sit and talk with me, and she held my hand, but it really was better for me when she went away. It was easier for me to be miserable on my own. I think people assume, since I am smaller, and not likely to grow much more, that I am younger than I am. I do hate to be treated like a scared little girl, although I know people are just trying to be kind; the landlady, Misses Barnes, in particular is helpful. She told me, though, that another soldier was killed a few weeks ago. I wonder what happened then, and why he was killed, and if his family still wonders, or if it was something simple, like a fight among the soldiers, or a duel.

I have been sitting staring out the window, thinking of this and that, and mostly crying. After lying down for a while I wondered how to present myself, and looked through the things I had packed, and that led me to sitting, staring out the window near my trunk. I had never thought to bring a black dress to wear, yet I feel I must show my feelings for James by wearing black. Misses Barnes offered me a dress to wear, and it would be fine, I suppose, though a little out of style, and not really the right size. I do not have time to go to a dressmaker's to have it altered to fit me better. And I did not bring any extra money with me to buy something new either. I can wear it until I get home, and then decide what to do after that. It was very generous of her to make the offer. I imagine she wondered what she would have done if she had been out of town and a friend had died. I'll let her know that her dress would be fine. I must see the detective and find out for myself everything that has happened; I hope Mister Folks does not notice me missing. Perhaps it is because our families are so close, or it is just his paternal nature, but he is inclined to be over-protective of me.

The hours have passed quickly since I have returned. It is night now, and the hotel is quiet, but the streets still have some activity in them. I was called to dinner, but I did not leave the room. I was not hungry then (although I am now), and I just did not feel like I should be social, even for a dinner in the hotel. The activity in the street has helped to take my mind off things. Instead I watch the progress of a boy driving a team down the street, and a lone man, a shopkeeper I imagine, heading home.

Chapter 5

Riding back to the neighborhood livery, Jack was silent in his own thoughts. Ezra rode next to him, keeping his own counsel. After the horses had been safely corralled, Jack trudged back home as his partner dealt with the payment. He went up the stairs, unlocked the front door and went immediately to his desk to think. There he lit a cigarette and began to intently concentrate on this new problem.

Ezra came in, reached for the office bottle and poured two stiff drinks into a pair of fingerprinted glasses. He handed one to his friend and gulped down his own shot. Making a face, he put the glass hard down on the desk.

He said, "I heard the argument between Henry and Folks. I take it we've been hired to look further into this matter?"

Jack looked up, his brow furrowed in thought. "Yes, Folks has given us the job to look for the killer of his son. I'm not sure if it was the whiskey Henry gave him or a vain attempt to clear his name."

"You know, I was wondering what made you rush into Miss Clayton's house," Ezra mused. "How did you suspect that something was amiss?"

Jack snorted. "Well, I was a little slow there for a moment. I realized that someone must be inside when we found the key was missing, and I took a walk around the house to look for another way in. That's when I saw the flies gathering around the windows. As hot as it is today, who would have left all of their windows shut? Anyone inside would have been intolerably uncomfortable."

"Why would Lizzie Clayton keep her single key hidden like that? Most people would carry their own key and hide a spare."

Rubbing his temples, Jack explained, "Imagine being in her business. It would be easy to mislay a key while servicing your clients. Instead she kept it in a safe place where she could always lay her hands on it after returning home. Coming home she would open the door and lock herself in. If the key was missing, she was either inside, had taken it with her, or someone else had it with them."

The black man nodded in understanding. "Now that I've had a drink, can you tell me what you found inside the house while I was gone?"

Jack explained how he had gone over the bodies, the rope marks and his search for the key. He ended by saying, "I told my suspicions to Henry, but he didn't want to believe his own eyes."

"What could his motives be?" his partner asked incredulously. "How could he not listen to your evidence? It's clear to me that you are either on the right track, or James Folks was clearly insane."

"I don't think it's a matter of belief on Henry's part – more like willingness to not believe, if you like. He doesn't have the time to hunt down a monster like this. He's too busy arresting drunks and whores to bother with this murder. I think he'll come around once we have some stronger evidence. To him it's preposterous that such a cold-blooded murderer could even exist."

"I would understand that - I've never seen anything like that in all of my years." Ezra looked ill again remembering the sights of the past hour.

"You would be surprised what men can do. Out west, I saw acts of cruelty that still cause me nightmares even these many years later. The Indians and the settlers were never too kind to each other. What we have here is a man who tied up the both of them and used torture before finally finishing them off. I would guess that he killed the girl first."

"What makes you think that? Surely they could have been cut up at the same time."

"Well, I've seen it before out on the prairie." Jack had a vision of his past - a burned out cabin and the two bodies staked outside. It had been a long time ago when he was a young private, but he still remembered the smell and the sound of the feeding flies. "I imagine it makes the male victim feel powerless if he first sees a woman butchered and is helpless to stop it. It only increases the terror when it's his turn to be under the knife." He stubbed out his cigarette and grounded it into the floor with his boot.

"I see," Ezra commented blandly. "Beyond the evidence you saw, is there anything else we can go on?"

"No, not much at all - yet. We first will have to put ourselves in the murderer's place and try to figure out his motives."

"I'm not sure if I see any motive at all."

Jack went on. "First of all, he must have been a patient man. This was a premeditated set of killings that were planned out very carefully - the use of the rope and then removing it so the evidence wouldn't be found. The murderer set it up so a casual investigator would think the lieutenant had gone mad."

His friend digested that idea and thought for a minute before replying, "Perhaps it was someone the girl knew. Like an old lover or a previous client who was jealous that she was spending time with another man. That would explain both the key and how he got into the house. If he had spent time at the house before, perhaps he knew about her hiding place or how to open a window without being heard. After he caught them in bed, he got angry and decided to kill the both of them."

Jack listened to this mutely and studied his fingers. They were dirty and cracked with age. He felt even older than his years.

He finally replied, "Your idea makes sense, but there's just too much blood and violence involved. Any old lover would have stormed in, killed the both of them and then made a run for it. He wouldn't have tortured them that way – he would be too afraid of being discovered. Instead what we're looking for is a maniac - a blood-thirsty brute." He grabbed the glass in front of him and took a stiff drink. The whiskey burned his throat, and he smiled as the warmth spread through his veins.

Ezra spoke slowly, "Most men afflicted in the head in such a way would be quite noticeable to others. That kind of behavior would get you locked up real quick. It seems to me such a man would be easy to find if we looked in the right place."

"Well, the cuts and marks I saw looked like the work of a methodical man. And trust me it's hard to be careful with a cavalry saber. The throat was cut with a single slash, and the slashes across the chest were done with precision."

"Perhaps our murderer is a butcher by trade or perhaps a surgeon. You know someone familiar with cutting carefully and quickly."

"That's a good thought, Ezra. It could also be a soldier who has had plenty of practice using his sword." Jack lit one of his cigarettes and offered one to his partner.

"Where do we start?" Ezra said as he lit and puffed on the cigarette.

"I want you to go make the rounds around the saloons. Did anyone know Lizzie or notice anything strange about her that night? Are there any kind of rumors going around about a man who would meet our requirements?"

"And what will you be doing?"

"I'm going to go visit Miss Mulholland."

Ezra smiled through the cloud smoke he blew out. "Is it business or pleasure?"

Mulholland was a prostitute of Jack's acquaintance who he had met on a previous case. Ezra did not exactly know the extent of their relationship, but he had his suspicions since his friend had once disappeared and spent an entire night with the woman.

"First one and then we'll see about the other," the detective replied mischievously. "Now get out of here before I lose my temper."

Ezra stood up, tipped his hat and left his friend to his thoughts. Jack sat staring at the window, picturing the inside of the small shack during the previous night, and the murderer's steady hands tying the ropes, and then the painful awakening of his victims struggling to scream through the tight gags. It was a terrible way to die; any man who did such things should be shot like a rabid dog. The detective stubbed out his cigarette and prepared to leave.

As his hand reached out for the front door, he could see the shadow of a woman through the thick leaded glass. She saw him and tapped nervously at the door. Jack opened it and saw it was Anna Keller. She was wearing a threadbare black dress, and her eyes were red from crying. She stepped in and half fell into the office. He quickly reached over and grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her from hitting the floor.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I just had to know." Her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

"Please, you have nothing to be sorry about. Let me find you a chair." His head raced with thoughts, hoping he could treat her gently, and honestly at the same time. The unannounced visit made him feel flustered too. Why wouldn't she just stay in that damned hotel and sob her heart out there? He walked her over to his desk and sat her down in the visitor's seat. Composing himself, he took his own seat behind the desk and said, "Just why did you come here?"

She fumbled with a damp handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Her voice was raw with emotion as she spoke. "I had to know what happened to James. Charles won't tell me anything except that James is dead and gone. You must tell me the truth, what really happened to him?"

Jack replied carefully, "Mister Folks has his reasons. In this case I do believe he is right in not telling you what he knows. It's best that you get back to the hotel and rest for now. He will tell you all in due time – don't you worry."

"Look, Mister Blackwood, James and I were in love and were to be married by next year. Why won't anyone tell me what happened to him? What could possibly be so bad about it?" Her eyes had turned from low sorrow to blazing anger.

Jack began to feel pity for her. How could he tell her that her fiancé died in the company of a prostitute? But if anyone had a right to know, it was she. He cleared his throat and finally blurted out, "This is against my better judgment, Miss Keller, but I suppose it would be better if you knew." He cleared his throat again before continuing. Remembering his earlier conversation with Corporal Ferran he said, "You must understand that army life can be difficult. There are long hours where a man has little to do."

"What are you trying to say?"

"As I said, this is most difficult to explain without hurting your feelings. My only recourse is to be frank. James was found dead in the home of a local prostitute. They were spending the night together. I think someone murdered the pair of them."

Anna's already pale face turned even whiter. She stared with shock and then broke into tears. "Why? How could he?"

"I'm sorry I told you anything. You must remember that he still loved you, even if he was with another woman. He was just lonely and wanted to be with someone. It was nothing personal."

"Nothing personal?" she nearly shouted. "How could he do that if loved me? How could he?"

Jack poured a small shot of whiskey for her and pushed the glass towards her. He started to explain. "James missed you. He wanted to be with you. But he was lonely and found solace with another. Trust me; all men can be weak around the temptations of the flesh. I'm guilty of that too. You must not think badly of him and don't hate a man for being weak. Now be a good girl and take a drink." He smiled gently at her.

Anna looked at the glass suspiciously, but Jack could see that she still needed that oldest of medicines. Her hands shook as she tipped the whiskey slowly and took a small sip. She shuddered and made a face. "I don't know how you men can drink this." She took another sip, put the glass down and began to cry again. Her face turned away from Jack, and she began to sob with only long shudders breaking up the sustained misery.

Jack shifted in his chair uncomfortably and didn't know what to do.

After a few moments, she wiped her eyes and said, "I'll try to understand what he did," she said. She then buried her head in her hands and started to cry with renewed vigor.

Jack continued to wait with embarrassment until the emotions began to abate. He then said, "Now you really must get back to the hotel. I'll go there with you myself to make sure you are not taken with too much grief."

Her voice was cracked and raw. "Please don't trouble yourself on my account. I have a carriage from the hotel waiting for me outside. Just go and find James's killer for me. Find the murderer and see that he is hanged." The last word was unyielding and said with strength.

"I will," Jack promised, taken aback by her sudden ferocity. This was a woman who was not to be taken lightly. His first impression of her had been that she was just a girl, but he now saw a strong character in those dark eyes.

Anna got up unsteadily and staggered towards the door. Jack jumped up to help and went to open the door for her. She went through, held herself up against the stair railing, and he followed behind as they went down. They went down to the street and stopped before the carriage.

She turned to face Jack, picking at the threadbare fabric of her dress. "This is something that I was loaned from the hotel's landlady. I would never have thought that I would need to pack a black dress. It's not something I would normally wear in public."

"You look just fine, Miss Keller."

She smiled faintly and said, "Thank you for the kind words."

Jack helped her up to the carriage and gave her a friendly wave as she left. He watched until the carriage had turned the corner. Anna Keller was a beautiful woman. He felt sorry that such a lovely creature had to ever feel such pain. He sighed and laughed at his own sentimental heart. With those thoughts still dancing in his head, he went to the livery to collect his horse.

Chapter 6

Elizabeth Mulholland's room was in an apartment located on a muddy rut of a road. Dilapidated houses were crammed close together, making the area feel constricted as if the residents were living in a prison. Several children played in the dirt while their mothers watched with suspicious eyes as Jack rode by. He grinned at them in a friendly manner. He carefully tied his mare to the hitching post outside the boarding house. It was a large clapboard building that had fallen into disrepair over the years. The outside walls were a dirty gray, and the front door sagged loosely on the hinges.

The hallway leading to her room was dark and cool compared to the evening summer heat. Jack first let his eyes adjust to the dimness and then went to her door, located at the back of the building. The old floorboards squeaked noisily, and he could hear her neighbors talking through the thin walls. He tapped lightly on the door and heard her answering voice.

"Hold on just a moment," she sleepily called out.

Jack leaned against the frame of the door and waited. He could hear her swear and then the sound of footsteps. The door swung open and Mulholland stood there with a thin blanket wrapped tightly around her body. Her shoulders were bare. It also appeared that she was wearing nothing underneath. Though she was no longer a young woman, she still had vivacious eyes and a lean, hungry figure. Her dark hair was mussed, as if she had just rolled out of bed.

Her eyes widened in recognition. "Oh, it's you," she said with surprise. "I didn't think I would ever see you again."

"Tell me, are you wearing anything under that blanket?"

"You came all the way here to ask me that?"

"Well, as much as we enjoyed each other's company last time – how could I resist?" Jack smiled and tried to edge past her.

She resisted and physically blocked his way with her body. "Honey, right now isn't a good time for you to be visiting."

Jack grunted and gently pushed her aside. With a shrug she stepped aside to let him pass. The room was in disarray with piles of old clothing and a few whiskey bottles strewn on the floor. A pair of dirty curtains was open to allow the slightest of breezes to come into the stifling hot room. The single bed had an occupant, a young fair-haired man who was snoring lightly. From the boot and blue uniform crumpled on the floor, Jack gathered it was a soldier.

"I see you have company," Jack said without emotion.

"Don't sound too jealous," she replied. "You know what I do for a living."

"I know what you do, Elizabeth, but that doesn't mean I have to like it." And then Jack grabbed the man's ankle and pulled him roughly off the bed, along with the bedding.

There was a large clunk as the body hit the floor. The man began wrestling with the pile of blankets over his head.

"What the hell!" the soldier shouted.

"Jack, please!" Mulholland gasped.

Jack picked up man's uniform and boots, walked to the doorway and threw them out into the hallway. He then ripped the blanket off and looked down at the confused soldier. He was a young, bony man with a face spotted with acne. "This is nothing personal, soldier. I need to have a few words with Miss Mulholland here in private. I suggest you leave us be."

The young man's face was red with embarrassment. "Seeing that you have me at a disadvantage, I'll gladly take your advice - for now." The soldier stood up, trying to look dignified as possible in his sudden nakedness. He shot Jack a nasty look before scampering out into the hallway. The detective gave him a quick kick into the backside to hurry him along and then slammed the door shut.

Mulholland let out a pent-up giggle and then sat down on the edge of the bed. "I see you haven't changed one bit since I've seen you last."

"And neither have you. That boy couldn't have been more than seventeen."

"It pays the bills. And you know what young men lack in experience, they often make up with enthusiasm. He's old enough to fight in this fool war, so he's old enough for a good lay."

"Watch your mouth, girl. I do believe you are one of the most wicked women I have ever met." Jack knew that Elizabeth came from a well-bred background but had fallen on hard times. She had been forced out of her husband's house when she was found to be having an affair. Since her parents would no longer take her back, she was forced to live by her wits and her body.

"I would like to know of these other women you talk about. Were they as beautiful as I am?"

"For a whore you are certainly the jealous type. Right now I'm not here to talk about your sex habits or your gutter morals."

She cracked a smile and asked, "Then why did you stop by? Surely you wouldn't want to stay the night?"

Jack replied, "I'm on a case right now, and I'm asking you for some information."

Her smiled turned to a frown. She said, "I don't have sex unless I'm paid, and the same goes for talking." She got up from the bed and sat down in front of her vanity mirror to comb the snarls out of her hair. The blanket slipped down to around her waist and Jack could see that he was right - she was wearing nothing underneath. She was unconscious of this display and did not even look to see his reaction.

"I'll pay you, don't worry." Jack sat down at the edge of the bed and watched as she ran the comb through her long dark hair. Her body was pale with smooth skin. For a whore, he thought, she was a damn desirable woman. It was a shame that she had to live this way, but he knew she would never want to live with him. She was too independent.

"Very well, go ahead and ask away," Elizabeth said with exasperation as she stopped at an unruly snag. "I'm not sure that I could know anything you would be interested in, but I'm sure you have your reasons for wanting to talk to me."

"Before I ask you any questions let me tell you a little about it first. I was asked by a New York businessman to find his son. This boy joined up as a lieutenant, and with his father's help, he was assigned to a cavalry division that was stationed here in Washington. The father comes here with the boy's fiancée for a visit. He wants it to be a surprise for his son, and didn't write ahead to tell him about it. They go to the army camp this morning and what do you know? The lieutenant has gone missing the night before. No one there is telling them anything, so they go and see my friend Mister Garrett at the City Watch. I'm sure you know him by sight." Jack gave her a knowing glance. "Well, it turns out he's too busy to help, so he suggested they hire me to see what I can find out."

Mulholland looked bored. "This is all very interesting, I'm sure, but where exactly do I fit in?" She stood up, kicked through the piles of clothing and selected a clinging, opaque slip. Pulling it over her head, she sat back down in her chair and faced Jack with a sly smile. "It's time that I get ready for the night, so you had better make it quick."

Jack paused and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was going to be a hot tonight. "As I was saying before, the boy's father hired me to look into the disappearance. When my partner and I got to the army camp, I finally found someone who knew where the lieutenant went."

Mulholland stifled a yawn. "Really, this is most interesting," she said sarcastically and continued to comb her hair.

Jack said roughly, "He went to sleep with a whore that night. But both of them never saw the light of day again. They were both murdered in her bed."

The reflection of mirror showed that her eyes widened and the cheeks turned pale. "Murdered?" She turned on her chair to face Jack.

"It was a little shack on a little dirty street. They were both tied up and gagged before the murderer went to work on her with a sword. After she died, the lieutenant was cut up, and then his throat was slashed. I found them today lying next to each other, covered in flies and the bed drenched with their blood."

Mulholland went quiet, her face slack. She finally said with disgust, "What a horrifying story, Jack. But it can't be true. It sounds crazy. Who would do such a thing?"

"It's true alright. That's why I came to see you. You're in the business and in the normal course of the day you must talk to some of the other girls out there. Do you know any of them that had any uneasy feelings or bad experiences with a client lately - someone who was cruel or had hurt them?"

She frowned, revealing lines on her face that made her look as old as her years. "There are always a few bad apples in this business – but most of them can be dealt with, if you use the right words."

"This was something different - the girl was cut up pretty bad, but whoever did it took their time in killing her. It was torture pure and simple." Jack stared at her, waiting for a response.

Mulholland took her time replying, clearly weighing her words before speaking. "I know you're just trying to scare me into telling you something, but I did hear a story just last week. I'm not sure how true it was, but the girl who told me was really frightened. You see a few months ago, she decided to leave the streets and work at a whorehouse. She thought she would be safer in a place like that. Well, just a little while ago one of the girls there was killed, and the client committed suicide. It was a bloody affair, but the police kept it quiet and no one seems to know about it."

"Did she have any idea why?"

"No, but she assumed it was a customer who had gone berserk. The police didn't want to bother investigating the murder of a prostitute. She was scared enough to leave that place and returned to work the streets."

"Well, Elizabeth, that sounds like a very interesting lead. Do you know where this girl lives? I would like to talk to her about that night."

"I don't know where she lives, but I will probably see her tonight. She works the same corner that I do, and we get to talking."

Jack took out a few coins from his pocket and sat them stacked on the small table. He left a business card next to the coins. "If you see her tonight, send her over to my office in the morning. Tell her I just want to talk about what she saw at that whorehouse. If she does, I'll make sure to make it worth her while."

"I will do as you ask, but what about us?" she asked with a wicked grin.

After looking her up and down, Jack untied his boots and pulled them off. "I have another hour or two to spare, Elizabeth. Perhaps you would like the chance to make some more money."

She nodded and reached to pull off her slip.

Before she had a chance to remove it, he grabbed Elizabeth, and pushed her down roughly on the bed. "I like you dressed the way you are."

She smiled sincerely up at him. "My goodness, Jack, it is good to see you again."

Chapter 7

Returning later in the evening and finding the office empty, it was obvious to Jack that Ezra had not yet returned. The office had a slightly musty smell, the morning's breakfast was still lingering in the air, and the dimness of the night came in through the dusty windows, falling into gray squares on the floor. Lighting a single oil lamp, Jack sat at his desk and pulled out a pint of whiskey from the drawer. The last vestiges of his hangover had disappeared by now, but he felt tired and still needed to catch up on his sleep. He thought some water might be good to mix with the whiskey but was too tired to head out to the pump in the alley behind the building to get some. As he sipped, in his mind's eye he could see his partner at some local tavern, running a small tab, paying for drinks in an attempt to get more information. Ezra did his job well, and Jack knew he should show his appreciation more often.

He nodded to himself, and thought about joining his friend somewhere, but knew he'd have to visit a few places before they met up, and there was no guarantee he'd meet Ezra anyway. It could be futile; he'd spend more money - or what was left of it after what he had spent on Mulholland - and though the idea of society sounded inviting, Jack shrank from it as well.

Lighting a cigarette, he read the evening newspaper he had just bought. Scanning through the columns, there wasn't any reporting on the double murder yet. The main editorial demanded that the newly formed Confederate states be crushed by the Army of the Potomac. He was nodding with sleep by the time the front door opened. It was Ezra returning. Jack was jolted awake by the sound.

The black man looked worn out, his face lined with worry. He groaned as he sat down in the visitor's chair across from Jack. He put his boots up on the desk and grabbed at the pint. Taking a pull from the bottle, he sighed.

"It's been a long day," he said with a voice heavy with exhaustion.

The detective rubbed his eyes and yawned. "How do you think I feel? You didn't drink half a barrel of whiskey the night before. But tell me, did you find out anything?"

Ezra put the bottle down and leaned back further into his chair. "Well, let me tell you, there are plenty of violent men out there. They hit and abuse women, but don't kill. None of them seem to meet our needs - just the usual bullies pretending to be strong by pushing a woman around."

"I know the type," Jack grumbled.

"I passed through several saloons and whorehouses, bought a few drinks and heard too many bad stories. Only one was of any interest to us. There was a prostitute who was murdered just recently."

Jack cut him off and said, "Let me guess, there was a murdered girl at a whorehouse and the man who did it apparently killed himself."

Ezra's eyes widened with astonishment. "Damn it, Jack, you already heard this from Mulholland? I wasted all of my time and money buying drinks to get this information for nothing?"

The detective waved his hand in the air to placate his friend. "Yeah, I heard it from her. But it was sheer luck. She knows a girl who was there the night of the murder. Tell me what you heard, and then we can compare notes."

His partner looked crestfallen but readily agreed to the idea. "Fine - it was that whorehouse over on Ann Street. It's one of those new places that have sprung up since this town has been flooded with all those damn soldiers. It was two weeks ago on a Friday night when it happened. The place was crammed full of soldiers, girls, and enough liquor to go around for everyone."

"Sounds like my kind of place."

"One of the men disappeared with one of the girls for a while, and no one gave it a second thought. An hour or two went by before anyone noticed that they were still gone. His friends thought it would be a good joke to go find him and give him a surprise." Ezra paused to light a cigarette. He inhaled deeply before continuing. "Well, they were the ones who were surprised. They got to the room, opened the door, and found that the both of them were dead. It looked like murder and a suicide. Everyone assumed it was the work of the soldier."

"Is there any evidence that someone else could have done it?"

"The room was on the second floor and the window was locked. If it was someone else, it had to be somebody who was already there and managed to sneak in without being seen."

"It doesn't seem like it would be that difficult, if the place was crowded with drunks. How were they killed?" Jack asked, exhaustion making his voice ragged.

"Much like James and Miss Clayton– the girl was disemboweled, while the soldier's throat had been cut so deeply he was nearly beheaded."

Jack sighed and shoved the stopper back on the bottle. He said, "Mulholland told me of a girl who was working there the night it happened. She heard it was a murder-suicide too, but this does fit in with what we know so far. Someone is deliberately killing men who are visiting prostitutes. Mulholland is supposed to contact this girl and get her in touch with me. Maybe she will remember the man's name."

His partner said, "That'd be good. If not, we'll have to go ask Garrett what he knows about all of this. It's no coincidence that both of these killings happened the same way."

"I thought Henry was hiding something from us." As Jack said the words, he wondered to himself why his old friend would do such a thing.

Ezra stubbed out his cigarette. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning." He left with his shoulders slumped and staggered sleepily towards his room.

Putting out the oil light, Jack walked to the bedroom in the darkness. There he slept terribly and dreamed of Anna Keller being killed. He was powerless to stop the murderer he could never see. It was just the flash of a saber raised high in the air and striking down. He awoke in the pale morning light, early enough where the air still felt cool.

After breakfast, they were visited by the girl sent by Mulholland. She had shyly come into the office asking to see the detective. Introducing herself as Mary Moore, Jack paid her with a ten dollar coin. He couldn't decide if she was pretty or not. She was short and pudgy, but had a certain girlish innocence that would appeal to an older man. Her hair was a dirty blond and pulled back into a sloppy knot. Her eyes were tired with exhaustion \- clearly she lacked sleep after a hard night's work. Ezra stood at the doorway and listened in as she told her story.

Moore's voice had the sweetness of a younger girl as she spoke. "It was a booming business that Friday. A whole group of soldiers were on leave. They were practically waiting in line, clear out of the door, and the money was coming in fast. The madam had to send out for some extra liquor more than once."

"How many men were there at a given time?" Jack asked.

"Oh, it's a big old house. We could have thirty or so men inside at the same time. I myself had the attention of several soldiers who were gathered around. Now I'm not going to brag, but I was getting more attention than lots of the girls there. There was this girl there, Bridgette – she never liked me – and she had half the customers I did. I don't think most men go for those stuck-up school teacher types."

Jack interrupted her musings and said, "When did you know that there was something amiss?"

She replied grumpily, "Hold on, I was getting there. After a bit, I noticed that the girl Simone was missing. She is a pale little redhead – I think she was only sixteen. At least that's what she said. Anyways, I thought she must have gotten a good paying customer and couldn't make it down to work the floor again. Well, a bit later in the night I realized that she was still gone. One of the soldiers commented on his missing friend and thought it would be a good gag if they go break up their long-winded session. They were all awfully drunk, and they all roared with laughter at the idea. A group of five or so went up to her room, and they barged right on in. They saw what happened and started shouting for help, and I ran up there with the madam after we heard their yelling. It was too late to do anything - they were both dead." She licked her lips nervously as she remembered that awful sight.

"Now think back for a moment," Jack said. "The soldier who was killed - do you remember his name?"

She furrowed her brow in thought and said, "Quinn? Or was it Queen? At least that's one of the soldiers standing next to me said: poor Quinn."

"What did he look like?" Ezra asked.

"I remember his face – seeing him dead on that bed froze that memory right into my soul. He had brown hair and a thin moustache. He looked plenty young."

Jack impatiently asked, "What happened after they were discovered?"

"As I said, it was terrible seeing all that blood. The madam sent one of the men to get someone from the City Watch. Most of the customers took off right away – not wanting to be found by the police in a place like that. But a few of the dead man's friends waited around. They were all nervous and scared-like. But help came soon enough, and there were plenty of questions for them. In the end, the Captain of the Watch came and decided to let everyone go home. He told the madam it looked like the girl was probably murdered, and the boy couldn't take face it, so he killed himself."

"That sounds like our Henry," Ezra interjected sourly.

Jack held his hand up to quiet his partner. "Now Miss Moore, I want you to think very carefully after I ask you one more question. Is there any chance you know what division the dead soldier came from?"

"Oh, that's easy," she chirped. "It was the 27th New York Cavalry."

Jack asked in surprise, "Are you sure about that?"

She smiled and brightly said, "Sure I'm sure. They were bragging about how they were going to ride right down to Richmond and end the war. Every time a new round was brought out, they all toasted to the glory of the 27th. Of course every soldier does that kind of thing, but I remember it all the more because of what happened that night."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary with any of the soldiers there? Was anyone acting violent or strange?"

"You know how it is with these young boys. Plenty of them were drunk and acting wild. But no, I did not see anyone acting strangely towards us girls. Most of them are as shy as a preacher – that's until the bedroom door is shut. Then it is hands all over."

"And after all that, you decided to leave that house and go back to work on the streets?"

"Well, you never know - that place felt tainted after that. I was too afraid to go back." She pulled nervously on her sleeve.

"Miss Moore, I thank you for your time. If I have any more questions for you, I'll let Miss Mulholland know."

"Easiest ten dollars I ever made," she said with another easy smile, her eyelashes fluttering a small wink. "If there is anything else I can do for you, I'll be around."

Jack stood up and saw her to the front door. He watched her thoughtfully as she skipped down the stairs and out the front door.

"That was an interesting bit of information," his partner said after Jack sat back down behind his desk. "What do you think she charges for a ride?"

The detective laughed. "Keep your mind on business. She just confirmed what you found out yesterday."

"We have two murdered men and both were from the 27th. Henry must have known, but still he didn't tell us anything."

Jack took out a wrapped package of cigars and cut them open with his knife. He sniffed at them and pulled one out. They were the best he could afford right now, but they still smelled something terrible. Cutting the end off, he lit one and began to take a few tentative drags from it. The tobacco tasted like a damp rag. "Henry must be getting soft in his old age. He would never miss the connection unless he has his reasons."

"Reasons for what?"

"Perhaps we should go visit him and find out."

*

Garrett looked at them with puffy, tired eyes. After listening to Jack's accusations, he merely nodded and let his shoulders slump. "As soon as I saw those dead bodies in that little house, I knew there was connection between the two sets of murders. They were too similar to just be a coincidence. When Charles Folks came to see me, I was afraid that we would find more of the same."

"Good God, man. If you knew it, why didn't you say anything? How could you tell that boy's father that his son was a murderer?" Jack asked.

Ezra snorted in disgust.

Reaching into a desk drawer, Garrett pulled out a pint of scotch and some dusty glasses. He pulled the cork top off and filled three of them up. After passing them around, he leaned back into his chair. "I know you think I'm being a fool, but I have my own good reasons for keeping this a secret."

"I would like to hear your reasons," Jack stated in flat tones. "If there is a crazed killer running loose, then he must be stopped before he strikes again."

Henry let out a long sigh and said, "This is a different type of killer than anyone has ever seen before. If there is a reason for him to murder like that, then I haven't figured it out yet. The torture has an almost ritual aspect to it."

Putting his glass on the desk, Jack said in a low voice, "Tell me what you saw in that night at the brothel."

"It was a man named Samuel Quinn – a private from the 27th. He went to there with a couple of his friends from the division. He apparently had never been to a whorehouse before and was most nervous about the whole experience. He went off with a girl called Simone Osborne, which probably isn't her real name. After a while, his friends were wondering where he went to when they decided to go find out. They found the two of them laid out dead on the bed. After I was called in, I went into the room. I can tell you that the violence was much greater than when Folks was murdered."

"In what way?" Ezra asked.

Garrett finished his drink with one final gulp and topped off his glass again. "In the case of Folks, the killer had plenty of time to torture before he killed that girl, Miss Clayton. With Osborne and Quinn, he was obviously much hastier. The cuts were quick, deep and chaotic. There wasn't any sign of them being tied up; the killer just rushed in and made a quick job of it."

"It must have been his first kill," Jack interrupted, "The blood would have spattered all over the assailant. How could he have walked out of that house without being noticed?"

The captain took another sip. "That's a damn good question. It was night, and as you know, those places aren't well lit. I guess it keeps the clients from guessing the age of the women they are seeing. Most of the soldiers that were there had already fled before my men could get there. If anyone saw anything, they weren't willing to step forward to tell us about it."

"Someone must have seen something," Ezra said stubbornly. "A man can't be covered with blood and walk the streets without being seen."

Garrett merely shrugged and topped everyone's glass off including his own. A small puddle of liquid had collected on the desk under each of their glasses, sticking them to the wood in the growing heat of the day.

Jack took a sip and said, "Let me ask you one more question – why didn't you tell us any of this when we discovered Folks body?"

"I was asked by Captain Ellsworth of the 27th to keep my investigation on hold until he could do some further checking of his own. He was ordered by the colonel to investigate that first killing and was ordered to keep it secret. The colonel thought it would be for the best right now since they don't want anyone in the division to panic. He didn't want the morale of his men to be hurt before they first saw battle. Trust me, I wanted to tell you – but the Watch is already on shaky political ground."

"In what way?" Jack asked.

The captain frowned. "There is some talk of replacing us – rumors that we can't handle the new demands put on us. I didn't want to go and start a battle with the Army. They have their own investigators, and I thought they could handle this situation better than we could."

"Ezra, I think it's time we go have another talk with Captain Ellsworth." He had a grim smile on his face as he turned to his partner.

Nodding, Ezra put his glass down at the table and stood, ready to leave.

"That Ellsworth bears watching," Garrett warned. "He has a mean streak and can be a hard man to deal with."

"The captain will find out the same is true with me," Jack said harshly. He wasn't about to let any two-bit captain stop him. "Come on, Ezra, let's first go back and grab some lunch."

Ezra nodded. They headed back to the office.

Miss Keller's diary, resumed

July 14

_Men never cease to amaze me. Mister Folks, now that we have spent some time apart, tells me that he was never certain that James was right for me. What a strange thing to say to your son's_ fiancée. _He told me he supported the idea of James marrying me since he thought it would help settle his son down. In other words, he agrees with marriage in general, just not James's marriage to me in particular. Not that I am a girl who is wrong for marrying, he says. Really it is all absurd. If I had not been questioning my own reasons for wanting to marry James maybe I would not be so offended. I hated to have to listen to such nonsense. I was extremely angry. It was almost as if I were being scolded. Now that we have been alone for a while it seems that he has been grieving for James in his own way._

Later

I finally have the strength to write of what I learned from Mister Blackwood yesterday - James was killed while visiting a prostitute! I never in my wildest dreams could have thought he'd betray my memory that way. First, Mister Garrett came to visit us at the hotel, and was quite sympathetic. I had wondered if Mister Folks had more to tell me after he returned from his seeing the body. Aside from his hints about James's unsuitability for me, he seemed a little preoccupied. I expected to hear more details from him, but he wasn't saying much, and I didn't feel like I should pry into his thoughts. Mister Garrett acted as the soul of an official, sympathetic visit, and gave us very little new knowledge.

Since Charles and Mister Garrett were not giving me the information I wanted, I made it over to Mister Blackwood's office to get the whole story. He wanted to keep the truth from me, but eventually he gave in and told me. At any rate, this was not what I wanted to hear. I think Mister Blackwood did not want to tell the whole story, which is pretty gruesome, while I was there. But I felt I owed it to James and our past together to know the whole truth. How he was found also tells me why Mister Folks would not mention it earlier: I am sure he was ashamed and embarrassed for James. Perhaps he was too delicate, and thinking of my feeling for James, so he kept it from me.

Another thing I hate to think about is why James even felt it necessary to visit this girl. We had our share of passionate moments, I know, but it never amounted to all that much. I wanted to be virtuous. I suppose there was one other thing I could have given him beside a locket. I had thought I'd be happy to give it to him: just as happy to do that as to marry him, but now I won't get the chance to do either of those things. I wonder if my virtue was all that necessary now. The guilt I feel, that he was driven to do such a thing, makes me ashamed. But what makes me feel worse is that as much as I hate the thought of his leaving my life forever, his death relieves me of the burden of my doubting feelings of him.

Chapter 8

With the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, there was a knock at the door before it was opened. In stepped a well-dressed soldier with polished boots. His uniform marked him as a major – heavy gold braid and double rows of gold buttons. He was tall, blonde and had an open honest face with a bright smile. He looked Jack and Ezra slowly over before speaking.

He asked, "Am I speaking to Mister Blackwood and Mister Miller?" he asked. His voice was firm and confident.

Jack nodded and said, "That is correct, sir. And who am I addressing?"

"Ah, I forgot my manners. I'm Major Calvin Hall. I've been sent by General McDowell to speak with you."

Motioning to the visitor's chair, the detective said, "Major, why don't you have a seat and tell us why you came here."

"Very well," the soldier replied and brushed the chair seat off before sitting. Ezra minutely shook his head when he saw this display. The major was fastidiously dressed and had the look of man who was ever-concerned about the state of his clothes. He removed his hat and used it to fan his face as he looked greedily at the whiskey bottle on the desk. He licked his lips before saying, "It's a hot day and I was glad I could see you before you left again. I tried stopping by before, but you were both gone."

"My partner and I have been busy making inquiries of late." The detective pulled the bottle towards himself and began to study it.

"That's why I've come on by. It seems that the War Department is tired of having Charles Folks causing such a ruckus."

"Rich men are used to getting their way," Ezra commented.

"They are at that," Hall said in a way that meant he belonged to that camp. "McDowell has been increasingly bothered by this man's inquiries and wanted me to look into the matter on his behalf," he added proudly. Again his eyes returned to the whiskey bottle.

Jack was not surprised that Folks would try to make his influence felt, and that he had gone over the head of Franklin. "What can we do for you then?" he asked.

"I've learned from Mister Folks that you were making certain inquiries."

"I won't deny it."

"Have you reached any conclusions?"

"None that I would wish to share yet."

Hall made a face and said in a more friendly voice. "I hate to ask such a thing, but this heat is something terrible. Do you have something to drink?"

Jack barked out a laugh and said, "I've been wondering when you were going to ask me that." He reached into his desk drawer for three glasses. He poured a shot for everyone and pushed the glass towards the major who grabbed it to take a drink. His partner checked his watch and merely held on to the glass without imbibing.

With a happy sigh, the major put the drained glass down and said, "I thank you for the drink, sir – that is some damn fine whiskey."

Filling up the major's glass again, Jack said, "Here, have another." He knew that Hall was trying to flatter him, but it didn't matter. He would have liked this man no matter how they would have met, even if he was a tad too fastidious.

"As I was trying to say, Mister Blackwood, the army is most interested in this case. We obviously don't want to spread panic to the troops and wish to keep this as secret as possible. I've been asked to sound you out on this matter."

"My partner and I are known for discretion," Jack said simply.

Major Hall took a sip from his glass, looked at the detective from under his eyebrows and said, "I must admit I've done some checking up on you. The War Department records show that you were in the army for quite some time. It also showed that you were in trouble more often than not."

"I won't deny that."

"But the records also show you were commended several times for acts of bravery," he said with a smile before finishing off the glass of with one gulp.

Jack merely shrugged and said, "I'm happy to hear that – but I'm not sure why you are telling me this."

"There was some concern at the War Department about you. There was talk of making you remove yourself from your investigation. But I persuaded them that you and Mister Miller here were the type of men that would best help us. We don't have the resources or the knowledge of the city of Washington that you do. If we could work together perhaps everyone would be better served."

"Perhaps you are right," Jack said as he tasted his own drink. He thought it was too warm for whiskey as it burned the back of his throat. He swallowed uncomfortably and cleared his throat to say, "If you can get some information for us, then I will gladly share what I know."

"Very well, what do you need?"

"First of all, there is Captain Ellsworth at the 27th. Where did he come from, and what is his record? Also, I wouldn't mind knowing more about the colonel there – what kind of officer is he?"

"Perhaps the major would have the entire records of the 27th searched?" Ezra diplomatically suggested. "Does anyone of them have a criminal record, or have they been in trouble while in the army?"

"My friend here has a good point," Jack commented.

Hall nodded eagerly. "I can look into these matters with you. I will pass on the word. Once I hear something back from the War Department, you will be the first to know. Is there anything else?"

"Perhaps you would like to share some lunch with us?" Jack offered.

*

When they arrived at the camp after a lunch with Major Hall, Corporal Ferran was doing guard duty. He watched them ride up.

"Back to guard duty again?" Jack asked.

Ferran rolled his eyes. "After I talked to you, Captain Ellsworth wasn't too happy with me. He came by and gave me this duty again as punishment."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Jack said as he pushed himself off the saddle. His partner followed suit.

Ferran said, "I'll bet you will want to see the colonel again about Folks?"

"Yes, corporal, is he around?" the detective said as he tied his horse to the hitching post.

"Yes, he's here all right. As you may have heard we're all getting ready to move out in a couple of days, so we've been busy packing everything up. Ever since the word has gotten around about Folks, the boys are rarin' to get out of this city. They're starting to think that this division is cursed, losing two of our boys that way."

Jack was surprised that the news of the lieutenant's death was now common knowledge.

"His death was supposed to be a secret. Have you heard anything else about it?" Ezra asked.

"Well, sir, it wasn't much of a secret. We all knew something was going on once he went missing. I mean there are plenty of rumors floating about. The captain gets plenty mad when he hears us talking about it. Not that anyone listens to him much. Some of the boys think another division is out to get us – afraid we're going to take all the glory. I don't take much stock in that. I would think it is some rebel spy trying to break our spirit. Make us scared before we even have a chance to see them in a good fight."

"So you don't believe that the lieutenant killed himself?" Jack asked.

"He's not the type." The young corporal nodded his head confidently. "He was too proud of himself, and I've never seen him act like crazy man."

Jack said, "Ezra and I are looking into it and hope to find out who is doing it soon enough. If you hear anything else, let me know."

"I will. Just go on in, the colonel should be there at his tent. He's been shouting out orders to his officers all day, and they're making the rest of us jump. I'll be glad to keep an eye on your horses for you until you get back."

"Thanks that would be much appreciated." Jack said.

As they entered the camp, the entire division was busy with activity – sweaty men were moving wagons, horses and supplies in the dense summer heat. Several soldiers suspiciously watched them pass and began to talk amongst themselves. It was obvious to Jack that they were tense with fear.

Going through a pile of paperwork, Ellsworth was sitting at a long and wide command table outside the colonel's tent. Riley was standing by his side, taking notes. The entrance of the large tent was closed. Ellsworth's expression was narrowed with concentration and worry. He looked up and tried to mask his distaste when he saw them arrive.

He snapped, "Good morning to you. I hope you can keep your visit short and to the point."

"I will try," Jack replied lazily. He was beginning to like this man less and less.

"You see, we will be moving out in a few days, and we have little time to waste answering your questions."

"I can see you've been busy packing," Jack said. "Are you going anywhere far from here?"

The captain gave them a rare smile and said, "The boys think we are riding straight to Richmond. I'm afraid the truth would only disappoint them."

Jack took out a cigar, cut off the tip, and struck a match on the sole of his boot. He lit the cigar and said, "Is Colonel Franklin about?"

"The colonel is busy right now," Riley piped up. He had been watching the detective and the captain converse with much interest.

"I wish to speak to him further about the Folks matter," Jack said.

"Ah, yes. It's too bad about the lieutenant – he didn't seem like the type to go and kill a girl and then kill himself. Such a shame." Ellsworth's voice was bland, almost flippant, and he began to study the papers in front of him once again.

Jack leaned over and growled, "Go and get your colonel." He then pushed the papers off the table and they fluttered down to the ground. Lieutenant Riley jumped back in surprise.

Ellsworth stood up with his eyes blazing in anger. He began to draw out the sword hanging on his side.

Ezra grinned and nonchalantly rested his hand on the butt of his big Navy Colt pistol.

Catching sight of this movement, the red color on Ellsworth's cheeks gave away and the captain then gave a faint frown. He said, "Very well, sir – the colonel is a busy man who can't spend all day talking to you. I hope what you have to say is important."

"It is."

"For now I shall overlook this slight." The sword slid back into the scabbard. He pushed Riley roughly towards the tent.

At that moment, the tent flap opened. Franklin took a step out to join them. He managed to neatly step aside, avoiding a collision with the lieutenant. "Watch yourself, my good man," he said as he steadied the young man. "I'm sorry, Mister Blackwood, I was busy praying for the future of my men until I heard your raised voices. Most of these boys have never seen a battle before, and I trust to God they can return home safely." He looked at the papers on the ground with some mild amusement. "Captain Ellsworth, I see you dropped some papers. Clean them up – I wouldn't want to give the men any bad ideas about my officers. For their sake, we must be model soldiers."

"Yes, sir," Ellsworth said glumly, giving the detective a stare filled with hate. He began collecting the scattered papers. Riley went to help him.

"Now then," Franklin said, "what further news do you have of Lieutenant Folks? We were told he was found dead with a woman who was not his fiancée – a woman of let's say, questionable morals."

"And how did you learn that?" Jack suspected that Garrett had informed the captain of the latest suspicious death.

"Oh, word gets around," the colonel said.

"Yes, he was found dead with another woman. They were both cut up pretty badly before they died."

"That's such a shame that he had to die in such a terrible manner. His father must have been most distressed when they heard the news that his son committed suicide."

"They were at that," Jack said. "But I have reason to believe they were both murdered."

"That's preposterous," Ellsworth said as he stood up, clenching the papers in his fist. "They weren't murdered. Any fool can see that."

"Calm yourself," Franklin snapped with a commanding voice. "Let's give them a chance, Captain, and hear them out." He smiled at Jack and said tolerantly, "Don't mind him. Please go on and tell us how you reached these conclusions."

Jack looked back and forth between the two officers. Surely they must know about the murder of Private Quinn. What were they trying to hide? He started, "Ezra and I were the first to arrive at the scene. When my partner went to get Garrett and Mister Folks, I had enough time to examine the bodies closely. I found some marks on their ankles and wrists that indicated they were tied to the bed before being killed. After the job was done, the killer removed the ropes and left with them."

Ellsworth interrupted, "You're basing your assumption of their murder on some marks on the skin? That sounds most far-fetched to me."

"I also have some further evidence that I would rather not divulge at this very moment."

"You're bluffing," Ellsworth said coolly.

Franklin was watching them impassively with the faintest of smiles on his lips. He appeared to enjoy watching them argue. He then rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, "You must admit the captain has a point. Unless you can tell us anything further, I have a hard time believing that Folks was killed by someone else's hand."

Jack sighed and said, "You see, Colonel, this is why I stopped by. I know you gentlemen are lying to me. Now I want to have a frank discussion of the events that have occurred, and what you are doing about it."

Franklin was startled, clearly taken aback by this charge.

"And just what are we supposed to be hiding?" Ellsworth said with his voice edged with anger.

"I've learned that last week Friday, another one of your men died. A Private Quinn was found dead at a whorehouse in the company of a prostitute working there. Their wounds were similar to that of Folks and his companion. I just wondered why you pretend not to know anything about it. Surely the killings must be connected."

Riley looked uncomfortable and the sheaf of papers fell from his hand.

Ellsworth's face was turning a dark shade of red, and he was about to speak before Franklin cut him off.

The colonel said, "Gentlemen, we are well aware of the similarities between the two events. We thought it was prudent if our men knew as little as possible. They are about to go into battle for the first time and have enough to worry about. Why should my soldiers need to worry about a single killer when they are about to face an entire army?"

"I can see that your men are afraid for their lives right now."

"That is why, on my orders, the captain here is doing his own investigation. He has been questioning people and gathering evidence."

"And can I ask what conclusion the good captain here has reached?" Ezra interjected.

Ellsworth replied, "I afraid I haven't come to any conclusion yet – I'm still making inquiries."

Jack said angrily, "The captain here is a fool – someone is murdering your men, and yet you take no action. It's best that we share the information that we do have before more are killed."

"There's nothing I can give you right now," Ellsworth said hotly. "Anyways, we will be riding out in just a few days. I'm sure the killings will stop once we leave."

"What would you have me do?" Franklin asked, clearly agitated. "My men would practically mutiny if they weren't allowed their liberty before going to battle. Surely nothing more could happen before we leave Washington. It will only be a few more days before we are free of this vile city and whoever is stalking us."

Jack weighed his words before speaking. "From the evidence I have on-hand, I would surmise that the murderer is someone in this very camp."

"That's impossible," Ellsworth said, his face flushing red with anger again.

Ignoring his captain, Franklin asked, "And just how did you come to that conclusion?"

The detective explained, "It is fairly simple, sir. Whoever did the killings knew where your men would be. The first killing at the whorehouse - that could have been an off-chance thing. But once you add in the Folks killing, it's obvious that the murderer knew both of the men by sight. He knew that they were members of your division. He would have to be aware of who Folks was going to see and how to get to him. That means that it is someone who is either in camp, or someone who is waiting outside to see where your men go. The latter makes little sense since this is an area that is heavily patrolled. If they did not have due cause to be there, any stranger would be eventually be noticed and interrogated."

Ellsworth had regained his composure and said, "If that is true, Mister Blackwood, then there is one thing I do not understand. Why were the both of them killed while in the company of a prostitute? Why not take care of business in some dark alleyway?"

Jack replied lamely, "That's a good question, and one I have been grappling with. If I have the answer to that, I'll let you know."

"What do you suggest we do?" Franklin asked the detective. "If my men think they are being hunted down one by one, then all hell will break out in the ranks."

"I want to join your division."

"What?" Ezra asked before anyone else could say anything. His eyes were wide with astonishment. "I'm not about to join the army." It was obvious that the colonel and captain were equally taken aback by the suggestion.

Jack shot his partner a reassuring glance and said, "What my friend is trying to say is this will be of a temporary nature. I want to have a look around here and ask a few questions of your men. They would be more willing to listen to us if we were considered part of the ranks."

"We have no room for civilians here," Ellsworth said, his voice hard and unyielding.

Franklin was deep in thought, scratching at his chin. After a pause, he said, "Can you fight? As you know we have received our marching orders and will be moving out soon. Any help from a veteran would be much appreciated."

Jack didn't want to reel off every past battle and merely said, "We're both good riders and can shoot well. Before I came to Washington, I used to be a scout for the army. I've seen my share of trouble, and my partner here has saved my hide on several occasions - he's a fair shot and can handle himself in any situation." Jack knew he was gambling on Ezra's help, but assumed he'd be able to convince him it would all work out for the best.

"There's going to be a problem. They don't allow men of his race to join up," Ellsworth said coolly.

Jack sighed and replied, "We won't be here as official soldiers - we will be working directly for the colonel. Consider us civilian laborers who are giving you a hand in getting this unit up to snuff."

The colonel paced back in forth in thought. He stopped and looked hard at the two of them. He finally said, "Very well, Mister Blackwood, the two of you can join us for the time being. Don't be surprised if you get in some hard riding or end up catching a bullet for your troubles."

"That's the risk we're willing to take, sir. We'll be on our way to collect some things and be returning in the morning." With those words he saluted the colonel and turned and left.

*

As they neared the gate, Ferran raised his hand and saluted the detectives. "I hope you two will be coming back soon. Some of the boys saw that you got the captain real upset. Any man who does that is surely a friend of mine."

"We'll be back soon enough and even stay for a while," Jack said.

"Now what do you mean by that?"

"Well, Ezra here has never been in a war before, so we decided to join your division and check it out."

"I would be happy enough to stay here in Washington," the black man grumbled.

Ferran didn't appear to hear Ezra and said, "You're joining up? I don't understand – you're civilians. You haven't gone through training or anything."

"I told that colonel of yours about my time in the army. Since this entire division is so green, he thought a little help might be in order. So we're going to join up and lend him a hand. I told you I was in the cavalry out west. Once I have you boys sorted out, you'll be ready to whip that whole gang of rebels."

"Don't that beat all." Ferran looked surprised, but proud at the same time, as if he had had a hand in their joining the division. "Should I be saluting you?" he asked, half-joking.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Corporal, I'm sure we won't receive any kind of rank. We're just here to help out for a spell. Now we have to go back home and pack first, but we'll be back in the morning."

"I'll probably be seeing you tomorrow since I won't be going anywhere. The captain is always finding something wrong and putting me on guard duty."

Jack had a sudden thought and said, "That reminds me – the night that Folks left to see that girl. Did the captain also leave that night?"

Ferran rubbed his head in thought. "Now that you mention it, Ellsworth did leave some time just after Folks did."

"Did he give a reason?" Ezra asked.

"Colonel Franklin had a meeting at the War Department. It was apparently a big to-do with the other generals and all that. The captain is normally in charge when the colonel is gone, so it was surprising when Ellsworth also left. He told me he had to deliver some papers that were forgotten by the colonel. But the funny thing was the captain didn't take his horse but went out on foot. It's a good distance from here to the meeting. Maybe he was going to grab a taxi."

"What can you tell me about that boy Riley? He certainly seems to jump for the colonel."

"Ha! We've all noticed that. He tries hard to look good in his uncle's eyes."

"Anything to it?" Ezra asked.

"I've talked to him. That boy is afraid of doing anything wrong. Apparently his father is rather poor, and the family depends on the colonel for money. The lad has been told to follow orders. You can see that he fears doing anything wrong."

Jack slipped a few dollar coins to Ferran and said, "We'll be back tomorrow morning, Corporal. Go out and buy a few bottles for you and your friends – enjoy yourself on my money." It was a good idea to start the future introductions on the right foot.

"Yes, sir!" he exclaimed as he looked down at the coins in his hand.

Chapter 9

"And what have you found out so far?" Charles Folks asked impatiently. The detectives had decided to visit him at his hotel to give an update on the investigation. Their employer appeared to have regained his composure from yesterday and had the same hard business face as before. He stood in front of a chair and any visible sign of mourning was gone except for a black band of cloth wrapped around an arm

Anna Keller was sitting in the other chair, wearing a new black dress with a thin veil hanging over her face. When her eyes met Jack's, they flashed with a hidden welcome.

Jack replied, "Ezra and I did some investigatory work, and it turns out I was right about your son being murdered. It seems there was a previous murder that the division is still investigating."

"A previous murder? By God, who was killed then?"

"A private named Quinn. He died just the other week and was in the same division as your son. After I learned the facts about these pair of killings, it is my opinion that it was done by the same individual. Both times there was a girl involved." Jack glanced at Anna and could see a faint smile that disappeared quickly. She must not have told Charles Folks of her brief conversation at Jack's office. "After questioning Colonel Franklin and his captain, we have come to the conclusion that someone within the camp is most likely responsible."

Charles Folks sat down, squeezing his large frame into the chair. He sighed before saying, "So you were right after all. My offer still stands. I want you to get whoever did this and make them pay. I'll give you whatever money you need."

"I will do whatever is necessary. My partner and I have offered our temporary services to the colonel, and he has agreed to take us on. If you need to contact us, we will be staying at the camp. That will give us time to investigate and further question the soldiers there."

"You will be putting yourself into grave danger. Once the man responsible for these murders knows that you are there, he will take steps to see that you are silenced."

"That's true," Ezra said with some concern.

Jack said, "Whoever did this will be immediately suspicious of us, but that may work to our benefit."

"Are you going to trick them out of hiding?" Folks asked.

"I do believe we are dealing with a different type of murderer - someone who is not interested in revenge or greed. Those are the usual motives for killing, but this is unlike anything I have ever seen before. We will have to force them into making a move against us. Only then will we be able to determine who it is."

Anna finally spoke and said shyly, "What do you mean by a different type of murderer?"

He wanted to spare her any further grief, so Jack said, "This really is not a proper conversation for a lady to be hearing."

"I agree," Folks added. "You're still too upset to listen to this kind of talk about blood and murder. Perhaps you should retire to your own room and wait there until we are finished."

With surprising firmness, Anna said, "James was to be my husband. If I cared about him at all when he was alive, I should care about him now that he is dead." She said that final word without hesitating. "It is my right to hear Mister Blackwood – so please do go on."

Jack looked at Folks, who just shrugged his shoulders. Apparently he had a weakness for the girl and her demands. The detective continued on and said, "Very well, if you want me to stop anytime, please let me know." He paused and watched her as she looked on with apparent interest. She kept a brave face on and waited for him to go on talking. "At both scenes of the crime, there was a certain amount of unnecessary bloodlust and cruelty. Normally when a man strikes in anger to kill, it is short and violent. Enough force is used to kill and perhaps a little more to insure that the victim is dead. This was not the situation with your son or Private Quinn. Both killings had signs of torture and unspeakable cruelty that I haven't seen since my days out West."

Anna was biting her lip and her hands were trembling. She kept her eyes steadily on Jack.

"I saw what happened in that room," Folks said savagely. "Are you telling me there is someone in the 27th that is targeting soldiers from his own division? The idea sounds absolutely insane."

"On that face of it, I would agree it sounds impossible. But our killer would have to know where those two men were going in order to murder them. That would take specialized information. Either someone on the inside is feeding information to the killer, or he is living in the camp. We will let you know when we find out who it is. Now we shall have to return back to the office to prepare for our stay - the division will be on the march soon."

Folks raised an eyebrow. "So they finally decided to show those rebels a thing or two. Rumors of MacDowell's march to Manassas have been flying all over the city."

"The rumors appear to be true. MacDowell will have little chance of surprise."

"This war has been bad for business, and I hope there will be an end to it soon. I'm sure James would have been excited to go into the fight, but he was a young man easily swayed by his emotions."

"Please, Charles, don't think that way about him," Anna said and reached over to pat his hand.

Jack felt a pang of jealousy and was surprised by it. He also wondered why the two of them should be on a first-name basis, given their difference in age, and the fact of their intended relationship. He put the thoughts from his mind and returned to business. He said, "We will be gone for a few days. How much longer do you plan to stay in Washington?"

"I have already made arrangements for my son's body to be sent back to New York by train. I will be wrapping up my business here soon enough. I pray you will have some information for me by then. I'm afraid to leave the city without knowing that his murderer has been captured."

"We will see to that," Jack said simply. He tipped his hat to Anna and turned to leave with Ezra trailing silently behind. He noticed that his partner was not in a speaking mood – clearly he had some thoughts that he did not want to share yet.

When they reached the lobby of the hotel, they turned as they heard footsteps running from behind. Anna ran up and breathlessly said, "If I could have a word with you, Mister Blackwood."

Jack nodded and waved Ezra onwards. He had felt uncertain talking to Anna with the audience of Ezra and Folks and was hoping to just see her one last time before he left.

His partner just smiled broadly and said, "I'll be waiting for you outside."

Waiting until his friend was gone, Jack said, "Well, Miss Keller, of what service can I be to you?"

"I hate to ask this and I know how busy you are right now – but I have never been to Washington before. Charles has practically kept me prisoner since we've got here. I'm going crazy with boredom stuck in my hotel room. I've read all of my books and there is nothing left to keep me entertained. Would you be kind enough to escort me through the city and show me some of the sights?"

Jack looked at her with some surprise. He wasn't expecting this kind of invitation, and even though he was short on time, he knew he would acquiesce. He replied, "Ezra and I have to pack some things up first, but I may have some free time later this evening."

"That is good to hear," she said playfully.

"I will show you some of the attractions of our fair town and perhaps afterwards we could have some supper? I know of a good quiet spot where we can talk." He said this last part with only a slight quaver in his voice. She was too much of a lady to want to be this familiar with him.

Anna blushed lightly. "I would be honored to do so. Is there anything I should bring with me?"

"Don't you worry about a thing - I will hire a surrey from the livery and pick you up at five. I'll see that a good picnic is packed for us."

"You're too kind, Mister Blackwood." She then quickly kissed him on the cheek and ran hurriedly back towards the stairs.

Jack rubbed his cheek in astonishment and then laughed at himself. Perhaps this evening wouldn't be wasted after all. He walked outside into the blinding sun. He climbed up on his saddle.

"What did she want?" his waiting partner asked with a voice that hid laughter.

"Oh, not much," Jack replied as he urged his horse onward. "She just wants to see Washington like any old tourist."

The streets were crowded with the usual assortment of soldiers and townspeople on their business. Crowded carriages lumbered along the choked, dusty streets, dodging past heavily laden supply wagons.

They rode on for a few minutes before Jack said, "She's getting bored sitting inside that hotel room waiting for news from us. Mister Folks won't take her anywhere. She wants to get out and see our city. She asked me to take a free moment this evening and escort her."

"I see," Ezra commented dryly. He slowed down to let a young couple cross the street. "And you agreed to do this?"

"After we pack, there will be plenty of time left in the evening. I thought I could show her the Capitol Building and the White House. Then I thought we would have some supper on the riverbank."

Ezra shook his head and grinned. "My goodness, you are a fast customer. That girl just learned yesterday that her fiancé is dead, and you're ready to court her."

"I have my reasons."

"I'm sure you do," his partner said slyly.

"Look, Ezra, I just want to find out more about James Folks. Was there something particular about him that made the murderer pick him among all those other potential victims? What was the reason he was killed?"

"That's obvious to me."

Jack only showed mild astonishment and looked at his friend to say, "Is it? Let me hear your point of view on the matter."

Ezra was confident as he returned the stare of his partner. "As you said before, this isn't your normal kind of murderer. This is someone who is fixated on one thing and one thing alone. You are concentrating too much on the men and ignoring the prostitutes."

"What about them?" Jack asked. He did not figure that they mattered much at all. They were merely there as objects to destroy in front of the soldier's eyes.

"I was thinking about what would make a man hate enough to kill like that. Notice how in both cases the girls were the most brutalized. Now why would a man do something like that?"

Jack thought for a moment before answering. "I can think of a couple reasons, Ezra. For one, perhaps our killer fell in love with a prostitute. Such a man would feel betrayed when he found out her profession. He would want to take his revenge. It fits well with what we know."

He nodded at the detective. "I was thinking along those lines as well at first. But then I thought of a man who caught a disease from such a girl. He may have waited too long to receive the mercury treatment, and that could have affected his mind. Perhaps he became fixated on blaming the girl instead of his own weakness for sex. He would want to punish them instead of being responsible for his own actions."

"It's an interesting idea, Ezra, and one we should keep in mind. Perhaps Garrett would have an idea of such a person. But that still doesn't explain why both the man and the woman were both killed at the same time. Why not just target the girls?"

"Who can explain the workings of a mad man?"

"If I have my way, we'll find out soon enough."

It was Ezra's turn to look at Jack with astonishment. "Do you already have someone in mind?"

"It's fairly obvious isn't it? Captain Ellsworth was out of the camp when Folks was killed. Ellsworth is leading the investigation into Quinn's death; yet nothing has come of it. Who has been fighting our investigation into this matter from the very beginning? My bet is that the captain is our man."

"I know he is a jackass, but you really believe that pompous fool could be our main suspect?"

"That's why I wanted to join the camp. I noticed you were not happy with my decision. I have to tell you that I have no great urge to march and fight either. But Ellsworth bears watching. This is the only way we can closely see his every movement. Whoever it is, once we are there, it will be more difficult for him to do any more harm to the soldiers. We will find some useful evidence, and then we can put a stop to it all."

"I hope you are right," Ezra said. He did not sound convinced.

Chapter 10

Jack arrived at the hotel a little later than he had planned. It was just after five o'clock - getting the surrey from the livery and having it cleaned took longer than he had anticipated. His own mare was being used to pull it and the detective imagined the horse's feelings were hurt from the indignation of being used in such a poor manner. He also thought that Anna would become impatient and had decided to go back to her room instead of waiting for a man far beneath her station. But his worries were needless as she ran out of the hotel as soon as he pulled up. Quickly hopping off the wagon, he went to meet her on the sidewalk. She was still wearing the same black dress, but had a red ribbon tied in her long black hair. A wide black hat festooned kept out the glaring sun.

"Mister Blackwood, I'm glad to see you finally made it." She was in a nervous state and glanced behind her shoulder. Perhaps she was afraid of being discovered by Folks.

"It is my pleasure," Jack said in all honesty.

"I was beginning to worry that you decided to spend your time elsewhere."

"I'm sorry I'm late. But I must say you are looking quite beautiful." And she was at that. Her creamy white skin was enhanced by the black outfit and her long black hair.

"Thank you, Mister Blackwood. I appreciate your compliment as I hardly feel beautiful when I wear this color."

Jack helped her up into the surrey and sat down next to her. He gave the horse a gentle slap with the reins and they began to move along. He said, "So tell me, Miss Keller, how did you convince Mister Folks to let you go on this little trip?"

Anna laughed and shyly said, "It didn't take any convincing at all. I just told him I was retiring early for the day since I wasn't feeling very well. I then snuck down to the lobby and waited for you to arrive. I was worried when you were late and was afraid he would go out on some errand and see me."

"I must say that I am surprised."

"Oh, you shouldn't be. Once you get to know me, you'll find that I'm full of surprises." She blushed and pretended to find something of interest in one of the shop windows they passed.

Jack smiled to himself thinking of the possibilities that lay ahead. At this time of the day, the humidity was almost unbearable. He rubbed the back of his sweaty neck and adjusted the rake of his hat to keep the sun out of his eyes. "We'll be coming up to the Capitol building soon." He pointed ahead. "As you can see, they're doing a little work on it right now." Several construction scaffolds hung, empty of workers, on the side of the dome.

She looked on without too much apparent interest. "I was expecting something more impressive," she finally commented.

"Funny, I said the same thing the first time I saw it. For a country this large, one expects to see something the size of the pyramids of Egypt. But don't worry, there is still plenty more to see. Next we'll ride on down the mall here towards the Washington Monument."

A few soldiers watched as they rode by. Jack couldn't help noticing the attraction and admiring stares that Anna gathered. However, most of the men were too hot to notice and more interested in sitting and finding some shade on the grassy hills. Even though it was unfinished, the Washington Monument stood tall in the distance. Before it had been surrounded by grazing cattle, but it had more recently been taken over for army needs. A small city of pitched tents stood low against the white obelisk, and the smoky cloud of a hundred cooking fires filled the air.

As they drew closer to the camp, Anna covered her mouth with a lacy handkerchief and began to cough. The air was stifling from the smoke and heat.

"Perhaps we should move on to the White House," Jack said with some worry in his voice. Anna did not appear to be enjoying herself much. Perhaps he could not keep a lady of her standing entertained by his talk.

"That sounds like a most excellent idea," she managed to say.

"I'm afraid you're not seeing this city in its best light. Before the war, this was an almost sleepy little town. It was mostly the home of senators, representatives, and the usual government workers."

"Tell me, Mister Blackwood, why do you live here?"

The question surprised Jack. "That's an odd question," he replied.

"I have an idea. Perhaps you would find more work if you moved to New York. We have so many people there and a number of rich families that would find your services most desirable. Then you could stop by and see me." She said the last words hastily as if she were embarrassed by her forwardness.

Taken aback, Jack replied back quickly, "That would be nice." He turned to look at her and saw her stare in return.

She went on and said, "What I meant to say is that if you moved to New York, I'm sure you would be successful."

"I'm sure I would. But, I've been there before, and it's too much city for my taste. There would be more competition for my type of work, and more of it that I wouldn't like to do."

"Like what kind of work?"

"Oh, the sordid lives of men and women when their marriage begins to fall apart -the type of thing that can happen to anyone when they are no longer in love."

"Yes, I can understand that," she said quietly. "Do you think we could we skip seeing the White House?"

"Why, we're almost there."

"I'm rather hungry right now."

"I brought us a packed supper. I know a good spot to picnic."

She smiled. "That would be wonderful. I must admit I am terribly hungry right now and would like to go somewhere quiet for a change."

The detective nodded and headed towards the Potomac. In a short while they passed out of the city proper and into a wooded field running near the river. Here the evening summer heat wasn't as bad with the nearby rushing water.

"Mister Blackwood, where exactly are you taking me?" Anna asked with a tremble in her voice. She eyed the remote area with suspicion.

"Don't worry, Miss Keller, this is just a place I like to go to once in a while when I need to do some thinking. I'm a farm boy at heart, and it's nice to get away from the crowd and stink of the city. There's a little spot right here where we can watch the river go by and have a bite to eat." Jack stopped the surrey in the empty field and jumped off to help her exit.

She shyly took his hand and stepped off to the ground. "If my mother could see me now, she would be very shocked. I was always told that I should always be chaperoned when I'm with a strange man."

"Your mother isn't here, so don't worry." He removed the blanket and basket from the back of the wagon and took a few tentative steps towards the river. "It's just a short walk this way." He pointed with his free hand to a copse of trees by the river.

Anna paused in thought before she grinned and walked over to Jack. She slipped her arm into his and said with a laugh, "Show me the way, my knight errant."

Jack led her down to the river near the trees. The sun was just beginning to slip behind the horizon. Spreading the blanket open, he then put down the picnic basket. "I think this will be a suitable place to eat," he said lamely.

Straightening the rough wool blanket, Anna sat down and began to rummage through the basket. "Now what did you bring us to eat, Mister Blackwood?"

"I went to the bakery and had some sandwiches made. I also managed to dig up a bottle of wine for us. I hope you won't mind drinking from the bottle - in my haste, I forgot to bring glasses." Jack began to struggle with the cork with his jackknife as she prepared two plates of food.

She passed him a plate with a sandwich and a cut of cheese. She then spoke rather quietly. "Jack, I do want to thank you again for spending this evening with me. I know you are busy trying to find poor James's killer."

Sitting down, Jack took a swig from the bottle of wine and made a face. "It's not bad, but I wouldn't make a hobby of it."

"Did you hear what I said?" she said impatiently.

He nodded and passed her the bottle of wine. Her question seemed to be forgotten as she held the bottle unsteadily in her hands, as if it were too big to be held. She slowly raised the bottle to her lips, her lips pursed uncertainly. Taking a bite of sandwich, Jack watched her take a drink with a cough. "Easy there. It's not exactly whiskey, but take it slow."

She wiped her lips with her sleeve and said, "I'm not used to drinking wine. Mother never allowed it in the house except on special occasions." She began to eat greedily. When she saw Jack watching, she grinned. "You must excuse me - I haven't had much to eat since I learned about James's death."

"That's understandable. Grief will do that to you. At first you think you'll never want to eat again, and then you don't want to do anything else but get your fill."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

He sighed momentarily and said, "I lost my wife a few years ago to a fever."

"Oh, I'm sorry. What was she like?"

Jack thought guiltily of his deceased wife. What would she think of him sitting at the river with such a young woman? He finally said, "My Mary was a fine wife. And a better woman than I deserved. Since we are talking of personal matters, I would like to ask you a few questions." He finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on his pants.

"I'm not sure what you would want to ask me." She turned on her side and perched her head on the palm of her hand.

"You must understand I am only asking these types of questions because I think it's important to find out what happened to your fiancé. What can you tell me about him?"

"What do you want to know?" she said, staring across the river. Her voice was calm but tinged with sadness.

"I hate to dredge up any memories that will bring you grief, but exactly how did you meet him?"

"I'm not sure why this is important to you, but I'll tell you anyways. Our two families have been close for years. My father and his were part of the same firm. James and I have known each other ever since we were little children. It was only natural that were to be married. Everyone expected it, and they were most happy when we broke the news to them this year."

Jack thought he detected some sarcasm in her low voice. "But you weren't happy with the thought of marrying him?" He noticed the outline of her hips against the black dress. She was desirable and he couldn't help staring, though he knew there was something a little improper in it.

"I don't know if I should even be saying this \- James was the dearest friend I ever had, but I truly don't know if I ever loved him like a woman could love a man. Now I sound like a confused girl in a silly romance novel, but he was more of a brother to me than someone I ever wanted to be with forever. But that's what everyone else wanted." She said those last words with a twinge of guilt. "There I said it," she added with tears brimming in her eyes.

Jack waited uncomfortably as she wiped the tears away with her sleeve. She sniffled a few times and he handed over his handkerchief. "Please, keep it, Anna. I have little use for the things."

"Thank you. I'm sorry I broke down like that. I've been trapped in that hotel room for too long with Charles. He expects me to play the grieving widow to a man I never even had a chance to marry – a man I don't know if I even loved."

"And what kind of man do you want to love?" he asked, surprised by his own words.

She looked at Jack sternly and said, "What every woman wants is a strong man who is confident and sure of himself - a man to give her hope and direction in life."

Jack nodded slowly and put his hands together. "Mister Folks - I noticed he seems rather fond of you."

"He is overprotective, but he has been like a father to me ever since I lost mine four years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said solemnly and waited a moment before he went on. "I'm a man who is paid to find out things and sometimes that means asking difficult questions. From my impressions, I gather his interest in you runs a little deeper than just fatherly affection."

She turned to face him with her eyes wide in astonishment. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Mister Folks is not that old - he is still a fit man who appears to be in good health. His son is dead, but he still enjoys the company of his son's fiancée. You seem to have great respect for him. Tell me, does he have a happy marriage?"

She blushed and turned to face the river again. When she finally answered, her voice was cold. "Of course I respect Mister Folks: he is an important businessman. I wouldn't know anything about his marriage, and I'm not one to pry into his affairs."

When she had first started talking to him it was relaxed and open. Now her face was closed, and she had sat up, faced the river, and stared angrily away from Jack.

Jack sighed and took another drink from the bottle of wine. It was one of those things he should have gotten used to by now, he was so used to interviewing people about what they knew or what they had seen, and yet, it was often better to let people tell you the story rather than squeeze it out of them by asking one too many questions. He had gone too far now and tried to repair the damage.

He said, "Look, I'm sorry I asked those questions to you. You see, I have to get as much information as possible and look for motives of everyone involved. It can be a little rough. I'm not accusing you or him of anything but I need to know if Charles has any motive to see his son removed from his life."

"A motive? A motive for what?" Anna asked angrily. Her arms were crossed over her knees as she sat on the ground. "Someone murdered James, what does that have to do with Charles?"

"I'm not saying he is guilty, I'm just looking at what he could gain from his son's murder. How often does he come to Washington and has he ever met up with his son here before?"

With exasperation she said, "I know he was in Washington on business about two weeks ago. He planned to just stay the night and then take the train back. If he met up with James, he never told me anything about it."

"That's very interesting. Do you know the exact date he was here? That's about the time when that Private Quinn was killed."

"Are you accusing Mister Folks of his killing his own son? What would he gain by it?"

"For one, he could get himself a beautiful and young bride." Even as he said the words, he knew that she would become angry from the statement.

He was right. Anna stood up, her face twisted with spite. "Don't you dare to make that accusation – he's twice my age!" She leapt up from the blanket and began marching back towards the wagon with long purposeful strides.

"Now hold on there," Jack said as he got up to follow her. He quickly caught up and grabbed her by the hand.

She spun around, her face wet with tears. She suddenly put her arms around Jack and began to sob into his chest.

Jack held her tightly and quietly said, "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm just being an old fool and overly suspicious. Don't listen to me."

Clinging to him, she turned her head up and asked, "So you think I'm beautiful?"

"I do," he replied and leaned over to kiss her on the mouth.

Her lips were soft, and she readily returned his kiss. After a moment Anna abruptly pulled away and said, "I think it's time you took me back to the hotel." She turned and began running back as fast as she could towards the surrey, her black hair and red ribbon streaming out in a tangled wave.

Jack stood still and watched her retreating back. He shook his head at his own foolishness and went back to hastily stuff the picnic remnants back into the basket. Pulling the blanket off the ground, he clumsily carried everything back to the wagon. He did not know how he could face riding back to town with her, but he knew he had little choice in the matter.

Anna was waiting on the front seat with her arms folded, and her head held erect. Staring straight ahead, she made no sign of noticing his presence until Jack pulled himself up onto the seat. She moved over carefully on the bench seat to make sure that she was not touching him in any way.

Hunching his shoulders in resignation, Jack gently eased his horse ahead and headed back to the city. They rode in silence. If he pointed out a landmark of interest, Anna would show no signs of hearing him. After a while he gave up and concentrated on threading his way through the darkening streets. His anger at himself began to diminish as he drove on. Instead he began to grow angry with her.

As they neared the hotel, Anna suddenly put her hand on Jack's arm. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did. I've been so confused lately and don't know what to do."

He checked his own simmering anger and instead said, "I think I understand. Please don't let it worry you. Whatever happened is my fault." He reined the horse in and stopped in front of the hotel.

Anna gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurriedly jumped down from the surrey before he had a chance to get off and help her. "Thank you for a wonderful evening, Mister Blackwood. It's one I won't soon forget."

Miss Keller's diary

July 15 – early morning

Yesterday evening was full of excitement. Mister Blackwood agreed to show me some of the sights of Washington. Earlier when I asked him to, I wasn't sure that was what he really wanted to do since I sensed some hesitation in his voice. But he was willing enough when he came to pick me up. I have been away from home for quite a few days now, and it as if the rules do not apply here. I left the hotel, without the knowledge of Mister Folks, and went escorted by a single man, to an unknown destination. This is in defiance to that two-sided social rule, but what would be worse, to be alone with a married man? I always thought that rule to be biased. And I know I feel like taking risks right now. Life is short, look how short James's life was - why should I wait to experience the things I want to?

I have to say I was disappointed somewhat. Washington could be lovely, but right now it is not in its best colors. The streets are dusty and filled with wagon ruts. The trees, which seemed greener in New York, are a bit faded here, almost gasping for breath. I was disappointed with the monuments, but excited to leave the crowded city behind, even if I was worried about where Mister Blackwood was taking me, and how I could not call for assistance in a secluded area.

However, Mister Blackwood knew where to steer the horse to avoid the bad roads, the ride was smooth in the surrey, and he even brought some food. It was quite an adventure, to be out, alone, in an unfamiliar place, with that experienced man. Mister Blackwood, with all his forward manners, can be appealing. I think he is not really the kind of man I prefer, but I cannot fail to see his merits. He is determined to get at the truth of what happened to James that is easy to see. He seems to think there is more to this that he doesn't know, and that someone is keeping something from him. I am positive I have told him all that is necessary about James. Probably he is used to people trying to lie to him, or hide the truth. James did send a letter to me that I could have shared, but there are too many other personal things in it, that I wouldn't want anyone else to read. It is the letter which starts "Anna my darling, as I hold this paper, I imagine that I am holding you, and the touch of my pen is the soft caress of my hand on your hair, on your face..." I could not share that letter with anyone.

I was taken away by his passion when I read it, but now I wonder if he was really thinking of someone else, like the woman he was murdered with, instead of me. I should not be jealous of her, but there it is. In other parts of the letter he talks about the army. He mentions Ellsworth, Riley, and the colonel, and how the men feel about them. It seemed that Ellsworth was respected but not liked, and that the colonel was used to leading and the men trusted him naturally. Riley seemed to be his closest friend here. He also talks about some uneasiness in his regiment, and I thought he just meant nerves in general, but now I suppose he could have been meaning the murder of that Private Quinn. I suppose now that James is gone, I ought to burn his letters, but I feel that would be admitting that I am ashamed about what passed between us. If anything I am ashamed at my lack of courage, and I am resolved not to act that way again.

Chapter 11

Next morning, as they were preparing breakfast, there was a knock at the door. Ezra went to answer it and returned to the kitchen with Major Hall. The major had dark circles under his eyes and looked extremely tired. Like last time, he was still well-dressed and fastidiously groomed.

After a quick handshake, Jack motioned towards the table and poured out a cup of coffee for him. "Good morning, Major. What brings you around here this early in the morning?"

Ezra could see his friend had a lot of respect for Major Hall and acted the gracious host in response.

The major took a sip from his coffee and looked at it with appreciation. He sighed and visibly relaxed. "I can't tell you how long it's been since I've had a good cup of coffee. I was hoping to catch you this morning. I got the information that you requested."

"Ah, yes." Jack cracked some eggs into a bowl and began mixing them up. He wasn't expecting much from the official records, but there was always the hope that the murderer had slipped up in the past.

"As far as Captain Ellsworth is concerned, there is not much to go on. According to the records we have, he was a law clerk in New York City. He is unmarried and listed his parents as next of kin. From what information I was able to gather, he is a model citizen with no records of arrest. Just a nobody if you think about it."

"Go on," Jack said as he poured the eggs in the griddle to fry up.

"Colonel Peter Franklin came from a good family and was the youngest son of two. He wanted to go into the seminary, but his family decided otherwise and sent him off to military school. He graduated from West Point twenty-five years ago. After four years in the army he left and returned to his hometown of Albany where he trained to be a preacher. He's been leading a congregation ever since. His older brother died after a long fever, and Peter took over the family fortune. When the war broke out, he was one of the first in his town to call for volunteers. He raised the 27th himself and paid for the recruiting bonuses to the men. With his experience and name, he was promoted as a full colonel."

"A rich old bastard, eh? What about that reedy nephew of his?" Jack flipped the eggs over and began cooking the other side. Even in the morning, it was hot in the kitchen with the stove going.

"Riley is son of his youngest sister."

"I see. Tell me, Major, where did you get all of this from?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Where did you get all these interesting tidbits from? Surely all of this information wasn't stuffed away in a file at the War Department."

Smiling, Hall said, "You got me there, Mister Blackwood. Ever since there has been trouble with this division, I was asked to start an investigation. I have reports on all of the men there – mostly gossip."

"Anything else interesting?" Ezra interjected as he filled up the major's coffee cup again.

"No, nothing worth mentioning. A few of the men have seen the inside of a prison, but just for drunkenness or fighting."

Jack said, "Well, Major, it was worth asking. Would you care to join us for a bite to eat? We have to eat quickly and then leave for the camp. We've decided it's best if we get an inside view, so we asked the colonel if we could join this division on a temporary basis."

"I already know."

"I thought you would," the detective replied with a laugh.

After a quick breakfast, they parted with Hall and rode their horses to the camp. The morning sun had ridden high enough to make their shadows into long forms on the dusty ground. A slight breeze wafted past from time to time, but it was not enough to cool the sweat on their brows.

It felt a little strange to leave their apartment like this. Jack and Ezra were used to being ready for a trip in a moment's notice, but this time it was a little different, since they were joining an Army division. Slung over their horses were rifles, bedrolls, some food, and a number of personal items that would not be supplied by the army.

They rode up to the camp. Some soldiers were standing by the entrance, looking over Ezra with some distaste. A guard other than Ferran stood sternly at his post, and he eyed them suspiciously. Before Jack could state his business to the sentry, Ferran ran up.

He said, "I was hoping to catch you two before you went into the camp," he panted.

"Why is that?" Jack asked. He felt tired this morning and had little patience for any drama this early in the day. He was still thinking of Anna's actions yesterday and didn't know what to make of it.

Ferran looked sideways, snatching a glance at the loosely assembled men to see who else was listening. "Well, I did as you said and bought a few bottles for the boys and me. We had a few drinks and all got to talking. I told them that you and Ezra here were coming along with us for a while. After I told them you were in the cavalry they were happy to hear that you were joining us, but they weren't so sure about a black man."

Feeling his anger begin to boil, Jack said, "Is that why they are waiting for us over there? They wanted to take a good look at him before they let him into camp?" Jack got of his horse and then strode over to the group of men. There were eight of them looking at him with scowls on their faces. His face flushed with anger, Jack swung his arm back and pointed at his partner. "That man here could outride and outshoot the whole lot of you. He faced down and killed more men then all of you put together!"

"I don't care mister, I ain't riding with no black man," a voice from the back of the crowd shouted out. The rest of the men nodded and glanced back at their friend. The man who spoke strode forward, staring at Jack. He was a thick man with the look of a farmer with strong hands and a dull, sullen look in his eyes. "And you aren't man enough to make me."

Jack saw Ezra slide his hand to the Colt pistol butt riding against his hip.

"Now hold on there, Private Wright," Ferran said. "There's no reason to get angry with Mister Blackwood here. He and Mister Miller are good men. I already told you that."

Wright made a fist and pounded it against his open hand. "We're not letting him ride with us."

"Mister Miller will be riding with me," Jack said as he tensed his hands into fists and made ready to take on the whole lot of them. He stopped himself and took a step back to bark out a laugh. "Look, I know you boys are spoiling for a fight here. But how about we make a deal?"

"Like what?" Wright grunted.

"I'll prove to you that Ezra is better horseman than anyone here. He'll race against your best rider, and if he wins, then we can stay. If not, then we'll both go without any further trouble."

Ezra merely looked hard at Wright but continued to say nothing. His teeth were clenched together and his palm was still resting on his gun.

Wright nodded and said, "If the rest of them agree, I'll ride against this boy and show him a thing or two on how to handle a horse." There was a quick nod of agreement among the rest of the men.

Ferran said, "It's settled then. I suggest we go on down to the training grounds over there and start this here race."

"Fine," Ezra said, "show us the way, Corporal."

They left their belongings with the guard, and Jack pulled himself back up on his horse. He rode beside Ezra as the group made its way to a large, open field next to the camp. The ground was uneven and broken up from the groups of horses that had ridden over the field as the division practiced their cavalry tactics.

Looking over the ground, Jack said to his partner, "Be careful riding in this mess." He kept his voice low so he would not be overheard. "It would be easy to be thrown from your horse and break your neck."

Ezra snapped, "And it's my neck you are risking. I don't know why I agreed to this foolhardy exhibition of yours. We would have been better off going to see the colonel and get him to let us in. He readily agreed to have us here and could command his men to accept us in the meanwhile."

"They would accept us – yes – but not give us any information. That's why we are here – to show them that we can ride and fight better than any of them. We need to win their respect. I know you can do it."

"If you say so," Ezra said without enthusiasm. "But I think you owe me one after this."

By now a large crowd of soldiers was too gathered around to watch. Word had gotten around the camp of the impending race. Bets were being laid, and faces shone with excitement as they waited for the action to begin.

Ferran came up and patted the side of Ezra's horse. "I'm sorry about Private Wright. I never heard him speak that way before."

"What kind of rider is he?" Ezra asked as he looked carefully over the field.

"I'm afraid to tell you that Wright is no city boy. He's been around horses all his life at his father's farm. He's probably the best rider we have."

Jack said, "Don't worry, he won't be riding any thoroughbred, just an old army nag."

The black man grunted angrily and rode ahead to where Wright was pulling himself up on his horse. It was a fine brown-and-white mare that looked healthy and strong. Ezra turned momentarily to the detective to give him a dirty look.

The field was some hundred yards long, and the crowd of men had lined on the sides up to make a rough path for the racers to follow. Some of the men suddenly parted as Ellsworth strode through them, towards the waiting horses. "Just what are you doing here?" he roughly asked the detectives.

"Well, it's fairly simple," Jack replied. "Ezra here is going to show your boys how to handle a horse. I thought a demonstration would help them understand the finer points of horsemanship. This man here agreed to help out."

"Is this true, Private Wright?" the captain asked acidly.

Wright's jaw dropped open and he gulped nervously before slowly nodding. "Yes, sir."

Jack could see that he feared the captain.

"Mister Blackwood, in future I would appreciate it if you would ask for my permission before doing any special training exercises. These men have their own duties to carry out that can't be interrupted by your every whim." His voice was stiff with official tones.

"Don't worry, this will only take a minute of their time."

"I hope so," Ellsworth replied and then strode away without looking back.

Jack turned and walked in between his partner and Private Wright. "Now I want you two to listen to me for a moment. This is just a simple race down the field and back. Ride down towards that big oak over there at the end of the field. Touch the tree with your hand and return as fast as you can. First horse to get past me wins the race. Understand?"

Wright gave a curt nod while Ezra did nothing. Then the both of them lined up and faced their mounts towards the oak at the end of the field. By now the entire division had turned out to see them, including the colonel and Riley who were watching from the entrance of the camp. The men began to shout and laugh with expectation as Jack moved to the front of the horses.

A shout went up. "C'mon, Wright, win one for the division!"

"Give 'em hell!" another man yelled.

Jack nodded with encouragement at his friend and took a step back. He held his hands up high in the air for just a moment and then quickly dropped them.

Both of the horses reared high up for a moment and bolted forward. Ezra's mount had a slight lead, but Wright kept close behind. Wright whooped loudly and lashed his bridle back and forth trying to gain as much speed as possible. The black man leaned low and goaded his horse onwards with his knees. This was his horse, and it knew its master well.

Within moments they reached the oak tree, nearly at the same time. With his long reach, Wright was able to touch the tree first, but Ezra wasn't far behind. The crowd went wild as they both wheeled to make the race back towards the detective. They rode knee to knee, close enough to touch. Both were leaning forward, their teeth gritted as they tried to wring out every last ounce of speed from their mounts.

Suddenly, Wright's horse stumbled on the rough ground and plunged forward. The private slipped off his saddle. A hush of astonishment went over the crowd as Ezra quickly reached over, grabbed Wright by the collar and held on. The falling horse tumbled over and collapsed in a cloud of dust. Taken away by the momentum of the black man's horse, Wright held on to the mane for dear life. They both passed Jack, and the crowd of men cheered even louder than before. Not having the strength to hold the private anymore, Ezra slowed and let the man drop to the ground.

Wright stood and immediately ran back to check that his mount was unhurt. He touched his mare's legs lightly but expertly, and up along its neck and withers. The private then brushed his pants and sleeves, his face red with embarrassment. Returning back to Ezra with his eyes held to the ground, he extended his hand up to shake.

He said, "I'm sorry about what I said. You saved me from getting hurt there, and I would be proud to ride with you anywhere."

Ezra shook his hand back. He said curtly, "You're a fine horseman. I won't let what you said bother me. In this world, I'm used to having to prove myself."

Jack slapped Wright's back and said, "Now that is all settled, let's go and see if we can stir up a drink around here." This was the best possible outcome for the race – Wright did not lose any respect, but Ezra had gained more than expected.

The entire division broke their lines and began laughing and talking as they returned to camp. After dropping off their gear inside an empty tent, Ezra and Jack met up with Ferran. They sat inside his tent with the canvas flaps open, letting in the weak breeze. Wright was also there and sat slightly apart from the rest. He was enjoying the bottle of whiskey that Jack was passing around, but appeared to be too embarrassed to join in the conversation.

Jack finally said to him, "Damn, it's hot. Pass me that bottle, Wright."

With a nod, he popped the cork back on and threw it to the detective.

Jack caught it and then took a pull from the bottle. "Now before we do anymore drinking, there is something I want to know."

"What is it?" the private asked uneasily.

"Ferran here told me that you normally are a good person to know. Who put you up to trying to get Ezra and me out of this camp?"

With a start, he replied, "I don't know what you mean." His face was flushed with embarrassment and he tensed his large hands nervously.

"Someone inside this camp didn't want us here, even though we are looking for the murderer of Private Quinn and Lieutenant Folks."

"Quinn was a friend of mine," the private said quietly.

"Well then, surely you would like to help us in this matter. We think it was someone inside the camp. Maybe he would be unhappy to see us question the men here. Did someone threaten you?"

"Now who could do that to Wright here?" Ferran asked. "Just look at the man – he can lick anyone in camp."

"That's why I'm asking him," Jack replied.

Wright said, "You have to promise me that you won't let him know that I told you. He would have my hide if he learned I said anything."

"Go ahead, any words you say will stay a secret," Jack said.

Glancing at Ezra, Wright gave in and finally spoke. "It was the captain."

"Captain Ellsworth?" Ferran asked. "Why in the world would he do that?"

"It's obvious to me," Ezra replied. "He wants us to stop investigating these murders. He knows that Jack and I are on to him."

"You're saying that the captain did it?" the private asked. His eyes were wide in wonderment. "Not that I would be all that surprised, the way he treats us."

"What exactly did Ellsworth say to you?" Jack asked. He passed the bottle over to Wright.

With a shake of his head, the man studied the whiskey before putting it down on the packed ground. "It's too hot to drink this stuff."

"Go on," Ferran said impatiently.

"Last night, before Lights Out, Captain Ellsworth came to my tent and asked to speak with me. We went for a walk outside the camp gate. He told me that a pair of troublemakers was trying to get into the camp, and it was in my best interest to put a stop to them. After I got back, I talked to a few of my friends, and none of them were too anxious to have a black man ride with us. So we decided to tell Ferran here that we would have nothing to do with you two and demand that you leave."

"What did Ellsworth threaten you with?" Jack asked.

Wright blushed and replied, "Once when I was in town the captain saw me walking with another woman. He knows very well that I'm a married man. He threatened to write my wife if I didn't do as he asked. I'm still afraid he will. I have a pass for tonight. I've got to go see this girl. I'm going to tell her it's all over now. I never told her that I was married, so she'll be bound to get awful mad at me."

"I'll go have a talk with your captain," Jack said. "I'll tell him to leave you alone or else he will have to deal with me."

The private grinned and said, "That would put my mind at ease, but then he will know what I told you."

"Don't worry, I can be very persuasive."

Chapter 12

Walking through camp, Jack found Ellsworth busy ordering some soldiers to move a pile of casks onto a wagon. He called out, "Captain, I need to have a word with you."

The captain turned to face the detective, his face impassive. "What do you want now?"

"I know you don't want us here, but you must understand we have the colonel's permission. If you have any problems with our conduct, I would prefer you speak to me directly instead of using any underhanded tactics."

Ellsworth raised an eyebrow and replied coldly, "By my word, I don't know what nonsense you are spouting."

Jack snapped, "Let me tell you then. When we arrived this morning there was a group of men waiting outside the gate. I think they were put there by you. You don't want us here to discover the murderer of Folks. I'm not sure why you are attempting to stop us from investigating since it is certainly in the division's best interest."

"Of course it is in the best interest of the men, but perhaps not right now." Without a further word, he turned and began to walk away.

Jack grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked him around. "What can you mean by that?"

"Don't touch me."

Dropping his hands, Jack said, "Tell me."

"Since we are leaving tomorrow, I don't want the men bothered with your questions when they have more pressing concerns on their minds. It's as simple as that. Now leave me be."

Jack retorted, "If you hadn't blocked our investigation from the start, perhaps we could have gotten further and discovered the killer before you left Washington."

"Perhaps," Ellsworth drawled. "But maybe not. My duty as an officer is to ensure that my men can fight when called upon. Anything else is of little importance."

Jack could feel his anger rise upwards, into his throat. His face turned red as he took a sharp breath and said, "What's important to me is to find this killer. I will continue to do what I see necessary to find the man who killed Lieutenant Folks and Private Quinn. Just don't get in my way, and don't stir up any more trouble." With those words, he spun around and stalked away.

Later in the afternoon, the two detectives met inside their tent to discuss where they stood so far. Ezra had gone out that day to talk to the various cooks, mule handlers, and workmen who kept the camp in order. Jack had talked further with Wright and a few other men who had worked with Lieutenant Folks.

After telling Ezra of his conversation with Ellsworth, Jack said, "I hope you had better luck than I did. Did you learn anything of interest?"

Ezra shook his head looking frustrated. "I went around and asked everyone I could find. The men here are scared alright, but no one had any definite suspicions of who it could be. Most of them think it's some rebel spy trying to scare the division from fighting down South."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I'm hearing too. But that doesn't make any sense. Why just this cavalry division and no other? Any rebel spy tactics would be a little more far reaching than that, I would imagine." Jack paused, deep in thought. "Did anyone speak well of Ellsworth?"

"As you would have guessed, he's not a popular man."

"That's not surprising. None of the soldiers I talked to hand a kind word for him either. He is a hard taskmaster who drives the men relentlessly. He has made no friends here and many of the men would like to blame him for these murders."

"He may not be well-loved, but does that really make him the killer?"

Jack lit a cigarette and sat down on the thin army bedding. "I'm beginning to have my doubts, but what do you think of the facts against him?"

"He's the best lead we have so far. At every turn he has tried to block us from looking into the matter. He was supposed to be investigating the murder of Quinn, but nothing seems to have come of it. It is Ellsworth that stonewalls us at every turn and has even tried to stop us from ever getting into the camp. What other motive would he have other than protecting himself from being discovered?"

"At the face of it, you appear to be right. But if he is trying to deflect attention from himself, it is a rather foolish approach. If anything, the captain has only strengthened our suspicions of him."

"Do you have another smoke?"

"You bet - I rolled a few up while I was waiting for you to return." Jack handed a cigarette and the matches over to his partner.

Ezra lit his cigarette and waved the smoke away in the thick air. It was humid out, and the hot sun was baking the camp grounds ferociously. The line of supply wagons visiting the camp left deep ruts behind them, and had turned up the dirt to bake in the sun. It was a smell that Jack enjoyed come springtime in the anticipation of warmer weather, but now it was just another smell, mixing with the camp cooking, the tobacco he was smoking, and the sweaty clothes on his back.

Ezra finally said, "Ellsworth has got to be our man unless I see some new evidence to tell me otherwise."

Jack considered his partner's words and knew his friend made sense. He stubbed his cigarette out in the hard ground and threw the butt out of the tent. It was time to tell him one of his pet theories. "I've given this some thought, and I do have someone else in mind. The timing or the motive doesn't make any sense right now, but I hope to have some answers soon enough."

"Go on and tell me."

Jack smiled and wiped the line of sweat off his brow. "When I went on the little picnic with Miss Keller, I eventually got her to do some talking. She told me some things that confirmed some suspicions I had."

"What suspicions?" Ezra asked impatiently. He flicked the ashes from his cigarette in an annoyed manner.

"Charles Folks."

"What? That doesn't make any sense. Why would he go and kill his own son?"

"It's been known to happen. And all along I thought you were the ladies' man. It's fairly obvious to me that he is in love with Anna. I'm sure you noticed the way he treats her."

"Any honorable man would do the same. He is trying to protect her from getting hurt."

"Just hear me out first."

Ezra stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. "I think you're the one in love with her, but go ahead and tell me your ideas." His expression hid a faint smile.

After a nasty look to his friend, Jack started, "I gathered that Charles is unhappily married. Imagine a lonely man who has a son who is about to marry a young beautiful girl."

"Is she beautiful?" Ezra asked dryly.

Ignoring Ezra, the detective pressed on. "This war comes, his son signs up and joins the cavalry. James is then posted to Washington, which is good for Charles since he often comes here on business. He gets a chance to come here for a visit, using it as an excuse to be alone with Anna. He knows that his wife is not about to go with them. The night they arrive here, Charles slips out and follows his son to Miss Clayton's home. He ends up killing the both of them."

"But why kill the prostitute?"

"She was killed so Charles could keep his identity hidden," Jack replied smugly.

Ezra slowly nodded and asked, "How do you explain the death of Quinn? Are you saying Charles Folks came here on a previous occasion just to murder another man? To cover up the future murder of his own son? He would have to be crazy to think of such a plan."

"Ah, that's a valid point. I know that Charles visited Washington on a business trip during the same time of the death of Quinn. Or perhaps James wrote to his father and told him about the murder of Private Quinn. Surely that would have been a subject of much conversation around here. Once Charles Folks learned of this, he realized that this was a golden opportunity to lay blame elsewhere."

"So there is no connection between the two deaths?" his partner asked skeptically.

"Charles Folks would want people to think that there was a connection. He then hired us to make a connection. After all, who would suspect him of killing his son if he started the wolves on the hunt?"

"I don't know. There are too many loose threads, and the timing itself throws doubt on your theory."

"Like what?" Jack asked even though he knew there were too many gaps in his theory. But he knew with a little legwork he could pull the strands together.

Ezra answered, "Charles would have to arrive at Washington, get away from Anna and then leave to find his son. He would have to follow his own son without being recognized in a town crowded with soldiers. Right to where the prostitute lived. After killing the both of them, he would have been splattered all over with blood. Unless he planned well in advance and brought a change of clothing, how could he escape detection when he returned to the hotel? A man covered head to foot in blood would draw much comment, even in this town."

Jack's face fell in disappointment. "Well as I said, it's just a theory. As you said he could have brought a change of clothes with him or taken care of it another way. There are plenty of holes in my theory right now, but I think once we have more evidence I will be vindicated. As soon as we return from our journey, I'll go over and start asking Mister Folks some questions."

Ezra smiled indulgently and said, "I think you're on the wrong track with Folks. You have a personal interest in finding him guilty."

"I don't know how you can say that," Jack protested.

"Well it's simple enough, my friend; you've also fallen in love with Miss Keller."

"You're a fool," the detective said hotly.

"I'm not sure who is a fool here." Ezra's tone was still light. "I'm just calling it as I see it. You're still heartbroken over that last girl, the heartless Miss Hanson. Here comes a new pretty thing, and you're practically jumping at the chance."

Before Jack could respond, they heard footsteps running towards their tent. Ferran threw the flap open and entered, his face flushed from running in the heat. "I came to tell you that Ellsworth just left the camp," he panted.

"So?" Ezra asked. "With his rank he can probably leave whenever he desires."

"It's not that," Ferran gasped. "He left right after Private Wright did. I'm there guarding the gate and saw him leave. We talked for a moment and he told me that he was leaving to see that town girl of his. Not more than two minutes after that, Ellsworth left the camp in a hurry. I think he went after Wright."

"Did the captain say anything to you?" Jack asked. His mind was buzzing with thought. Perhaps Ezra was right about Ellsworth. They had better go and catch up to him before he could do any harm to Wright.

Ferran said, "When I asked him, he told me that the colonel is gone to one of those meetings at the War Department. He used the missing papers excuse again. He didn't seem particularly pleased with me asking him those questions, but he didn't take the time to tell me that – he just left in a hurry."

"Do you know where this woman of Wright's lives?" Jack asked quickly as he buckled his gun belt on.

"I sure do. I've stopped over there with him when he dropped off some living money to her. What do you reckon to do?"

"Stop a murder," Ezra replied.

Chapter 13

The streets of the city were crowded with soldiers taking their last night of liberty before leaving to go off to war. Tension was high in the city as some men prayed in church while others calmed their nerves using less spiritual methods. Jack and Ezra threaded their way through this mass of soldiers. The prostitutes were leaning against the walls, busily plying their ancient trade. Even the uglier ones were finding plenty of takers. Most of the soldiers were either drunk or flushed with excitement of their upcoming march to Manassas. Jack remembered his first actions as a soldier and the initial excitement. He knew if this war dragged on, the patriotic fervor would die once the bloodshed started.

As they neared the street where Wright's woman lived, the number of people out began to thin. It was a poorer neighborhood used by the laborers of the city. Jack saw two soldiers ahead, talking in earnest. When he recognized the back of Ellsworth's head, he stopped and pulled Ezra back.

The detective said, "Hold up for a moment, I think that's Ellsworth up there, talking to Wright. Let's go cross the street and see."

His partner followed Jack over to the corner building on the other side of the street. It was a closed textile store with the lights off. Attempting to conceal himself, the detective leaned up against the wall and Ezra stood in front of him with his back to the two conversing soldiers. Shielding Jack from being recognized, he pretended to be holding a conversation.

"Did they see us?" Ezra asked as his friend watched.

"I don't think so, but I can't make out much from here," Jack replied. The sounds of the passersby were too loud and he could only hear scraps of their conversation. But it was obvious that Wright and Ellsworth were arguing since their voices were raised in anger. "Let's try to move a little closer," Jack suggested.

Ezra nodded. They then walked through the intersection, making sure to stay square with Ellsworth's back. Wright did not appear to notice them among the other men on the street. However his face was red with anger, and he was looking down at the ground, trying to avoid eye contact with the captain.

Once he was closer, Jack leaned down to pretend to tie his boot. He heard Ellsworth say, "You made a fool of me for the last time, private." If Wright replied, it was in a voice too low to be heard. The captain continued, "I want that Blackwood fellow and that damned Negro gone from our camp. They're causing me too much trouble."

Wright's response was clear and loud as he managed to finally meet Ellsworth's gaze. "That's not my call to make, sir. You'd be better off telling the colonel if you want them to leave so badly. He's the only one who could order them out of the camp."

"You fool; don't you think I've already tried that? The colonel wants to get to the bottom of our little mystery and prefers them to stay."

"Both of them are good men. I can't help you, sir." With those words, Wright spun around and marched away from the captain.

"Damn you, Wright!" Ellsworth shouted at his back. "Damn you to hell. I'll see that you pay for this!" He then strode away angrily, shoving his way through a throng of drunken soldiers. The soldiers started to shout at him until they saw the braid on his shoulders. He gave them a nasty stare and then disappeared around a corner.

"Quick, Ezra, we know where Wright is going. We had better follow Ellsworth instead and see where he is heading."

"Wherever it is, it doesn't appear to be back to camp," his partner said.

That was true enough since Ellsworth was heading deeper into the city. They trailed cautiously behind. From all appearances, the captain appeared to be walking aimlessly. His pace would quicken and slow without any apparent reason. Luckily the number of pedestrians in this part of the city removed any concern that Jack had of being discovered.

After a half hour of being trailed, Ellsworth suddenly halted in front of a hat store and began to study the wares inside the windows.

Jack stopped and motioned to Ezra to do the same. "What is he doing?"

"I don't know," the black man replied. "Perhaps he has something on his mind."

Jack studied Ellsworth for a moment before replying, "He knows that we're here and is deciding what to do."

"He's never even given us a single look."

The detective replied quickly, "Ellsworth is a crafty bastard. It's the glass in the store fronts – he's using the reflection to check if anyone is following him."

And with those words, the captain suddenly started running as quickly as possible down the street. He pushed his way past a soldier who sprawled to the ground in a stream of curses.

"Ezra, he's seen us!"

They took off in a run. Jack jumped over the fallen soldier and started to chase Ellsworth down the street. The captain's running ability belied his seedy appearance, and he managed to keep his lead over the two of them. In a few moments he rounded a corner. They just saw him duck into a dark alleyway.

With the both of them gasping for air, Jack and Ezra stopped in front of the entrance to the alley. A few passersby watched them quizzically, muttered, and went on their way. The alley was like a dark tunnel; no light could be seen on the other end.

Jack leaned up against the brick wall of the building to catch his breath. "I think our friend has gotten himself into a dead end," he gasped. "Give me a moment to compose myself, and we'll go in and find him. I would like to have a few private words with this captain." He grinned to himself and cracked his knuckles, wanting to explain a few things to Ellsworth using his fists.

Ezra nodded, and then they began to slowly explore the alleyway. The smell of urine and trash hung heavily in the dense summer air. The black man reached into his pocket, pulled a match out and struck it against the brick walls. The sudden brief flare showed a dead end of brick ahead and a number of rough wooden doors leading to the back of the buildings that surrounded them. There was no sign of Ellsworth. The match went out, plunging the alley back into darkness.

"Where did that bastard go?" Jack asked. He kicked at a pile of trash, lit his own match and looked over the ground of the alley.

"He had to go through one of those doors," Ezra replied. Lighting a series of matches, he began trying each door handle in turn. They were locked. Wandering on a bit, he stopped at the last door and motioned his friend over. "If you look at the step here, there is a fresh dirt track made by someone wearing cavalry boots. I imagine he went through here."

"I hope you're right." Jack said and he took a step back and began violently kicking at the door by the handle.

In a few moments, the door cracked loudly and hung loosely on the hinges. He pushed it aside and entered. Hearing a minute metallic click, Jack suddenly flung himself backwards and pushed his friend out of the doorway. A bright flame erupted from the darkness and the unmistakable crack of a pistol echoed loudly in the alley walls. The bullet ricocheted and whined off the alley walls.

"Damn it, he's trying to kill us!" Ezra exclaimed as he sprawled on the ground.

They both heard footsteps running deeper into the building. Jack pulled his Starr revolver out from his pocket. He painfully rolled on his side, stood with the gun at the ready, stepped in, and was answered only by silence.

Ezra entered more cautiously, his Navy Colt held low and ready. "Is he still in there?" he asked in a low whisper.

"Light a match and throw it down the hall."

"Why don't you light the match? I'm not looking to be shot."

"Be quiet," Jack snapped back. He fumbled with his pockets, pulled out a match and lit it against the rough floor. It flared briefly. He threw it quickly down the hallway. It shone feebly, and Jack could see in the faint light a dingy hallway leading to a small room. The match then flickered out. "Come on, let's go." He cautiously entered the room where the faint sounds from the street outside could be heard.

The room was small. Narrow, heavily curtained windows only allowed a sliver of moonlight to enter. The door that led to the front of the building was ajar. Jack opened the door and poked his head out. A number of soldiers and other men were walking in the street and did not appear to be alarmed in any way by the sound of the shot in the alleyway.

"It appears that bastard of a captain gave us the slip," Jack said vehemently.

Ezra found a nearby oil lamp and lit it. The dull light illuminated the rough room. It was a poor, simple apartment that appeared to have little use of late. A thick layer of dust covered everything and a number of fresh boot prints could be seen on the dirty floor. There was little furniture except for a broken-down sofa and bookcase that had a number of items on the shelves.

Ezra began to examine the bookcase while Jack continued looking out onto the street. His partner's breath went out in surprise. He stammered, "J-J-Jack, come here and take a look at this."

Coming over to view the bookcase, the detective saw had several items on it – a cavalry sword was on top, while the lower shelves held several books, a fragment of rope, and an open bible with several lines underlined with red ink. In the dim light of the oil lamp, Ezra began reading through the bible while Jack examined the sword and rope.

He held the sword closely to the light and said, "This looks like dried blood and this bit of rope also has some type of stain on it."

Ezra put the bible down and said, "This is the Book of Revelations, Jack. It's clear to me that Ellsworth is a religious maniac, and this, combined with the sword, is proof enough of that. We have to stop him before he kills again."

"I agree with you, Ezra. Enough is enough." He paused for a moment, remembering the captain's recent threats. He quickly said to his partner, "Wright. We have to go get Wright before it is too late." He ran out of the apartment with the door left open, his partner following behind. Flagging down a taxi, they urged the driver to take them as quickly as possible to the address given to them by Ferran.

The apartment was in a building which was a clapboard affair. The roof of the building sagged from rot, while the front door was open to allow whatever faint wind came by. Several residents stood on the front porch, drinking and talking.

Ignoring them, Jack ran by with Ezra following close behind. They entered the hallway.

The detective said, "Ferran said that she lived in room number six."

Ezra nodded and said, "Here it is."

Knocking loudly on the door, he shouted, "Wright, it's me, Jack Blackwood. Are you in there?"

They both waited in silence and did not hear any response or sound of any kind from behind the door. Jack felt that he was too late but still hoped for an answer within.

"Maybe they left," Ezra offered.

"Or perhaps not," Jack said as he turned the knob. The door opened easily enough and he slid his head into the narrow opening. His eyes were met with a room lit with a low, fluttering oil lamp resting on a side table. It was a simple room - a pile of clothes, a washbasin, and two bodies lying haphazardly on the bed. One was a man laying facedown while the other was a woman looking blankly at the ceiling.

Entering the room, Jack said to Ezra, "I'm afraid we were too late. Close the door behind you and lock it." He then turned up the oil lamp as high as it could go.

After he locked the door, Ezra leaned against it and looked at the scene before him with obvious distaste. "Are they dead?" he asked slowly even as his own eyes could see the blood dripping slowly on the floor.

"I'm afraid so," Jack replied with distaste.

He turned over the body of the man and saw that it was indeed Wright. His throat had been cut with a single ragged slash. The blood had pumped out onto the bed, staining it deeply with red blood. The detective then felt the arms and found that the body was still warm - Wright had been killed fairly recently. Jack then turned his attention to the blood-spattered woman. A gag was tied tightly around her mouth and her hands tied to the bedposts. Jack pulled back the sheet and saw that she was nude, and her ankles had also been tied. She may have been pretty before, with freckled skin and deep red hair – but now she was a horror to behold. The torso was torn with deep long gashes, with her insides hanging loosely out of the skin. He touched her forehead and found it to be the almost the same temperature as the room.

Seeing the revealed carnage, Ezra began to retch. He averted his eyes from the bodies. "The bastard... the bastard..." he murmured.

"I'll stay here, Ezra," Jack said without emotion. "Go get Garrett and come back as soon as you can."

His partner nodded anxiously and quickly slipped away.

Hearing his partner's footsteps fade down the hall, Jack locked the door again and began to search through the room.

Chapter 14

Garrett stood over the bed and looked down at the two corpses. He moved slowly to the side and yawned. His tired eyes took in the horrible scene. He then lit a cigarette and shook his head. Blowing out the smoke, he spoke to Jack, "In all my life, I don't recall ever seeing anything so bad. Even during our days in the army, the settlers weren't butchered quite like this."

Jack stood and merely nodded, remembering too many gory scenes in his own past. He had seen worse, but made no mention of those terrible moments. This was not a good time to make comparisons, he thought.

"Ezra didn't give me much to go on. How did you know to come here and find this mess?"

"I didn't exactly expect this to happen - it was just a hunch of mine."

"It would help me if you tell me from the beginning what happened."

Jack went on and explained this suspicion of Ellsworth and how they tried to follow him. He did not, however, mention the items found in the apartment that the captain led them to. "And after we lost him, we rushed over here to make sure Wright was unharmed."

"I see," Garrett said blandly. "So you came in here and found the both of them dead?"

"Yes. And the door was left unlocked."

"My men are questioning the other tenants to see if anyone saw this Ellsworth come in here."

"Look, Henry," Jack said impatiently, "I know it has to be Ellsworth. Why waste your time questioning these people when we can ride over and question him directly?"

"I admit the actions of this captain are highly suspicious, but he could hardly be your murderer. According to your story it was only a few minutes after he escaped when you got here. In that span of time he was supposed to have walked in here without being noticed, killed this girl here and Wright, and then escape unseen?"

Jack looked over the bodies for a moment before replying, "Whoever did this took their time before they killed her. After she died, the killer waited for Wright to show up and then killed him. Her death was slow and painful – it could have been done hours ago."

Garrett reached over and gently rested his palm against the girl's cheek. "She's not quite cold yet."

"It's much too hot in here for her to ever get really cold," Jack said shrewdly. "She was killed beforehand, and the murderer waited for Private Wright to come in."

"Or else the murderer was surprised when Wright opened the door."

"It doesn't appear that way to me. If you look at Wright's throat, there is only the one wound. Imagine the killer standing behind the door. Wright rushes in after seeing the dead girl and the murderer attacks him from behind. He pulls the private's head back with a tug on his hair and slashes the throat with one cut. Wright is shoved forward and dies face down on the bed. Our killer then leaves using the backdoor to the alley."

"I suppose it could happen that way," Garrett agreed weakly. "But you still haven't answered my question about Ellsworth. How could have he gotten over here in time to do this? There is no way he could have beaten Wright to this house, especially if he was busy leading you on a wild goose chase."

"I don't know how, but he did it." Jack then smirked and said, "But there's more evidence to be considered. I haven't told you about what we found in that apartment we tracked Ellsworth to."

Garrett waved his hand in the air lazily, as if to already dismiss this new development. "Go on, tell me. I know I'm not going to like it."

"After we busted that door down and got shot at by him, we did a quick search of the apartment. There wasn't much there but there was a bookcase that had a cavalry sword with bloodstains and a bit of bloodied rope on display. They looked like trophies. There was also a bible with heavily lined passages from Revelations. I'm sure you find this all quite interesting."

The Captain of the Watch nodded and with one more glance at the bodies, he motioned for Jack to follow him out of the door. "Let's go look at these trophies of yours."

Ezra was waiting quietly outside, his expression still numb with horror.

Jack patted him on the shoulder and said, "Don't even think about it."

"What else can I do?" his partner asked weakly.

"Just don't. Garrett and I are going back to collect what we found at that apartment. I suggest you come and ride with us – the fresh air will do you some good."

Ezra followed them out.

Garrett's men were left in charge of the building until his return. Jack and Ezra borrowed some horses from them, and then the little group made their way back to the apartment. It was getting late. By now the number of soldiers prowling the street was beginning to diminish; the few men left staggered drunkenly down the sidewalks

"I remember when Washington was a quiet town," Garrett said to no one in particular. "It wasn't always filled with prostitutes, drunks and gamblers. If I had a few more men then I could really clean up this place."

Jack didn't say anything in reply. He had no faith in his friend's puritanical instincts.

The small apartment stood quiet on the dark street. The light of the still lit oil lamp could be dimly seen through the tattered curtains. They entered through the unlocked front door. Jack led Garrett over to the bookcase. But it was empty.

"I don't understand," the detective said helplessly. "Someone came here and cleaned the place out."

"Did you leave this place unlocked?" Garrett asked.

"We didn't exactly have a key, and the back door to the alley is busted wide open."

Garrett examined the bookcase closely and exclaimed, "Hold that oil lamp here. I want to take a closer look." Ezra held it up high as Garrett continued to run his hands across the wood. "This looks like dried blood alright. You were right, something was here. I suggest we go see this Captain Ellsworth and have a few words with him."

"It's about time," Jack said as they went back outside to the waiting horses.

*

The camp gate was still open, and a ragged line of drunken stragglers were making their way back to their respective tents. To Jack, the white linen tents brought to mind an orderly line of shadowy graves. Tonight, the soldiers would find sleep while Wright had already found eternal rest.

Ferran was waiting at his post at the gate. He looked over Jack's returning party, his eyes widened with suspicion. He asked fervently, "What happened to Private Wright?"

"I would like you to keep this to yourself right now," Jack replied quietly. "Wright was murdered by the same man who killed Lieutenant Folks. You have the right to know since you were his friend, but don't tell anyone else yet."

Ferran looked sick to his stomach. He said, "I reckon I can do that. But who did it? Was it that bastard Ellsworth?"

"That's what we're going to find out. This here is Henry Garrett of the City Watch."

Garrett cleared his throat and spoke with a voice that was used to command. "I will need to speak to Colonel Franklin regarding Captain Ellsworth."

"So it was the captain then?"

"Never you mind," Jack snapped. "We'll go in and talk to the colonel now."

"Mister Blackwood, you are in luck - he rode in just about an hour ago. He seemed awfully tired, but told me he still had some paperwork to do. He should still be up."

"Good," the detective replied with his voice tinged with exhaustion. He felt incredibly tired and prepared himself mentally to continue on. "What about the Captain? Is he back in the camp?"

"Yes, he rode in with the colonel," Ferran replied.

"What? Are you sure?" Jack asked. He glanced at Ezra who looked as confused as he felt. Jack expected Ellsworth to be slinking in here, not riding in with Franklin. "How did he look?"

Ferran said sourly, "Captain Ellsworth always looks distressed, so I wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

They left their horses at the gate and walked grimly to the colonel's command tent. They passed a number of tired soldiers who seemed surprised to see three civilians walking through the camp at this time of the night. Jack and Ezra drew little comment as they were already known, but the stern stare of Garrett could make even honest men feel guilty.

At the command tent, an oil lamp was lit on the wooden table. Franklin was examining a number of papers. Looking up, he saw them approach.

He said, "Gentlemen, I see you brought a guest. This must be important if you are visiting me at this time of night."

Jack pointed to Henry and said, "I think you know Mister Garrett of the City Watch."

"We've met."

"He's here to talk to you about Captain Ellsworth."

"Ellsworth? If we are to discuss him, why not invite him into our meeting?" he asked cordially.

With those words, the flap of the tent opened, and Ellsworth stepped out with a sheaf of papers in his hands. He looked at the assembled group suspiciously. He was wary of their presence, and went over to stand next to Franklin. The captain said nothing but fixed Jack with a hostile stare.

Garrett looked Ellsworth over carefully before speaking to Franklin. "There's been another one of your soldiers found dead tonight."

Franklin's expression remained unchanged as he said, "That is most grievous news. How did it happen?"

"Your Private Wright was found dead in the room of a known prostitute. He and the lady were both brutally murdered in the same fashion as the others. The woman was butchered beyond belief."

The colonel nodded his head slowly and muttered, "Another prostitute, eh?"

Ellsworth did not react to the news of Wright's death. He instead concentrated on the multitude of papers at the table before him. His eyes looked slowly back and forth over the words as if he was busy reading.

Garrett continued on and said, "The evidence is slight, but Mister Blackwood here thinks that your captain here may be involved somehow."

Those words caused Ellsworth to jerk his head up in attention.

"The captain?" Franklin asked. "Surely you can't be serious."

"He was seen arguing with Wright and ran away once he saw that Jack and Ezra here following him. When they went after the captain, he hid away in an empty apartment and even took a shot at them. After he got away, they rushed over to where Wright had gone to meet this woman, and they found the both of them dead."

Ellsworth said calmly, "I admit I had a few strong words with Private Wright, but I have nothing to do with his murder."

Franklin's face was stern and said, "It might help if you explain yourself further, Captain."

"I left the camp tonight," he sighed resignedly, as he explained. "I also admit I had Wright try to stop Mister Blackwood here from meddling with the division's affairs. The private and I had a disagreement over it, and we ended up arguing over the matter. We parted and went our separate ways. However, I still had nothing to do with his murder. How could I? I don't even know where he was going at that time of night. As for me shooting at Mister Blackwood here, I really don't know what they are talking about. It must be a case of mistaken identity."

Jack looked at Ellsworth with amazement, not believing that he would attempt such a bold-faced lie. "How could you say that?" he snapped. "I would recognize you anywhere. We followed you around for quite a while before you noticed us and ran for it."

Franklin interrupted and said, "I'm afraid Ellsworth must be right. He came over to the War Department and was there by nine o'clock. That leaves little time for murder. Since he had to make it clear across town to meet me there, how could he be your man?"

Ellsworth shot his commanding officer a quick look of gratitude.

Garrett prepared to leave. "Well, that is that. I'm sorry to have wasted your time, Colonel. Jack here is usually a reliable witness, and I had to follow through on his suspicions." His tone had become polite and official.

"I understand," Franklin soothingly answered. "Mister Blackwood must be feeling pressured by Mister Folks to find the real killer."

"There is no pressure," Jack said in his defense. He eyed Ellsworth coldly.

"Men make mistakes," the colonel replied kindly. "We are due to leave here soon, Mister Garrett. If you have any fresh information on the murder of Private Wright, please stop by beforehand and let me know."

"I will at that," Garrett said. He left without a further word, but merely gave Jack a questioning stare as he passed by.

"Ellsworth, I will tell the men about Wright in the morning. As for you, Mister Blackwood, I still want you to investigate these killings but don't leap to any conclusions until you have all the facts on hand."

Jack merely nodded and turned away before they could see the anger in his eyes.

Miss Keller's diary, resumed

July 16 – early morning

I just can't stop thinking about the way James was found. I know I should let it pass and move on with life. I wasn't there when it happened, but in my mind I keep imagining what he was saying or doing with that woman when they were killed. My sleep has been so interrupted lately that it makes it hard for me to think rationally about things, and I am distracted all the time. I'm so nervous that I jump in my skin when my name is called or from a loud noise. Of course the lack of sleep makes it harder for me to think on anything for any length of time. I try to write my sister or my mother, and find myself staring off into space, and I have not been writing for the last several moments, but I cannot tell what I have been thinking of, and I cannot guess what I should write about next.

During the day, things go a little more smoothly than at night, and I have some reading I am doing in the room, and the newspapers keep me busy. Then what I am reading will make me think to myself "I should talk to James about that." And I will wonder what he would say to it. Then half a moment goes by, and I realize I can't talk to him about it or anything ever again, and I get very angry toward whoever did this. Because I know what a gentle soul James was, and how he never deserved to die like this.

I have been able to leave the hotel a few times, not including the trip I took with Mister Blackwood. I went on a walk the other day with Mister Folks, and once just by myself, though I didn't know where I was going, I just went in a big circle around the hotel block, and the block next to it. I wouldn't want to get lost, even though I would eventually find my way back, it would be so inconvenient to everyone if I went missing, and caused a big stir for them to find me again. And what if I got murdered too? I know that is not very likely, but if it happened to James, why not me too? During the walk Mister Folks took me on, he seemed to get fonder of me the longer the walk went on, and started to hold my hand in his arm, and lean a little closer to me than would be necessary. But I suppose he needs to be close to someone in this difficult time, and I am the closest there is. Or maybe he wants to protect me, in the way that he couldn't protect his son. James was a good man, but not as confident as his father, and I could imagine feeling pretty protected by him.

Mister Folks, who I know means well, keeps asking if there is anything I want to talk about, as if I could tell him anything that he would want to hear. I have said all the things to him one is supposed to say in a situation like this. How much James will be missed, and what a good life he lived, that sort of thing. I know James and Mister Folks may have had some secrets from each other, and maybe Mister Folks is just angry with himself that he didn't visit him sooner, and see him one more time. He should stop feeling so guilty, it is not as if he could have known that his son would be murdered.

I wonder how the families at home are handling this news. I wrote, and of course Mister Folks wrote, once we knew what had happened. I am surprised that Missus Folks is not coming to ride with us in the train with the body. I'd imagine that she has other details to take care of, but if it were me I'd want to be here. I wish she were here, and some of my uneasiness might go away. The decision of their family is to take his body home, and it will be laid in the family plot near the church. I look forward to the funeral as the way of ending all of these sad feelings, or at least the beginning of them ending. I know the funeral will make me sad too, and it will be final that James is gone then.

I know I am sometimes distracted just by grief, and the way my life has changed since James was murdered. But I should stop thinking things about Mister Folks, and what would have made him want to have his son gone. He is not a man who would do anything like that. And I should stop thinking about how great my opportunities are now that James is gone as well. I feel guilty for thinking about the fact that I am free from my obligation to marry, so now I can live the way I like. I should not let Mister Blackwood think that I am loose woman, but I might be able to share something with him before I have to take my leave of him. I should work harder to preserve my virtue, but part of me can't wait to have it gone, so I don't have to worry about it anymore. And I am not sure what having my virtue intact has done for me anyway. If I had given it to James, as I had thought I would, I'd still regret something about our engagement, and not just giving that to him. The world seems to make no sense to me, with Mister Folks acting so strangely, and my future so confused when I had it planned out so well before, even with the faults I thought would be there, and James's somehow lacking something. Now I tend to think I will never marry, never find someone else to make me happy, and that I may as well accept that I will be alone. My sisters will marry, and then I can attach myself to their families and become a beloved aunt instead of a mother and wife. That would suit me fine as second best to marrying.

Chapter 15

Waking up, Jack looked blurrily about. It was still early in the morning and Ezra was sleeping peacefully in the bunk on the other side of the tent. He stretched and rubbed his eyes, wishing for a strong cup of coffee. He had slept poorly, his head wracked with worry in an attempt to sort out last night's events. Reveille played in the distance, and the camp began to stir to life. His partner rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.

Jack said, "Come on, Ezra. It's time to wake up and get a move on. We will have plenty of work to do today if the colonel makes good on his promise to finally leave Washington."

The black man yawned, rolled out of his cot and put his feet on the floor. He mumbled, "This is too early in the morning for any sane man."

Jack and Ezra dressed, wearing old clothes that had already seen hard wear from riding.

From outside Ferran shouted out a greeting and ducked into the tent carrying two cups of coffee. "I thought you would be wanting something to drink this morning."

"Thank you," Jack said with appreciation. He took the hot mug and gulped the bitter coffee down. He made a face and said, "I see the coffee in the army still tastes like shit dipped in water."

The corporal laughed. "You get used to the flavor. I see you two already have everything packed and ready to go. I was told this morning that we are going to be moving out by noon. Not sure where we are going yet, but it has to be better than staying here and waiting to get butchered."

The detective agreed with a nod. "Are you sure the boys here are up to it? I haven't seen much discipline as of yet."

"I know they're a little green, but they will do alright. The other side can't be any better."

"True enough," Ezra said with a yawn as they left the tent.

Standing outside was Lieutenant Riley, holding his army cap in his right hand. He gave a start when he saw them leave the tent and suddenly turned to leave.

"Hold up, lieutenant," Jack called, letting the corporal and his friend pass on by.

"Yes, sir," Riley replied nervously.

"I've wanted to talk to you for quite some time."

"W-W-What about?" he stammered.

"Were you waiting to see me?"

"Well, I was hoping I could see you for a moment," Riley admitted. "It's about this Lieutenant Folks affair. I wanted to know where you stood on the matter."

"I don't understand."

Jack could see that the young man was looking guilty about something. His eyes were puffy from lack of sleep and he looked decidedly pale.

Riley asked, "Have your inquiries taken you anywhere? I need to know."

"Look, boy, you had better come clean with me."

After a moment of indecision, the young lieutenant finally spoke. He said, "Very well, but you must promise that my uncle doesn't hear a word of this conversation."

"You have my word," Jack promised.

Waiting for some soldiers to pass by so they weren't overheard, Riley clenched his teeth before saying, "My uncle is a stern man. If he learned what I'm about to tell you, then my family would be cast from his house."

Jack nodded impatiently and said, "Go on."

"Truth be told, I was a good friend with James Folks. He and I spent plenty of time together working for the colonel. One night, at his suggestion, we went on leave together. I had my first drink that night, and we ended up at a house of ill repute! I didn't know what I was doing – honest – and I'm afraid to say that I had my way with a woman. I've never done anything like that before or since. What would my mother say?"

So that was Riley's secret. Resisting the urge to laugh, Jack clamped his arm around the young man's shoulder. "Why are you telling me this, son?"

"I was afraid you would be asking questions and somehow find this out. Then my uncle would know, and I would get into trouble."

"Don't worry about your old uncle. He won't hear a thing from me. But a few words of advice – don't go and tell him out of a sense of guilt. You made a mistake and learned your lesson. I would suggest you keep this secret to yourself."

"Very well, sir."

"And there is no reason to call me sir," Jack said in a friendly voice. "But I do have one question for you. Did you see Captain Ellsworth with the colonel last night?"

"I didn't go to the meeting with the colonel. He told me to turn in early so I would be ready to ride out today."

"Well, you had better get back to work."

With a grin, the young man walked away with a lighter step.

Jack hurried on to catch up with his partner and grab some food.

*

After breakfast, the men went to work. The camp was broken down. The feed for the horses was stowed away, and the ammunition and foodstuff was ready for transport. Several sergeants began walking through the camp and bawling at the men to take down the tents and begin to pack them up for storage. They would be left behind for now since the cavalry was expected to travel lightly and use speed to their advantage.

Jack moved their gear out and had Ezra help him to remove the canvas and poles of the tent. After that was completed, they stood toward the back of the throngs of men gathering around the colonel's tent to hear the orders.

Franklin came and stood up on the table that was normally used for maps and other papers. Upon seeing their commanding officer, the men began to cheer and clap.

He motioned them to be quiet. "Before I tell you what our objective is to be, I'm afraid I must tell you some bad news. Private Michael Wright, originally from Binghamton, was found dead last night."

There was a dull roar as men begin to speak disconcertedly to the others around them.

The colonel had to motion for them to be quiet again. "I know he was a popular man, but we still don't know who did this terrible deed. There is currently an investigation going on and once we know anything concrete then you shall be told. If any man has any information, please come speak to Captain Ellsworth. But for now, let's keep Wright in our prayers and concentrate on the work that has been given to us. What lies before us is a momentous task. We have been given the job of scouting ahead for the Army of the Potomac. We shall be the first to ride down to Centerville and pave the way for the rest to follow." He then began to shout loudly. "On to Richmond! On to Richmond!"

The men forgot their worries about Wright and began to cheer wildly at the thought of finally being able to fight. Several jumped up in the excitement and clapped their hands. Jack gave Ezra a sour look and shook his head in wonder at the folly of it all. Once a man saw battle, he had no more heart for it. It became a grim task to be done – not a moment of glory. In the excitement, no one but his partner seemed to notice his misgivings.

Franklin once again raised his hands to quiet the men. His voice was smooth and reassuring. "It will be a dangerous undertaking, so I want every man to listen to their superior officer. If we come under fire, be sure to follow your orders and you will return safely. Now I want everyone to finish their breakfast and then return to complete our packing. Remember to take good care of your horses and give them plenty of water and feed. We will be leaving at noon. I expect every man to be there and ready."

There was one more ragged cheer as the men began to break away and return to their tasks.

"What is it?" Ezra asked as he noticed his friend's expression..

"Ah, nothing – it's just these damn young fools. They will be the death of us."

Before Ezra could reply, Ellsworth came up to them. He looked at the both of them without emotion and said, "The colonel would like to have a few words with you two." He strode away without waiting to hear their response.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," Jack shouted at the retreating back.

"I guess someone is still feeling a little upset about last night," Ezra said.

"I don't blame him. And I still don't think he is innocent. I'm not sure how he did those killings yet, but we're going to find out somehow."

Do you still suspect Charles Folks at all? After last night, you surely can't believe there is a connection between him and his son's murder."

"I want to ask him a few questions to rest a few small, nagging worries I still have." He stopped to light a cigarette. "For now we had better see what the colonel wants from us."

The two officers were both poring over the maps in front of them and did not notice their arrival. The colonel pointed to a point on the map and said to his captain, "That's the best route for you to get to Centerville."

"And the best route is going to be the one most heavily watched," Jack interrupted, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

Franklin blinked at the detective and frowned. "Mister Blackwood, I have a special mission for Captain Ellsworth and his men. General McDowell is suspicious that Johnston may try to reinforce Beauregard at the town Manassas. Needless to say our information is rather sketchy, and I want the captain here to scout the rail lines and roads between the two. I don't expect you to go with him, but I would like your opinion on the best method to achieve the goal I was given by the general. After all, you have more experience in these matters."

Jack said, "Moving a whole column of cavalry into enemy territory won't be easy. The Secesh pickets will see you soon enough and report your every movement. With a whole group of green soldiers, you will be an easy target for every sniper or bushwhacker around."

Ellsworth boasted, "Don't worry, Mister Blackwood, we will have enough men to fight off any attacker. And if we run into a stronger force, we can easily ride away."

"That's not the type of open country fighting I'm talking about. You will be riding through woods that are ripe for ambushing. It's obvious to me that this move to Manassas by McDowell is well known by now. The tongues have been wagging in this town, and the news is bound to have been received by the rebels."

The captain said hotly to Franklin, "Why are you even listening to Mister Blackwood? After last night how can we trust his judgment?"

"Quiet, Ellsworth, he has experience in these matters." He then said to the detective, "What would you have me do?"

"McDowell will lead his main force to Centreville with your main force spearheading the way. That will take him some time." Jack traced his finger along the map. "In the meanwhile, Captain Ellsworth can cut to the west and cross the Potomac here at Conrad's Ferry." The ferry was located northwest of Washington and crossed the Potomac into Virginia. "We can then ride through the woods to the south until we reach the Manassas Gap. From there we can see any troop movement and then return to Centreville heading east along the railroad line."

Franklin studied the map while the rest of them looked on. He followed the road to Centreville and then traced the route that the detective suggested. "How long do you think it would take the captain to get there if we took your route?"

Jack imagined the route they would take and the number of men and horses moving along the trails. "Provided we weren't unduly cautious, it would be just more than a total day of traveling. We will run into some trouble along the way since some of these places are bound to be guarded."

"Then you will have to deal with that problem by using force."

"I'm sure the boys here are up for a fight. How long does General McDowell expect it to take to move down to Centreville with his army?" Jack asked.

Franklin looked embarrassed and paused before answering, "The general wasn't too clear on that point. He has a large army to march down there – each loaded with a few days of food. He expects at most two days."

"Two days? It would only take a few hours to get there by horse. Any surprise he has will be lost."

"That is true, but what choice does he have? Such a large amount of infantry will be bunched up on the road, but people are clamoring for action and he means to give it to them."

Jack shook his head and looked at Ezra with a wry smile. It was a foolish plan but the colonel was right – the newspapers were filled with editorials demanding a decisive battle. "Now I remember why I left the army. McDowell has given your captain a difficult task, Colonel, and I pray I can help you in any way you see fit."

"So you will be coming with us?" Ellsworth sneered. "I would think you would have preferred to stay in safety here in Washington to continue your so-called investigation."

Before Jack could answer back, Franklin intervened. "Now, Captain, for once I've had enough of your comments towards Mister Blackwood and Mister Miller here. Let's concentrate on the task on hand. They made a mistake once, but for the duration of this operation, I expect you to be civil towards them. Do you agree?"

Ellsworth scowled and shot his arm out to Jack to shake. The detective shook the hand with some misgiving, as did Ezra when he was made the same offer.

The colonel nodded in approval and said, "Very well then, at my command you will follow Mister Blackwood's advice. Consider his experience and listen to his words carefully. I would prefer that you remain alive rather than take any foolish chances."

Ellsworth said stiffly, "Yes, sir. We will be riding out just after lunch, Mister Blackwood. I hope you have taken care of any personal business before we leave."

"I have just one small matter to attend to. Ezra and I will be there on time," Jack replied graciously.

Jack saluted Franklin. He left with Ezra walking along. By now most of the men were readying their horses and making adjustments to their saddles and harnesses. They looked nervous and made half-hearted jokes about the upcoming ride.

"I can't believe we are going on this fool expedition," Ezra mumbled to himself, but the words were still loud enough for Jack to hear.

"Don't worry, I'll be there to protect you," the detective laughed and slapped his partner on the back.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Ezra said softly.

"I'll be back soon enough. I want to have a few words with Mister Folks before we leave. Do you think you could get our mounts ready and make sure they have plenty of water? It's going to be a hot day. I'll get a ride over to the hotel, so you can have the horses."

"Why question Folks now?"

"It might be the last chance I get."

Chapter 16

Jack found Charles Folks at his hotel room. The business man was dressed and apparently getting ready to leave; he had his jacket on and was carrying his cane. A veiled amount of sunshine came in through the half-closed curtains of the room, and reflected on the gleaming wood floor.

Folks said, "Ah, Mister Blackwood, you are lucky to have caught me. I was preparing to go visit the branch this morning. We haven't left Washington yet because I'm afraid my son is still being worked on by the undertakers. Due to the wounds he received, it will take some time to make his body suitable for presentation to his mother." Folks sat down and motioned to the chair across from him and said, "Why don't you have a seat?"

The detective sat down and noticed that the man's features were tight with worry. The large face was red, his eyes were ringed, and he had a twitch on one cheek. "Well, I am glad to have caught you, sir. I thought I would stop by and tell you that there was another murder last night."

"Another murder?" Folks said with astonishment. "Who was it this time?"

"Nobody you know – a private in the 27th division. I found Wright dead. He was also killed while in the company of a woman."

"I am saddened to hear the news, but it only proves that you are on the right track."

"I would have preferred it if Private Wright was still alive, but yes, we are getting closer to the murderer."

"So you have been able to determine who is doing these despicable acts?"

"I have a few theories," Jack said as he studied the man's face. He was looking for guilt, but only saw anger.

"Well, I'm not interested in theories right now," Folks snapped. "I want you to get the man who is responsible for my son's death."

"Don't worry," Jack said to placate him. "It's possible that I will have this all wrapped up very soon. I've been asked to accompany a column of cavalry from the 27th into enemy held territory. This will be a good opportunity to find out what I need to know."

"I'm not sure if I follow you. Would you care to elaborate on what you plan to learn on such an expedition?"

"Well, I only have two suspects left, and this trip will give me a chance to confirm my own theories about the matter."

Folks' eyes widened and he said, "Just two suspects? Can you name them to me?"

"I would rather not," Jack replied.

"Come on, I must know some details before you leave on this mission of yours. What would I do if something happened to you? Remember it was my son that was killed by one of these men."

"I'm not the sort that can be killed easily." Changing the subject, Jack said with a grimace, "I do have a question about your son's death that I need answered. You told me that you arrived here the same evening he was killed, but I also learned that you may have been here in town the night that Private Quinn was murdered. In my line of work that's too much of a coincidence."

"Who told you that?" Folks replied as his face grew red with anger. He suddenly stood up as if to strike the detective.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Never mind where I get my information from, Mister Folks – I mustn't give away all of my secrets. But you still haven't answered my original question. Were you here in Washington or not last week Friday?" Jack asked. He waited impatiently for the other man's reaction.

Folks sat back down and composed himself. After a few quick breaths, he calmly said, "I must admit I was, Mister Blackwood, but I assure you I didn't go off and kill some unknown soldier. I just came here that night on a short business trip. I was planning to stay longer, but I received an urgent telegram from New York and had to take the train back the very next morning."

"On the face of it, I have a hard time believing your story. It sounds too good to be true."

"If you don't believe me, then you can contact my office, and they can give you the details. My private secretary in New York will surely remember sending the telegram to me that Friday night."

"Tell me, did you get to see your son that night?"

Folks sighed and said, "I already told you that this was our first trip to see him. Truth be told I was planning to see him that time, but I'm afraid I didn't even get a chance to try because of the problems with the accounts. I had to wrap up what business I could before I left early the next morning. I was at the local branch well past midnight before I could get back to pack for my morning train." He stopped and looked out the windows for a moment. When he started speaking again, his tone was softer. "I should have just ignored the telegram, and seen my son anyway. It would have been my last chance."

"Is there anyone who can vouch for your alibi?"

"The two other clerks will bear me out."

"That is good to know, sir. Did you by chance hear anything about the murder of Private Quinn?"

"Not until I received a letter from James. He told me that some private was killed but didn't offer many details. I assumed it was the result of some drunken brawl – you know the kind of trouble these types of men get into."

Jack merely shrugged his shoulder and said scathingly, "That man was murdered in just the same fashion as your son. I don't think his social class had anything to do with it."

His face blanched and Folks quickly stood up. "You are an insufferable fool. If you are done talking to me this way then I must go." He strode over and opened the door.

"I am done for now, Mister Folks. When I get back, I'll tell you who murdered your son. For now you will have to just trust me."

"I have trusted you so far though perhaps it isn't in my best interest."

"Really?" Jack asked. He was surprised by that response.

"I am speaking of Miss Keller. The other night I caught her trying to secretly return to her room. After some questioning she admitted that she was in your company. She said that nothing improper came between you two, and I am willing to forgive her if you can collaborate her story."

"You have my word, sir: it was purely business. I wanted to learn more about your son. It was a good opportunity to ask her some questions without you being there. Let's say that she could be more unrestrained without your presence."

"And what could she tell you about James that you didn't already know?"

"Apparently not much, but I had to ask anyway. I can tell you that she was brought home safely without a stain on her character."

"I will accept your account for now, but in future if you wish to question Anna, then I would expect you to ask for my permission first. She is a frail girl and needs what little protection I can give her."

"I'm sure she does." He answered sincerely, this time. Jack suspected Miss Keller to be made of tougher material than that, but he did not feel like crossing his client any further.

"Very well, Mister Blackwood. Now I suggest that you be on your way. I wish you luck on your endeavor, but I want you to come back to me as quickly as possible to inform me of your findings."

"I will at that," Jack said as he turned to leave. He went through the door, taking purposeful strides towards the stairway. He then darted into one of side hallways where he waited and listened. Eventually he heard the slam of a hotel door and heavy feet going down the stairs. He waited for a few more minutes longer, patiently smoking a cigarette before flicking the butt out of the window. His heart beat hard as he walked past Mister Folks's room and knocked on Anna's door. It was only a moment before she answered it.

Her face gleamed with a happy secret when she said, "Jack, I thought you left without saying goodbye to me. I know Mister Folks would be ever so mad with me, but I was listening at the door between our rooms and heard your entire conversation. "

"I thought you might have been," Jack said lamely, though he was surprised at her initiative. "I needed to say my farewells to you in case we should never meet again."

"Please come in and tell them to me in here. There is no reason for the rest of the hotel to hear us." She opened the door a bit further.

"I worry that Mister Folks might discover me here with you. I would prefer not to lose my client before the case is over."

"Don't you worry about him – he will gone for any number of hours before returning. He has been quite busy of late and wants to wrap up his business before returning to New York City. You would think that his son's death would have affected him more, but he really is a businessman first."

He walked into her room and looked at the large bed in the corner. The door shut softy behind him and he turned to face her.

She leaned her back against the closed door and said, "You know I was most shocked to hear you talk to him that way – he is so used to having everyone's respect."

"More like demanding people's respect. Men like him are full of bluster."

She took a step towards him and said, "Is it true that you are leaving with the cavalry? Won't it be dangerous to be that far into Virginia?"

"It will," he said simply. He couldn't help but notice the worry in her face.

"Jack, one thing I do regret so far in my life - I never gave James a proper goodbye." She blushed and dropped her eyes. "He left and I never gave him the one gift that any woman can give. And now it is too late." The atmosphere of the room had subtly changed. She brought her hands together, rubbing them nervously.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Jack lied. He knew very well what she was trying to say but did not know how to reply. She was such a young girl and even though she claimed that she did not fully love her fiancé, he knew that she probably did love the poor deceased man with all her heart. Women could easily deceive themselves, especially when they were so young, by thinking of a romantic ideal versus somewhat everyday reality.

He continued, "But you shouldn't think badly of yourself – I'm sure he thought of you every hour. The army is a tough place, and he would have clung to every scrap of his memory of you"

"Your words are too kind. Perhaps he would still be alive, if he had a reason to remember me. Perhaps if I gave him a good enough memory to hold on to – he would have never been with that girl." Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she turned away in embarrassment.

"Now missy, don't be thinking that way," he said

She came over and took both of his hands. "You see, I don't want to make the same mistake with you. I don't want you to go away and die. I don't want you to disappear like the rest of the men I have known."

"I won't die," he boasted. "Ezra tells me that I'm too mean to die."

"You're not mean at all," she whispered and leaned forward with her head tilted upwards. Her lips parted. Jack kissed her hard and found her returning it in earnest. She leaned heavily into him and began to gently pull him towards the bed.

"Now Missy, I don't want you to be making a big mistake here. I know you are upset. Are you sure you want me here?"

"This is my choice," she replied softly. "Now help me take off this dress. My hands are shaking so hard, I don't know I can undo the clasps."

Jack resigned himself to her wishes and began to undress her. She was more beautiful with every layer stripped off. Stopping when she was down to her camisole and pantalets, he looked her over in appreciation. She looked nervous but still had a defiant expression.

"I must say you are a very beautiful girl," he said in a low voice. "Now are you sure you wish me to continue?"

She nodded and slipped off her remaining undergarments without a further word. With a giggle she jumped onto the bed and then quickly slipped under the covers. "Now it's your turn," she said with a mischievous grin.

Pulling off his jacket, Jack quickly piled up his clothes and calmly went to draw the curtain closed. Feeling her eyes on his body, he turned down the one oil lamp in the room until only a low light flickered across the walls. Walking over to the bed, he pulled the covers off with a jerk, and she yelped with embarrassment. Looking over her body, he whistled in appreciation and then joined her on the bed.

Once he began to kiss her on the mouth, she pulled back. "Please, I've never done anything like this before."

"I know, my love. I know. But don't you worry; it only gets better the more you practice."

She smiled and began to return his kisses.

Chapter 17

The troop of cavalry soldiers waited inside the camp, their horses stamping restlessly as the men talked anxiously amongst themselves. They were finally going off to war. Even from a distance, Jack could hear the excited tone in their voices. Ezra was waiting at the front of the column with Ellsworth. They all watched impatiently as he ran up to clamber onto his saddle.

"We've been waiting for you," the captain grumbled.

"Then let's go," the detective replied brightly. Ezra had made Jack's mare ready with his favorite scoped Colt repeating rifle tucked inside a beat up rifle scabbard. His old cavalry sword hung loosely on the saddle pommel.

Ezra carried two Colt Navy pistols strapped to his waist. His own rifle was another Colt repeating rifle but did not have a telescopic sight mounted. Other than their weapons, they both were traveling light compared to the heavily burdened men in the column. Each soldier had a Sharp carbine, a Colt pistol, and a saber to weigh them down. A bedroll, a knapsack filled with food, and a canteen filled out the rest of the equipment.

As they began to ride out of the camp gate, Franklin was there sitting on top of a gray mare. Riley was at his side, holding the reins. The colonel saluted them smartly as the troops rode by. The lieutenant looked frightened but looked up long enough to give Jack a friendly wave.

Franklin called out, "Good luck, Captain Ellsworth. I'll meet you at Centreville."

"Very good, sir," Ellsworth snapped back, and then the column of men began to ride north through town. Jack and Ezra rode behind the captain who was accompanied by a lieutenant. They kept a steady pace and moved through the city with ease as the other traffic parted to let them pass. The dry dust of the roads was kicked high in the air. They soon were riding through the outskirts of Washington.

"Where were you?" Ezra asked when they finally got the chance to talk.

Jack's face crinkled into a grin since he was still happy remembering the long hour he had spent with Anna. He could tell that she initially had reservations about making love with him, but towards the end she seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed herself. Afterward, they had lain peacefully together until he had checked his watch. It was a quick scramble as he gathered his clothes and had to dash out with only a quick kiss. She had tears in her eyes when he last saw her.

The detective gave the faintest of smiles when he replied. He said, "My business took a little longer than expected."

"I'm sure it did," Ezra said sarcastically, but Jack did not take the bait.

They took the main road out of Washington and headed north towards Poolesville. By now the hot sun shone high and began to bake heavily on the soldier's dark wool uniforms. On the heavily rutted road, a number of loaded wagons rumbled by, heading south, part of the supply train for McDowell's army. The wagon guards hollered loudly as they saw column and shouted with laughter that they were heading the wrong way.

Jack adjusted his hat to block out the sunlight, wished for a little shade or some clouds, and took a drink from his canteen. He said to Ellsworth, "Make sure your men drink plenty of water. We have a long hot ride in front of us, and I don't want any of them falling off their horses in a faint. Conrad's Ferry is not too far off. We can get extra water there."

The captain simply nodded and gave the order to his lieutenant who went down line to spread the order to the two sergeants. As they rode, the column stretched loosely out some one hundred yards long. The road to Poolesville was dotted with small farms, the timber-framed houses built close to the road. The fields were thick with crops and a thin line of trees along the road helped to reduce the sun's glare. There was the silent hum of summer heat in the air and only the occasional farmer's wagon rolled past the column of soldiers. By now the residents here were used to seeing so many men on the move, and their presence only drew momentary looks or a friendly wave which was readily returned.

Within an hour they reached the outskirts of Poolesville. It was a small village that hardly deserved a place on the map. They rode past a few houses, some rough dirt side roads and a small brick city hall. A number of small camps had sprung up around the town - the army being interested in protecting the western approaches to the capitol. Some of the fords across the Potomac would be an easy approach to Washington for a small raiding party or as a vanguard to a larger rebel army.

A few Union soldiers, sitting in the shade, were stationed at the crossroads. They watched them approach with little interest on their faces. While the column stopped, Ellsworth rode up, and a short, florid-faced corporal stood up to salute.

"Everything quiet over here?" the captain asked.

"Yes, sir, we haven't seen any Secesh this away at all. Pardon me asking, but we heard rumor that McDowell is finally marching to meet the Rebs. Is that true enough, sir?"

"Yes, we're headed that way ourselves."

Jack cut him off and said, "McDowell is on the march alright, but we were ordered up here to scout around and make sure the flanks are safe." He could see that Ellsworth was annoyed by this interruption, but Jack thought it better not to announce their intentions to the whole world. During war, rumors had a way of traveling faster than a train at full steam.

"Ah, I see," the corporal said. He eyes lingered a little at Jack's gear, since he was wearing no uniform. He looked back up at the captain with a polite smile. "Well, right now there's nothing to do here but stay out of the sun."

"Very good," Ellsworth said. "We'll be moving along now." They continued on and the column followed the sign pointed towards Conrad's Ferry. There was a small post office on the side of Maryland, while the other side, which was Virginian soil, had a small warehouse. The ferry itself was a flat-bottomed boat that was drawn up on the their side. It crossed the Potomac using a rope strung across the river with the ferrymen pulling the boat by sheer muscle power. It was really more like a raft that could carry only ten horses at a time.

Two men were working near the craft, and they stopped as the column drew up. One of the men stopped and went up to speak to Ellsworth.

His hands were dirty, and he had a scraggly beard. He wiped his hands on his overall and spat out greedily, "That's a lot of horses there, mister. It'll cost you five cents a man and five cents a horse."

Ellsworth snorted and said, "I'm not going to pay you a cent – we are on official government business."

"No money, no ferry."

"See here, man, we must cross this river," the captain sputtered angrily.

Jack sighed and slipped a twenty dollar gold coin from his pocket. He flipped it at the ferryman and snapped, "This should more than cover your costs." He reminded himself to expense this payment to Folks.

The ferryman smiled and called out to his partner to prepare the ferry. It was soon pushed into the river and then the first group of soldiers and horses began to load up.

Jack and Ezra watched as the ferry began its first slow trip across the river. Ellsworth rode up next to them; his face was red with heat and anger. "Mister Blackwood, I want you to understand no matter what the colonel said, I'm in charge of this here scouting expedition. Keep that in mind."

The detective turned to face him. "I understand that, Captain, but I'm also interested in saving my own neck. There's no point in making the ferryman angry if we can keep him happy with a few dollars. You never know what kind of friends he may have over in Virginia. He could slip them a word, and then we would be harassed by rebels on the other side. The less they know about us, the further we can get before we are discovered."

Ellsworth gave this some thought before replying. His ugly features relaxed a little as did his tone. "Very well, Mister Blackwood, but stay out of my way once the shooting starts. This is a military expedition, not a pleasure trip for your convenience." He then kicked his horse into a trot and moved forward to get in line with the rest of the soldiers to be carried over on the next trip across the river.

Ezra watched the captain depart and said, "He's going to be even more trouble the further we go. How did I let you get me into this mess?"

Jack smiled and said, "Don't you worry. He's just a bit nervous having us along and thinking we are watching his every step. Once we get into some real trouble, he'll be wanting to hear our every word of advice." And he knew it was true, for he had seen green commanders before. The veterans, with and without officer ranking, did all the deciding while the other men learned.

"I'm glad you're feeling so confident," Ezra said sourly and flicked his reins to move his horse into the waiting line.

Jack thought of Anna some more as they he watched the boat come back and forth. Finally he was among the last to go. They rode their horses on the ferry with the final group of soldiers and dismounted to stand. By now the two ferrymen were tired from the multiple trips and were covered with sweat.

Jack pushed through the mass of soldiers to stand next to the lead ferryman. He watched as man pulled on the rope. The ferry slowly moved forward, jerking at times, across the river. It seemed smoother than Jack thought it would be.

"Do you get many Virginians crossing here anymore?" he asked.

"Maybe," the ferryman grunted.

"We're headed out west ourselves and want to make sure we don't run into any trouble. We're not here to start a fight with anyone."

"I can't imagine any of 'em bothering ya. But you can never tell what a man will do," he puffed as he pulled harder on the rope. He paused momentarily to wipe his brow with a dirty handkerchief that he had pulled from a pocket.

"We're just looking for some safe passage over to the Indian Territory," Jack lied. "Government is worried about them taking advantage of the situation during this little war of ours."

"I see," the ferryman puffed.

"I would really appreciate it if you could have a word your Virginian friends that we won't be any danger to them." Jack held another twenty dollar gold piece in his hand. There was no harm in trying to bribe the man.

The ferryman snatched it quickly, not even breaking the rhythm of his rope pulling. "I'll pass the word along, but I can't make any promises that they'll listen to me. I'm just a businessman."

"I appreciate it, my good man. Jack slapped the ferryman on the back. He then returned to his horse and watched as the boat neared the opposite bank.

Ezra shook his head and said, "You think throwing your money away like that will help at all?"

"It can't hurt. I would give away an entire stack of twenty dollar coins if it meant the difference between life and death."

The black man laughed. "I don't think you ever had a stack of pennies you could call your own."

On the other side, Captain Ellsworth and the rest of the troops were sorting out, forming back into a riding column.

As Jack disembarked, he stood high in his saddle and shouted at the captain, "Let's get going quick, there's not too much time left in the day."

Ellsworth only nodded and continued to give orders to his men. Within a short time they were moving out, heading west towards nearby Ball's Bluff. As he rode, Jack turned to and saw the ferryman watching them. Then the rope tightened and the ferry started to slowly move back towards the other side of the river.

The area surrounding the rocky Bluff was thick with dense forest and difficult to cross because of the rough terrain. The column was forced to take a small trail, stringing them out along a single file. At Jack's suggestion, Ezra waited as the column passed by and told every soldier to stay quiet as the march went on. They were nearing Leesburg and did not want to be detected by enemy scouts. Since the town was known to be unfriendly towards Union forces it was time for the utmost caution. Ezra joined the rear guard of the column. From the head, Jack led the troops onto a trail that crossed over a road leading into town. Dense trees covered their approach and not a soul was to be seen.

A sigh of relief escaped the detective's lips as it appeared that they had so far remained undetected. Soon enough they would reach the Blue Ridge Mountains and could start heading deeper south. The column of men remained quiet, the only noise being whispered talk and the sound of hooves striking dirt. Jack knew it was only a matter of time before they were seen, but hoped they could keep the enemy guessing their true intentions.

Some time passed before the trail started taking a southwest turn. Through a gap in the trees, Jack could see the mountains ahead. They first had to cross another road that ran west through Snicker's Gap towards Winchester. According to the information they had, it was there that Johnston should be found. Jack saw the road ahead and motioned for the column to stop. He coaxed his horse slowly ahead and paused to listen. He examined the rutted track. It looked as if some heavily loaded wagons had passed through here lately, disturbing the dry ground. Whether they came from a rebel army supply wagon or merely a local farmer's load, the detective could not tell.

Not seeing anyone coming either way, he motioned for the army to cross the road to the trail located on the other side. For what seemed like an eternity, he waited for the entire column to pass. Jack then saw his partner coming at the end, conversing quietly with some of the men in the back.

As the last of the men made it across, Ezra stopped to talk to his partner. He said, "It's been quiet back there so far, I haven't heard a thing."

"Good, keep your ears open and stop talking to those men."

Ezra looked at him seriously and said, "They just wanted to know more about you. I told some good lies, so now they're happy to have someone of your experience up there leading them. As you know, the captain isn't too popular."

Jack looked up and down the road again and said, "You had better get going and get to the front of the column. I'll ride in the rear for a while until we get to the road near Upperville and Ashby's Gap. There's bound to be more traffic over there, so be careful. Halt the column when we get there, and I'll catch up."

"Whatever you say – I don't like being here any longer than I have to."

"And keep that fool Ellsworth under control if we run into any hunters or farmers. I would prefer not to shoot anyone unless we have to."

Ezra nodded and spurred his horse onward.

With a final glance behind him, Jack rode into the trail and took up the position at the rear of the column. He didn't talk to the soldiers in front of him, but kept a few horse lengths behind them. As he rode, he listened carefully to the sounds of the forest for any unnatural disturbance. Every once in a while he would stop to turn and listen intently. Thinking he could hear the hooves of a horse behind him, the detective rode off the trail and waited behind a clump of pine trees.

Miss Keller's diary, resumed

July 17

Mister Blackwood has just left me. My feelings are in confusion: shame, amazement, and some pride are battling for control. Mostly though I am proud at what I have done. I am glad I have been able to show someone how much I could do for them. If only James and I had been able to share this, perhaps it would have made a difference in our lives. Perhaps he would still be alive. At least Jack won't die without knowing how I felt about him. Not that I am certain I ever loved James, or even that I love that strange detective.

I feel as though I have to tell someone what I have done. I suppose if I did, their opinion of me would change forever. I wonder how many other women hold this secret about the men they have known.

I have to admit it was fun to watch the expression on Jack's face one he realized what I was after. He was very good to me, and made sure that it was what I wanted. I knew that I wasn't going to change my mind once I got the feeling that Mr. Blackwood was interested in me in that way. I think that my small size makes people think that I am still a child and have to be protected. Well, I am tired of being protected; I can look after myself fairly well now. Being alone so much, as I have been on this trip, has shown me that.

Chapter 18

Jack waited while the column retreated further down the trail. Sitting very still, he let his breath out slowly and listened to the sounds of the forest. It was quiet except for the constant chirping of songbirds and the occasional squirrel running through the brown leaves of the forest floor. He kept his own mare quiet by rubbing the side of her neck. Within a minute, the detective's body stiffened as he heard an approaching horse coming up the trail. Pulling out his Starr pistol, his muscles tensed as he watched through the pine boughs.

Through the branches, he could see a raggedly dressed boy of some fifteen years riding a sad specimen of a horse. With that dirty black tousle of hair, Jack was reminded of his own younger days. At first he thought it was merely a farmer's son doing some hunting until he saw a brace of older Colt Walker pistols strapped at the hip.

The boy pulled hard on his reins and stopped. He looked warily around, seemingly sensing that something was wrong. A single pistol was then drawn as he held the bridle lightly before him. He gave his horse a gentle kick in the flanks and cautiously rode ahead, looking through the forest slowly from side to side. The dirty face was strained with fear, and the gun trembled nervously in the outstretched hand.

Jack held still with his pistol at the ready. Just as the boy was about to pass, he called out, "Drop that gun!"

Startled, the boy lost grip of the he pistol which clattered on the ground and mercifully did not discharge from the sudden impact. He looked at the detective, eyes wide in surprise, and slowly raised his hands in surrender. A fine line of sweat shone in his face.

Riding out of the pines, Jack kept the pistol carefully aimed in case the boy decided to flee. Looking the newcomer over, he asked brusquely, "What's your name?"

"S-S-Samuel," he stuttered.

"Samuel, I want you to slowly pull out that other pistol and take out the loads. My gun will be on you, so don't try anything fancy."

The boy complied, releasing the latch of the cylinder and letting the gunpowder and shot fall to the ground.

Knowing very well what the boy was doing, Jack asked "Why are you following these soldiers?"

Samuel seemed to have quickly gathered his wits. Looking defiant and proud, he answered, "My Pa told me to. He wanted to know what way you all were heading."

Jack lowered his gun and said, "So I see our ferryman has been talking too much. What did he tell you?"

Wiping the sweat from his forehead with a swipe of his forearm, the boy said, "Him? The old bastard never told us anything. We saw the soldiers from our house up on the hill. Not many northerners come this way unless they're on a raid. My pa said Yankees are nothing but trouble, so we have to keep an eye on 'em until General Beauregard kicks them clear out of the state."

"Tell me, Samuel, if it was so important to know where we are headed then why didn't your pa come himself?"

Looking uncomfortable, Samuel shifted nervously in his saddle and did not meet the detective's eyes. He eventually blurted, "My pa is real sick with the ague and can't travel no more."

With a laugh, Jack said "Or else he is busy riding to warn General Johnston of the direction we are heading." He could tell by the boy's expression that he had hit home with that remark.

"N-N-No, sir," Samuel stammered.

"And he sent you to watch where we are going. Now what I would like to know is where you plan to meet up with him to ambush us."

"That's not it at all. He just wanted to make sure you weren't riding where you shouldn't be going."

Holstering his gun, Jack sighed loudly and said, "I'm sure a local like you knows all the back trails around here and could get ahead of us if you wanted to. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do with you." Jack furrowed his forehead in mock concentration. "Do you think you could be a good boy, turn around and go on back home to your momma?"

"What will I tell my pa?" the boy asked dejectedly.

"If your pa asks what happened to you, just tell him the truth, that you were caught and released."

"I reckon I could manage that," Samuel replied graciously with relief.

"And let me warn you, if I hear or see you following us again, I'll make sure you will regret it. Now go back to your home and don't you even think about this war anymore."

The boy nodded fearfully and as he wheeled his horse around, Jack slapped it hard on the flank. He watched as Samuel galloped clumsily away and waited listening for a few minutes more before catching up to the tail end of the column.

*

"You let him go?" Ellsworth asked incredulously, his eyes flaring with anger from under his dark brows. He held a neckerchief in his palm, and rapped his other hand against the pommel of his saddle. "He'll go and tell the rebels where we are headed, and then we'll be ambushed and killed. You're the one who told me that secrecy was paramount!"

Jack had ridden up to the front of the column and told them of his encounter. He was not surprised by the captain's reaction. "What would you have me do? Shoot the boy?"

"You could have taken him prisoner and forced him to ride with us until we are finished."

"We don't have the time to watch over a prisoner, no matter how young he is." Jack had no desire to hurt a child. It was better to live with the consequences than to harm an innocent.

"Very well," the captain grumbled, "but you'll be held responsible if this causes us any trouble in the future."

"Damn it, either way we're going to run into trouble. Half of this state, or more than half, is against us, and they are on the lookout for such an expedition."

Ellsworth just stared hard at Jack and then rode ahead without a further word.

Ezra looked at them and said, "I think I'll get to the back of the column again - anything to get away from you two."

"This time be a little more careful back there and don't get to talking as much. We will be stopping for the night in another hour and it would be better if we didn't have any stragglers following us."

"If you say so."

The evening was coming fast. They soon found a pine-dotted field in the woods to camp in. Fires were not allowed so men laid out their bedrolls to prepare to sleep while others began to paddock the horses. Sentry shifts were setup with the order to detain any trespassers. The night passed without incident and everyone woke up complaining of the lack of hot food and coffee. After a meal of cold hard tack, beef jerky and water, the camp broke and everyone mounted up to continue the trek. As he did yesterday, Ezra took the rear guard. He and Jack had little to say to each other. Jack knew his friend was even more annoyed for taking him on this adventure.

As the column wound its way through the path, the trees began to thin out. They had crossed the road heading towards Berryville without being sighted. A few soldiers had been selected to ride ahead and scout for the column's approach to Ashby's Gap, which was bound to be guarded. Jack had cautioned them to be quiet and to take no action against the enemy without his word. After crossing through the gap, the column was to approach Blue Ridge Mountains where they were to turn south to ride to the railway that was, from all reports, separating the rebel generals Johnston and Beauregard.

It was mid-morning when Ellsworth slowed down enough for the detective to catch up. He quietly said, "Look, Mister Blackwood, I'm sorry I had those angry words with you yesterday. You must understand that this is my first mission. I worry too much about my men."

Jack stared at the captain in surprise, not believing the words he had just heard. "Pardon me?"

"I know I'm not popular with them," the captain continued in an off-handed manner. "But I do look after their best interests even if they don't know it." He nodded towards the trail ahead and asked, "What do you think we are going to run into up ahead?"

Jack knew how hard it was for some men to admit a mistake, so he accepted Ellsworth's change of manner as graciously as he could. "If I read the map right, Captain, Ashby's Gap is ahead, and the scouts we sent will reach it soon. It's an obvious path for the rebels to take to get to the railroad. From there they can hurry along the rails and reinforce their army. I'm expecting the pass to be well-guarded with their scouting parties roaming through the area looking for trouble from the likes of us."

Ellsworth pushed a low-hanging branch out of the way. "What are we to do then?" His face was lined with worry, and Jack could hear a crack of panic underneath the captain's normally controlled voice.

"We do what every cavalry man does in a bad situation – ride like hell, and shoot your way through any trouble." There was a seriousness to his tone, but a half-smile on his lips. Even though the column numbered just over one hundred men, it could not handle a well-drilled infantry division. In that situation it would be better to run than to stand and fight.

Ellsworth nodded slowly and reflexively gripped the pistol butt on his belt. "If it comes to a fight then I will turn the command over to you and follow your directions."

Jack was stunned by those words. He had hardly expected to hear this man give up any of his authority. He scratched his head and said, "If you say so, Captain. But don't worry, I've been in some bad spots before and managed to get home in one piece. The Seceshs are just as green as these men are, so I don't think they'll be that much trouble for us to handle. But there's no point worrying about it until we get there."

"You may be right," Ellsworth said hopefully.

Jack tried to put some sympathy into his voice before he asked his next question. "If you know your men don't care for you, why do you treat them the way you do?" He smiled a little at the captain, hoping not to anger him with the impertinent question.

The captain just shrugged. "I think if they obey me, then I can help them stay alive longer, and maybe even make it home. Why does it matter whether they like me or not?" His tone became more serious, and he went on to say, "Mister Blackwood, I know we've had our disagreements in the past but for now let's put them on hold. I gave it some thought last night before I fell asleep, and I know right now that there are more pressing concerns than the murder of three soldiers. Once enough evidence has been provided, the truth will eventually come out."

The detective was again surprised by the seemingly honest words coming from Ellsworth. He looked at him suspiciously, and his stare was returned with an open, honest face. "We must talk further about this, Captain. What evidence do you speak of?"

Before Ellsworth could reply, a galloping horse could be heard riding towards them. It was one of the scouts they had sent ahead. The man's face was flushed with excitement as he gave his report. "Sir, we passed north of Upperville, took to the road and carefully approached Ashby's Gap as ordered. We held the horses back and hid in the bushes to watch. Before we knew it, we saw a number of rebel soldiers on horseback heading our way. We first thought that they were sent to find us, but they rode past, heading south right towards White Plains."

White Plains was a small village located on the railroad which led towards Manassas.

"How many of them were there?" Jack asked calmly enough, but the pulse of an approaching battle pounded the blood hard through his veins.

"A good twenty of them, all of them armed. Once I saw them, I galloped back as quickly as I could to tell you."

"It could be a scouting party or a guarded courier going to see Beauregard," Jack said. "Any papers they could be carrying would be invaluable to General McDowell. Captain, I suggest we cut those men off before they get away. We'll capture them. We'll then follow the railroad to Gainesville and take the road back to Centreville."

"But what about our scouting mission?" Ellsworth said, almost returning to his former taciturn manner. "We were sent to find out what the rebels are doing, not to get into a pitched battle with them."

"Sometimes the best way to get information is to stir the hornet's nest. Even if they aren't protecting a courier, we'll still be able to determine by questioning them if Johnston is moving his men to meet Beauregard at Manassas."

The captain nodded, his face decided, and said, "Very well. It's time that we all got our first taste of battle."

Jack said to the scout, "Go back and gather up the rest of the men there. We shall meet outside of White Plains. We'll be waiting there for you. If you do not meet us there, proceed along the railroad until you can take the road north to Centreville."

The scout saluted and rode off.

Jack said to Ellsworth, "Tell your men to follow you and only fire when they see me shooting. If our column gets split during the attack, remind them to not fire across into their friends. It's easy to get carried away once the guns start going off."

The captain barked a quick order to his lieutenants for the men to get ready for an attack. Men began to check their pistols and adjust their sword belts. A nervous murmur began to rise as they bravely joked with pale faces and the shaking of hands. The excitement rippled outward, showing on each nervous, smiling, and scared face.

Jack couldn't help but examine the loads in his pistol for one last time. He stood high in his saddle and turned to face the column. "Follow us and only fire if you have a good shot. Don't waste ammo, we'll need it plenty enough before this day is done."

The men who could hear him cheered wildly and the shouting began to spread down the column line. As they kicked their spurs and urged the horses on, the sound of galloping rippled through the trees. They first cut to the southeast, broke through a line of trees and crossed through the rolling green farm fields. The small village of Salem could be seen to the south. To the west, further down the tracks, a thin line of men of horsemen were going at an easy pace.

Jack looked behind him and saw that the column had disintegrated into a rough pack. He could barely make out Ezra's white shirt at the tail of the group. He couldn't help but shout as he raised his pistol into the air and fired a single shot into the hot summer air. The thundering mass of horses broke into a full-bore gallop as they closed the distance on their prey.

Chapter 19

When they saw the rushing mass of Union soldiers, the rebel cavalry froze, panic-stricken. Their inexperience and surprise gave away to fear as the first volley of pistol fire raked through their exposed flank. The mass of lead tore through them and several rebels slid wounded off their mounts. They landed hard on the ground while the horses screamed with their eyes rolling. The few remaining Confederates started to sporadically fire back, but the shots were chaotic and poorly aimed.

The Union charge collided heavily into remaining rebel cavalry, causing their gunfire to become scattered as any cohesion was lost. Man fought against man. Steel flashed in the sun and bullets thumped into flesh. One rebel shouted for his mother as he fell down to the ground and was trampled by the press of horses. It was crowded and hot with the smell of sweat as the hand of death dealt with the unlucky.

Feeling the hot streak of a lead ball striking his leg, Jack grimaced and tried to ignore the sudden rush of pain. He picked his targets carefully and fired at a rebel away from the pack who was crouched near his horse with a leveled rifle. The minie ball knocked the man over, causing the gun to discharge wildly into the air. Jack shoved his pistol into the holster and yanked out his old cavalry saber and rode wildly at a man who was reloading his pistol. His face white with fear, the rebel soldier tried to protect his face with his hands held in front. Feeling the blade strike bone, Jack wrenched the sword away and galloped on, striking at whatever enemy he could reach.

In a minute, though it seemed like forever, the action was over. The air was now thick with the smell of blood, sweat, and smoke from clouds of discharged black powder drifting in the summer heat. Through this humid mist, only three of the rebel cavalry were left on their mounts. Many of the remaining men lay on the ground, slowly moving in agony, while the others tried to control their gunfire panicked mounts. As they were fully engulfed by the charging Union horde, the living and wounded alike gave in and raised their hands in surrender. The northern troops cheered, hollered, and waved their swords high in the air.

Through the curtain of smoke, Jack saw a remaining rebel soldier trying to ride away. He had escaped the charge and was now bent forward on his mount in an attempt to muster as much speed as possible. Jack quickly slid off his mare and pulled his scoped rifle from the scabbard. He limped ahead from the rest of the troops to find a clear spot. He dropped roughly on his stomach and brought the rifle up to shoot at the fleeing horseman.

Looking through the long scope, Jack estimated the distance to be over one hundred yards. He aimed carefully and fired once. The minie ball struck the soldier in the arm. The rider rolled off his horse and started to run towards the line of trees to the north of the rails. Jack fired again, but did not adjust his aim quickly enough. The shot went wide. He watched with disappointment as the man ducked into the trees.

Rolling over, Jack sat up and suddenly felt the throbbing pain in his leg. Often, once the rush of the battle was over, men would only then realize that they had been wounded.

The Federal soldiers had rounded up the rebels who were still alive and were keeping them under guard. Ellsworth was giving orders and directing the men to search the prisoners and dead alike.

Ezra was still up on his horse, watching all of this with a sickened expression.

"Anything the matter?" Jack asked his friend.

"I've seen many things in my time, but I've never been party to a massacre."

"It's not fair, I know," the detective answered quietly.

Ellsworth ran over, his face flushed with excitement. He said, "That was some fine shooting by the boys, Mister Blackwood, too bad that one had to get away."

Wiping away the dust from his face, Jack said, "Well, it still isn't too late to remedy the situation. You had better send some men out and see if they can track him down. But we had better get moving quick before anyone from the town comes out to investigate."

Ellsworth agreed and gave the orders to send out some men on horseback.

"Let me look at that leg of yours," Ezra said with concern.

Looking at the circle of blood spreading along the rough cloth, Jack said, "Don't worry, it doesn't feel that bad." He poked his finger into his pant leg and felt around. The bullet had cut across the skin of the top of his left thigh, but had not pierced the leg. "It feels like burning lead, but I won't bleed to death on you."

The black man nodded as he watched his friend stuff a handkerchief into the hole in his pants leg. He said, "Once we have a chance to light a fire, I'll cauterize it for you."

With a nod, Jack pointed in the distance towards a nearby horse that was terribly wounded. "Do me the favor and put that beast out of its misery."

Ezra readily agreed and took a few strides over to the horse to finish it off. The single shot from his Colt pistol was startling to hear even after gun battle that had just raged. The rush of noise from the attack had made them all temporarily deaf. The silence afterward was now disorienting.

Ellsworth came up to Jack and was holding a leather bag. He gave a cursory glance at the detective's bloodied leg and said, "Will you able to ride the rest of the way with us?"

Jack began to reload his Colt rifle as he replied. "Don't worry about me, it's just a scratch. The bullet just passed through the skin. I'll be alright. Did we lose any of our own men?"

"Including you, just a few wounded. In this case, you were right and surprise really did pay off."

"It did out in the prairies, and it worked here too. Now just what do you have there in your hand?"

Holding up the bag, Ellsworth said, "You were right – this was a courier. These here are official papers from Johnston to Beauregard. Johnston plans to fool our scouts and send most of his men to reinforce Manassas. General McDowell will need to be told of this development."

"That he won't have enough men to take Manassas by force? I don't think it will stop the McDowell's plans – but we had better deliver these papers to him nonetheless. Washington demands action and the general will have to attack no matter what we tell him."

"That may be, but perhaps he can make changes to his plan accordingly."

"Okay," Jack said, and decided to change the subject. "Gather the men together and let's ride out of here."

"Where shall we go now?"

"We continue to ride east towards Manassas. The rail line is bound to be protected, so we will have to send our scouts ahead. If we can break through the pass ahead, we will head to Gainesville and then take a path north towards Centreville. By then we can only hope that McDowell has gotten there without incident."

Ellsworth pointed to the group of guarded rebel soldiers huddled together on the side of the railroad embankment. "What shall we do with that bunch? Most of them are too hurt to travel, and we have no doctor for them."

Jack winced as he got up and replied, "I would like to shoot the lot of them for giving me this wound, but for now we had better just let them go without their weapons. It's only a short walk back to town. They can take care of their own there."

"Good, I'll round the men up."

The soldiers who had been sent out to find the escaped rebel returned. There was no sign of the man who must have hidden himself well in the bushes. The scouts who were watching Ashby's Gap then rode in, disappointed that they did not have a chance to join in the action. The prisoners were then allowed to start walking towards the town of White Plains. Their faces showed disgust at having lost, but they seemed to be happy enough to be alive, unlike many of their comrades.

Having painfully pulled himself up on his horse, Jack watched the proceedings impatiently. It was time to start moving before a rebel patrol came upon them. Within a short time, the telegraph of White Plains would be busy with activity and everyone up and down the rails would know that Union troops were deep behind enemy lines. Sunset was only five hours away, but if they were found before darkness came then there would be problems.

"Captain," he snapped, "Let's get going."

Ellsworth nodded and gave a few more orders before pulling himself up his own horse. The column spread out and began to ride east along the railroad with two scouts ranging ahead. Now that the soldiers had seen the dangers of being ambushed, an air of caution came upon them. After a few hours of riding had passed, the sun began to dip low on the horizon and the shadows of the trees stretched darkly across their path.

"How's that leg?" Ezra asked with concern.

"I think it stopped bleeding," Jack replied. The furrow across his thigh ached terribly, but not as badly as it did earlier. He then said to Ellsworth, "I want to pull the scouts in. I want to ride ahead with my partner here and see if the way ahead is clear. I have a feeling that the Thoroughfare Gap will be heavily protected. I would hate to run into Beauregard's whole army with just this little force. In the meanwhile, I want you to keep the column moving. If Ezra and I run into any trouble, you'll have to rescue us. If you don't see us waiting at the pass ahead, you'll know that we ran into trouble, and it's time to escape. Break up the column and take to the trails. Head north until you can get to a safer road."

The captain shook his head and said, "You got us this far, Mister Blackwood. If you are in any kind of trouble, I won't abandon you."

"I'll take your word on that," the detective replied. He kicked his spurs and took off in a gallop with Ezra following close behind. They rode this way for a few miles. When they found the scouts who were ranging ahead, they ordered the men back to the column. To let the horses rest, the two detectives slowed down to a trot. Jack got out his field glasses and began to scan the road ahead. To the northeast and southeast he could see the Bull Run Mountains, and straight ahead in there was the pass through the mountains called the Thoroughfare Gap.

Ezra spoke up and said, "I'm surprised by the change of the captain's attitude toward you. He almost seems human now."

Jack put the field glasses down and replied, "I've also been taken aback by his words. He definitely knows something about those murders, but he hasn't had the chance to tell me yet. Maybe with a little more time he will open up. He's knows something but still doesn't feel comfortable telling me yet."

"So you don't think he is a suspect anymore?"

Jack did not answer. Instead he pointed down the rails towards the pass ahead and said. "If there is an ambush waiting for us, it's bound to be just on the other side of the pass. It's the best place to spring a trap."

"We had better get into the woods and work our way in a little closer to take a look."

The detective smiled and said, "That's exactly what I had in mind Ezra. I'll make a soldier of you yet." He got off his horse, pulled out his rifle from the scabbard and limped into the forest with his mare in tow.

"Not if I can help it," the black man grumbled to himself as he jumped down from his horse. He pulled out his own rifle and began to follow.

They went in a few feet into the bramble and tied their mounts to a branch of an old oak tree. The forest was quiet, and the green of the leaves was still fresh with the last touches of spring. Using the butt of his rifle as a cane, Jack carefully pulled himself along the fringe of the forest with Ezra taking the lead. Within a few minutes of walking they were in sight of the gap between the mountains. Behind them, the sun was getting ready to set and lit the horizon with a red and orange glow. The day's heat had begun to abate, but the humidity was still high and clung heavily to their clothing.

Jack hissed for his partner to stop. They both dropped down to the ground. In the distance he thought he saw a quick flare of a small flame, but he wasn't sure. He pulled out his battered field glasses and swept them slowly between the two mountains. A dim red glow gave away a sentry smoking a cigarette. He was standing, hidden in the trees on the side of the tracks, and could only be seen when the dot of a cherry-red ember glowed in the shadows. The detective debated a moment within himself before turning to his friend with a nod.

Ezra slid over and asked, "Do you see anything?"

Jack handed over the binoculars to him and said, "Look to the north side of the tracks, standing next to that elm tree with the broken branch." He waited as his partner looked through the glasses.

"You've still got a good eye there," his partner whispered. "What do you plan to do now?"

"Well, I want you to sneak over to the other side of the tracks. Let's start a little trouble and see if we can get the whole bunch out of hiding."

"We don't have much time until the captain catches up with us," Ezra warned.

"Then you had better hurry up and stay low against the rails so you aren't seen. Don't shoot until you see anyone get too close to me. For now I want them to think there is just one of us."

"Fine," Ezra said. He handed the field glasses back and began a cautious crawl over to the other side of the rail embankment.

Jack rested his Colt rifle against a fallen tree and watched the gap ahead through the scope. His friend's movement appeared to go undetected and no further movement was seen in the pass, except for the sentry who had the bad sense to light yet another cigarette.

After he saw that his partner was in position, Jack looked carefully through the scope to take aim. A headshot would be difficult so it was best to go for the chest. Knowing that a shot at this distance would drop it was best to aim high. Waiting until the sentry took another drag, Jack let his breath out and gently squeezed the trigger.

Chapter 20

The shot felt good. The sound ricocheted between the valley of the mountains. Jack hoped that the tell-tale smoky discharge could not easily be seen with the sun against his back. After the recoil, he peered down the scope again and saw the sentry had crumpled to the ground. Another figure broke away from the forest and slowly approached the fallen body. It was an older man with a shock of white hair, who looked about in confusion. This second sentry pulled his fellow soldier back towards the pass. The detective fired again, missing this new target on purpose. This would allow the sentry to escape and warn his comrades.

Holding his fire, Jack swept his scope back and forth looking for another opportunity. Within minutes he was rewarded as a large group of mounted rebel cavalry rode from the protection of the pass. A quick count showed at least fifty of them. They were cautiously approaching the sentries' position, riding low in their saddles looking for the source of the gunfire.

Jack picked another target, a fat officer with a plumed hat, and fired again. The shot missed. He quickly fired again and the bullet struck the man in the arm and he tumbled off his horse. Some of the men turned their horses and rode away in fear. Others quickly dismounted, diving to find cover near the rails. One brave soul crawled up to the officer and began dragging him back to the rail embankment.

This time the location of the sniping was recognized and the rebels began firing sporadically back at his position. The shots were inaccurate due to the distance and with the setting sun in their eyes. With the minie balls going over his head, Jack rolled into the forest and lined up his Colt rifle again. He fired at a sergeant moving forward on his knees to get a well-aimed shot. The man fell over dead, hit squarely in the forehead.

Jack crawled further into the underbrush to begin the tortuously slow method of reloading his rifle. Once he had disappeared into the woods, the number of gunshots in his direction began to diminish. His heart was pounding hard in his ears, but he smiled to himself at the thought of his own audacity. Everything was going to plan so far – if only Ellsworth would show up in time to save them from being overwhelmed by a cavalry charge.

Some of the rebels began to creep forward cautiously, using what little cover they could find along the rails embankment. Others jumped up and crashed into the woods to gain further cover; a boulder here, a bush there. A few of the soldiers had mounted up again and looked to join in the progress towards Jack's position.

This group of rebels made it some forty yards before Ezra opened fire with his Colt rifle. Though he did not have the accuracy of a scope, two of the leading soldiers on foot went down, screaming in pain. Chaos reigned as horses wheeled about. Several wild shots were fired at this new threat. Ezra quickly stood up, ran, and disappeared into the darkening forest with a smattering of lead following close behind him.

Jack stuck the rifle out through the clump of bushes he was hiding in. He sighted down the scope and fired another round. The fifty-six caliber minie ball cracked in the evening air and struck a horseback rider in the chest.

With this new attack, the approaching party was forced to ignore Ezra's escape. Jack saw them once again return their interest to his source of gunfire. He took careful aim, fired again and hit the next lead man who was on foot. As Jack watched, the man went down. The detective then rolled to his right and crawled away from his hiding spot into another.

The men on foot dropped to the ground and began returning slow steady fire, aiming where they last saw the muzzle flashes. Their aim was erratic with the lead balls tearing through leaves and branches of the detective's last location. As the firing continued, the rebel soldiers continued their cautious move forward along the side of the rail embankment.

Having crawled to another location, Jack kept low as he turned to watch the disorganized group of soldiers. The light of the valley dappled over them in the growing darkness; their movements were like shapes in the trees, their gray wool back blending into the shadows. They appeared to be over their sudden shock of attack and were attempting to organize a systematic response.

Towards the pass, the remaining twenty or so soldiers were mounted up and were checking the loads in their pistols. It looked if they were readying to charge his position and beat the bushes until they found where he was hiding out. Jack frowned to himself and put his Starr pistol out on the ground to rest next to him. It looked as if the rebels were too close for him to have the chance to reload his rifle. He slid the rifle out slowly from his hiding spot and looked down the long scope again. He fired over the prone soldiers and hit one of the cavalrymen in the rear.

The man slumped over. The rest of the men immediately kicked their spurs and began to charge forward. They whooped loudly in the air, some waving their sabers high in the air. As they saw their compatriots charge, the other soldiers jumped out of the way and shouted them onwards.

Jack fired again and a lead horse in the pack whinnied and stumbled. There was a scream of terror as the rear horses collided into the wounded animal. Several men fell but the loosely formed charge continued on. In haste, Jack fired his last remaining cylinder but couldn't tell if the bullet had struck home. He then picked up the Starr and waited for the range to close.

There was a sudden crash of gunfire. Jack saw it was Ezra shooting his two Colt Navy pistols at the horsemen as they galloped by. He was standing up and firing each round as fast as he could pull the trigger. It was a foolish move that opened him up to being easily hit, but it bought some further time. His hail of bullets tore through the flank of the horsemen, and several more soldiers and horses crashed to the ground. The attack was quickly answered by the men on foot and the black man went down, falling on the side of the rails. Jack could not tell if his friend was injured or not, nor could he rush over to find out, for he had his own pressing concerns.

The horses reared up near to his location and the remaining men jumped off to start searching through the dense woods. By Jack's quick count there were some dozen enemies left. They walked stiffly and held their sabers and pistols at the ready.

Sweat had pooled from the detective's hat band into his eyebrows, salt stinging the creases of his eyes. He wiped his forehead and looked back west down the rails. He couldn't see any Federal cavalry riding to the rescue. This looked like a good place as any other to die, so he looked down the sight of his Starr pistol at the nearest soldier and squeezed the trigger. He missed. The rebels all dropped to the ground to find cover amongst the trees and began to return fire at his position. The lead balls hummed through the air and smacked the trees around him.

Covering his head with one arm, the detective stayed low in the underbrush, taking a shot at an approaching rebel soldier. The man flung his arms up in the air and rolled on his side with a howl. At once the return fire grew in intensity as the soldiers shot at where they saw the rising cloud of their attacker's black powder smoke. Some shots were so close that clods of earth flew up near Jack, hitting his leg with grass and dirt. He hugged the ground as tightly as he could. Over the sound of the gunfire, he could just hear the hard drumming of his own heart. Panic gripped him, and he fought the urge to get up and flee from the spot.

The drumming sound grew louder and Jack then realized it was the sound of horses galloping. He twisted his neck around and saw it was Ellsworth, leading the column in a desperate charge. They had their guns and swords drawn high – shouting a battle cry as they went.

The rebels began firing back but were overwhelmed by the mass of Federal troops. Horses trampled the prone men and swept forward. The atmosphere around Jack changed immediately; gunfire, smoke and chaos filled the air as he shouted in relief. He had been saved and just in time.

Jack joined in the gunfire towards the fragmentary remains of the rebel troops. Now they were running away into the woods as fast as they could. He pushed himself off the ground and looked as the charge finished at the pass. It was a rout and there was a littered trail of a score of rebels and a few unlucky federal troops left behind. The rest of the enemy had vanished in fear. He took a deep breath, trying to dispel the fear that had taken over.

Seeing Ellsworth and the column wheel around ahead, Jack gave them a friendly wave with his hat. He then ran towards where he last saw Ezra standing. His friend was there, sitting with his back against a tree, holding a handkerchief to a bloody forehead. He looked up at Jack and gave him an unconcerned smile.

"Are you hit?" Jack asked, fearing for his partner's life.

Pulling his hand away, Ezra's forehead was cut open and a trickle of blood dripped onto his face. He said, "With all that lead going into the trees, I got hit in the head with a wood splinter. At first I thought I was dead, but it turned out to be just a scratch."

"I saw what you did, and I wanted to thank you. You are lucky to be alive."

"I don't feel so lucky. I'll get a scar from this."

"Don't worry; it will be something to brag about to the girls."

Ezra laughed and said, "I sure got them, didn't I?"

"You're a fool, but I thank you. You bought the both of us a little more time."

His partner merely shrugged his shoulders.

Jack shook his head in disbelief. "I can take care of myself you know – there's no reason to throw away your life on my account."

"And so you keep on telling me." His friend's face was creased in a rueful smile.

Ellsworth rode up, his face flushed with heat and excitement. He surveyed the carnage around them and said, "We were riding and heard the shooting up ahead. It sounded like we were missing out a good fight. The men were all eager to help."

"I'm glad you came – it was a near enough thing." Jack was thankful for the timely saving of his life. Still, his past feelings were in conflict - how could he be so grateful to a man he once loathed? Perhaps there was some good in this captain.

"The men were scared, but they were good weren't they?" Ezra asked with some pride.

Jack looked past the captain to the milling cavalrymen. Some looked sick to their stomachs while others were shouting with triumph. The gloom of the evening could not hide their happiness of still being alive.

The detective said, "Captain, I suggest we ride out of here as soon as we can."

"What about my dead?"

"I'm afraid we'll have to leave them for the rebels – I'm sure they will give them a good Christian burial."

With a proud grin on his face, Ellsworth twisted over to look back at his men. "They deserve a rest after such bravery."

"That may be, but every rebel who can run, ride, or walk is going to be looking for us now. This may have been just a smaller part of a larger force waiting for us ahead. They knew that we would have to ride this way eventually and now they know where we are. The column has to ride a little further on and find a place to hide before we can even think of resting."

"Very well, Mister Blackwood, you have steered us right so far. My men will be ready to ride as soon as you're ready to go."

"By the way I wanted to thank you again for saving our hides," Jack said. "There wasn't much left that we could do if you hadn't shown up in the nick of time."

Ellsworth smiled. "If you hadn't gone on ahead to scout, we all could have been ambushed by these damn rebels." He then gave his horse a kick, rode away, and began ordering the men to line up and prepare to leave.

Ezra looked expectantly at Jack to speak.

The detective said, "More than ever, Ezra, I don't know what to make of him."

Chapter 21

Evening came, and the cool night was a welcome relief from the blazing sun of the day. Mosquitoes hummed busily about, and the sound of crickets droned heavily in the background. Ellsworth's column of cavalry had wound its way past the Thoroughfare Gap and struck north, away from the rail line. They were headed towards Bull Run Creek which they would have to cross before getting to Centreville. After the tumultuous day, the soldiers were becoming tired and careless. They chattered noisily amongst themselves, each story of battle becoming more boastful with every telling.

"Have the men be quiet for a little longer," Jack warned Ellsworth.

"They are just excited with being alive," the captain said proudly.

"There's plenty more chances to die if we aren't careful. Tell them that we aren't safe until we pass through the rebel lines. Make sure they keep close together so no one is lost in the dark. We have a long ride ahead of us, and I don't want to lose anyone. Send scouts ahead, but make sure they don't go too far. I don't want to send out a search party for them if they get lost."

"At your command," Ellsworth grumbled sleepily. He gave the order and a sergeant travelled down the column to force quiet among the troops. Two men galloped ahead on the trail with orders to return if any trouble was spotted.

"How much longer will we be riding?" Ezra asked impatiently.

"Until we get there," his partner growled back. "Once we hit the creek, we'll ride north of it until we get to Centreville." He was tired too, and didn't feel like enforcing all this order, but it was his only chance of staying alive. He stretched a little, and moved his hat back further on his head. "I just hope that McDowell has gotten there by now, or we'll be running into a rebel picket soon enough."

"General McDowell will be there," Ellsworth said confidently. "Then he can give Beauregard a good thrashing. These rebels don't seem so tough to me."

"We were lucky. The one thing I learned in the army is that a battle never goes as planned. I hope your McDowell realizes that."

In the gloom, the captain nodded and said, "Rumor is that he is a careful man but is well-regarded. Tell me: how long were you in the army?" One could hear the smile in his voice.

"Just long enough to know I never want to go back."

Ezra snorted and said, "I wouldn't have guessed it today. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

"I agree with your friend," the captain added. "You handled yourself well today. The division would be proud if you came and joined us for the rest of this war. I'm sure it will be over with soon enough, so you might as well enjoy it while you can."

Jack snorted. "Gentlemen, I've seen enough bloodshed and dying to last me a lifetime. We came for one reason only, to find the murderer of Lieutenant Folks. It had nothing to do with my patriotism or offering my army experience to your colonel. You do know, Ellsworth, we're here so we can keep an eye on you." He could see that his words had an immediate effect on the captain.

"I guessed as much," Ellsworth answered slowly. The smile was gone. "But I can tell you here and now that I never murdered those men. I've never killed or hurt anyone in anger until today."

"I wouldn't have believed you until you came and saved us today," Ezra said honestly.

Ellsworth turned to look at him, momentarily speechless. He started to speak, but was cut off by Jack.

The detective asked, "Why then don't you come clean with us for once and tell us what you do know about this whole situation? I know it was you in that apartment with those grisly mementos. What did you say to Private Wright the night he was killed?"

Ellsworth's voice became formal and he said, "At this moment I would rather not discuss my role in the matter. I can only assure you again that I did not kill anyone. I stake the honor of the division on my words."

"Damn your pride, man," Jack said with his voice raised, not heeding his own orders to keep quiet. "Damn the division and your fear of scandal. If you don't tell us what you know then I can only assume that you are the killer." He waited for the stunned the captain to respond and could hear several of the soldiers behind them begin to murmur in disbelief.

"Now hold on," Ezra said nervously, his hand up in an attempt to calm his friend. "Don't go throwing out any accusations without hearing him out."

"I'm giving him that chance right now," Jack replied angrily, his voice still raised.

Ellsworth said with even tones. "I give you my word that once I'm sure of my own findings, you will be the first to know. For now you will just have to trust me. And with that final word I consider the matter closed." He kicked his horse forward and rode ahead.

"Keep quiet back there," Jack snapped crossly at the men behind him. His tired shoulders drooped, and he wrapped himself in his own thoughts, as if they were a blanket. They rode into the blackness of the night. He now knew Ellsworth couldn't be the murderer but wondered who the captain was protecting. Was it Riley? Had that young man more secrets than just sleeping with a whore, and had he come up with the story to throw him off the scent? What did Ellsworth know, and why hadn't he reported his findings to Colonel Franklin?

An hour later, the quiet mumbling of the men stopped as a horseman rode towards them. It was a returning scout who stopped to talk to Ellsworth. The two of them had some low whispered words. Jack rode up to meet them.

"Seems like there is a bit of trouble ahead," Ellsworth said flatly to the detective.

The scout added, "Yes, sir. We found a picket up ahead. He's standing on the side of the trail smoking his pipe."

"How many?" Jack asked with concern.

"Just one of them from what we could see. We would have run right into him if we hadn't smelled his tobacco in the air. I came back as quickly as I could while leaving Thomas behind to watch."

Ellsworth asked, "What do you suggest we do, Mister Blackwood? Ride him down?"

"Nah, that will stir up a hornet's nest. His regiment could be nearby, and if he gave a warning shot, we would all be in trouble. I suggest we bluff him - we ride on by like we're supposed to be there. It's dark enough that they won't be able to see the color of your uniforms."

"If you say so," the captain said skeptically. Then he gave the necessary orders. The men stayed quiet as they proceeded along the trail.

Jack could soon smell the tobacco. He saw the other scout on the side of the trail. He motioned for the man to ride behind him.

The column rode a few more yards before a voice shouted out, "Who goes there?" There was a click of a musket hammer being drawn back.

Jack tried out his best southern drawl and replied, "1st North Carolina Cavalry." In the gloom he could see a roughly-dressed rebel standing on the trail with his rifle at the ready.

"What is your business here?" the soldier called out as he looked over the long line of horsemen.

"We're on a special mission for General Beauregard."

"What kind of mission would require so many men?" The voice was tinged with suspicion.

Still using his drawl, Jack explained: "Word is that McDowell is on the other side of the creek." He pointed then looked back at the private. "We were sent this away to see if it is true. I have so many men here so we can put a good scare into them. We plan to do a little shooting and stop 'em from having a good night's sleep."

After a tense pause, the rebel soldier lowered his rifle and let out a laugh. "Well, I haven't had a good night's sleep in a long while. I guess those Yanks don't deserve one either."

"We'll be passing back this way soon enough, so pass the word onto the next man on watch."

"I will at that."

"Oh and Private, put out that pipe of yours. You can smell it a mile away."

"Sorry, sir - guess I wasn't thinking."

Riding by, Jack saw the private give him a salute and move to the side of the trail to let the column pass. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned as he rode and watched to make sure that no one gave the game away. Soon enough they were past the picket and riding free into what should have been Union-controlled territory.

It was a long night with only a few stops to feed and water the horses. In the early morning the exhausted men and horses stumbled to the very edges of Centreville. The rising sun gleamed weakly in the east while everyone stretched and yawned. The ranging scouts had come back and reported that a large army encampment was in place at the town.

Jack motioned for the column to stop. The horses bunched up behind him as the column ground to a halt. With his field glasses he could see the dim embers of hundreds of campfires that had not been tended recently. Tired sentries in Federal blue walked back and forth across, slapping their arms together to stay warm.

Ellsworth had stopped ahead and swept the town with his own set of glasses.

Jack rode up next to him and was greeted with a quick hard stare from Ellsworth who then returned to examining the encampment. "We made it," the captain commented. "Those are Union soldiers all right."

Jack was beginning to not like Ellsworth again and said, "It's not over yet, captain. McDowell still has a battle to win."

With the captain's order, the column went on and surprised the sleepy-eyed sentries. Once recognized, they allowed them to pass onto the road leading into town. There they saw groups of soldiers sprawled on the ground along the road, sleeping in the ditch and clustered together to stay warm in the morning chill. After getting some confused directions, the column threaded its way towards a large livery barn where they were told their division was stationed.

Ferran was standing at the entrance of the barn doing guard duty. His face lit up as he saw the column approach. He gave a shout and waved his arms in happiness. He ran forward to meet them and said, "I didn't think I would see any of you alive ever again. We've all been most worried, especially the colonel."

Jack gave him an exhausted salute and pulled himself off of his tired mare. Along with the rest of the column, he led her by the bridle to be fed and watered by the awoken ensigns. As Ferran followed, the detective said, "I guess we're all a little tired right now. It's been a long trip, Corporal."

Ezra was already leaning against the barn wall and gave a stretch of his arms before sitting down on the ground to rest. "And dangerous too," he added.

Jack joined his friend next to the barn and sat down to stretch his legs. He watched Ferran excitedly wave some fellows over to talk when the exhaustion hit. It seemed almost too much effort to sit up straight, and his arms ached as he stretched. Yesterday had been long, exciting, and dangerous. On top of that, he knew that the colonel would want to hear a report of their actions.

The corporal interrupted his thoughts by asking, "We've just got here late last night and we're all waiting for some the battle to start. We were jealous that the captain and you got to do something exciting. Some of the boys want to hear what happened to you." A group of men gathered around and waited expectantly for the detective to speak.

Jack waved them away tiredly. "Go on and leave me alone for a while. I gotta get some rest now."

"But sir, we've had a boring march up here. Most of the infantry just slept on the side of the road or picked blueberries. We had to ride up and down the column to round up stragglers while General Tyler and his cavalry got to ride down the rebel pickets at Fairfax. His boys are strutting around like they won the whole war. You gotta tell us something of what you did out there."

Jack gave a glance to Ezra who had begun to lightly snore and then he shot Ferran a grin. "Look, I know how you feel. I'll answer your questions in another hour or so – but let me get a little sleep first. Go see the men who were there with us. They can tell you everything you need to know."

The men around the corporal grumbled and walked away to find someone else who would talk to them.

Ferran said, "Fine, but I'll want to hear your side of the story no matter what." With those words he walked sulkily away to join his friends.

Shutting his eyes, Jack leaned heavily against the barn wall and listened lazily to the sounds of the camp as men woke up around them. Fires were being built to make coffee and the summer heat was already beginning to bake the hardened ground. A few horses galloped by and a number of men began to shout orders. Jack sat there just feeling content to be alive and began to think of Anna. Would she be there when he came back or would she have gone back to New York? He didn't like the idea of her leaving with Charles Folks, but what could he do to persuade her to stay in Washington? The only thing he could offer her was an apartment above a tailor's shop and a ragged flow of income. But still, it might be worth the effort to try. He already missed the touch of her soft white skin, and the way that long black hair had rested on the pillow.

Even with the surrounding noise, Jack found himself falling asleep. He began to dream of that dark alleyway leading to that apartment. He remembered the bloody trophies and the sound of running footsteps. Dimly he heard a voice calling out his name, it came through the veils of sleep and he felt a heavy kick on his feet. Drowsily opening his eyes, he looked up to see Ellsworth standing above him.

"The colonel wishes to speak to you – right now."

"Fine," Jack replied sleepily as he pushed himself up from the ground. He rubbed his dry, sleep-encrusted eyes and staggered behind the captain, trying to gather his wits. Walking through the crowded encampment, they soon came to a large command tent that had been setup for the colonel. He was studying a map at large table covered with papers.

Franklin shook Jack's hand and said, "It's good to see you again, Mister Blackwood. I'm proud of what you and Captain Ellsworth were able to accomplish. I had misgivings about the whole operation, and I seriously doubted whether you would ever come back. But these papers here certainly prove that such raids are most important to the gathering of intelligence."

"It was nothing," Jack said with a shrug.

"The captain here filled me in on where you went." Franklin traced their route through the map. "It is most remarkable how you ambushed those couriers and made your escape. God willing, these papers will inform McDowell of the enemy's intentions. They will allow him to make the correct decisions on the upcoming battle."

"Why isn't the army moving out now?" Jack asked. In all honesty he was surprised by that attitude of this General McDowell. The whole army should have been on the march by now instead of sitting around. "The longer we wait here, the more men that Johnston can move to this location."

"I will tell the general your concerns. Right now he's trying to get the lay of the land before he deploys his forces. The enemy knows the ground while we are hampered with piecemeal information."

"You tell the general that he must hurry and move now. It's best to attack before the enemy can strengthen its positions. Those papers we captured are evidence enough of Beauregard's intentions."

"I will tell you that McDowell has just sent General Tyler to pass the right of the rebels." He pointed to Blackburn's Ford on the map. "Once he has breached their line, the rest of us will follow and push them all the way back to Richmond."

"I pray that you are right," Jack said laconically.

"If we have further needs of your services, I will have you summoned. But for now consider your part of this war finished." It was a dismissal.

Jack gave a short salute and walked back to the barn feeling bone-weary. He was surprised a bit at being let go by the colonel, but also relieved. He shuffled his way back to the barn. Most of the soldiers were lying about lazily with nothing to do, while others were moving ammunition and foodstuffs.

Ezra was awake when he arrived, but still looked exhausted. With a lazy wave, he greeted Jack. "What are we going to do now that we got here?"

"Sit and watch these two blasted armies get shot to pieces. There's nothing else for us to do right now, so let's try to find ourselves some breakfast."

Chapter 22

Afternoon came and Jack and Ezra were still sitting, resting by the side of the barn, busy watching the soldiers. They had lit a fire and were making coffee from the meager rations they had gotten. To their surprise, Major Hall came walking up. He smiled when he saw them and shook both of their hands. Even with the withering heat, he was crisply dressed. Jack wondered how he kept his uniform so clean.

"Word has gotten around the camp about you," the major said, his face beaming.

"I hope it was something good," Ezra commented dryly.

"You two shouldn't be so withdrawn. There are a few officers would like to meet the pair that rode a hundred men through enemy-controlled territory and managed to come back in one piece. They would like to know how you did it."

"Sheer luck," Jack said with a shrug.

Hall laughed and crouched down next to them. He pulled out a small silver flask, took a pull from it, and passed it over to Ezra. "Now why don't we have a little drink? I have something to propose to the two of you."

Ezra took a long time before passing the flask over to his partner.

Jack sniffed at it and smelled whiskey. He happily lifted the flask to his lips. The warm liquor burned in his mouth. It felt good. "Thank you, Major. I can't tell you how much I wanted a sip of the good stuff." He handed the flask back and said, "Now what exactly do you want to ask of us?"

"Well, McDowell is busy planning his attack. I'm going to be part of the big offensive against the enemy flank. I would appreciate a word of advice from you."

They were interrupted was a sudden sound of thunder in the distance and everyone stopped to listen. It was scattered cannon fire coming from afar. A few men cheered and began to talk excitedly about the battle ahead. Ezra looked apprehensively at Jack, who just raised an eyebrow and continued to listen to the faraway noise. The major's face turned pale. Hall looked distinctly nervous with the idea of marching into war.

"What were you saying, Major?" the detective asked. .

"Ah, yes. McDowell wants me to be there as his eyes and ears – attach myself back to the 5th Infantry as the attack is made. I was wondering if you have any words of wisdom for me."

The thundering of the cannons subsided and was replaced by distant rifle shots that sounded like breaking twigs. The chattering of the camp soldiers decreased as they grew used to the sound, but there was still a hum of tense excitement in the air.

"I'm sure you will do alright out there – just reassure the soldiers and have them fight as hard as they can. They will follow a man who will lead them."

"You really have no further advice? I hate to admit this to any man, but I fear losing my life over such a silly political issue."

Jack gave a gentle laugh and said, "Pardon me, Major, but there's not much else I can tell you. We are all victims of the cruel hand of fate. If it's your time to go, then you just have to make the best of it. We all have our own way of dealing with fear." He motioned to the flask in Hall's hand. "I suggest you save some of that before you go into battle. It won't help too much, but it can't hurt if you get hit."

The major nodded slowly and slipped the flask back into his breast pocket. He stood up, his face pale with worry, and his shoulders set squarely.

A rider came from the south, galloping hard towards the command tent of General MacDowell. All eyes turned and watched the rider.

At the sight of this, Hall's mind seemed to return to performing his duty. His voice was calm as he bid them farewell. "I had better get going, Mister Blackwood. That looks to be a messenger from General Tyler."

Jack was still tired enough to be watching instead of doing things. After the shared whiskey and their talk, he felt he should have stood up in deference as the major left; instead he nodded and watched the retreating back

Ferran soon came by and watched as Jack poked at the fire. "Have you heard the news?" he asked. "There was a messenger from General Tyler's command. Ellsworth just told me he was there at General McDowell's tent with the colonel. It seems that Tyler's probing on the southeast side of the flank has been repulsed. There were a few men wounded in the skirmish, and they will return to camp soon."

Jack looked up and said resignedly, "The General is throwing away his time. He had better attack now while he can – there's no point waiting around here anymore."

The corporal shrugged. "Well, I'll take your word on that. But MacDowell is a favorite of old General Scott and we got here in one piece so far."

Jack pointed at the mass of men looking nervously towards the distant sound of battle. "I can see that those three-monthers aren't so ready to fight now." A number of soldiers were only signed up for three months, and their time was ending within the week. Such inexperienced troops could not be counted on to hold steady in the face of battle.

"Who can blame them?" Ezra interjected. "War looks like an adventure until you get in the middle of it."

Ferran laughed, the smile lighting up his tired features. "I'm afraid I have to agree with you, Ezra. I'd rather be back at my town of Albany than be here. Now even mucking out stables sounds better than marching to me. But don't worry, these men will fight when the time comes. It sounds like we did good enough with you up there at the Thoroughfare Gap."

"Good enough to keep me alive," Jack admitted. "I was worried that Captain Ellsworth would never come to save us."

"Well then, there's nothing to worry about." The corporal's tone became optimistic. "I'm sure we'll march out tomorrow and be done with it all. Those rebels won't be able to hold up against us."

"I hope you're right."

Ferran's news was confirmed when General Tyler later returned to the encampment with his men lagging behind. While the soldiers gathered around to hear any news of the action, the ambulance wagons came with the wounded aboard. Men murmured and pointed as the broken and bleeding soldiers passed by. It was a sullen camp that bedded down later that night.

It turned out that Ferran was wrong about the timing of the attack, and most of the soldiers stayed around Centreville the next day. Men were getting bored, and Jack noticed that the inexperienced men were becoming more morose with each passing hour. MacDowell rounded up a few cavalry escorts and took off for the day. The expectation of his return caused rumors to fly through the ranks as everyone expected to march within the hour. Ferran stopped by and discussed what he had heard, but nothing truly newsworthy was to be learned. In a few hours, MacDowell returned with his retinue and disappeared into his command tent without a word.

The next day expectations were high, but yet again MacDowell left the camp to scout ahead. Supply wagons were brought forward and distributed food and ammunition amongst the soldiers. Jack and Ezra drew some stocks from the division's supply and spent the day wandering about the camp to pass time. They saw little of the colonel or any of the other officers of the 27th.

Later, when they returned to their makeshift camp, Ferran ran up excitedly to share the news. "Word is we're finally going to move out and make our attack tomorrow."

"It's about time," Ezra replied lazily as he began making their supper.

"Yeah, the rest of the army is going to teach those rebels a lesson. I wish I could go with them."

"What do you mean?" Jack asked. "Aren't you going?"

"I'm afraid our division has been ordered to hold back and protect Centreville. The boys are all disappointed, but I told them that they're bound to call us up if they needed any cavalry. I'm sure they will need us once McDowell runs into trouble."

Jack shrugged and sat down on the ground again and tipped his hat on his head to keep the sun out. "I guess we'll be waiting here some more then. How are those beans coming, Ezra?"

The soldiers of the encampment were busy gathering equipment, cleaning guns, and readying the horses to haul the cannons. Others began marching off to their rallying point, while other men nervously checked and re-checked their muskets. It was a restless camp that went to bed early that night – each man chattering endlessly to his friends with his own courageous words.

Jack, who normally was not bothered by second guessing or self-recrimination, could not sleep that night. It had cooled a bit in the evening, and the small breeze stirred the trees nearby. It made an odd pattern of noise, and did not soothe him. He tossed and turned, thinking of the case, which was not really nearer resolution than when they had left Washington. He consoled himself by thinking that at least there had been no further murders. At least that part of his plan had gone right. Though Ezra would have come anyway, he could have given him a choice to stay behind. He thought about his suspicions of Ellsworth's behavior and how that had all melted in the sun of some warm words and apparent friendship. And when his thoughts wandered away from the case, they turned to the action he had seen in the days before, and might see in the day ahead.

It was in the early morning hours when the men were awakened by sergeants barking out orders. The sun had not even risen yet. Ellsworth strode over and found Jack and Ezra awake.

"I'm glad to see you two awake," the captain said. "The colonel had a word with General McDowell, and he has gotten permission for us to view the battle. I was wondering if you would care to join us."

"I wasn't planning on it, but I wouldn't mind going."

Ezra looked at his partner with surprise and said, "I think it would be safer back here."

"Don't worry, Ezra, we won't be in the battle. We'll just watch from a safe distance."

Ellsworth said, "It would be my pleasure, Mister Blackwood. I heard that this column will be marching on the right flank that will be striking straight towards Manassas. There will be some diversions to draw away Beauregard from our attack. It's bound to be a good fight."

Jack yawned and said, "Well then, Captain, we'll go along with you just to watch. It beats waiting here."

"Good. The rest of the division will be staying here for now to guard the supply wagons. You best get your mounts ready to go, and we'll move out soon to follow the column."

They went to the paddock to get their horses. Jack patted the side of his mare and pulled himself up on the saddle. He said to his partner, "Don't you worry, Ezra, these types of fights have little bloodshed. Just a few men shooting at each other while the other side ducks for cover. It'll be over before you know it."

"I'm not worried about the shooting – I just want to be far enough so a cannon ball doesn't take my head off."

Jack laughed. "Well now, I never had the opportunity to be shot at by cannon. But there is a first time for everything."

They rode their horses up and met the already saddled Franklin and Ellsworth. Both looked a little pale but in control of their emotions.

Franklin said in even tones, "Ah, Mister Blackwood, I'm glad you could join us this morning. I received permission from McDowell to witness his victory. But you must understand that we've been told to guard the supplies, so I won't be able to stay on the battlefield for long. I tried to persuade the general that we would be better suited to scout and harass the enemy, but he wouldn't hear of it. He told me this battle is a job for infantry."

"The general is a fool then," Jack disagreed.

"That may be, but I'm in no position to criticize him. The general is a fine man and well-learned in military matters." He added lamely in defense.

The soldiers in front of them began to gather in the lantern lit gloom. Sergeants shoved the men into ranks and shouted at them be quiet. The bleary-eyed men grumbled and started to form up haphazardly into a long marching column.

Jack watched the clumsy operation for a while before speaking. "If I can ask, Colonel, what exactly is the general's plan?"

"I think it's a good idea – there are going to be diversionary attacks by two more forces while the rest of us swing on the west side of the enemy flank. We'll attack where the rebels least expect it and roll up their entire line."

Jack just smiled benignly and said, "Every plan looks good on paper, but you never know how they will work until you try it out. If Beauregard falls for the ruse, then McDowell can shatter the right flank. If not, then he had better hope that the rebels will be slow to react to our movements. Speed is necessary to pull off any surprise – well, the little surprise we have left after staying here for two days."

It was a slow march in the darkness. A few officers tried to correct the sloppy column, but any tight formations quickly disintegrated in the confusion. No marching music dared be played and only the constant drum of feet could be heard along the Warrington Pike road heading west.

After a while, Ezra nervously said, "How much further do we have to go?"

"Just another hour before we reach Sudley Ford," Franklin replied.

But it was still longer than that before they reached the landmark. The column was running late and dawn was beginning to break along the eastern sky. The colonel took out his pocket watch, checked the time, and shook his head with disbelief. The column ahead was slowing down when it should have been marching faster.

As they got closer to the rendezvous past the bridge, the shattering sound of cannon and the distance crack of rifle shot could be heard to their left. Ezra looked nervously at Jack, who spurred his horse ahead to cross the ford. They passed through the road and came to a tilled field where rows of cannon were hastily being setup. With an order, confused regiments broke off from the column and began assembling on either side.

Rebel minie balls began peppering the ground ahead, the shots coming from the plumes of smoke on a small hill ahead of the assembling regiments. There two cannons were at work, discharging their iron shot onto the scattered Federal soldiers below. Jack pulled himself off his horse, and the others quickly followed suit. From his point of view, it seemed as if the artillery was aiming directly at them.

"Perhaps we should get the horses out of the way," the detective suggested hastily. "We'll just make good targets for them.

The colonel readily agreed, and together they led their mounts back deeper into the woods behind them. There the bridles were tied to a tree. The colonel then led the way as they returned to the forming lines of soldiers. The Union cannons began to fire back and rake the rebel held hill with shot. At this time the Federal regiments of soldiers were ordered to lie on the ground and watch as the artillery went to work. Round after round was fired. Jack had to hold his ears shut from the loud crescendo of fire.

The sound was too intense, so at the colonel's prompting they decided to walk further away to the west. They went down the line and came to an infantry regiment waiting prone in the field. The major there walked confidently past his men and repeated consoling words. He saw the colonel and gave a quick salute before returning to his duties. It was Hall and his face was pale, but he kept his posture erect and looked impassively on as cannonballs ricocheted across the field.

With a wave to the major, Jack held up his field glasses and looked at the tree-lined hill as it was bombarded with shell and shot. Protected from any direct cannon shot, the rebels seemed to be lying in wait on the other side of the incline. Random rebel musket fire continued to come from hidden skirmishers in the woods to the side. Though the range was great, a number of soldiers in front of them were wounded and quickly carried away by members of the regimental band.

After another soldier nearby was hit, Ellsworth grabbed Franklin's arm and pulled him roughly down to the mossy earth. "Perhaps we should wait down here for a moment, sir," he shouted above the noise. "There's no reason to make yourself a target."

The colonel nodded, his attention rapt on the scene in front of him. They all waited, lying in a low depression as the colonel nervously checked the time. Peering through his field glasses, Jack could see further rebel troops marching to the hill from the woods behind. At Hall's orders, the regiment ahead of them stood and began firing into the woods and reloading carefully as the sergeant called out with drill-like precision. A thick blanket of gunpowder smoke rose high above them, and then the detective could see no further.

This seemed to go on and on - the men reloading and firing, the thud of artillery, the cries of the wounded as they were pulled away from the lines. Jack looked at his partner, who was hugging the ground tightly. He patted him on the shoulder and looked to find Ellsworth. The captain was retching in some nearby bushes while the colonel looked impassively on at the battle in front of him.

Hall came unconcernedly over to them, walking slowly as if it was just another Sunday stroll. He saluted Franklin and said, "Sir, I was wondering if you gentlemen would care to accompany us further along. We are going to push those rebels off the hill."

Ezra looked up the major and shook his head as if wondering how someone could act to unconcerned.

The colonel hastily said, "I'm afraid I can't join you, Major. I really must return to camp. I have to be ready to go back to Centreville as my duty requires. However Ellsworth here can stay and be my eyes and ears. He can ride back if there is any sign of danger to my position."

"Very well, sir," Hall replied flatly. "I will gladly have the good captain here come with me."

"Do I have to go with him, sir?" Ellsworth gulped. He took a drink from his canteen and his shaking hand caused half of it to splatter onto his woolen jacket. "I don't see why I am required to do such a task – after all I'm with the cavalry, not in the infantry."

Franklin shook his head. "No, go on and take the hill with the major. War is a young man's job. I will go back to Centreville and take command there. I expect you to be back with me soon enough."

Ellsworth saluted but gave Jack a look filled with misery.

"C'mon Ezra," the detective said. He pulled his friend off of his feet, and they all followed Hall as he returned to his men.

There the major shouted the orders for his men to move forward. Keeping their distance at a few paces, Jack, Ezra, and the captain fell in behind the marching line of men. Skirmishers were leading the regiment as it began to march slowly towards the hill. The flags were held high but did not wave in the windless heat of the day. The drum pounded harder, and the men began to march faster to the rhythm. A rebel cannon ball struck the ground and ricocheted right into the battalion, splattering the air with droplets of blood. Ezra looked sick as he walked past a line of torn corpses. Ellsworth spat into the ground as the rear sergeants pushed the lines of soldiers back together into a cohesive line.

Scattered rebel gunfire struck the broad front of Union soldiers, but each time the line reformed to fill the gaping holes. The wounded limped or crawled away while the dead lay in peace. Step after step, the men drew closer to the hill. Step by step, the soldiers of the Union began to die. There was a sudden ragged cheer and halfway up the battalion began running up the low hillside. The smoke cleared enough for Jack to see that the rebel line had broken and began retreating towards a much larger hill behind. The battalion stopped and formed up to fire. The order "Fire!" rang out, and a barrage of muskets hit a few unlucky targets, but the detective noticed that most of the Union soldiers fired too high to have any effect. The men paused and calmly reloaded. The clatter of hundreds of ramrods could be heard driving the charge and bullet into the barrel. Then the order was given to advance and within moments the battalion took the top of the hill.

The scattered rebels had fled on to the next hill beyond. For now the battalion was ordered to rest behind the crest of the captured hill, safe from enemy fire. Men slumped down to the ground and drank greedily from their canteens. Their faces were blackened from the paper cartridges that were bitten off to load their rifles. The sweat from their faces, mixed with the powder, left a grimy trail on their shirts and hair. Some smiled with the happiness of being alive while others looked dejectedly to the rear to see the trail of dead and wounded that they had left behind.

Ellsworth collapsed on the ground and began to sob.

The rebels now held the next hill where there was a simple wooden frame house that was painted white. A dense forest towards the back hid any signs of enemy movement. At the crest, Jack dropped on the grass of their newly gained position and swept his field glasses around the grounds of the house. He saw the area was occupied by a line of rebel troops holding low against a stone fence. Several rifles protruded from the windows of the house.

Hall crawled over to Jack and Ezra to look. His brass telescope stopped and he muttered, "That wall will be tough to crack."

"What do you aim to do next?" Jack asked.

"For now I wait. I took this hill as ordered and my men need to rest."

Chapter 23

Checking his watch, Jack was surprised that it was already past noon. The sun was high in the sky and the air was hot and still. From their vantage point on the hill and through the clouds of gun smoke, he could see the advancing lines of the Union army. Artillery was being brought forward to the newly captured positions. But instead of advancing on the fleeing rebels, the advance had stopped. The soldiers were waiting prone on the ground again.

"What are they doing?" Jack shouted at Hall.

The major merely shrugged his shoulder and continued to look through his telescope.

"If you ask me, they're giving the rebels a chance to regroup," Ezra commented, his voice barely hiding his contempt.

The newly setup Union cannon fire began bombarding the rebel position. The grapeshot and balls began burying themselves into the hill or bouncing into milling ranks of rebels. In the chaos, two teams of Federal artillery charged recklessly up the enemy controlled hill and began unlimbering their guns.

Jack shook his head in amazement and grunted, "Damn fools, they're too close!" And the artillerymen were at that – for rebel musket fire and sharpshooters began to rake the position with accurate shot. Soon the artillerymen were left dead near their cannons. Wounded horses limped away in terror.

Biting his lip, the detective watched as the battle see-sawed back and forth. Each side was desperate to hold the discarded cannons and several attempts were made to capture them. Each time the Union troops took control, they were repulsed by rebels hidden in the woods around the crest of the hill. The wounded Federals, who could walk, limped painfully to the back, while some were dragged away by their comrades. The Union attacks on the hill were piecemeal and each time a ragged battalion attacked, it was unsupported by artillery or other men. Close rebel artillery continued to rip holes in the lines of the Union soldiers. In fear of hitting their own men, Union cannons ineffectually fired behind the enemy lines.

"How much longer will this go on?" Ezra asked wearily. His voice as tinged with disgust. "How much longer can they stand the killing?"

Jack didn't answer but returned to sweeping the hill with his field glasses. He could see that the Union troops were continuing to try to outflank the hill, but were being beaten back by the thinning defensive positions of the rebels. Along the hills and contours of the land, soldiers hugged the ground to load and fire their guns. Corpses littered the once-tended fields, and he couldn't remember a time that he had seen so many dead in one place. Some were missing limbs while others were in contorted positions that one could never imagine the human body to be in.

Hall looked away from his glasses and looked at the sky above. "It will be our turn soon enough. If you wish to help us, I would gladly have you along. Every man will help take us closer to our objective." Without a further word he stood up, and began to order his men to get ready to move out. The soldiers looked tired and grudgingly left their protected spots from behind the hill to form into ranks.

"I know we've done our duty today," Hall shouted to his men. "But the rebels are still controlling that hill yonder. We pushed them off this hill and I know we will find the courage to do it again."

The men raised their muskets high in the air and gave their major a cheer. Hall gave a nod to the other officers, and the men began to march proudly down the hill. Once again, the regimental flag was held high, and the beat of the drum pounded through the air.

Ellsworth stayed on the ground, left behind, and watched the retreating back of the battalion.

"Are you coming with us?" Jack asked him. He saw that the captain's face was white with fear.

He answered slowly, his voice fighting for control. "When we fought on horseback against a few – it seemed like an honest fight. This is carnage! Carnage! I can't march into a slaughterhouse like that." His words were punctuated by the rumble of cannon.

"Don't worry," Jack said shortly. He looked away from the captain with disgust. He glanced across to Ezra, who nodded at him, anticipating any questions his friend might have had. He said to Ellsworth, "Stay here until I get back. Hall needs our help."

He nodded and buried his head in his hands. Jack knew it was one thing to be a coward, and another thing to show cowardice. He spat on the ground and ran with his partner to catch up to the battalion. They fell in behind the marching soldiers with Jack wishing he was somewhere else. His Colt rifle felt useless in his hands against the power of artillery. The line of soldiers marched past wounded men who pleaded painfully for help. A few men tried to take pity on the scores of hurt men lying in the fields, but they were soon pushed back into line by the ever-present sergeants.

The battalion did not appear to be noticed at first, so it was strangely peaceful in their part of the battlefield. But soon enough the rebel gunners had found a new target. A cannon ball thumped over the heads of the Union soldiers. The artillery fire then became heavier and bloody gashes began to rip into the marching line. The pace of the drummer increased in tempo as they reached the bottom of the hill held by the rebels.

Jack could hear Ezra swearing as the battalion began charging up the hill. The musket balls whistled in the air past them and broke into the ranks. Men fell and others limped along with minor wounds. The detective thought of his previous night of troubled sleep, and now he knew why his mind couldn't rest; it had been thinking of this. Ahead of the men, Hall was waving his sword and urging them forward. The stone wall loomed ahead. Jack could see a grim-faced line of rebels waiting for them.

With a final shout, the Union soldiers broke into a run and charged at the wall. Jack's heart pounded as he pushed Ezra down to the ground and fell down next to him. The rebels fired a massive volley of muskets which tore deeply at the battalion. A wail of agony broke the summer air as the wounded and dying collapsed to the ground. The bleeding men who could still stand began limping back down the hill, their expressions frozen with horror.

Raising his eyes, Jack saw Major Hall still standing, apparently untouched. He had reached the stone wall and stopped. Looking behind him, he could see that he was alone. He saluted the rebel soldiers and smartly turned before beginning a dignified retreat. His face was ashen, but he appeared unhurt by the volley that had broken his troops.

Ezra turned over and said shakily, "Damn them, Jack. Damn them." For they were surrounded by death and destruction - the blood was wet on the grass of the field and trickled slowly down the hill. The bodies of the dead were strewn chaotically around them, the corpses contorted with the final throes of pain.

Gaining his wits, Jack pulled Ezra up, and they began running down the hill. A few random shots peppered the ground around them. Major Hall and his men were gone, lost in the confusion. He could see many of the remaining soldiers all along the Union front began to walk off by ones and twos or in panicked groups. Several fear-stricken soldiers ran by Jack, carrying nothing but their canteens. Men were throwing away their rucksacks and rifles, retreating back towards Bull Run. Officers ordered the soldiers to return and form up, but the orders were ignored if they were even heard.

"This is looking bad," Jack shouted to his friend as they ran. "I think the whole army will soon break."

"Perhaps we should get going then," Ezra said, his voice ragged with exhaustion. He nervously rubbed his hand along the butt of the pistol. "Don't want to get trapped here and captured. Those rebels will be glad to sell me back to slavery if they did."

There was a sudden cry that could be heard behind them. It was the rebel troops crying an eerie wail as they charged down their hill. That was the final straw. The remaining Federal army wavered and then finally broke in a run. They fell back in chaotic panic, and men pushed each other out of the way as everyone ran for their lives. There wasn't any consideration for the wounded, just the chaos of retreat. Packs, guns, and canteens were left behind in a trail of debris.

"Let's hope no one has stolen our horses. I would think that Ellsworth would have had the sense to get out of here."

Ezra nodded and they began to head towards the woods where the horses had been hidden from sight. They passed a graying soldier who was walking aimlessly and sobbing. His teeth were black from tearing off the gunpowder cartridges, and tears cut a path down his ruddy skin. The few civilians nearby who had come to watch the battle, clambered back on their carriages and were desperately trying to leave through the press of soldiers. The chaos and noise spread as wholesale panic gripped the remaining army waiting in reserve. During this wretched retreat, the rebel artillery continued to fall heavily into the scattered remains of this once proud army.

Jack pushed past a group of retreating soldiers, and Ezra followed him into the woods. The trees on the outskirts had been splintered with shot, but deeper in they could see the horses were still tied and waiting. Above, cannon shot was scattering leaves and branches as the iron balls ripped through the branches of the forest.

Seeing Ellsworth's horse still there, Jack called out "Damn it, where are you man? It's time we leave this place."

There wasn't any response, so Jack was about to pull himself up on his mare when he saw that the captain's horse was untied. The horse's back and saddle were covered with blood. Looking at the ground, he saw a thin trail of blood that led deeper into the woods. Motioning for his partner to stay where he was, the detective took out his pistol and began following the splotches of red.

"Where are you going?" Ezra asked. He too had seen the blood on the saddle, but in his tone of voice, Jack could tell he preferred to leave now instead of rescuing any wayward captains.

"I'm going off to find the captain. Stay here and guard the horses. Shoot any bastards that try to take them from you." With those words, the detective disappeared into the dense undergrowth and followed the deer trail. He came to a small gully and saw the twisted body of Ellsworth. With much caution, he approached the body and saw it was a bloody mess. The tongue sickeningly lolled out. The corpse stared at him with the leer of death. The body had been roughly cut along the stomach with blood covering the entire front of the torn shirt. Flies swarmed heavily over the wound. With his foot, Jack rolled the body over and saw that the back of the head had been blown off.

He returned as quickly as he could. Ezra was standing there at the ready with his Colt Navy pistol out. "Any trouble?" Jack called out as he approached.

"Just a few soldiers wanting to discuss the use of our horses. I shot over their heads and sent them on their way."

"Good man. I'm afraid I found the captain."

"Where is he?"

Jack grabbed the bridle of his and Ellsworth's horse. "He's dead. Come on and I'll show you."

They led their horses through the plant-choked path to the gully. The atmosphere of the woods seemed unreal as they were deep in a grove of shaded trees being pummeled by artillery. They were surrounded by the sound of falling shells and screams of panic.

Ezra gasped as he saw the twisted body. "What happened to him?"

Jack replied, "He was murdered." He took a length of rope from his side saddle bag and pulled off the captain's bedroll. Together, they went to the body, leaving the horses behind. "By the blood on his saddle, it looks like the killer pulled the trigger at close range. He must have surprised Ellsworth. The captain would have died instantly from the wound in the back of his head."

"But why take him here?" Ezra asked. "It doesn't make any sense to drag a dead man all this way."

"The killer wasn't quite done yet." Jack turned the body over so it was facing up again.

Ezra had to quickly look away when he saw the gutted body. "I see. We're dealing with the case again."

"That's right. Now help me get the captain on his horse. Garrett will want to see this evidence. Let's hurry before the rebels start searching through the woods."

It was gruesome work as they pushed the corpse into the bedroll. They wrapped it tightly and bundled it with rope. Dragging it up the gully side to the waiting horses, they then lifted the body up with a grunt and folded it, stomach first, over Ellsworth's ride. Jack then tied the covered body to the saddle and then took the horse by the bridle. They started through the forest, away from the crash of the artillery, and towards the stone bridge over the Bull Run.

Breaking free of the forest, they saw that the bridge was choked with traffic as civilian and military wagons alike attempted to cross. Rebel cannon fire continued to fall into panicked dense mass of soldiers who were also trying to pass. Those on foot or horseback were using the fords around the bridge. Jack saw a carriage with a screaming woman surrounded by soldiers hanging desperately onto the sides. It was out of control and careened wildly into a ditch. There was also broken cannon rig on the side of the road and the team master was desperately trying to cut the horses free.

A group of soldiers began to crowd towards them, trying to grab at the bridles. Jack pulled out his pistol and shouted, "Any man who comes close will be shot!"

His warning was ignored, and the men ran towards him. Some still held their rifles, apparently unloaded since they were held like clubs. Ezra had drawn out his own Colt and fired into the ground before the men. The soldiers paused, giving the riders enough time to escape.

As they forded the stream, Jack looked behind him and saw that not all of the regiments of the Union army had crumbled. In the distance, a line of soldiers was still formed and were returning disciplined fire at the approaching rebels. This last line was allowing the fleeing troops to make it safely across the Bull Run and escape the rebel attack.

"I'll be happy to get home" Ezra announced as they left the chaos behind them. "I've had enough of this war for today."

Miss Keller's diary, resumed

July 21

Mister Blackwood has been gone for some time now. Things are different without him here. Mister Folks has also been busy, but when he is in the hotel we spend a lot of time together. Perhaps it is his grief that makes him act so openly toward me. It seems that these events have changed Mister Folks in many ways, and that I look at him differently as well.

I will be glad to see Jack again, especially after what we shared together. But I am not sure that it is anything I want to do with him again. I think it is just my vanity that wants to see him again - to know that I have some kind of power over him since I gave myself to him. Of course he is much older than me. He has probably known a lot of women in his life.

I wonder what kind of life Jack Blackwood leads. How often does he have work? What does he do for money if no one asks him for help? It must be a very uncertain sort of life but very exciting at times. I think he is a little foolish - look at how he was willing to join the Army, and possibly die, in order to find out who James's killer is. He must hold his own life at a strange value to be able to do that.

My thoughts have turned to Mister Blackwood again and again. Today there were the sounds of cannon in the distance. I almost wanted to go watch - there were some parties of people in the hotel who had gone to see the battle. It sounds so exciting and dangerous to be there but somewhat callous at the same time. To know that you can leave if you want to while the soldiers who are there have no choice but to follow their orders. The battle must have gone on for hours and hours. I could hear the sounds of it stopping and starting from time to time. To me, the cannon sounded like so much thunder.

I have a battle within my own heart about Jack. It bothers me to think about seeing him again, and what we will have to talk about. I keep going through conversations in my head that I could have with him when I see him next, and each possible one fills me with shame and distaste. I suppose the day will come eventually, and I will live through it all.

Chapter 24

As the night came, the sky started to grow cloudy. The falling rain only dispirited the fleeing mass of men even further. The rain was warm and wet, making the humidity thick in the air. The roads became a muddy mess, so Jack was happy to finally ride clear of the slow straggling lines of demoralized men headed back towards Washington.

They rode grimly on through the night and within a few hours came to the Long Bridge heading into the city. A thin line of soldiers were nervously guarding the bridge. They began immediately asking them questions of the rout. Apparently news of the disaster at Bull Run had already been telegraphed ahead. "Is it true that the Rebels are marching onto Washington?" one asked anxiously with a glance at the dead body of Ellsworth strapped to the horse.

Jack merely shrugged and replied, "There isn't much to stop them right now. But I reckon the Rebels are as tired as we are. Now let us pass, soldier."

The men stepped aside and watched them go. Their eyes were dark in the shadows of the lantern light.

"Do you think the city is in danger?" Ezra asked as he looked back at the demoralized soldiers pacing the bridge.

"I don't know. Either way it's not our worry. Right now we have to figure out who killed the captain here."

His partner sighed. The horses were so tired that it took some concentration to keep them going. The streets of Washington were deserted at this time of night, but lighted windows showed that the nervous population was desperately worried. A few called from their windows for news of the battle, but Jack and Ezra merely rode on without answering.

The City Watch was deserted except for a night guard who at once recognized the detective. He looked at the bound body with some distaste as Jack pulled it off the horse and let it drop roughly to the ground.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" the guard whined.

Jack took out a piece of paper and began scribbling out a short note. "Give this to Garrett in the morning. And I suggest you put this body somewhere the dogs won't get to it."

The guard nodded with a grimace as he took the note and began to drag the body by the feet into the building. Leaving him a single wave of his hand, Jack rode home with Ezra riding sleepily behind.

*

The detective slept in until he could sleep no further. The light from the window was gray, and he could hear the distant patter of rain against the panes of the window. He got up and pushed the curtains aside to look down to the street below. A few people ducked from building to building to stay out of the downpour while a group of children happily splashed in the dirty road. The sight of the children put a faint smile on his face. It was nice to see that something so normal. Yawning, Jack lit a cigarette and walked out of his room and into the kitchen.

Ezra had already prepared some coffee and was scrambling up some eggs in the skillet. He said, "I'm glad to see you are awake, Jack. It's nearly noon now. Breakfast is ready, and I'm hungry enough to eat all day. I didn't think I would ever sleep again after what we experienced yesterday."

Jack grunted and began to drink his coffee out of a chipped mug. He took a sip and said, "This tastes good - I forgot how bad army coffee can be."

His partner nodded and dished out some food for the both of them. They ate in silence, concentrating on the food in front. Jack paused only to refill their coffee and to light a cigarette. When he had finished, he leaned back into his chair and patted his stomach. "I thank you for the good meal, my friend. Well, we had better clean the place up before our guests arrive. I'll handle the dishes if you don't mind putting away our gear."

"Guests?" Ezra asked. "I thought only Garrett would be coming over in response to your note."

"I've asked him to bring Mister Folks and Miss Keller with him. There are some points of interest that we need to discuss, and it's better if they are here."

"Now that Ellsworth is dead, what can we discuss?"

"I'm not going to say anything more until they arrive." Jack left the kitchen, took the back stairs and was gone for an hour. On his way back, he brought up a bucket of water from the well outside. He then washed the dishes and put everything back in place. Ezra had gone to tidy up the office and change into some more suitable business attire.

While he was changing into a clean shirt, Jack heard a knock on the front door and the sound of his partner letting the visitors inside. He smiled to himself at the thought of seeing Anna again. He put on his best coat and brushed the dust off of his trousers. With one more glance in the mirror to check his hair, he went out to greet them. He noticed Anna first, for she was no longer wearing black, but was dressed in an expensive burgundy-colored dress. Her black hair was tied up high, and she wore a simple black velvet choker around her neck. She met his look with a shy glance and quickly returned to studying the rain splashing against the windows. Sitting next to her was Charles Folks, dressed in a tailored business suit. His lips were pursed tightly as he studied the office with obvious distaste.

Ezra was leaning against the wall and was conversing with Garrett in low tones.

The Captain of the Watch was standing by the window near the desk, looking out to the street below. In one of his hands there was a small cigar smoldering away. It seemed to be forgotten as he turned to greet Jack. "I got your message last night. As you requested I've brought along these two."

The detective bowed slightly to Anna and then went to sit behind his desk where he lit a cigarette. Studying their faces, he measured his words before saying, "I'm not sure what Henry here told you about Captain Ellsworth, but he was killed yesterday at Bull Run."

Folks raised an eyebrow and said, "Most dreadful, but I'm not sure why that is a concern of mine."

Jack looked pointedly back at him. "He was killed, Mister Folks, but not by enemy gunfire." He spoke slowly, as if he were a parent or teacher trying to teach a lesson. "For some time Ellsworth was our main suspect for the murder." He waited for someone to say something.

"Ellsworth certainly looked the part," Garrett finally commented.

"And his actions were enough to justify our suspicions." Ezra added.

Folks asked, "So now that Ellsworth is dead, you believe that death of my son has finally been avenged?"

"As Ezra pointed out, Mister Folks," Jack replied, "Ellsworth's actions were certainly suspicious. But that doesn't mean he was our man. As my partner here can attest, the captain we found the captain shot in the back of his skull and then dragged away from his horse into the bushes. That shot would have killed him instantly, but his killer then proceeded to hack away at the body with a sword." He noticed Anna biting her lip in discomfort. She truly was an innocent girl.

"So you think the killer is still out there?" Folks said with disappointment. "And what are your plans now?"

"I'm going to make sure he is brought to justice. That's why I invited you here." He stubbed out his cigarette and continued, fanning some of his smoke away. "The deaths of Wright, Quinn, and your son were not the result of some drunken soldierly brawl or from someone seeking revenge for some perceived wrong. They were the work of an unhinged individual who could only be satiated with the blood of those he thought guilty. Captain Ellsworth was killed because he knew too much and was a danger to this individual."

Garrett asked, "How can you be sure that the death of Ellsworth was not done at the hand of one of his own men? From what I heard he was not a popular fellow."

Ezra said, "I can answer that – the rest of the division was left behind at Centreville to guard the supply wagons. We saw no sign of them when we were at the battlefield as observers. We only left the captain behind when we proceeded onwards with Major Hall, who was given the task of charging the enemy."

"What Ezra said is true. The captain was afraid for his life and couldn't be persuaded to join us. I cannot blame him. The men of the division who were left at Centreville didn't have the chance to ride up in the lines, locate us in the chaos of the battle, and kill Ellsworth in that manner."

"Then who did?" Folks asked impatiently.

Anna brushed some fallen hair away from her eyes and patted Charles's hand as if to console him.

Jack noticed this but didn't say anything about it. He felt a pang of jealousy to see her touch someone else in that manner. He choked out, "All in good time, sir. My partner and I suspected Ellsworth from the start. It was easy to believe that such a man could be a brutal murderer. He was known to be a harsh disciplinarian, was unloved by his men, and had unsavory looks. He was a hard man for anyone to like. He was also deeply interested in this case from the start. He was appointed by Colonel Franklin to look into the first murder, and I do believe he gathered enough evidence to finally know who our killer is."

Garrett interrupted and said, "What kind of evidence?"

Jack could see that the Captain of the Watch was looking skeptical as ever. He replied, "When we followed Ellsworth the night that Wright was killed – he tried to escape down an alleyway that led into a dead end. When Ezra and I went down that alley, our quarry had disappeared. He had run into an apartment. When we entered it, there were some shots fired, and he managed to escape. Inside of that apartment there was a bookcase with items that could only have been taken from the murder scenes. At first I thought they were grotesque trophies of a sick mind, but then later I realized they were evidence collected by the captain as he investigated."

"And when did you realize this?" Folks asked.

"I would have sworn that Ellsworth killed Private Wright that very same night. But I was letting my anger and prejudices get the better of me." Jack could see his partner nod his head in agreement. He went on, "The timing would have been impossible for him to evade us and then kill Wright before we got there. And thanks to Henry here it was only after that realization that I believed Ellsworth was innocent. I was then determined to find out what he knew and protect him."

"Protect him? Why would he need protection?" the businessman asked with a bewildered stare.

"I believe Ellsworth knew all along who was doing the killings, but didn't have enough evidence to move forward with his accusations. He wanted us out of the way until he was sure he was on the right track. Too bad his actions seemed suspicious and only made us concentrate on him as our main suspect instead of looking for the real danger. When he was ordered on that dangerous mission to scout behind enemy lines, I volunteered to accompany him. I wanted to protect him from harm since he had no experience in proper cavalry tactics. I also wanted a chance to get him to open up to me and tell me what he knew. He almost did, but in the end he told us nothing."

Garrett lit a cigar and looked as if he was thinking of something far away.

Folks, on the other hand, looked displeased. He said, "Then you still don't know who did it?"

Jack shook his head. "I asked you to come here for a reason. I know the murderer is no other than Colonel Franklin."

Of the people in the room, only Anna looked surprised. Folks looked dumbfounded while Ezra raised his eyebrows as if waiting to hear more.

Garrett merely tapped the ashes of cigar and said, "And just how did you reach such a conclusion?"

Jack lit a cigarette and waved the match until the flame went out. "Who sent Ellsworth on that fruitless mission behind enemy lines? Who rode along with us to visit the battlefield and then promptly left? Who knew his own soldiers well enough to know of their whereabouts the nights they were killed? As they worked together day to day, Ellsworth and other officers provided Franklin with plenty of camp gossip. It was that information that the colonel used to select his victims."

"What information?" Folks asked.

"I can't pretend to understand Franklin's reasoning, but he picked men who were being unfaithful to their wives. As to why he did it, we had best ask him ourselves."

Garrett slowly nodded. He looked relieved, and said, "I do believe that Franklin should come in for some questioning. I had better go round up some of my men and ride over to the camp. His division should have returned by now."

"There's no need for you to go all that way, Henry," Jack said as he checked his beat-up pocket watch. "I sent him a message this morning for him to come visit me. And if I'm not mistaken, that's him coming up the stairs now." He then calmly pulled out his Starr from the drawer and put it on top of the desk. Everyone looked uncomfortable as the door opened and the man in question strode into the room.

Chapter 25

Franklin looked around the room as if taken aback by the number of people waiting inside. Seeing Anna, he took off his cavalry hat and bowed deeply. He then stood calmly at the door looking none the worse for wear after his experience at Bull Run. He stood proudly and said, "Mister Blackwood, your message did not indicate that others would be present."

Jack pushed his gun around on the desk with his forefinger. "You know Ezra, and you have already met Mister Garrett here. I'm sure you will also remember Mister Folks, but I believe you haven't had the pleasure of meeting Miss Keller. She was engaged to Lieutenant Folks."

"Pleased to meet you," the colonel replied and he bowed once again.

"Go ahead and take a seat," Jack said with mock politeness.

"I cannot stay long, so I prefer to stand. Your message mentioned something of Captain Ellsworth."

"Yes, just before you came over, we were busy discussing the captain."

"Good God, man, do you know where he is? Last I saw of him he was with you. After the general retreat, I feared that he was lost in the confusion. Some of my men are still trickling in, one by one, to the camp. I'm afraid the Rebels gave us all a good thrashing yesterday."

"I'm sorry to say that I do know where Ellsworth is. We left him with Henry here last night."

Garrett nodded and said, "He's in safe hands, Colonel. But I would like to ask you a few questions if I could. You see I wasn't too happy to come to work this morning and find a corpse waiting for me in my office."

Franklin looked around the room and finally said, "You mean Ellsworth is dead? Why didn't you tell me? How did it happen?"

"I think you know very well how it happened," Garrett snapped at him. "Now if you would accompany me back to the Watch, I would like to ask you some further questions."

Franklin took a step back towards the door. "I'm afraid I can't do that. There is so much more work I have to do."

The detective lifted his Starr up and pointed it at the colonel. "I suggest you stand very still and listen to Mister Garrett for a moment."

Blinking rapidly, Franklin stopped and stared at the gun. He said, "The last I saw Ellsworth, he was with you. Are you suggesting I killed him? How could I do that when I was back at Centreville?" He then looked nervously about the room, waiting to see if anyone believed him. He then spat out, "I know there was some animosity between the two of you – perhaps you killed him!"

Jack snorted and said, "I'm sure that you were there – hiding in the woods waiting for Ellsworth to return to his horse. Perhaps you even lured him there. I'm so sure of it that I would like to question some of your men who were waiting back at Centreville. When was it that you returned?"

Franklin's face turned white with anger. He then unexpectedly leapt forward and grabbed Anna by the back of the hair. He pulled hard, forcibly pulling her from the chair. Her body was now in front of the wavering pistol.

Jack did not fire in fear of hitting her. He said, "Now hold on right there. Leave that poor girl alone. She's been through enough, and anyways there is nowhere for you to go."

The colonel's own pistol was quickly drawn and he held it menacingly to her head while pulling back her hair with the other hand. He then started dragging Anna towards the door. She cried out and looked at Jack with wide, frightened eyes.

"Be quiet girl," Franklin said as he edged towards his escape.

Folks remained sitting in his chair, frozen in fear.

"Stop!" Garrett shouted. "As much as I don't want to see the girl harmed, I can't let you leave while I am here." His own pistol was drawn and his forefinger was taut against the trigger.

"Please, Henry," Jack said. "Just let him go for now. He'll be found soon enough."

"Yes, you had better listen to your friend," Franklin said roughly. "I would hate for you to shoot such a pretty girl." With those words he suddenly brought up his own gun and shot Garrett in the stomach, who immediately slumped against the wall, writhing in pain. Shoving the girl towards the detective, the colonel jumped towards the open door. As he leapt up from his sitting position in an attempt to get a shot off, Jack had to hold his fire once again in fear of hitting Anna. But it was too late. Franklin was already bounding down the stairs.

Going around the desk, he helped Anna stand. Jack saw that she was just shook up and not hurt. He held her up with one arm and looked to see how badly Garrett was wounded.

The Captain of the Watch was slumped against the wall, holding his side tightly with one hand. His pistol still hung loosely in his hand. "I'm getting too old for this," he grunted. "Back in the old days I could have shot him without hitting the girl."

"Don't say anything," Jack said.

"For my sake, you had better go get him, Jack. He'll be heading towards the rebel lines to escape."

"You may be right, but he won't make it. Ezra, go get the doctor for Henry – I'll be back soon."

His partner nodded, pulled his rifle from the gun rack, and quickly ran down the back steps.

Gritting his teeth, Jack ran down the front stairs with his Starr at the ready. He could hear the sound of a horse galloping away. When he pushed the front door open, he saw the retreating back of Franklin on horseback. It was raining. Since it was too long of a shot to take with his pistol, he decided instead to give chase. Garrett's horse, a fine roan, was tied up at the hitching post in front. Untying the horse, he yanked himself up on the saddle and began to give pursuit in the falling rain.

A group of soldiers were crossing the muddy road and scattered as they saw Jack gallop towards them. They shook their fists and shouted curses as he rode through them. Franklin was far ahead and took a turn to the right, the horse's hooves sliding dangerously in the thick mud.

Leaning forward, Jack spurred the roan on and came to the street where Franklin had turned. He slowed down and gently leaned in as they made the corner. It was a fine, responsive horse. This muddy street was crowded with slow-moving supply wagons. A ragged shout of anger came from ahead as the colonel weaved through the crowded lane of men and horses. Urging the mount forward, Jack rode up onto the boardwalk where the few pedestrians scattered as the horse galloped heavily along the wooden planks.

Franklin turned and panicked as he saw the detective close the gap. He began to shout for help and pointed behind himself as if he was being chased by a dangerous outlaw. A few soldiers dared the driving rain and tried to wave Jack down, but no man was brave enough to make a stand in front of a charging horse.

Jack was closing in. He pulled out his Starr and fired a shot at Franklin's mount. The shot went wild, but it was enough to make the nearby soldiers dive in the mud for cover. He pulled the trigger again. The second shot struck the horse in the rear hindquarters. The colonel pulled hard on the reins to force the horse to turn onto the next street, but the poor beast stumbled heavily and began to fall on its side. Pushing himself off, Franklin tumbled heavily into the mud and ended up lying face down in the street.

Jack thundered by and gently pulled on the bridle to slow Garrett's horse down to a trot. He then jumped off the mount and turned with his Starr at the ready. The colonel was pulling himself painfully off the ground. His hat was missing, and he was covered from head to foot with mud. A crowd of soldiers gathered to watch.

"Hold still there, Franklin, or I'll shoot you down!" Jack cried out as he aimed his pistol. He wanted to see the man hang for his crimes.

The colonel pointed at Jack with a finger and said, "This man here is trying to kill me. You there soldier, you had better stop him!" The soldiers recognized gold braid no matter how dirty, and five of them began to advance cautiously towards the detective. The others stood behind to watch, not sure what was going on. Franklin began to walk slowly back into the crowd to make his escape.

Without thinking, Jack took a step forward and said, "That man just murdered the Captain of the City Watch and is wanted for the death of four soldiers. Step aside!"

The coming soldiers looked confused and turned to receive further reassurances from Franklin, but he had already turned to run. Jack took off after him. A heavy hand tried to stop Jack, but he pushed it out of the way. The uncertain crowd parted for him. The colonel was moving as quickly as he could and looked over his shoulder in fear.

Jack pulled his Starr up and fired.

The shot struck Franklin in the shoulder. He spun heavily and grabbed the side of a wagon for support. He leaned heavily against the wheel, blood staining the arm of his blue jacket. Jack approached cautiously with his pistol at the ready. The colonel suddenly fell sideways into the mud and at the same time pulled his own pistol out. Three quick shots rang out.

The first one missed Jack and hit one of the watching soldiers, who fell to the ground gripping his arm. The second shot hit Jack. He felt the left side of his chest blossom with red-hot pain. He tried to twist away, but the third shot struck his left leg. He instantly crumpled to the ground. His Starr lay off to his right, stuck deep in the wet mud. Raising his head, he could see the colonel hold his bloodied shoulder. The colonel was walking towards him, the face alight with triumph.

Franklin stopped as he stood over Jack. "You must know that I'm a hard man to kill, Mister Blackwood. After all I am protected by God, and only he can decide when my time has come. I know what it takes to kill a man, but you can't kill an angel." His voice was harsh but in control. The soldiers in the background stood quiet as the wounded soldier groaned. They were not sure what to do, so they merely watched as the rain came down.

"Go to Hell," Jack spat out. Just speaking the words hurt his side. The world became momentarily blacker as he fought for consciousness.

"I shall never go to Hell, Mister Blackwood. It's sinners like you and those other bastards that will meet God's ultimate judgment. I'm merely His tool for cleaning this world of sin."

Jack coughed raggedly and edged his right hand towards his Starr. Perhaps he could reach it without the killer noticing. "Have you never heard of thou shall not kill?" he asked harshly.

Franklin laughed out loud, his face raised to the heavens. He suddenly kicked at Jack's hand before it could reach the pistol. "Mister Blackwood, please don't cause any more trouble. I'm afraid your time is up and you will have to be judged by a higher power." He pointed his Colt at Jack's head and slowly began to squeeze the trigger.

Jack shut his eyes and waited for the bullet to come. There was a sudden shot and he reflexively jerked his body, expecting the end. It was then he realized how distant the sound was. Opening his eyes, he saw Franklin slump over. Water poured into the colonel's unclosed dead eyes as he fell backwards into the street. The side of the head was opened with a ragged bullet wound that streamed blood into the mud.

Jack lifted his head up and saw Ezra running towards him. He was holding his rifle and had a worried expression.

"Are you alright?" his partner asked as he leaned over to examine Jack.

"That was a good shot, Ezra. How did you know he wouldn't accidentally squeeze the trigger after you shot him?"

"I didn't, but what other choice did I have?"

Jack started to laugh until he realized how much it hurt. "How did you know where I was?"

"After I got the doc, I got on my horse and took off to find you. I heard some shots and just followed the sound. When I got to the end of the street, I saw you shoot Franklin."

"And he feigned being hurt worse that he was. I should have been sure and gave him a few more bullets." He coughed roughly and felt the pain deepen in his side.

"Now hold still, Jack. I can't tell right now, but I don't think the bullet punctured your chest. It may just be a furrow along the ribs. On the other hand, that leg doesn't look so good. I had better get the doctor."

"First pull me out of this damn rain," Jack whispered weakly as the world grew black around him.

Chapter 26

Jack dreamed of deep red pain and the falling rain. He dreamed of being drowned in mud and blood. Voices were distant and different faces swam in front of him. Eventually the red haze turned to black, and he soon fell into a fitful sleep. He slept on until he awoke with a sour taste in his mouth. His left leg felt like it was fire while his lungs felt tight and confined. He tried to breathe deeply and felt as if he had to vomit from the pain. Getting the courage to open his eyes, it seemed liked he was being blinded with light until he realized that only a small sliver of sun was showing through the closed curtains.

"Ezra," he croaked. "Where are you?" He had to call out his friend's name several times until he heard footsteps approaching.

The door opened and Ezra came in looking relieved. "You decided to live after all."

"I feel weak as a kitten. What's the news?"

"It was a near thing, Jack. Doctor Rogers knocked you out with chloroform and had to do some surgery. He probed that leg of yours and pulled that bullet out. I thought you were going to bleed to death. Afterward I was warned to keep an eye on you until you got better. You've been asleep all night."

"I can't breathe," Jack whispered.

"Don't worry, the doctor says you were lucky that the bullet didn't go into your heart. You just have a broken rib, so he bandaged you up tight. You will be happy to know that Major Hall stopped by to see you. He made it back from the battle without being captured."

"That's good." Suddenly remembering what happened in the office, Jack asked, "What about Garrett? Did he make it?"

Ezra paused for a moment before replying. His face was grim as he said, "I wasn't supposed to say anything until you're feeling better, but I'm afraid Henry died."

The news struck the detective like a hammer blow, and he felt a wave of sickness. He shook his head, not believing his old friend was dead. "What happened?" he choked out.

"I got the doctor as you asked, but it was too late to do anything. The colonel shot him in the belly, and Henry just bled away before anything could be done. There wasn't much the doctor could do other than ease the pain. Now you're supposed to rest some more."

"One more thing before you go – what about Franklin?"

"You know how it is – the Army went and hushed it all up. There are no newspaper reports or anything of the kind. The witnesses to your gunfight were all ordered to keep quiet, and the colonel was shipped home this morning for burial. He'll be buried in his family plot with no stain on his character."

"What about Anna and Mister Folks? Are they still in Washington?"

"They waited to make sure you are still alive, but he's planning to go back to New York by train tonight."

"What about her?"

"I wouldn't know."

Jack nodded weakly and felt tired. He rubbed the sore side of his chest and said, "Ezra, I think I'll sleep for a while."

With a nod, his partner left, shutting the door behind him. Instead of sleeping, Jack thought about everything that had happened. If only he had told Garrett of his suspicions earlier than the old man would still be alive. He continued to think of his departed friend, and then his thoughts turned to Anna. Where was she? It would be nice to have her here right now, holding his hand as he lay there. He finally drifted back to sleep.

He awoke later feeling a gentle shake of the shoulder on his good side. Opening his eyes, he saw Ezra standing above him. Jack was feeling a bit better and was able to pull his head higher up on the pillow. "What is it?"

"Miss Keller is here to see you."

"She is?" Jack asked. His heart began to beat faster. He tried to lift himself off of the bed, but the pain was too much.

"I told her that you weren't feeling very good and you may not be ready to receive visitors. But since she is leaving soon, I decided to ask you if you wanted to see her."

"Leaving?" Jack felt crushed and half-wished that he had been killed. "What time is it?" he croaked.

"Just after five in the afternoon."

"How do I look?"

"Like hell," Ezra said with a laugh. "I'll tell her to go on in." With those words he left the bedroom to get her.

Anna came hesitantly into the dimly lit bedroom. She drew up the side chair and sat down. Jack looked her over and could see that she had been crying.

"H-h-how are you doing?" she stammered.

"I'll live," he replied glumly. "I'm surprised you made it over to see me before you left."

"How could I not after what passed between us?"

"Women have been known to do worse. Where is your Mister Folks now?"

"What do you mean?" she said with a quiet voice.

Jack could tell his comment had flustered her. He said, "Yesterday I saw the way you looked at him. I'm sorry. I was just hoping we would have some more time to spend together. I was thinking you would be willing to take a chance with me."

"I'm so sorry, Mister Blackwood. Charles said we must return to New York tomorrow. He says he has spent too much time here already and must get back as soon as he can."

"Just because he is going doesn't mean you can't stay here with me for a little while longer. You can stay at the hotel. I'll even pay for your room."

"Please, Jack, I can't do that. What would they say about me back in New York?"

"I don't give a damn about New York. I'm thinking about us."

She gripped Jack's right hand and leaned forward to put her forehead on his arm. "I truly wish I could stay with you, but my family needs me back in New York."

"Well, then why don't you come back to me after you see your family?"

She didn't answer but began to sob.

Jack could feel the wet tears against his arm. "It really is Charles isn't it?" he asked, his voice flat and empty.

She raised her head up and brushed away the tears. "I don't know what to say."

"It's an old story, my dear. A man's son dies and the daughter is there for the taking. You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?"

"I don't know," she said as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Charles told me he wants to leave his wife. He said he will divorce her in Europe, and then we can get married. He promised me we would be happy together."

"And you would rather marry a rich man than an old broken-down detective like me?" he asked roughly.

"It's not that at all, Jack." She gave his arm a squeeze and stood up to leave.

"Wait a moment – then what is it?"

She nervously bit her bottom lip before replying. "I've already lost my James. I was in a state of shock after his death. You were so kind to me, and I admit I did some foolish things with you. But I didn't know what I was doing. You must not think it meant anything to me at all."

Jack interrupted her and said, "But Charles offers you stability?" He felt sick in inside and wished she would just go away. "I'm feeling a little tired right now. Perhaps it would be better if you left now."

"Please don't be angry with me. When Ezra returned with you all hurt and bleeding, I got scared that I would lose someone I love. I can't have that happen again."

He said clumsily, "To love someone is to know that someday you will lose them. Nothing goes on forever." He felt like a silly fool for saying it, but it was true.

"I know, but I don't know what else to do."

"Just go and leave me be."

"But I haven't been able to thank you for all you have done for us." She had a sad smile on her face, and fought back tears.

"Tell your Mister Folks to send a check," Jack said harshly. He turned away and stared at the wall. He heard her stand up and hesitantly walk away. There was a murmur of voices as she spoke to Ezra, and then he finally heard the front door open and shut.

Ezra came in and said, "She's gone now, Jack."

He nodded and said, "Yes, she is."

###

Book III

At Shiloh

Chapter 1

The train slowed and chugged noisily up the hill. As it approached a rocky incline, it puffed out thick clouds of black smoke which scattered with the cold evening wind. The train was long, pulling several passenger and freight cars towards the Union Army of West Tennessee. A thin mist of March rain fell, splattering the closed windows. A few miserable soldiers sat on top of the cars, shivering under wool blankets with rifles cradled in their laps.

The expressman had the door of his car ajar and lit a cigar. He studied the rolling hills dotted with budding trees and thick underbrush. He had heard that Tennessee could be dangerous since guerilla fighters had already attacked several trains along this route. This time, he assured himself, there was nothing to worry about, since the train was well-guarded by over fifty Union soldiers. Looking back into the car, he saw the strongbox that was being used by his fellow expressman as a footrest. He thought to himself that there was enough gold there to buy off the entire Secesh army. The other man was reading a newspaper with a trail of cigar smoke rising from behind the sheaves of paper.

As the train reached the crest of the hill, the expressman flicked his cigar out the door and craned his neck towards the front of the train. The engine disappeared over the hill, and the cars began to gather speed as they were pulled over the incline. Suddenly the engine blew out a long warning whistle. The brakes were then applied hard enough to cause the expressman to slam the side of his head roughly against the frame of the door. The guards on top of the train were pitched forward; one slipped between the cars to be cut to ribbons by the iron wheels. With a grinding crash, the engine suddenly left the tracks and toppled sideways on the embankment, carrying the heavily loaded cars with it.

As the train derailed, Major Gardner watched happily through his field glasses. What he saw did not surprise him since an hour earlier this part of the iron rails had been removed by his men. It was a spectacular sight to see the bent iron and cracking of wood as the train rolled on its side like some mythical, wounded beast. Steam billowed from the engine, hiding the broken cars with a cloudy mist. The train had now stopped its death throes, and the cries of the wounded could be heard from the twisted wreckage.

Gardner raised his arm and motioned his small band of men to move forward. It was a ragged bunch of soldiers that crawled out of the underbrush. They looked more like scarecrows than soldiers, but they held their pistols with expert hands.

"Remember, don't bother to shoot the wounded unless they start making trouble," he called out. "And only kill the rest of the blue-bellied bastards if they shoot back."

His two dozen soldiers then began rushing towards the wrecked train, shouting the rebel yell at the top of their lungs. A few dazed Union soldiers crawled out of the damaged cars with their rifles at the ready. They tried to put up a feeble defense, but they were quickly cut down by a barrage of bullets. The remaining survivors soon raised their hands in surrender.

"Sergeant Raines, tell your men I want those Union boys rounded up and put under guard."

A shabbily dressed man in a dirty grey coat gave him a lazy salute and began shouting orders at the men. Gardner grimaced and thought it was time to get some of his boys cleaned up. But even though they looked like tramps, he knew they were the best fighters in the world. Nonetheless, he still wished for a bit more spit and polish. A little pride would have gone a long way in making these country boys even better fighters. He pushed those thoughts away and made his way towards the destroyed train.

His soldiers were already looting the broken cases strewn from the wrecked cars - stealing shoes, coats and as much food and drink as they could carry. He was happy to note that Raines had pushed enough men away from the throng to stand guard over the remaining Union soldiers; those who had the strength to crawl clear of the wreckage.

To his delight, the express car was still standing upright. Its walls were twisted at an angle, showing a crack of splintered wood that went the length of the body. It had somehow survived destruction relatively intact, leaving the side door slightly open. As Gardner cautiously approached, the barrel of a shotgun slid out from the door and pointed in his direction.

"Don't shoot," Gardner cried out before he dove to the right. His shin painfully struck a rock, sending a burst of pain through his leg. He added through gritted teeth, "There's no reason to die for your cargo." As he spoke, he pulled out his Le Mat Revolver and took aim.

An angry voice answered from the car and said, "I saw what you did to those boys – you shot them in cold blood."

"Now hold on there," Gardner shouted. He saw Raines coming forward and signaled for the man to stop. "We had no choice in the matter."

"Well, I'm not coming out until you leave," the voice answered back. The shotgun still pointed at Gardner threateningly.

Sliding his pistol back into his holder, the major took a step back with arms held wide since he did not want the expressman to panic and take a shot. Once he got next to Raines he said in a low voice, "I want that bastard out of there. Round up some men and take care of him."

The sergeant nodded, a hard smile set on his face. He walked back to the soldiers who were still busy looting what they could. He then began to push some of his least favorite soldiers into line. When he had a half-dozen men, he said, "I need some volunteers to take care of that guard back there. Any takers?"

No one stepped forward. "Well, boys," Gardner said angrily, "it's time to earn your keep with this outfit. If there are any slackers, I'll be sure to shoot you down where you stand. Now I need that guard out of there, so we can get the gold and get going!"

Upon hearing the word gold, the drawn faces of the six soldiers brightened in anticipation. Pistols were now drawn eagerly.

Raines added, "You heard what he said. Now move it!"

The men scrambled towards the broken express car and began to fire in unison at the battered wood. A shotgun blast answered back, making one of the guerillas fall to the broken ground like a rag doll. Another hurried blast of buckshot ricocheted off the stony ground, causing a few pellets to strike an unlucky man in the leg. He went down on his knees but continued to fire back.

The crescendo of pistol fire rose and fell as men began the process of reloading - paper cartridges were bit off and stuffed into the open chambers. Then measured black powder, a lead ball, and wad were dropped into the cylinders. A short ramrod was squeezed into the barrel, pushing the ball tight against the powder charge. A thin line of grease was placed on the cylinders to stop chain-fires - where the firing of one cylinder could spark the others. Such an explosion could blow a man's hand off if he wasn't careful. Firing caps were then hurriedly placed in front of the loaded chambers. Once the hammer dropped on the cylinder, it would fire the cap, ignite the gunpowder and fire the lead ball. It was a slow, laborious process, but an experienced man could reload his pistol in less than a minute.

Gardner watched as the stream of bullets tore into the wood. Black powder smoke from all the firing rose high in the rain-drenched air. He then nodded towards Raines who started to wave his hands at his men, signaling them to stop the assault.

"Stop firing, stop firing!" the sergeant shouted. The men grudgingly stopped peppering the express car with lead.

A faint voice could be heard coming from the gap of the door. "I surrender – stop shooting."

Raines ran towards the car and pulled the door back. There lay the expressman, lying on the floor with his shotgun lying underneath him. A puddle of the wounded man's blood pooled on the wooden floor. He had been shot in his right arm and in the shoulder. He began to moan. Raines grabbed him by the collar and pulled the man off of the car. The expressman landed heavily on the ground with a grunt and rolled over on his stomach, gasping in pain.

With a tug to his holster, Gardner pulled out his Le Mat and flipped the lever at the end of the hammer. This switched the firing mechanism from the cylinders of the revolver to the single sixteen gauge smoothbore barrel loaded with shot. He pointed it at the expressman and said sternly, "You made a mistake trying to fight us off."

The wounded man began to sob in a panic and tried to feebly crawl away. The guerilla soldiers stepped back as Gardner brought up his pistol and fired. The single blast of buckshot tore open the man's head, leaving a ragged hole. With a final violent jerk, the expressman was dead.

Facing his men, Gardner said, "Now let that be a lesson to every one of you. If you listen to me, you'll get through this was alive. Raines, get that strongbox out and opened."

Raines motioned to his men, and they crowded aboard the damaged car. Inside was an already dead expressman, his neck bent at an impossible angle. The battered body was sprawled on top of an iron-edged strongbox. Raines rolled the corpse off. The rebels then worked together and soon pulled the heavy strongbox out into the open, where it landed heavily on the rocky surface. Searching through the pockets of the dead expressman, Raines soon found the key and hurried over to open the iron box. With the major waiting impatiently, the sergeant fitted the key to the lock and opened the heavy lid.

Gardner smiled when he saw the stacked gunny sacks inside. With shaking hands, he took the closest sack, untied the top and poured the contents out. The twenty dollar gold coins fell heavily into his hand. The soldiers around him began to murmur excitedly. This was worth the trouble of cutting the rail line, Gardner thought. This was worth the trouble since the Federal government would miss this gold and try by any means to retrieve it. Everything was going to plan.

Raines smiled at Gardner and said, "You were right about them carrying the gold, sir. The boys will be happy."

The major nodded and said, "Get this packed away. We will be moving out as soon as you are ready."

"What about the prisoners, sir?"

"Don't worry; I'll make sure they are taken care of." He looked over his soldiers who were greedily eying the gold-packed strongbox. He said to them, "Now just a little warning, gentlemen, this gold is for Jefferson Davis and the Confederacy. Don't get any ideas about taking some for yourself." He gave them a cold smile and paused before adding, "I know the amount of this down to the last dollar. If any of it goes missing, I'll have the whole lot of you strung up. I'm sure Sergeant Raines here would gladly assist me in the exercise."

He let the words seep in and a look of dismay came across the soldier's faces. He added, this time with a kind voice, "So it's your job to keep an eye on your companions to make sure none of it goes missing. Understand? But don't worry, once we deliver this gold, we'll all be heroes."

There was a flurry of agreement as men nodded and began warily eying their neighbors. Gardner knew the men were all robbers at heart, but they also knew that he was a man of his word and would make good his threat.

"Sergeant, carry on."

Raines saluted and began pulling the gold-laden bags out of the strongbox. He began handing two of them to each soldier who carefully knotted the ends together. In this manner the gold was to be split up and carried by each man on the journey back to camp.

Walking past his guards, Gardner went to where the prisoners were being kept. There were some two dozen of them, some who were heavily bruised from their unexpected ride off the rails. They looked at him with hatred in their eyes. The low sound of moans could be heard from the nearby wrecked passenger cars.

Eying them with distaste, Gardner said, "We have come for what we wanted. Now I suggest you start walking back north, because we don't want you in Tennessee anymore."

The prisoners stood to make their leave, but one asked, "What about them? What are you going to do with our wounded friends?"

"They will be taken care off," Gardner replied stoically.

With those words, the prisoners began to shuffle slowly down the line as the rain continued to fall. Gardner caught the eye of one of his men and gave him a nod. The man nodded and lifted his rifle to fire. With the squeeze of the trigger, the shot struck one of the prisoners in the back. The rest of the guerillas joined in and opened fire on the bedraggled group. The remaining Unions soldiers began to run and a few of the guerillas gave chase, hooting and hollering at the easy prey.

"Raines!" Gardner called out. He waited impatiently for the harried sergeant to run up.

"We're ready to go, sir. The gold has been dispersed to the men and they are ready to move."

"Set fire to the cars."

"Sir?" Raines looked over the cars and shook his head. The sound of gunfire began to abate as the last of the prisoners had been hunted down.

"I gave you an order, sergeant. I want those Union boys to fear us. I want them to curse our names and have every man ride against us. The more men we draw to us, the less they have to fight General Johnston. Now go to it."

"But those men are wounded."

"If you don't follow my orders, then I'll find someone else who will."

"Very well, sir, I will see that it is done." Raines face looked gray as he ordered a few of his men to gather some broken oil lanterns. It took some pushing and threats, but the men eventually complied. Though it was raining lightly, the wooden cars were soon ablaze. The panicked shouts of the wounded inside rose in tempo as the smoke rolled higher in the rain-choked sky.

With an ordered shout and wave, the guerilla soldiers were soon running back to their mounts hidden deep in the trees of the forest. There they saddled up. They left, following a grinning Major Gardner. A cloud of smoke hung heavily behind them as the rain misted on the mud-soaked trail. He was happy to strike a blow against the hated Northerners. Soon his name would be known throughout the land. The north would revile his name while in the south he would be known forever as a hero.
Chapter 2

Leaning against the scarred wooden bar, he looked down at his empty glass and shoved it towards the bartender. Jack felt like hell, but he didn't give a damn since it was the first time that he had gotten out of his bedroom for quite a spell. Lately fever had been rampaging through the crowded town, brought by the large encampments of Federal soldiers who were ordered to defend the city from rebel encroachment. Jack had spent the past several days confined to bed, retching in a chamber pot, and having to endure the help of his partner. Ezra was the type who seemed to never get sick. That bothered Jack more than anything else.

The saloon only had a few customers, so Jack's glass was quickly filled with whiskey. Though this was a squalid place, it had the good fortune of only being a few staggered steps from his office. He was well known here for his daily business. He eyed the few lounging prostitutes with an appraising eye. None of the girls came to see him, but instead stayed talking amongst themselves. The whores here were merely waiting for the afternoon to pass before the evening trade began. At this moment he was not was interested in sleeping with any of them, but he recognized that he must be feeling better if he could even think of sex.

The city of Washington was currently gripped with impatience. The war was going badly for the North and the residents had become resigned to the fact that things were bound to get worse before they got better. Last summer, the Army of the Potomac had been defeated at Bull Run and had spent the rest of the year hunkered down, licking its wounds. The army had since been reorganized by General McClellan who had recently sailed them to the Virginia Peninsula, leaving just a token force behind to defend Washington. McClellan was going to sweep down the peninsula and strike right into Richmond. Once Richmond was captured, surely the war would finally be finished. At least that was the plan.

The front door swung open, letting in some of the chilly March air. Spring was only a few weeks away, but winter still had a weak hold on Washington. With a little curiosity, Jack turned to see who had just entered. He was taken with surprise to see Major Calvin Hall, who was looking about the dingy barroom with disgust. Two prostitutes straightened up from their drinks and flashed him a smile. This was hardly unexpected since the major was a well-dressed officer who positively oozed wealth. Jack waved him over.

Jack smiled to himself, remembering the Battle of Bull Run where he had followed Major Hall up a hill against the entrenched Rebels. The major's regiment had bravely followed orders, only to be decimated by the firepower of the defenders. Jack also knew that Hall worked directly for the War Department, taking care of special issues that other officers did not care to handle.

Ignoring the entreaties of the women with a shake of his head, Hall strode over and shook hands with Jack. Looking the detective over, he said, "I was just over at your office. Ezra told me that you would be here, nursing a drink. From what he said, you would still be in bad shape with the flu. But you really don't look that bad to me."

Motioning to his glass, Jack said, "I just needed a little liquid refreshment to get my strength back. I haven't had a drink for over a week now. Until now, I've been too ill to keep anything down.

Hall nodded and said, "Everyone in town has been taken sick by this damned fever. I've been lucky enough to be out of the city on business."

"Would you care to join me for a drink?" the detective asked and lifted his glass up for another sip.

Hall looked suspiciously at the glass. He hesitantly said, "Is the whiskey worth the effort of drinking?"

Jack laughed and replied, "Trust me, I've had worse. But don't let the looks of the place fool you. It's really not that bad of a place to have a drink on a quiet afternoon." Jack knew that for all of the major's snootiness, he enjoyed drinking like anyone else.

"If you say so," Hall said resignedly.

Motioning to the bartender, Jack ordered a whiskey for the major.

He looked the glass over before taking a tentative sip. Hall smacked his lips and said, "Not bad. Not bad at all."

"I must say it's good to see you again, Major."

"I should have stopped by sooner, but I've been a little busy. You seem to have recovered well from your recent wounds." Hall was mentioning the gunshot Jack had received while trying to stop a crazed soldier. It had been a near thing, and he was lucky to be alive.

"I'm not doing that bad, but business could be better. The winter months are always a little slow, even with a war going on."

"Don't worry; things are about to heat up. But I don't understand how you can live on your sporadic source of income. Do you have some money tucked away in that safe of yours?"

Letting out a chuckle, Jack replied, "Hardly, but we get by on the scraps that come our way. Nonetheless, it is still better than honest work. But now I'm curious, is this a social call or did you have some other business in mind?"

Hall set the glass down on the bar and laughed. "You know me too well, Mister Blackwood. But before I tell you what I came to see you about, I just wanted to thank you for coming with me there at Bull Run. That was a nasty bit of work trying to take that damned hill, but at least we came out of it in one piece. If given the chance, I wouldn't mind giving it another crack."

"It was a near thing." Jack agreed. He then lit a cheap cigar and offered one to the major, who shook his head.

"I've got my own here." He reached into his coat pocket and lit a slender cigar. The fine smell of Virginian tobacco drifted in the air. "Luckily I can still get these from the blockade runners."

"You were saying," Jack said impatiently. The major had the unnerving habit of taking his time of getting to the point.

"I know you're a man who doesn't mind getting his hands dirty so let me get to the crux of the matter."

"Finally," Jack mumbled.

Ignoring him, the major continued on, "I've come to you to offer a job working for me."

"What kind of job?" Jack asked suspiciously. He didn't care to work for the government as a spy – traipsing about the countryside, digging up information that would be filed away and never used.

Looking about the nearly empty saloon, Hall lowered his voice and asked with a whisper, "Is this place safe to talk?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders and said, "It's better than my office since we haven't finished our drinks yet. Go ahead and talk, no one is listening to us except those whores waiting for your business."

Hall laughed. "Very good, Jack, I won't try to be overly secretive. But word has a way of getting around Washington, and the rebels always seem to know our next move. McClellan is already running into trouble at the Virginian Peninsula, and the War Department is at its wits end trying to deal with every bushwhacker from here to Tennessee. There is one in particular that is causing us all sorts of trouble."

"Problems with a guerilla soldier?" Jack said thoughtfully as he studied his friend's face. "Who is it?"

Hall couldn't help lowering his voice even further. He spoke in low, conspiratorial tones. "That's the embarrassing part. It's a Virginian named Richard Gardner. Just two months ago, he used to command a Union Calvary regiment, but the major, as he still calls himself, has since gone to the other side. He knows too much about our methods and is a constant thorn in our side. Gardner also knows the weakness of every commander and the routes we take to supply the Union army in Tennessee. He is now leading a group of robbers who are daily raiding our supply routes. And just the other day he derailed a train and stole a large amount of gold."

"And what exactly do you expect me to do?" Jack asked bluntly, though the mention of gold certainly piqued his interest.

"Well, you see he did more than rob the train. Two of our soldiers managed to escape and told us what happened. It seems that after Gardner removed the gold, he ordered the massacre of the prisoners and then started the destroyed train on fire. There were wounded men trapped inside who were burned to death."

Jack made a face. "So he's a bastard to boot."

"The Secretary of War wants Gardner back to be put on trial for treason. The Secretary also wants that damned gold back. It was meant for General Grant to use to pay for supplies and the payroll for the Army of the Tennessee. We're talking over one-hundred thousand dollars here. The loss has been terrible for their morale."

"Getting Gardner and that gold would be a hard job to do." Jack thought of the country that would have to be traveled through while guarding an unwilling prisoner. It would take a small army to locate the guerilla camp and capture a single man among many.

"That's why I thought of you. I offered up your name in the last meeting I had concerning this little matter. There was an immediate interest after I told them of your exploits leading that troop of cavalry at Bull Run behind enemy lines. You are a resourceful man, and we need someone like that for this type of situation."

Jack studied his cigar butt before dropping it and grinding it out with his boot. "How much?" he suddenly asked.

"How much what?" Hall asked, clearly perplexed.

"Money. How much money am I going to get? I'm going to need a few men and horses to get there in one piece. There is no guarantee I could get close enough to even take him without some shooting involved. I will be in his country, and his scouts will know every inch of the area. But for the right kind of pay, I could make an attempt to capture him. But it's going to take plenty of money to convince a few bounty hunters to take that kind of risk."

Holding up his hand, Hall said, "Please, Jack, say no more. That's not what I had in mind at all. We want Gardner back in one piece. If we could capture him using troops, we would have already tried that method. But as you said, they know the territory better than we do. I must admit that some of the hotter heads at the War Department wanted to rush in and kill the whole lot of them. But I had another idea. I managed to convince them that there was a better way to get Gardner and the gold back."

Jack motioned for the bartender to bring another round of drinks.

"Are you sure you can afford it?" Hall asked after the bartender refilled the glasses.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be rich by the time I'm through working for you. Now you had better tell me of this plan of yours. At this rate, I'm not sure I can handle another whiskey."

Hall smiled faintly and said, "Two years before the war, my niece, Rose, got married to some trader by the name of John Wallace. I'm afraid to say that my younger brother was never good with finances and couldn't offer much of a dowry for her. So she had to take whatever man came along. This Wallace then moved down to Tennessee taking Rose with him. They bought a house in the town of Stanton and started a business selling guns. Everything seemed to go well for them until this damn war broke out. It seems that her husband got involved with the wrong bunch of people."

Jack studied the bottom of his glass and said "Gardner?"

"Correct. The Union isn't just fighting armies. There's also men willing to fight for the Confederate cause but don't bother to wear the uniform. Major Gardner leads such men. The newspapers are filled with stories of these bastards. Since Wallace was a gunsmith, he provided arms for these bushwhackers. Against Rose's protests, he went and joined up with them. Apparently he wasn't much of a horseman and ended up getting killed in a raid."

"You seem to know quite a lot about the situation down there," Jack said. "And what happened to your cousin Rose after all this?"

"Luckily I've still managed to keep in contact with my niece. Through letters sent at great risk, she tells me that Major Gardner has setup a camp outside her town. With her husband's death, she has been treated with great respect by the rebels, though I suspect it's her stores of shot and gunpowder they are most interested in. I recently received a message from her that Gardner has the gold hidden there."

"Are you sure she can be trusted?" Jack drained the glass in front of him and felt a little drunk. "She could be used for feeding you false information."

"She is a good girl that I've known since I was just a lad. If anything, Rose hates the guerillas and blames them for the death of her husband. She has ingratiated herself with Gardner, and he spends plenty of time with her."

"That would be reason enough for me to suspect her even more," Jack replied as he motioned for the bartender to fill up his glass once again.

"I trust her, Jack. She has given no false information yet, and she will be an important part of my plan."

"Well, let me hear it. What do you propose to have me do?"

"You will pose as a cousin of hers named Nathaniel Hall. He is a real cousin of mine, and I can tell you enough of the family history to get by. Ten years ago, he went to California and hasn't been seen since. He was always a wanderer, and we assumed that he ran into some type of trouble out there. He is just the type of person that you would like – a born troublemaker." Hall grinned at Jack and continued on. "You will go to Stanton as a trader of guns – we will provide these guns at our expense – who is interested in selling to the Confederate Army. You are to go to Stanton and stay there with my cousin. This will give you access to Major Gardner. Once you've found a way, you can take Gardner back with you along with that gold."

"You make it sound easy, but it is a fool plan," Jack said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Jack retorted angrily. "How exactly am I supposed to haul an unwilling prisoner and enough gold to tempt any man? I'll be a target for every bandit within two hundred miles. Plus Gardner's men will be trying to catch up with me the entire way. The last time I've checked, no one has made a wagon that can move faster than a horse."

The few bar patrons took notice of this outburst and started to watch the conversation with interest.

"Jack, keep your voice down," Hall said smoothly. "I never said it would be easy. You can take Ezra with you. He can pose as your manservant. You are a resourceful man, which is the reason why I picked you. If you can't get Gardner back to us, then I see no reason why he couldn't meet up with an unfortunate accident. I know your methods, and I may not always approve of them, but they still serve their purpose."

"Now you're just trying to flatter me," Jack said. But he was becoming interested in this matter. They hadn't had a case for a few months, and he was beginning to feel restless. Perhaps it was just the remnants of his fever, but the impossible idea of stealing gold back from a bunch of robbers while kidnapping their leader had a certain appeal to it.

"There's one more thing that may be of interest to you, Jack. When Gardner left our side, it was found that he was bribed to leave. A man gave the major shelter, allowing him to escape. From what I was able to gather from my spies, Gardner was helped along by someone named Ethan Davis. You know him, don't you?"

The mention of Davis brought back a series of bad memories. Davis was a kidnapper and blackmailer who had deserved no pity. It had been a near thing but in the past, Jack had bested Davis. But he had been sure that this Rebel spy was dead and was surprised to hear that he was still alive. "I know him," Jack finally admitted.

"By all accounts he was supposed to be dead by your hand, but word was getting around about a master spy named Davis. We would like to see him permanently removed."

"As would I," Jack agreed. "If I ever see him again, I'll be sure that he is really dead this time."

"Good, well that is settled then. My cousin Rose has already been told that someone posing as her cousin is coming to stay with her. She will give what assistance she can."

"Let me ask you, Major, what else can you tell me about this cousin of yours? What kind of woman is she?"

Hall smiled with the confidence of a gambler about to win a large stake. He knew he had Jack hooked and sealed the deal by saying, "She was a beautiful girl even when she was young. When she got older, Rose broke every suitor's heart when she decided to marry that fool Wallace. Word is that she has gotten even more beautiful with age – if you want to call twenty-six old."

"I'll work for you," Jack said with false resignation. "I'll go down to Stanton and get that gold back. If I can't capture Gardner, I'll make sure he ends up with a bullet instead."

"Good man. Come by the War Department tomorrow morning, and I'll see you are outfitted with money and the right equipment. Can you convince Ezra to come with you?"

"Perhaps. He has a little problem with a lady friend, and I'm sure he wouldn't mind getting out of town before her father stops by to discuss the matter."

Hall laughed. "Good. I'm afraid I must leave you for now. Go home and get some rest until tomorrow." The major slapped Jack's back before leaving the barroom. The eyes of the whores followed him as he left. Two of them slipped out the door to tempt him further.

Beckoning the remaining prettiest girl to join him, Jack ordered another round of drinks for the two of them. He was feeling stronger already and was looking forward to leaving this city. He clumsily kissed the whore's ear and gave her a friendly squeeze as he put his arm around her. It would be a pleasure to see Davis again and kill him.
Chapter 3

After pulling the dress over her head, Rose Wallace studied herself thoughtfully in the full-length mirror as she smoothed the cloth down. Picking up a brush and running it through her brown hair, she looked closely at the reflected face. Crow's feet were just beginning to show on the pale smooth skin of her face. It was a shame to age, she thought, but in the end it really didn't matter. There was nothing she could do about it, so why worry? She never thought of herself as a beauty, so somehow she was always surprised how men seemed to flock to her.

After the recent death of husband, she was shocked to see that loathsome pastor Horace at her doorstep. It was one thing for him to come on church business, but after a few visits, his consoling words soon turned to marriage. He looked so hopeful in his frayed and dirtied black jacket that she almost didn't have the heart to turn him down. But she declined his proposal nonetheless and hoped that was the end of that. She was actually glad when Richard Gardner showed his intentions, for he was at least feared by everyone in town. This stopped the amorous advances of the pastor and the hungry looks of the local blacksmith, Elijah.

She hated this town and the idle gossip that had only intensified since the war had begun. Rose knew that the townspeople still had suspicions of her, which was only natural because of her northern roots, but still she found the whispered rumors annoying. If they had known she was passing information to her uncle Calvin in the War Department at Washington, it would only be a short time before she found herself dangling from a noose.

She had to stay here at Stanton if she wanted to keep on making a living on her own. She still had her deceased husband's business, and the since Federal army could never hope to completely seal off the Tennessee border, the black market in guns and powder was thriving. Through her trusted employee Miguel, she was able to send messages to her uncle in Washington. Her employee traveled north, dodging Union and rebel patrols and returned each time with his heavily-laden wagon. This was the only way to keep their shop stocked.

Deep in thought, she smoothed down the sides of her hair and then arranged the silver necklace around her neck. She knew that Richard was coming over this morning, and she wanted to look her best for the man who was in love with her. She really didn't know if she was in love with him, but she was admittedly taken by his energy and directness. The soldiers listened to him and were willing to follow him to the ends of the earth. She felt momentarily guilty trying to get information to pass to her uncle, but it gave her a thrill to play the part of a spy for the country she still loved. Just last night she had received a note from her uncle, and in his short, cramped writing was a bold plan that she must soon act upon.

There was a solid knock at the front door, and she felt her breath catch. She felt like a young school girl again, blushing at the thought of love. "Now be serious," she said to herself. "There is no real reason to feel this way. I must consider my Uncle Hall's wishes." But she still scurried to the door and opened it before her maid Elsie had a chance to leave the kitchen.

Major Gardner was waiting, impatiently tapping his foot against the doorsill. Once he saw Rose, his face softened and he gave a little bow to her. "My word, you do look beautiful this morning. I was hoping to catch you at home."

This was his little joke, for she always expected him at this time of day. It was a little respite before the daily business of the camp took him away. Rose enjoyed entertaining him immensely since he always had a kind word for her. She stood back and opened the door wider to let him pass.

Rose said graciously, "Please come in, Richard. I was just making some tea for us."

He was well-dressed with his coat neatly buttoned and his pants immaculately creased. He strode into the front parlor with his hat held loosely. It was a tidy room with a plush rug laid before a crackling fire. A few of her deceased husband's amateur sketches adorned the wall. Waiting patiently until she sat on the sofa, Gardner took the chair across from her.

"How are you this morning?" he asked respectfully. His face was locked on hers as if expecting some bad news. He always seemed to carry an earnest look pinned on his face like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

She felt herself blushing when she replied, "I am well, Richard. How goes your war?" She was always afraid to ask him direct questions of a military nature with the fear of him recognizing that he was being milked for information. But he never refused to answer her and always replied in an unguarded manner.

"I have a good group of men. When we had a chance to count up the gold we last took from those blue-bellied soldiers – not a single piece of it was missing."

"Well, that is good," she replied. "What do you propose to do next? You seem to have been in town for quite a while. I expected you to ride out soon and continue your raids."

"I'm afraid I've been waiting for further orders. I've been sending out some patrols here and there to harass the enemy, but I'm still hesitant to move out with the main force until we have been given some further information on where to strike next. He is always most explicit on this point."

Rose wished she knew who he was talking about, but Gardner was surprisingly cautious about revealing the man who was giving him orders. Rose weighed her words carefully before speaking. "I do wish you would be careful. You know that I would hate to lose you to a bullet like my poor husband. So please don't take too many risks." She was hoping he would give her some detail of the next place he would strike, but was not surprised by his non-answer.

"Don't you worry, I've been through plenty of trouble before. Those Union boys don't have a chance getting me." His tone wasn't boastful, but stated simply by a man who seemed confident in his own ability.

At a loss for word, Rose poured out two cups of tea from the pot. She stirred in spoonful of cream for herself and then pushed Richard's cup towards him. He always took it black. She could see him looking at the cup thoughtfully.

She said, "I should have mentioned this earlier, but my cousin Nathan is going to come visit me soon," she said.

"Your cousin?" Gardner asked suspiciously and locked his eyes on hers. "You never told me about him. Is he a Northerner like yourself?" His tone was serious as if it was some type of contractible disease.

"Oh, he's too old to be conscripted into the army, but he still is interested in our plight down here."

"That's to say he's interested in our money?" Richard said with a momentary grin.

"Well, like my husband, Nathan is an expert with arms. He was planning to bring some down here to the shop for me to sell. Once I told him about the amount of business I was doing, he seemed most interested in helping me. There are some new types of weapons that he managed to get out of the federal armory that seem most promising."

Gardner suddenly looked interested as he said, "What kind of guns?"

"There is a new carbine that will be issued to the Union Calvary. It is a repeating rifle of a new type of manufacture. He didn't go into any details but mentioned it was superior to any other design he had ever seen. He would gladly show it to you."

"Your cousin Nathan may be speaking of the new Spencer Carbine. I would definitely be most interested in seeing that. When do you expect him to visit?"

Rose could tell that the mention of the rifle had interested Gardner since he was always looking for new ways to fight on horseback. She replied, "He has to travel all the way from Pennsylvania and dodge the Union patrols on the border. I was surprised his message was able to get to me, but Miguel always manages to find a way to get through. It should only be a few more days until he arrives in town."

"We must speak further of Miguel someday. I've wondered how you've kept that store of your so heavily stocked. Every other store has empty shelves, but you continue to supply us with the cartridges we need."

"Miguel is most adept at sneaking through the countryside. He knows every trail from here to Kentucky where his brother lives. If any message comes from my family, they know where to reach him."

"Just how close are you to this family of yours?" Gardner asked. Rose could feel her throat tighten in panic by this sudden interest. "You seem oddly well-informed by them."

"Oh, I was always my father's favorite," Rose said quickly. "My family was sad to see me move down here with my husband. Even with this war, you have to find ways to keep in touch with your own kin."

The answer seemed to satisfy Gardner since he said, "Well, just be careful. You know the town was already suspicious of you when you moved down here. They would love to find a reason to hate you even more."

"I have no reason to fear as long as you are here to protect me," she replied coyly. As much as she hated to say the words, she knew they were true. His stern countenance and demeanor was enough to frighten the meek people of this wretched little town. As long as he stayed here, she had little to fear since Gardner was above suspicion and his approval provided protection from the petty suspicions of the town.

"My dear, I am glad I can provide such protection to you." His face briefly softened as he said, "And that provides me with an opportunity to ask you a question of the most personal nature." He cleared his throat. "I want to ask for your hand in marriage." He then got down on one knee and took her hand.

His words were hardly surprising to Rose, for she was expecting such a proposal from this stern-faced major. But she couldn't help blush and cover her mouth with her free hand.

Gardner appeared to take her silence as a rejection and quickly said, "I know you lost your husband just a short while ago. But you are a beautiful woman who has held me spellbound since we first met. If you marry me, I promise to keep you safe from harm. You will be well cared for and..."

She cut him off by saying, "My dear Richard, I know very well of your feelings for me. And I share them too." She squeezed his hand. "But you have such a dangerous life right now. I'm not sure I could bear to lose another husband." Those words were true. She wasn't sure if she could handle such a loss again in such a short period of time. "Can't we wait until this war is over before we make any such decision?"

With a sigh, the major stood up and gave her a little bow. "You are right, my dear. My heart has gotten away from me, and I should be more considerate of your feelings. I will take your words and keep them in mind until the day we can plan more freely. When I think you are ready, I shall ask again and pray that the answer is yes." He sat back down, looking quite glum.

Rose quickly leaned over and put her arms around him. She kissed him gently on the lips. She whispered, "It will be." Suddenly feeling confused, Rose dropped her arms to her side and smiled graciously at him.

Gardner stood again, put on his hat, adjusted it, and said, "I'm afraid I must leave you, for duty calls. But if you shall have me, I shall stop by again tomorrow."

"You are always welcome. I will be waiting here for you," she replied gently. She watched as he bowed again and made his own way to the front door. Rose now felt unsure about the duty she had promised her uncle. How could she put Richard into such danger? She felt like rushing out and confessing everything to him. But she stopped herself, knowing she only had a little more time until this mysterious stranger would come. She could perhaps wait a little bit longer before telling Richard everything. Maybe she could convince the stranger to leave, and the major would never need to know of her duplicity.

*

Gardner resisted the urge to slam the door behind him. Instead, he closed it gently and took a moment to compose himself before riding back to camp. Damn that infernal woman, he thought to himself. She continued to spurn his advances, but he really knew she was beginning to wilt under his constant attentions. He wondered to himself if she really did love him, or was it the fear of being a Northerner stuck in this suspicious town? It really didn't matter either way since he wanted her and wanted her badly. She had money, good looks, and enough respectability to make it worthwhile. She came from a good family and in his heart, he knew that after the war, she would settle down with him to start a new life.

Smiling at that idea, Gardner hiked himself up on his horse and made the quick journey to the camp he had setup outside of town. It was situated on a small open field, with a large paddock to keep the horses protected from wildlife. A number of weather-beaten tents provided a home for the men who could not find a billet in this small town. His lived in a tidy farmer's cottage that he had commandeered for his own use. The owner was a frail old man who gladly took the few dollars to move out and live with his sister. The house was simply furnished but was a perfect place for a bachelor to live.

When he came to a stop, an orderly saluted, ran up to take his horse, and told him that his guest had arrived. Gardner slid down off his mount and began to brush the dust off of his pants and jacket. It was important that he looked good, since he was about to meet the man who he answered to. Nervously adjusting his hat, the major strode into the cottage.

In the front room, a man was sitting with a cane resting on his side. He had the look of southern aristocracy – a high forehead, carefully combed blonde hair and a neat, light-colored suit. He looked out of place sitting on the rough, straw-stuffed sofa. Davis had taken the liberty of mixing himself a drink which he held loosely in his hand. Looking disdainfully at Gardner, he finished the drink with one long gulp before setting it down on the side table.

"Mister Davis, it's good to see you," Gardner said with an offer to shake the guest's hand. "I've been waiting most anxiously for your arrival."

Ethan Davis brushed the hand aside and came straight to the point. "I take it you still have my gold safely hidden away."

"Yes, Mister Davis, it's buried in the front yard here as you instructed. The gold was buried in open view of everyone and near enough to the camp that no one can take it away without being seen."

"There wasn't any trouble getting it?"

"It was waiting on that train exactly as you said it would be. I lost two of my men, but that's really a small price to pay for that much money."

"Very well said, but it is imperative that you keep it here for a few more days more. I'm still arranging transportation to another location."

"I would happily provide the means for you to do so," Gardner offered. He didn't really want to see that gold leave, but at this point he didn't dare to cross this man. Ethan Davis had a network of spies that crossed from the very top of the Northern states to the deepest Southern hideouts. Any attempt to steal from him would be a death sentence, unless the thief was resourceful enough to go beyond the reach of this man.

"That won't be necessary, Major. I am expecting a military escort from General Johnston himself. As to be expected, he has taken a great interest in this money," Davis replied coolly. "This gold will be delivered to him and will used against the Yankees."

Gardner suspected that Davis was lying but had no proof as of yet. Davis may be an upright gentleman when it came to his loyalties, but he had to be tempted by this large amount of money.

Davis then tried to soothe Gardner and said, "Do not worry, Major, I will pass on your role in this matter. You will be amply awarded for your troubles."

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," the major replied.

"Now I have come here to discuss another matter. I have a new task for you that will tax your resources. This mission is of utmost importance to General Johnston. I have told him that I knew the right man for the job. I shall hope that you will not be a disappointment." Davis drew out a folded map and spread it on the low table before the sofa. He motioned for Gardner to sit down and began to tell him of his plan.

*

"It's a fool plan," Ezra said.

They were in Hall's office inside the War Department, going over the details of the plan to get them to Stanton. Getting Ezra there had been difficult enough and he sat there, listening stonily until the end.

"Now Ezra," Hall said placating, "what are your concerns?"

"A thousand of them – for one, you are asking the impossible. The two of us could hardly expect to make it back here with a wagon of this here stolen gold. If you haven't heard, there's a war going on. The Union patrols are going to be heavy in that area. If we do make it past them, then the rebels will be sure to find us. I'm sure they won't be too friendly towards us either."

"I'm sure the Major here recognizes the difficulty of our task," Jack said. "But we can at least try."

Ezra shook his head. "It's not worth risking my life for," he spat out. "Anyways, I'm a fugitive and if captured, will be forced into slavery again."

Drumming the desk with his fingers, Jack slyly asked, "So tell me, when are wedding plans?"

Ezra stared hard at him, his lips curled with disgust. "There are no plans. It's just a slight misunderstanding."

"You may believe that, but does the girl's father share the same idea?" Jack asked.

Hall said, "Jack here told me of your plight. Perhaps some time away from Washington would be for the best. It will give you some time for the air to clear."

Ezra spat out, "In future, Jack, I would like my personal business to stay that way."

His partner shook his head and smiled. "I apologize, my old friend, but I was just passing time with our friend here. I meant no slight. But what he says makes sense - it might be better for you to disappear for a while. Anyways, no one would dare take you off to slavery, especially with the kind of firepower we will be packing."

Ezra let out a sigh. After another moments silence he finally replied. "Okay, but I want it known that I'm against this whole idea."

Hall laughed. "Very good, Ezra, I'll make a note of that. Now let's go take a look at this new Spencer Carbine. I'm sure you'll both be impressed. It's a marvel! It has a spring-operated feeding mechanism which can feed seven rimfire cartridges into the breech. The cartridges are interesting in themselves – they are factory-made and hold forty five grains of black powder, primer and bullet in a single ready-to-fire case. This will be the wave of the future."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Jack said, unconvinced.
Chapter 4

Lying uncomfortably on a bed made out of a few sacks of mail, Jack raised his head and looked over at Ezra, who was still busy playing poker with Miles, the expressman. They both had furrowed brows as their elbows rested on the barrel, acting as a table, between them.

The train lurched along the rails, and the lights of the oil lamps swung side to side, casting moving shadows in the inside of the car. Jack groaned, rubbed the back of his neck and pulled himself up. He really felt in the pains and aches that come with age – and from sleeping in an unfamiliar place. The motion of the car and the chaotic squeaks had also stopped him from resting in peace. He felt simply awful and now wished that he had stayed in Washington where at least there was a proper bed.

Ezra looked up from his cards and gave his partner a welcoming nod before returning his concentration to the game at hand. They had found the expressman Miles Ames a friendly fellow who was glad for the company on this long trip. Passing the time smoking and taking the occasional nip from Jack's flask, they quickly became friends as the miles unreeled underneath their feet. There was little to guard on this trip – just a pile of soldiers' letters and some boxed provisions held in the freight cars. The passenger cars were also loaded with recently recruited soldiers being transferred to their new posts.

The train had already snaked through Harper's Ferry, past the place where Jack had tried to kill Ethan Davis. He remembered lying in wait, watching the train trestle over the river where Davis tried to escape. Jack had shot the spy in the leg, causing Davis to slide off the horse and fall into the Potomac River below. How could anyone still live after a fall like that?

Lighting a cigar, Jack continued to watch the card game. After a quick glance at his pocket watch, he saw it was just after six in the morning. "I don't know how you two can keep playing cards through the entire night," he commented.

Ames looked up momentarily and answered sharply, "Ezra here got all of my savings. I'm just trying to get some of it back before you two are forced to leave."

Jack barked out a laugh. He knew Ezra was slick when it came to playing poker and wondered how much he had taken from the expressman. "I warned you, Miles. Ezra can even teach me a few tricks when it comes to playing cards. I would just give up while you can and take the losses in stride."

"I still have a chance," Ames replied quickly. The hand was soon finished with him losing. He threw down his cards in disgust as Ezra took the pot.

"You're on credit now," Ezra said simply. "That was your last dollar."

"I wouldn't have believed it until I saw it," Ames said humbly. He stood up and stretched. A pot of coffee sat on the pot belly stove, and he gingerly picked it up to pour himself a cup. Taking a sip, he made a face and then opened the side door to dump out the old coffee. The late winter air tumbled noisily into the car, clearing out the stale cigar smoke and closed air of the night.

Jack leaned against the car wall and watched as Ames started to make a new pot. The train was still moving at a good clip. He wondered how much longer before they reached their designated drop-off point.

Pulling out some sandwiches from a leather pack, Ezra went and sat at the door with his feet dangling over the side. Feeling hungry, Jack went to join him.

"It's a beautiful country," his partner commented as they watched the rolling hills pass by.

Early spring Dogwood flowered heavily along the rail line that snaked through the hills and valleys of Kentucky. Jack concentrated on eating his food and recovering his sleep-laden thoughts. Ames then brought them each a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Ezra looked as if he had something on his mind as he stared out.

The detective hesitantly asked his partner, "You haven't said much about this here expedition of ours. You aren't having second thoughts are you?"

The black man gave a quick smile and answered with a mouthful, "I still think it's a fool idea." He took a swallow of coffee before continuing. "There isn't much chance of success."

"I agree with you. On the face of it we have no chance of getting either the gold or this traitor."

"Then why take it on in the first place?"

"I was bored," Jack replied with a laugh, knowing this attitude had a way of annoying his friend.

"Your boredom is going to get us killed someday," Ezra snapped back.

"Now don't get angry. What Major Hall is asking of us is not totally impossible. There may be some circumstances that arise that will favor us. Once we get to the town we will have the information necessary to make a better decision. Anyways, worse comes to worse, we can always just shoot the bastard in the back and make off with what gold we can find. From what we were told, there's enough there for both of us to never have to work again."

Ezra nodded slowly. He said slyly, "So we're really going there to see if we can steal the gold for ourselves?"

The detective looked to see that Ames wasn't listening and then replied, "Of course we are. I'm sure the government won't mind if a little bit goes missing. Anyways, there's no reason to believe they will get any of it back. We are their last chance, so how can they know if we end up keeping some of it for ourselves?"

Taking another bite from his sandwich, the black man nodded. "Well, Washington was feeling a little crowded, so I'm willing to take a chance at it. But I'm not sure how I feel about playing servant for you. Just don't get too carried away ordering me around."

"Don't worry, Ezra, it will only be for a few days. Where we are going there are only a few slaves. Tennessee never had much use for them."

Taking his last bite, Ezra threw the crust of bread out of the door. He said in a worried voice, "You know it's a concern of mine that I am recaptured and sold off."

"That was a long time ago, I'm sure you have been forgotten by now."

"True, but I still don't like going this far south. I've seen what they do to captured fugitives."

"There's nothing to worry about, it's only for a few days. If there isn't any hope of capturing Gardner, then we'll just pack it up and leave. Perhaps the information we find will be enough to help Hall retrieve his gold. Either way we won't take any risks unless we have to."

"I've heard that before," Ezra said sarcastically.

The train gave a sudden lurch as the brakes squealed loudly. Jack was thrown hard against the side of the open door. Ezra managed to scramble away in time, pushing himself back into the car.

"What's going on?" the detective shouted to Ames.

"I don't know," the expressman answered. "We won't be stopping for coal for at least another hour."

The brakes dug in further, and the piled up cargo toppled over into a jumbled mess. Jack picked himself up and ran over to a trunk with the key in his hand. He unlocked it and pulled out a shotgun which he quickly tossed to Ezra. Reaching for the Spencer carbine, he quickly began to load it with cartridges. As this was going on, the train grounded to halt.

"You had better get that rifle of yours, Ames," Jack shouted. "I reckon this is a trap."

"I do believe you are right," Ezra said as he craned his neck out towards the front of the train. "It looks like a tree was dropped across the rails up ahead. There was a sudden crack from behind them and the sound of a falling tree hitting the ground. "And someone just dropped a tree behind us."

"This has happened on this line before," the expressman said nervously. "The guerillas robbed the train after shooting it up. I heard all about it from one of the survivors. We should take the fight to them before they kill us all." He started to make his way for the door with his Springfield musket in hand.

"Hold on there, man," Jack said. "We're best protected here. Anyways, I have a little surprise for those guerillas with this here Spencer." He patted the side of the wooden stock. "Now I want you to watch the connecting doors while Ezra watches the other cargo door. Shoot anyone that isn't wearing blue. I'll take the side door here and keep them busy."

"If you say so," Ames gulped.

Ezra merely scowled and went to his post.

As the others took up their positions, the detective rested on the floor. With one hand, he slowly slid the door shut until only a foot of space was left open. He then began scanning the tree line, looking for movement.

The silence was suddenly broken as a cry went up and gunfire erupted. From the nearby trees, a group of six horsemen thundered out with their pistols firing wildly at the train. Jack concentrated on the lead rider and fired. He swore to himself as the shot went wide. He pulled the trigger guard lever and cocked the hammer as the group charged towards the stationary cars. Firing again, Jack hit a straggler who slid off his horse with a scream, falling into a crumpled heap. It only took a moment of time to have the next cartridge ready to fire. The detective found that the weapon was difficult to handle at first, but he knew he was getting better with each shot.

The train guards fired sporadically back, hampered by the long loading times of their rifled muskets. But it was enough to stop the initial charge. The raider's pistol fire subsided as they fell back, retreating into the depths of the forest.

"See anything out there?" Jack asked his two companions.

Ames nervously shook his head as he peered out through the barred window of the front connecting door. "I can't see anything but the next car."

"Nothing over here," Ezra said calmly.

Jack looked carefully over the ground and said, "Good. I suspect they are interested in the contents of this car in particular. They probably think we are carrying payroll. They will have to hit us next before the soldiers in the passenger cars can get organized."

His words were true soon enough as a small band of guerilla fighters ran out of the cover of the bushes with pistols in hand. Jack counted eight of them and they were headed straight towards the express car. The lead man wore a pair of dirty overalls and had a long straggly beard. Jack pulled the trigger of the Spencer rifle and the raider fell, clutching his chest in agony. It only took a moment and the detective was able to fire again and again into the rushing fighters. Suddenly the hammer snapped on nothing and only then did he realize he was out of cartridges. But the effect of his gunfire was enough to have scared some sense into the guerillas. By now they had dropped to the ground for cover, only to sporadically return the murderous hail of fire.

A bullet ripped through the wood of the side door, luckily not hitting anything inside the car. Another shot hit the floor near the detective; the bullet ricocheted off of a metal fitting, smacking loudly into the roof above. Jack rolled over, finding some safety behind the closed portion of door and began reloading the carbine. His hands shook slightly as he looked up at Ezra, who just cracked a smile. Once Jack was done reloading, he peered past the open doorway and saw four men lying on the ground. Two were completely still while the others were crawling back towards the safety of the woods. That left four more to be dealt with.

Ezra's shotgun suddenly fired, tearing through the thin wood door he was watching. "I got one of them," he shouted triumphantly. The shotgun blast was loud in the enclosed space of the express car, making Jack's ears ring.

Because of the gunfire, a cloud of black powder smoke filled the inside of the car. Jack coughed and watched as Ames pulled back the hammer and fired through the barred window.

"A little help here," Ames said with a quaver in his voice. He dropped to his knee and began the long process of reloading. "I think I got one too, but I couldn't tell," he said after spitting out the wadded end of the cartridge.

Jack ran over to his position.

"Are you holding out, Ezra?" he shouted over to his partner.

"I'm fine. They were trying to get in through this door, but I gave them a going away present."

With those words, a smatter of gunfire started. A guerilla was firing his pistol through the front connecting door of the car. The bullets punctured the wood, hitting Ames. He fell down to the floor while Jack spun out of the way, falling to his knees.

"Damn it!" the detective shouted and brought his Spencer up to fire. He fired back, quickly emptying the seven bullets into the door and surrounding frame. There was a shout of pain and then the sound of a body slamming hard against the next attached car. Ezra's shotgun went off again. Now it was quiet except for the moan that escaped Ames mouth. Ignoring the expressman's pleas, Jack kicked the bullet-torn door open and saw an unmoving man lying crumpled on the ground. His eyes stared into space as his hands clenched tightly around the wound in his chest. Cautiously looking down, Jack saw another wounded man, who was slowly crawling away.

It appeared the raid was over. Union troops from the passenger cars were already lining up in order. They soon began firing orderly barrages into the tree line. With practiced precision, the soldiers fired and reloaded as the sergeants screamed out commands. The bullets smacked into the sparsely leafed woods, sending up birds high into the sky.

Turning his attention to the car, Jack found the expressman being tended to by Ezra. Ames's face was white with shock, his left arm soaked with blood.

He gave them both a faint smile and asked, "Did we get them?"

"You did a good job, soldier," Jack said softly. Ezra shook his head and moved away so his partner could get a closer look.

The arm had been hit below the elbow, and the shattered white of bone could be seen under the bloody scraps of flesh. The hand hung at a funny angle. Unbuckling Ames' belt, Jack pulled it free and pulled it around the top of the arm. He pulled it tightly, using the leather strap like a tourniquet to cut off the circulation. Ames tried to look at his wound, but Jack pushed him back down. "Hold on," he said as pleasantly as he could. "Just sit still and rest." He doubted if the expressman was going to be able to keep his arm, but kept that information to himself. It was more than likely an army doctor would have to amputate it.

"My arm, my arm," Ames groaned as his right hand tried to search out the wounded appendage.

Jack pushed the searching hand out of the way. "Sit tight until the doctor arrives." He wasn't sure if there was a doctor on this trip, but Ames was beyond any care he could give him. Reaching in his coat pocket, Jack pulled out his flask and tipped some of the whiskey into Ames' mouth. This seemed to help, for the expressman let out a sigh and closed his eyes. His breathing was shallow, but the etched mask of pain had left his face.

"Will he live?" Ezra asked in whisper.

"I think so," Jack answered back in a low voice. "But he's going to lose that arm for sure."

Ezra took out a roll of bills from his front shirt pocket and counted a few off dollars. He stuffed them into Ames' coat. "I feel bad taking money from a cripple," he mumbled.

With a shake of his head, his friend said, "The doctor will probably steal it anyways."

After they had seen Ames safely into the care of an army doctor, they watched as the soldiers began clearing away the fallen trees off of the tracks. As the men worked, a quickly gathered squad was kept busy patrolling through the woods. After the trees were pulled off with the use of chains, and the soldiers loaded up again, the train built up steam and continued on.

They rode in the express car for another day until they neared Hopkinsville. It was a small town located north of the border of Tennessee. It had a number of places to buy horses and dry goods. Major Hall had suggested they use this place for supplies, since it was out of the way and often used by smugglers.

As the train slowly slowed to round a tight curve, the two detectives pushed their belongings off of the express car. The well-packed case of weapons landed hard but did not break open as it skidded over the ground and ended upside down in a ditch. Then they each took their turn. Jack slid off of the moving car only to land hard on his knees. Ezra was more graceful and managed to keep his balance without any undue incidents. After the train pulled away, the luggage was quickly gathered and dragged into the underbrush.

"We have to find a better place to hide than this," Jack suggested.

After some searching, they found a nearby spot that would do. It was a deserted location away from any trails. There they camped overnight, sleeping on the cold ground without a fire. The next morning, Jack went by himself to Hopkinsville, leaving Ezra to stand guard over the guns. Though the detective was given some suspicious looks, the gold in his pockets soon cleared any troubles with the locals. There he bought two good horses and a pair of slow-moving mules to carry the heavier gear. He also bought some extra food, a few bottles of whiskey, and enough tobacco to see them through for a few days. After leaving the city, he was careful not to be followed. Gold, though accepted currency anywhere in the world, could also draw men of a criminal nature. He rode back to rejoin his partner, where they loaded up the mules. It took another solid day of traveling south, dodging Union patrols, before they made it over to the Tennessee border.

Western Tennessee was different than Jack expected. Instead of limestone hills, they found a low plain, covered with trees and the occasional swamp. It was good country for growing tobacco, and so they came across several little farms along the way. The inhabitants of this land mostly kept to themselves, fearful of running into some vengeful force from either side of the war. Jack and Ezra had to skirt along the Tennessee River until they found a passable ford. The waters were high from the spring flood, and it was wet work ferrying the mules across. Afterward, they continued traveling in the rough direction of the town of Stanton.
Chapter 5

"Are we lost?" Ezra asked with annoyance.

"I wouldn't exactly say lost," Jack replied. He was staring at a split in the trail, not sure which way to go. "I just don't know exactly where we are. The problem with this countryside is that all the trails look the same."

"Stanton is supposed to be just a few miles south of the river," Ezra said. "How hard can it be to find?"

"I don't know - I've never been there before. Let's try this way," Jack said, pointing to the right. "If we get lost, we can always backtrack."

The detective nudged his horse forward. They were in a forest, thick with trees and underbrush. The trails were all poorly marked. The last time they had seen any sign of civilization was a few miles back when they had come across a small farm. No one was present, so there was no chance to get directions. Nonetheless, they plunged forward, trusting the road they were on would eventually get them to Stanton. Instead the trail had petered out, turning into a rutted path. With the coming of night, it wasn't going to get any easier finding their way. They had been hoping to get to Stanton that day, but now it appeared to be too late for that.

"Shouldn't we stop for the night?" Ezra suggested.

"I suppose you are right, though I was hoping to push through tonight. I'm getting a little tired of traveling." Jack suddenly slowed, reining his horse to an easy walk. It was twilight now; the shadows of the trees had turned the path into a dark tunnel. Even still, it looked like there was something moving ahead. He drew out his Starr pistol.

Once Ezra saw this, he had his Colt Navy at the ready.

"Stop right there!" a voice suddenly boomed out. "You're covered on both sides, so don't try anything."

From out of the underbrush came a large man, his form nothing but a gray shadow against the trees.

*

Taking a sip of his hot coffee, Gardner let out an exhausted sigh. He was sitting on the old, dilapidated sofa that the previous owner had left behind. Shifting uncomfortably on the worn springs, he thought of Ethan Davis. He had left early that morning with his entourage of bodyguards. It had been a difficult visit, but it would only be a matter of a few days before Davis returned to take the gold away. But still, it was a moment of brief respite for Gardner.

Davis was always asking question after question concerning Gardner's tactics and the supply situation. To be asked those questions from a mere civilian was frustrating and tedious. A master spy understood little of military operations and knew nothing of the hardships the men faced day after day. Too bad Davis ultimately controlled the purse strings, since with the right amount of money, Gardner knew he could whip up enough guerrillas in Tennessee to stop an entire Union army.

Gardner put the coffee cup down and pulled himself up off the low couch. He rubbed the bottom of his back, feeling the pain of the years. If only Davis didn't know the exact amount of gold that was buried out front, then he could take some for himself. It was tempting to disappear down to Mexico never to be seen again. Perhaps he could convince Rose to come with him. He smiled to himself, thinking of finally having her for himself. But he knew she was a respectable woman who was still honoring the memory of her dead husband. It was too bad, since the pair of them would make a formidable duo.

He let out a snort at the thought of John Wallace. That man had been a fool, expecting to be able to ride with these grizzled hunters and take on a bunch of trigger-happy Union soldiers. On the entire journey, the gunsmith had caused nothing but grief to his men.

Gardner thought back to the day that John Wallace died. He was a poor rider, but, for some reason, hurriedly agreed to join the planned raid on a wagon train of supplies. He bragged of his fighting prowess, but throughout the long trip to the wagon trail, the man had whined about the weather and the amount of food that was doled out. His constant complaints had eventually drawn much derision from the rest of the soldiers. It was only a matter of time before they started calling him names right to his face.

By the time they had reached the spot they were going to spring their ambush, Wallace was in a foul mood and couldn't follow even the simplest of orders. Gardner had ordered him to stay behind and just observe the action, but the gun shop owner would not listen. When the wagons had approached, Wallace jumped on his horse and clumsily attacked on his own. A Union soldier riding guard killed him with a single shotgun blast.

With Wallace's foolish attack, they had lost the element of surprise. Another man had died for that mistake. However, the attack still went on as planned and they succeeded in taking the much of the supplies. But Gardner had the grim task of bringing the body of John Wallace back to his widow. On the other hand, the men were happy that the return trip was not filled with Wallace's constant complaints. Gardner smiled to himself, remembering the lies of honor and sacrifice he had told to Rose. The men behind him had managed to stifle their laughter, for though John was a fool, he still had sense enough to marry a beautiful woman. And who would want to insult such a woman?

Lighting a cigar, he took a few tentative puffs. There was a rapid knock at the front door, which ruffled his composure. The door opened before he could respond. In rushed his orderly Patrick. He clearly had something urgent to report.

"What is it?" Gardner snapped angrily.

"Last night, one of our patrols found two men who were brought back this morning as prisoners. One calls himself Nathaniel Hall and he is traveling with his Negro manservant. The two captured men claim to know Missus Wallace, but the patrol was still suspicious of them. They were also transporting a box containing a number of guns."

"Well, where are they?" Gardner asked impatiently. He was curious to meet this cousin of Rose's. He was even more curious to see this Spencer carbine that he had only heard rumors of.

"I had them brought here for your inspection, sir. They are waiting outside for you with Sergeant Raines standing guard." The orderly went and opened the door for the major who donned his hat before going outside.

Gardner noted that it was another sunny morning with only a few clouds. In front of the house was the patrol waiting on horseback. They looked tired and saluted sloppily when they saw him approach. Raines stood, holding his horse, with his pistol held loosely in front of him. The two prisoners had the disheveled look of travelers who had come a long way. One was tall and middle-aged, obviously relieved to finally meet someone in command. Gardner paid little attention to his Negro servant, but noted the man stood calmly with a scowl fixed on his face.

With his arms outstretched in greeting, the major approached them and said, "You must be Rose's cousin, Mister Hall."

The man answered back gruffly, "I am at that, sir, but this is not quite the welcome I was expecting. I'm here on business, not to be treated in such a way by your men."

"Rose told me you would be coming. I'm Major Gardner, and I admit I should have warned my Sergeant here to be gentler in his dealings with you."

Hall shrugged. "My cousin wrote a few kind words about you. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir."

"I hope you will accept my apologies for my oversight. I've been most busy as of late."

"I accept them provided you return my horses and goods to me." Hall's voice had the hardened confidence of a man used to getting his way in life.

Some warning bell went off in the back of Gardner's mind. There was something worth watching with this man. He said uneasily, "Everything will be returned to you soon enough. I will have my men drop off your luggage at your cousin's house." He motioned for the patrol to leave.

"Good," Hall said sourly.

"If you will walk this way, I will show you to your cousin's house. You will find it a most beautiful place, especially this time of year. Her garden is something to behold."

"I've always found Tennessee to be beautiful, though it's been a number of years since I've had the good fortune of traveling here," Hall said. His servant followed a few paces behind as they walked out of the camp.

Gardner strode next to the tall man, feeling slightly inferior in height. Hall had long strides that he found difficult to keep up with. His first impressions of this cousin of Rose's weren't good, but he had learned from experience to wait and see before finally making a decision about a man. He was someone who seemed concerned about business first, and this behavior was something that he could understand.

*

Rose was out in the front, planting some flowers in her small garden. It was pleasant to be on her knees, digging into the black soil and feeling the spring sun on her back. Tennessee certainly stayed warmer than Maine and she enjoyed the shorter winters down south. She then saw three men walking towards her home

Of course she immediately recognized Major Gardner, but she did not know the tall man striding purposefully next to him. She immediately knew that this must be the man sent by her uncle to impersonate her cousin. The man had a long coat and held his hat in his left hand, slapping it absentmindedly against his knee. His expression did not look friendly in the least, but had the faraway look of a man comfortable in his own skin. She couldn't help liking the face and wanted to know what stories could create those wrinkles of worry on the forehead.

Behind the stranger walked a black man lugging a saddle bag. He had an intelligent face marked by scars. He scowled at the backs of the men walking in front of him. He was well-dressed though a little bit scruffy, like he had been traveling from afar.

Standing up, Rose brushed the dirt off of her hands and went to meet them. As they opened the white wooden gate, she forced herself to smile.

Gardner said, "Rose, I brought your cousin here to see you."

"Oh, Nathaniel," she cried out and went to hug him. "It's been so long I could scarcely recognize you."

He put his arms stiffly around her and gave her a cautious squeeze. "My goodness, Rose, it has been a long time. You look more beautiful than ever."

She grinned and said, "I count at least fifteen years since I've last seen you. Everyone in the family thought you were dead. What ever happened to you?"

"Has it been fifteen years already? I remember you as a skinny, freckled girl who just couldn't keep her hands out of my mother's cakes. My, how you have grown since." The man playing the part of her cousin laughed stiffly. "I'm really sorry I was gone so long, but I had some interesting times out in California. There will be plenty of stories to tell." He quickly looked over the grounds and added, "It's a shame what happened to your husband John, but I see he left you a fine little house and a business too."

Rose saw Gardner look upon their conversation with guarded jealousy. She hoped he did not hear the insincere tones of their words, for she could not see how their playacting would fool anyone. She said earnestly, "John managed to provide well enough for me, but I still miss him ever so terribly. Any day now, I still expect him to come walking through that front door."

"That's understandable, Rose. It takes some time before one can accept such a loss. I heard that you were trapped down here surrounded by strangers. But you seem to have made a good place for yourself here. And I'm sure the major is glad for your company."

"The major here has been most kind to me. I almost feel part of the town now."

Gardner gave a little bow and reached for her hand. He gave it a quick kiss and said, "I really must get back to camp, my dear. I'll leave you two, so you can spend some time catching up. You must have plenty of old family history to go over."

"Thank you, Major, for bringing him here," Rose said graciously. This time she knew her sincerity was genuine. "Make sure to stop by soon."

"Don't you fret, I'll be back here soon enough. This afternoon I will want to see your cousin's firearms that he has for sale. I trust his trip down here will not be wasted."

"You and your business," Rose laughed.

Hall said to the major, "Once I am rested and have had lunch, I will send word to you via Ezra here. You will be simply amazed by this new rifle. The Spencer Carbine will change the course of history."

With a smirk, Gardner said, "Save your sales pitch for me this afternoon, Mister Hall. I will be at your service then." He closed the gate behind him and began walking back to the camp.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Rose continued to talk as she watched the Major's retreating back out of the corner of her eye. She was still suspicious that he knew everything and watched for any telltale sign. In the meanwhile, she said sweetly to this stranger, "Let me show you around the house, Nathan. You can consider it yours while you are down here visiting. I had my maid Elsie get a room ready for you and I've found a place for your servant too." She saw the major stop at the crest of the path and give a final wave before disappearing over the hill.

"Good job, miss," the man said in a low, guarded voice.

She took a step back from this stranger and said, "He's gone now. Tell me, what is your real name?"

"Jack Blackwood," he replied softly, obviously still suspicious of being overheard by unfriendly ears. "I was selected by your uncle Calvin to come here to get back that Union gold. You should have been warned of my coming." He said the last part as a statement not a question.

Rose wasn't sure that she could stand another masterful man in her life. Major Gardner was more than enough. She said stiffly, "Yes, my uncle told me of his fool plan. I'm not sure how he expects to get that gold back."

Jack's eyes softened. He said, "I'm sorry to presume too much, miss. We've had a long difficult journey here. It's not often in life that I've had to pretend to be someone else."

The black man that Rose had assumed was just a servant gave a polite little cough.

Jack said, "Ah, where are my manners? This is my partner, Ezra Miller."

The black man gave a polite bow and said, "I am pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"Likewise," Rose replied politely as she could. She wasn't sure what to make of these two. They were unlike anyone else she had ever met before. She said cautiously, "I'm sure you are both tired. Perhaps you need some time to rest before lunch? I can give you some more details afterwards."

Jack nodded. They then followed her into the house. Her maid was waiting at the door and with a curtsy, brought them to a bedroom.

Rose watched them leave and felt even more divided than ever between the family loyalty to her uncle and the love she felt for Richard. Meeting this Jack Blackwood did not help the matter any further. His manners were most direct and she thought he was rather rude. But yet she had seen some kindness in that unyielding face and that held some future promise. She laughed at her own girlish foolishness and felt younger than she had for a long while. Why did she have a sudden interest in this sad-looking man with his unknown secrets? Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she decided she wouldn't tell Richard anything yet.
Chapter 6

Jack saw Ezra sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning and looking at him speculatively. He watched lazily as the detective unpacked the cases that were dropped off by Gardner's men.

"Aren't you going to give me a hand here?" Jack asked impatiently.

Ezra snorted and replied moodily, "I'm just here playing the part of your servant. Please don't expect me to actually be one. I have to take care of my own things at the servant's room - if you want to call a barn a proper place to sleep."

Giving his friend a cross look, Jack continued to stuff his clothes into an old dresser placed against the wall. It was a small room with an even smaller bed. It was crammed with the second best furniture of the house and smelled musty. Ezra was an overly proud man, Jack thought, but there was no reason to needle him any further since they were both tired from the journey from Washington. No matter what happened, he knew he could count on his partner when the cards were down.

Though he had only caught a glimpse of Stanton, it was decidedly a scruffy little town. A main street, muddy with water, ran straight through an open area with buildings on each side. A number of small houses were located on the side streets, and these seemed to be in good condition. The town itself was surrounded by a light forest with a few farm houses and barns dotting the landscape in the distance.

Returning his thoughts back to the present, Jack decided to change the course of the conversation. He asked Ezra, "So what do you think so far?"

"Oh, you mean Missus Wallace? She's a beauty to be sure, but she really isn't my type."

"You mean, sober?" Jack grinned.

Ezra ignored him and said, "I sure could go for that Elsie though. She's really something."

Jack nodded. Elsie was a blonde creature with a fine figure and a beaming face. Though slightly plump, she had a nice little body that would draw the attention of any full-blooded male. It was a wonder that she hadn't been taken away by some local suitor.

His friend went on and said, "The way they were looking at each other, I would hazard a guess that Missus Wallace's heart belongs to that Gardner fellow. But I would bet that you would still have a chance with her if you put some effort into it. You never know at this stage of the game since widows make the best brides for a man like you. They're already used to living with a husband and don't expect perfection from their beau."

Rolling his eyes, Jack said with exasperation, "Damn it, Ezra, I was talking about the situation in this here town. I don't think we have the time for chasing women. Do you think we have any chance of recovering that gold or getting that bastard Gardner back to Washington?"

His partner laughed. "Don't worry, I've given it a little thought, and it will be very difficult. But at least he roams this town without a bodyguard, so he must feel safe enough here. That sergeant of his appears to be a difficult man if we had to tangle with him, but putting him out of the way wouldn't be that hard. Those types are all bark."

Jack couldn't find any argument there. He said, "We shall have to wait and see what happens. You spoke of the love between Rose and Gardner. Do you think there is any chance that she would betray us?"

Ezra merely shrugged. "It's hard to say where her loyalties lie. It would be easy to go over to the enemy if you were surrounded by them. However, she knew we were coming, so the fact she hasn't betrayed us yet is something to consider."

"Well, she certainly was eager to play the part of my loving cousin," Jack said dryly. He had detected a strained nervousness in her voice as she was introduced to him. Perhaps she felt strange betraying Gardner or was it fear of the major himself? Personally he had found her quite beautiful and did not want to believe that her interests lay with someone else. As for the so-called major, Jack thought the man was self-preening ass. Jack had met that type throughout his life and he had little time to listen to such weaklings. Well, it wasn't his intention to be friends with him.

Ezra interrupted his partner's thoughts by saying, "Perhaps we should see what she has to say about Gardner before we jump to any conclusions."

Jack nodded and shut the dresser drawer.

*

Rose met them in her simply appointed parlor. It had a fine, thick rug that Jack had guessed was imported from out East. It certainly didn't have the rough look of being locally made. She indicated a low sofa to sit at while she stood by the door to make sure they were not overheard.

Seeing her suspicious actions, Jack asked, "Don't you trust your maid?"

"She is from these parts while I'm always seen as a Yankee stranger. I'm afraid that any out-of-the-ordinary action on my part would set her tongue wagging. Word travels fast in Stanton, and they would love to tar and feather me right out of this town."

"I see," Jack replied. Only then did he really begin to appreciate her position. She was surrounded by strangers and had no one to confide in but the friendly Richard Gardner. Little did she know that they just weren't here for the gold, but to take away the only other person she could trust. Who knew how she would react if they kidnapped the major. It was hardly a consoling idea, but he had been in worse situations before. Once again he and Ezra would just have to make the best of it.

Before returning to her post at the door, she poured out some lemonade and then distributed the glasses.

Drinking, Jack made a face and said, "What can you tell us about the current setup here in town?"

"Nothing has changed here since my last letter to my Uncle Hall. Gardner's men are still encamped here, though regular patrols are being sent out. I'm surprised since they are normally all out looking for easy targets – mostly supply wagons."

Jack merely nodded and said nothing. The lemonade was sour and he wished for something stronger. A bit of whiskey would hit the spot right now, but this girl didn't look like the drinking type.

"It sounds as if the major is waiting for something," Ezra commented.

"I should mention one thing," she said shyly. "Richard had a guest at his house that just left this morning. The man was there for a while, and I only saw him from a distance. He walked with a limp and seemed to have Richard's ear. I have no idea who it was, but the major seemed quite nervous about his visit."

"Why do you say that?" Jack asked.

"Well Richard normally visits me at least once a day unless he is away. This visitor was obviously important enough for the major to forsake his daily visits. He gave me no explanation as to why."

Jack felt a quick pang of jealousy, wondering why he even felt that way. So this jackass major was busy wooing Rose. As usual, Ezra was right. He shot his partner a glance and saw a crooked smile on his friend's face. "I see," Jack said blandly, hoping not to betray too much disappointment in his voice. "Well, never mind that, Missus Wallace, what do you know about the gold?"

She smiled and said, "That's easy enough. I learned that it is buried in the front of the major's house. In fact the whole town knows about it by now. When the soldiers came back, they were bragging about the load of gold they had stolen from the Yankees."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous for him?" Ezra asked. "It could be taken by anyone in the town."

She laughed and said, "You don't know Richard. Stealing from him would cost you your life. It would be a death sentence for anyone fool enough to try. His men are loyal and would track down the thief. People are simply afraid of crossing the major, so there is no reason for him to hide the money."

To Jack's ears, her words sounded like a proud boast – the words of a woman speaking fondly of her lover. And the next words out of her mouth clinched his hunch.

"I'm afraid there is little that you gentlemen can do here. Perhaps it is best that you leave tomorrow after you have concluded showing him that carbine of yours. With time, Richard will only grow suspicious. He will have you killed once he finds out the truth."

"As long as you keep our secret, don't worry about us," Jack replied coldly. He put down his empty glass. "We'll spend a few days looking around to see what we can do. If we can't accomplish the task given to us by your uncle, then and only then will we leave."

"But you can't stay," she said frantically. Her beautiful face was lined with worry, her hands fidgeting restlessly.

Jack said quickly, "I'm afraid we must stay, Missus Wallace. How would it look if we turned tail and ran back to your uncle with only a few scraps of information? We will have to be cautious for a just few days and learn as much as we can. There is no reason for you to be worried, we will be on our way soon enough."

"Very well," she replied with resignation. "But please be careful. I don't want to have your blood on my hands."

"There's enough blood already in this damn war," Ezra muttered.

Rose nodded and said, "I have already seen my husband brought back dead – shot by a Yankee soldier. My uncle expects too much from me after that." She looked down at the ground and the faintest beginning of tears could be seen in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Jack said, his voice softening. He couldn't help but feel protective towards this woman. She had already endured the loss of her husband and now she had to handle this delicate situation without giving them away. It was no wonder she looked unusually pale and anxious. Jack wondered how much longer she could face the strain. "Look, Missus Wallace, this war has been hard on everyone. I've lost a good friend and seen men in the prime of their life cut down by murderous gunfire. We'll just have to get along the best we can."

She looked up and gave him a faint smile. "I will try," she said.

"Good. Now I will have to get ready to see this major of yours. I'm sure he will happy to see this rifle I brought with me."
Chapter 7

Sighting down the barrel of the carbine, Gardner looked through the sight at the glass bottles that had been setup some fifty yards down the field. He squeezed the trigger, and the shot felt true. A bottle shattered and fell off of the fence. He pulled down on the trigger guard, cocked the hammer and fired again. He worked rhythmically at a good pace, quickly firing all of the loaded cartridges. In the end, four of the bottles had been shattered while three of his shots had missed.

"That's some fair shooting, Major," Hall commented enthusiastically.

"The action feels a little clumsy," Gardner said. He examined the compact carbine again before he passed it over to Raines. The sergeant gave it a good appraising look and aimed experimentally down the sights.

Hall said, "I agree it does take a while to get used to, Major, but it is worth the trouble if you think about it. Granted, the firing rate is a little slower than the old Colt repeating rifle, but it is the reloading time that makes all the difference."

"Show us," Gardner said. He found the eager salesman talk bothersome, but wanted to know everything about this new type of rifle.

Hall explained, "Just think, there will no longer be any need for men to bite paper cartridges or use a ramrod." He took out seven brass-encased cartridges from his coat pocket and showed them in his callused hand. "Everything, including the percussion cap, is inside this cartridge body." He handed them over to Raines and then showed him how to load the cartridges into the buttstock of the rifle.

The sergeant quickly picked up on the loading method and was soon firing the rounds in quick succession. Six bottles were broken by his quick accurate shooting. Gardner knew that Raines was an expert shot who had hunted since he was a small boy. "That's amazing, sir!" the sergeant proclaimed with astonishment.

"Raines here is right," Hall said. "Imagine the firepower you would have if you bought just a few of these. Why you could decimate an entire Union regiment with only a handful of men."

Gardner imagined swaths of Union soldiers falling like wheat falling from a farmer's scythe. But still, the carbine would eat up ammunition quickly. If Hall was the sole supplier then he would become dependent on the man. "And I suppose you would be supplying all of the cartridges to us?" he asked.

"Well, it's not exactly something you can make at home, Major," Hall smiled. "It takes precision machinery to turn out these cartridges. Really, there are only a few shops up north that can handle the making of these."

"It's something I would have to consider if I end buying them from you. I don't want my soldiers expending ammunition more than they need to."

"I can guarantee a hundred rounds of ammunition per carbine you buy. I will be able to easily supply more as needed. I've also heard that the Federals are afraid their soldiers would go through too much ammo if they used these rifles. In my book that's never been a problem. In a bad situation, you can never have enough firepower."

"Mister Hall, my men prefer their pistols when riding. They're so much better for working close with the enemy."

Hall smiled again and nodded. "I agree with you, Major, since I always carry a Starr myself. It's quick and deadly when fighting on horseback. But the pistol makes a poor weapon if you're trying to hit something faraway. A pistol, using the older ammunition, also takes longer to load than this carbine, and those seconds can cost you your life. Now I'm not suggesting you give up your pistols at all, but use this carbine to supplement your arsenal."

"I see your point," Gardner replied. "What do you think, Raines?"

The sergeant hemmed and hawed before answering, "That's one hell of a gun, sir. We could ambush those damned Union soldiers from a further distance if we had a few of these in our hands. It would also be easier to lay down covering fire in the situations where we are forced to retreat."

The major knew his sergeant was right but still found himself annoyed by this Mister Hall. The man spoke to him with condescending tones and Gardner also suspected that Hall's intent with Rose went beyond just a family interest. He could see no resemblance at all between the two, and he could swear they were glancing at each other guiltily when they first met. "Let me ask you a question, sir, just how exactly did you get to selling guns?"

Pursing his lips, Hall answered, "Let's just say I was the black sheep of the family."

"It was my understanding that your family is rather rich. You have neither the bearing nor manners of a gentleman."

"Major, where I come from, that would be construed as an insult. However, I will let it pass since I agree that I am decidedly not a gentleman. If you must know, I had a disagreement with my father over a dance hall girl and ended up running away with her."

"Tell me what happened."

"I was sixteen at the time. Well, it turns out that my old father was right about her," Hall laughed. "At the first hotel we stayed at, she left me. She also took all of my money. I was penniless, but too proud to return home to face my father. So I decided to go ahead and face life on my own. I did a couple of years in the army and after that, I spent some time out in California trying to make my fortune."

Gardner thought that Hall's words seemed true enough since he had the look of a scoundrel. "I gather you did not succeed in that venture," the major chuckled. "You must have had a most interesting life so far. Tell me about your time in the army. I'm curious what you did for them."

"It was out West. I was in the cavalry for four years as a scout. It was work that served me well later in life. I can tell you there were a few bandits out there who wished they never tried to rob me."

"I see. So you just aren't a city boy trying to make a few dollars off of me? You should be using your skills in a more profitable capacity." Gardner really didn't expect much from this Yankee, but an additional experienced man who could ride was always needed. Perhaps there was more to this person than first met the eye.

Hall just shrugged, holding the unloaded carbine in his hand.

"Perhaps you could give us a demonstration of your marksmanship?" Gardner asked. "Raines, go setup some more bottles for Mister Hall to fire at."

The sergeant grinned as he went to setup some more targets. He pulled some dusty bottles out of a crate and balanced them carefully on the split rail fence in the distance while Hall began reloading the rifle.

Hall waited until Raines was back and said, "I'm a little rusty, and you have to understand that I'm not really familiar with this weapon yet." He pulled the barrel level to his eye and sighted down it. With quick and smooth reactions, the seven bottles shattered one by one.

Raines whistled in appreciation.

Gardner was surprised and could only say, "Now it is my turn to compliment you, Mister Hall. That was some fine shooting indeed. You truly are a humble man if you can outshoot Sergeant Raines here and not brag about it. If you can ride as well as you shoot then you would be an invaluable addition for my little private army."

"I'm not sure how I feel about taking potshots at my fellow countrymen," Hall said carefully.

"Hell, ask the sergeant here. I'm not trying to appeal to your patriotism or some silly talk of Southern Rights – let's just look as this as a simple business proposition."

Raines interjected, "Major Gardner is right. Some of us ride to rid our country of you damn Yankees, while others go for a chance to make some money. I must say we did rather well for ourselves taking that Federal gold."

Gardner shot Raines a stern look in an attempt to caution the man to be quiet. There was no reason to tell this man everything yet. "Don't let the sergeant mislead you since none of us are going to retire wealthy from these raids. But I will tell you that there is a fair amount of money to be had that we end up spreading around. I look after my men and make sure they are paid well. You see, I don't want any regular army recruiter taking my talent away."

His face tightened up with thought, Hall said, "I'm not sure what to say."

"Think it over for a while. Perhaps you could join us on our next little raid and see what we do? If you don't think you can handle it, then there's nothing lost."

"I would be happy to at least go along and observe. Up north we've heard so much about the guerilla raids. The army is going crazy trying to protect every mile of road and track from their attacks."

"Good enough, Mister Hall. The Union army is currently just west of us. We've been making minor raids against their supply wagons routes and various patrols. We have to do anything we can to slow down their army. You can go on the next one with us. I will have Raines stop by and tell you before we are ready to go. But be warned, we will be leaving on short notice – I am waiting for some of my men to return and give me news of the enemy's movements. Perhaps, in another day or two, we will be ready to go on a major attack."

"I will be at your disposal," Hall said.

"Good, Mister Hall," Gardner said and he clapped him on the back. "After that we can talk some business about those carbines of yours. Now why don't you go back to Rose and make sure to send her my regards."

"I will at that, Major," Hall said and he made his leave carrying the carbine over his shoulder.

Gardner watched Hall's back as he left. Turning to his sergeant, he said, "So what do you think of our Mister Hall?"

"I don't trust any Yankee," Raines spat out.

"Neither do I," Gardner said softly.

*

"So how do you like my friend Richard?" Rose asked Jack as she put down her glass. She said these words to placate her maid Elsie who was hovering around the dinner table.

Jack looked up from his plate and winked. "He seems to be a fair man to do business with."

Picking at her food, she said, "And he liked that new gun you were showing off to him? Soldiers and guns! That's all I hear about these days."

"It would seem that he is interested in the Spencer, but he wants me to prove its use to him."

"Whatever do you mean by that?"

"He wants me to accompany him on a raid into enemy territory."

She could feel Elsie's eyes on her as she carefully said, "And you agreed to do this, cousin? Please remember what happened to my husband John."

"Don't worry, Rose," Jack replied confidently. "You friend Richard has guaranteed my safety."

Rose forced herself to smile. She said, "His word is good enough for me. I almost forgot to mention that I'm having a little get-together tomorrow night."

Jack grunted noncommittally and continued eating.

Continuing on, Rose said, "Seems your visit here has stirred up this little town. Several of our more prominent members wish to hear what news you have from the north. What we hear is usually second hand. I'm sure they would like to hear your views on the matter of the war."

"I wouldn't think they would like to associate themselves with a Yankee."

"I guess they will just have to deal with it," Rose smiled. "The mayor and his wife will be coming. Also Elijah the blacksmith and his friend Frank, who runs the dry goods store. I hope you don't mind being the center of attention."

"I don't see why I should mind. This is your house and if you wish to parade me about, then I can only agree to my cousin's wishes."

She was pleased by his kind words and said, "Would you care to join me in the parlor for an after-dinner glass of wine?"

Jack smiled back at her and said, "I would prefer some whiskey if you have any in the house. I'm afraid I've never had the nose for wine."

"Elsie," Rose asked, "Do we still have some of John's whiskey tucked away in the cabinet?"

"Yes, ma'am," Elsie replied dutifully.

"Bring Mister Hall here a glass and I will take some wine. After that, you may retire for the night. I won't need your services for the rest of the day."

"Very good, ma'am," Elsie said as she scampered off to the kitchen.

Rose let Jack take her by the arm and walk her to the parlor. It was good to have a man living in the house, and it made her feel safe again. Her dead husband John was no lion, but he knew how to keep her happy with his small talk about the business of the day. She wondered if this man here could provide the same sort of comfort. She knew it was a foolish idea but was still tempted by the thought nonetheless.

They sat down across from each other with Jack on the sofa. She took the straight-backed chair which made her sit up stiffly. She felt uncomfortable but didn't want to give this man any ideas by sitting too close to him.

After Elsie brought in the drinks, Jack pulled out his cigarette case. "Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked politely.

She didn't even allow her husband to smoke in the house, but she found herself nodding her head and saying, "Please, go right ahead."

He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply with a pleased look. "I'm sorry, I've been rather rude. I forgot to offer you one."

"I've never smoked before. I was always taught that it's a filthy habit."

"It is at that," Jack nodded sagely. "But it gives you something to do with your hands."

She surprised herself again by saying, "Please, let me try just a small puff." She leaned over and took the cigarette from between his fingers. She noticed that his hands were worn, with scarred knuckles. Holding the cigarette clumsily, she took a discreet puff only to let out a racking cough. "I don't know how you men do it," she gasped as she returned the cigarette to him.

"Oh, it gets better with practice. I've known a few women who have smoked," he replied.

"Well, it's hardly a habit I will pick up any day soon. Tell me, I couldn't help noticing your hands. How did you get all those marks on them?"

He studied them for a moment and replied, "It's been a long hard life, cousin of mine. I've seen plenty of fights and hard work." Finally taking a drink, he made an appreciative face. "Your husband had good taste in whiskey."

"He often traveled to Kentucky and found alcohol useful for conducting business. He rarely drank when he was alone."

"I drink alone too often," Jack said quietly with a note of sadness.

"Tell me, how could you be alone?" She knew the question was impolite, but she wondered how such a strong man could not have anyone else in his life.

He frowned and studied the glass in his hand. "I was married a few years ago. My Mary was a sweet woman, and we were very happy together."

Rose was sorry to dredge up these painful memories but asked, "What happened to her?"

"We had a little farm down in southern Illinois. The neighbors, who lived a few miles away, got sick and Mary went to take care of them. She was always trying to help others. In the end, she ended up getting sick herself and came down with a terrible fever. There wasn't anything I could do, and she died in my arms." He said the last words quietly as if the events had happened to someone else.

"I'm sorry," she said. And she meant it.

"It's alright. It was a long time ago."

"Then we do have something in common. We were both married and lost the other person in our life."

"I guess so," he said blandly as he took another sip of whiskey.

"Tell me, have there been any others since?"

"Oh, a few," Jack replied.

She felt a sudden rush of unexpected jealousy.

"But nothing ever lasted," Jack went on to say. "They were the wrong women at the wrong time of my life."

"You should never give up. The right person will come along someday."

He finished his drink and said, "You may be right. Now I'm afraid I must leave you for the night. It's been a long day, and I need to get some rest." He stood up and gave her a small bow before leaving.

Rose sipped her untouched wine and found she didn't really care for the taste at that moment. Perhaps it was time for her to also retire for the evening.
Chapter 8

Snapping his eyes wide open, Jack took a deep breath. He listened carefully to the creaks of the house. He reached over to light a match. The flame momentarily brightened the dark room as he leaned over to light the oil lamp on the side table. The oily light flickered dimly, casting dark shadows against the wall. Inside his jacket, he found his cigarette case. Lighting one up, he leaned uneasily against the headboard and thought of the dream he just had.

He had been back at his old farm in Illinois, searching through the small cabin for his wife. In the dream, he knew that she was gone forever, but he couldn't help but search through the little homestead. The curtains were blowing fiercely as the darkness came. In the corner of his eye, he saw the swirl of a long black dress. Running after it, he went out into the night. The moon was shining blood red. The surrounding farm was quiet. Not even the chirp of a cricket broke the stillness. He turned as he heard the barn door shut. He frantically ran over and tugged it open. Inside was a circle of candles around two sawhorses that held a simple pine coffin that was closed. It was the same coffin he had built the very day she died. He leaned over and opened it only to find her best black dress. She was gone.

He hated that dream. After Mary died, he had that dream every night. Week after week it dragged on until he thought he was going crazy. Enough whiskey kept the nightmare away until time had faded the memory of it. It had been years since he had last had it, but its return brought back a sour taste in his mouth. It was that damn Rose, dredging up old memories that best stay forgotten.

Tapping his ashes on the floor, Jack pulled himself out of the bed. Even in the chill of the morning his forehead was wet with sweat. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his nightshirt. He pushed back the curtains and scraped the frost away on the panes. He saw that it was grey outside. The blackness of the night was gone and morning was just an hour away. Opening the window, he threw the stub of his cigarette to the ground and gratefully breathed in the fresh air.

Leaving the window open, he went and got back into bed. He was tired but his mind was too active to sleep. He thought of his encounter with Gardner yesterday. He wondered why the major invited him to go on that raid. Perhaps Gardner was suspicious and wanted a way to test him. Or perhaps it was jealousy. Here he was inside Rose's home, while the fool major would give anything to be in the same position. Jack lit another cigarette, but stopped inhaling as he heard the squeak of floorboards.

Listening intently, he heard muffled footsteps outside his door. It sounded as if someone was listening outside and then left. He exhaled. Smiling to himself, Jack thought that it could be Rose. Perhaps she was outside, wondering if he would repulse an invitation to share a bed. He laughed to himself – more likely it was the maid Elsie on some early morning errand or sneaking back from seeing a lover in town.

Rose was a damn fine woman - too fine for the likes of him. He could understand how she would fall for someone like Major Gardner. He was a man who knew all the proper social graces a proper gentleman must know. But nonetheless, it was a shame that Rose could be in love with such an obvious ass. Well, there wasn't much he could do in the little time he had here. She could hardly be expected to go back to Washington with him and leave everything here behind.

He heard footsteps again, but this time he recognized the heavy footsteps of Ezra. There was a quiet knock at the door.

"Come in," Jack answered.

It was Ezra alright. He came in grinning and shut the door. With a nod he sat at the foot of the bed. He had a tired look on his face, but his eyes were bright as if he was hiding a secret. "I thought you were up. I could smell the smoke."

"What have you been up to?" the detective asked suspiciously.

"I guess I have to take back everything I said about this trip. It was worth coming down here after all."

Jack groaned. He knew he was about to hear something he didn't want to know. "Okay, I'll bite. Tell me."

"While you were off having your after-dinner drink with Missus Wallace, I was trying to get comfortable out in the barn. I wasn't looking forward to keeping company with the horses on a cold night, but Elsie came out to give me some supper. Let's just say she stayed for a while and kept me warm."

So that who was sneaking past his door. "I'm not sure if I want to know this. You had better hope she keeps her pretty mouth shut until we leave."

His friend laughed and said, "Don't worry, Jack, she's a real quiet girl unless she's with me."

Jack laughed. "That's not what I'm worried about. If she goes and gets with child, then half the county will be here to string you up."

With a shrug, Ezra dismissed his partner's worries. "We'll be out of here long before that will be a problem. She is a friendly girl and wanted to know everything about the big city we came from. I played my part and didn't tell her anything that she didn't need to know."

"Well, I'm glad you got something good out of this trip. Last evening I spent just a few minutes with Rose and then made my excuse to get some sleep. It was a long day. I don't see how you could spend all night awake."

"I tried to sleep, but she wouldn't let me," Ezra laughed. "Face it, you're just getting too old."

"I prefer to call it wisdom," Jack grinned.

"Look, I can tell that Rose likes to have you around. But you'll have to move a little quicker if you want to make a good impression with her."

"Don't be a fool," the detective grumbled and changed the subject by asking, "What are your thoughts on Major Gardner inviting me on an excursion with his troops?"

"After you told me about it yesterday, I gave it some consideration. I think you are right in your thinking that the major is trying to test you."

"But for what purpose?"

"Either he suspects you are a spy, or he has some other motive."

"Like what?" Jack asked.

"I'm sure you noticed his jealousy concerning Rose. Perhaps he wants a chance to kill you on this trip. Look what happened to her husband when he went out with the major. The man was brought back dead. Just make sure the same doesn't happen to you."

Jack gave this some thought and answered, "Do you think I should I go with Gardner? I wish you could come with me to act as my backup."

"You're supposed to be Rose's black sheep cousin. You had better go, or he will become more suspicious of you. It's likely that he just thinks you're a mean old bastard who is only interested in money."

"Well, he's got that part true," Jack answered gruffly. He knew that his partner was right, but he didn't like the idea of leaving his back unprotected with this band of guerillas. He would have to play it by ear and always be on guard. "I'm afraid I'll have to end up shooting some Federals."

Ezra shrugged and said, "If they aren't friends of yours then you don't owe them a thing."

"And you call me a mean old bastard?" Jack asked with a laugh. He really was worried about fighting the Union troops, but he knew he would have to do whatever was required to save his own skin.

The sun had come up now, and the room grew lighter. Jack snuffed out the lamp and got out of bed. "I suppose I should dress and have some breakfast with Rose. If I am called away by Gardner, I expect you to keep your ear to the ground and find out what you can. Watch and see how many guards are left at their camp. Perhaps we could find the best time to dig up that gold."

"While you were off shooting with the major, I was able to visit the town. They didn't pay me any attention, and I visited some of the shops there. As long as people thought I was shopping on your behalf, they didn't seem to mind. It seems that the blacksmith Elijah was a good friend of Mister Wallace. Once he died, his attentions were most serious with Rose. The town pastor was also interested in her."

"Plenty of gossip in this town," Jack commented.

"The smaller the town, the more the gossip. Seems the people here aren't too happy with having Gardner and his men here. With the events up at Fort Henry and Donelson, some people think the tide is turning against the rebels."

Jack nodded. Those two forts were taken by General Grant in February. It allowed the Federals to move their boats down the Tennessee and Mississippi River. The loss of those forts caused Johnston to retreat into the western side of Tennessee. He had lost prestige and over ten thousand men to the daring attacks.

"Word is they want Gardner to leave before the Federals take the rest of Tennessee."

"This is all very interesting. Perhaps the people here could provide us with some help."

"I'll see what I can turn up," Ezra replied glumly. "But don't expect much." He left to get some breakfast.

Jack shaved and dressed before going to the dining room. Elsie was there, putting down plates and silverware. She had tired eyes but looked at the detective with embarrassment. She giggled nervously as he sat down to drink his coffee. He dug into the eggs and started in on the toast when Rose came to join him.

Jack rose and pulled the seat back for her. He sat down again and studied her from across the table. She had a rested look of someone who had slept peacefully through the night.

"I trust you slept well, cousin," Rose said with an unexpected smile.

"Well enough," he replied simply. She almost seemed to know that Jack had spent an uncomfortable night. He smiled at her before starting in on the bacon. "That Elsie of yours is a fine cook. I'm surprised she had enough time to make us breakfast this morning."

Elsie's face turned a bright red, and she quickly scampered off to the kitchen.

"Yes, she's a popular girl alright," Rose said. "Half the families would like to have her as their maid."

And half the men in the town probably already have had her, Jack thought to himself.

Rose went on and said, "She's a good cook. I just wish I could afford more help around the house. It's not good for the two of us to be alone here in these uncertain times. Who will be here to protect us if this town is pillaged by soldiers?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," Jack replied. "This town is small enough to be of no military importance."

"I hope you are right," she said with little conviction.

"I was thinking of visiting the town today. Would you be willing to show me around?"

"I was planning to go in and buy a few items for the party tonight. It will give me a chance to show you my little shop."
Chapter 9

The town of Stanton was little more than a main thoroughfare with several small one-story buildings built on each side. The road itself was a rutted dirt track, but at least there was a wooden boardwalk that kept pedestrians out of the worst of the spring mud. As Jack walked with Rose at his side, he could only see a few inhabitants out, running whatever errands that kept them busy. But upon the sight of a seeing someone new in town, many of them stopped to gawk.

"I guess they aren't too used to strangers," he commented to Rose.

She laughed. "Yes, they are rather provincial. I'm still considered an outsider even though I've lived here since my marriage."

"I'm surprised no one came and swept you off your feet. There can't be a woman as beautiful as you around here."

"Now you are just flattering me. Of course I've had my suitors since the death of my poor husband, but I really didn't think any of them were suitable for me."

"Except for major?" Jack asked sharply.

She took a moment, staring at him, before answering. "Perhaps it is because Richard and I are both outsiders to this town. Maybe that would make you understand my reasons why I love him."

"Perhaps," he replied without much conviction.

Rose then stopped and pointed to a nearby store. "This is it - the little business that keeps food on the table and the roof over my head."

It was hardly an imposing place - it was made with the most base materials, but the wood frame was painted with a fresh coat of white-wash and the picture window was clean, showing a display of pistols inside. Through the window, Jack could see racks of guns, a counter, and a man standing inside.

"Who is that?" Jack asked.

"Miguel, of course. He worked for my husband and decided to stay on to help me. Let's go inside, and I'll make the introductions."

Jack opened the door, setting off a ringing bell attached to the frame above. He let Rose enter first. Once inside, he saw that the shop was as tidy inside as it was outside. There was Miguel, bowing like a gentleman to Rose, but all the while keeping a steady eye on Jack.

Rose said, "Miguel, this is my cousin Nathaniel Hall."

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, senor. Any friend of Mrs. Wallace is a friend of mine." His dark Spanish face betrayed little emotion as these words were spoken, so Jack felt as if this new friendship was strictly probationary.

"I'm glad to hear that," Jack replied. "It looks as if you do a good job keeping this place shipshape."

"Thank you. The senora here told me that you also deal with guns. But tell me, why do you still use a pistol like the Starr? There are much better designs."

The detective looked down at the gun hanging on his hip. He laughed. "Let's just say I'm sentimental. This gun and I have been through a number of scrapes together. So far it's saved my life more times than I can count."

Miguel nodded. "That's a good enough reason for me. One should stick with the things that prove faithful."

"Would you care to look over the store?" Rose asked.

"I would be happy to," Jack replied graciously.

The next hour, Miguel showed him the various pistols, shotguns and rifles in the store. For such a small town, the number of guns was certainly impressive. Even more impressive was the amount of gunpowder and shot. There was enough here to supply an army for a small battle.

After he had seen everything, Jack commented, "You certainly keep a good stock here, Rose. I'm not sure why the farmers here would need such an arsenal."

She smiled. "They only use shotguns for hunting. Most of it I sell to the Rebels. Richard and his men buy the bulk of everything."

"From what I've heard, you must be doing good business."

"Fair enough," Rose admitted. "But there is no reason for the two of us to compete for the business of the major. I'm sure that repeating rifle of yours is better than anything I have in stock."

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "I would like to see this new rifle myself. I have heard rumors of such things, but I cannot believe it is really better than the old way."

"I was of the same thought as you, until I had seen it myself. I'm sure we could setup a demonstration for you."

"That would be much appreciated, senor."

Any further conversation in that direction was cut off by the arrival of a customer. It was a man with thick arms, a black straggly beard flecked with gray, and piercing blue eyes. He looked sharply at Rose before his attention centered on Jack.

Rose said, "Oh, Elijah, how nice to see you. This is my cousin Nathaniel."

Elijah reached over to shake Jack's hand. The grip was crushing, but the detective merely stared back into the man's eyes, not showing any discomfort at all. Their hands eventually dropped. Jack's knuckles ended up feeling bruised.

Rose went on and said, "Elijah is the town blacksmith."

Jack said, "With a grip like that, I'm not surprised."

"I came to ask you if the party is still on for tonight," Elijah said.

"Of course it is. I only came into town to buy some more food and drink. I never seem to have enough."

"Good. I heard that your cousin was in town. I was hoping to meet him."

Rose smiled benignly and said, "You'll have plenty of time to talk to him tonight. I don't know why you are in such a hurry."

Elijah gulped once and said hurriedly, "Because I wanted to see for myself if this man had any chance of taking you away from me. I can see that he's no threat."

"Hold on there," Jack said roughly, surprised by the man's forwardness.

"We've already discussed this, Elijah," Rose said before the detective could react in a more violent fashion. "I haven't made my mind up about anything in that regard. Now I suggest you leave before you make even a bigger fool out of yourself."

With a scowl, Elijah stormed out of the store, slamming the door shut.

Miguel shook his head. "Be careful with that man, senor, his heart is full of hate."

"I will keep your advice in mind," Jack said as he watched the retreating back of the blacksmith.

"Never mind him," Rose said, trying to control her emotions. "He's still upset that I didn't rush over to marry him after my husband died. It will take a while for him to get over it.

"But he will still come to your party tonight?" Jack asked skeptically.

"It would be cruel not to ask him."

"Perhaps it is crueler for a man to see what he cannot have. Tell me, if you are considered a stranger in this town, then why does anyone bother coming over to your house?"

Rose laughed. "You've been on the road for too long, cousin. In small towns, there isn't much to do. Any chance for drink, dancing and song is most welcome - even if it is at my house."

*

As the violin started, the dozen male dancers bowed while their partners curtsied. The music was soon in full swing, with the practiced movement of feet and graceful flourishes of arms and hands. The women were all dressed in their finest with long flowing dresses with just a hint of heaving bosom. The men had their best suits on with starched collars and carefully knotted cravats.

The dance floor was Rose's living room, but the furniture, except for a table that held refreshments, had been removed. The band of violin, guitar, banjo, and bass fiddle filled their air with a thrumming beat that made it difficult to talk. Even with the open windows and front door, the air was thick with the smell of perspiration and perfume. Those not dancing clustered together in groups to talk loudly over the cacophony of music.

Jack found himself in a corner, surrounded by a knot of gentlemen asking him questions about the war.

"So you've recently been to Washington, sir?" asked a chubby man with a red face that had beads of sweat plastered to the skin.

"Yes, I've been through there. It's like an armed camp."

"How do the people there feel about the war?" asked another man whose stained collar was pinching his sunbaked neck.

"I wasn't there that long," Jack lied. "But after the Battle at Bull Run, they are most eager for good news. The feeling is the war will end with the Rebel states victorious unless something happens to turn the tide."

"So it is your opinion that the war cannot last much longer?" the chubby man asked.

"I cannot say, sir. It's been some time since they've tasted victory. Perhaps the bitterness of war will sway their minds towards peace."

"And how do you feel about peace?" a new voice asked. It was Elijah, the blacksmith. His tone was still unfriendly, but the presence of so many witnesses seemed to have tempered the worst instincts.

Jack shrugged. "I think peace is impossible until one side has been defeated."

"And what side do you favor?"

"I am a stranger in this town. It is not my place to say in fear of offending someone."

Elijah pushed the point and asked rudely, "Surely you must favor one side over the other."

Before Jack could respond, the knot of men around him gave way to a feminine form. It was Rose. She was dressed in a long white gown with silk embroidery. The neckline plunged to a daring low that would have been scandalous anywhere but the most liberal of cities. She offered her hand to Jack who took it.

She said to the assembled group, "I hope I'm not interfering. I do know how you men like to talk politics, but you're supposed to have fun at this party, not make enemies of a man you hardly know. Anyways, my cousin Nathaniel here is of a distinctly non-political bent. Isn't that true, cousin?"

"Of course," Jack heard himself replying.

"Now gentlemen, I suggest you concentrate on enjoying yourselves. Cousin, do you dance?"

"Not very well," Jack admitted.

"Come, it isn't that hard to do," she said with a brilliant smile. She then led him through the crowd and on to the dance floor.

Shooting a glance, Jack saw that Elijah was staring at them, his face set in a mask of pure hatred. None of the other guests seemed to notice.

Rose gently showed Jack the necessary steps. They were soon dancing comfortably with each other, and his confidence grew with every passing moment. Rose's smile was kind, and her eyes were sparkling as he held her close. With her body pressed against his, Jack felt a yearning towards this woman - a yearning that was unexpected in such strange circumstances. He felt as if he could have danced with her forever, each song binding them closer and closer together. But that wondrous spell was soon broken.

The music suddenly died. The dancers stopped. Through the front door came Major Gardner. He surveyed the assembled party-goers with obvious distaste. Once he spied Jack and Rose together, his expression darkened with a fury.

After marshalling his emotions, he finally spoke. "Good evening, Rose," he loudly hailed them. "I am sorry for my tardiness, but I received some unexpected news. Now if I could have a word with your cousin, that would be most appreciated."

Jack followed him outside. The music immediately swelled up again, causing them to walk some distance away. There the crickets could be heard, along with the odd tree frog.

"Well, Mister Hall, I'm glad you are having such a good time with your cousin. But be warned that she is mine."

"So I have heard," Jack replied easily, hoping not to further anger this petty man.

"Just remember to keep that in mind. Anyway I've just receive word that the Federals are gathering close by. I've been ordered to slow them down. I expect that you will still be joining us? We will be leaving early tomorrow morning."

"I will be ready," Jack replied.

"Good. I will have Sergeant Raines notify you when we are ready to leave." Without a further word, Gardner strode off into the night and soon disappeared into the shadows.

Jack returned to the party, disappointed to see that Rose was off talking to her guests.

*

Much later, after the party had disbanded, Jack was leaning on the front porch railing, enjoying a cigarette. On purpose, he didn't register any recognition when Rose joined him. But still he saw that she was looking tired but happy from the activities.

"What did Richard want?" she asked.

"We are to move out tomorrow morning," Jack replied.

Rose had a sharp intake of breath. She said with concern, "I was hoping that you wouldn't go with him. It's dangerous. Just look what happened to my poor husband."

Jack stubbed out his cigarette and continued to stare out to the blackness of night beyond. "I'm a little more experienced in these matters than your husband was. I'll be safe enough."

The silence from Rose was deafening. After a minute, she finally said, "You men are nothing but fools. What purpose does this serve?"

He explained, "I don't want Gardner to suspect me. If he thought I was a spy, my chance of living would be even worse than if I went on a raid with him. As I said, you don't have to worry about me."

"But I do. I may never see you again." Then from the darkness, her hand wrapped around his; it squeezed his own in a frantic manner. There was an uncomfortable pause and then a moment later, they were kissing in a familiar fashion.

Jack rubbed his hand against the smooth skin of her neck, feeling her long hair tickling the back of his hand. Her mouth and tongue were eager, almost hungry, and he could feel her shake with the nervousness of a virgin on her wedding night.

"Let's go to my room," she finally said.

Rose led him inside and they went to her room. There they stayed together until Sergeant Raines pounded on the front door.
Chapter 10

Looking through his field glasses, Gardner examined the two Federal soldiers standing guard down the forest trail. By all rights they should have remained hidden, but he could see they were at ease with an entire army at their back. It had taken time for him to crawl through the sparse underbrush undetected, and he felt uncomfortably close to them. From the scout's report, the enemy army was spread out in a large camp. Davis had been right – the army under General Grant was on the move. Davis had ordered him to make an attempt to slow this Federal force down until the army under Johnston could be brought into play. The major sighed to himself at the impossibility of the task. He then began to methodically crawl back to the safety of his men where Raines and Hall were waiting.

It had been a fairly easy trip to the Tennessee River with only a few enemy patrols to hide from. The force of guerillas had covered the roughly thirty miles in less than a day before they had setup camp for the night. Two men stood guard while another man volunteered to scout ahead to make sure they would not stumble upon the enemy in the morning. He had returned in a few hours and stated that the reports had been correct of the enemy's whereabouts. He had seen a massive army that was encamped in a large field. From the direction of the arriving troops, it appeared that they were slowly headed towards Pittsburgh Landing. Davis had already known of this, and Gardner had marveled at the number of spies that must be reporting to him.

His soldiers had cautiously approached this encampment, leading their horses as they went. His forty men were in good spirits even though they were initially suspicious of Hall. Gardner was surprised to see how good a rider Hall was; obviously the man had not lied about his past cavalry experience. The gun seller also followed orders without complaint and even shared his meager lunch with two men who had forgotten to take their own rations. The major had to admit that his men were slowly beginning to take a liking to this Yankee stranger.

After his crawl through the underbrush, he stood up and carefully brushed the dirt off of his knees. He saw Raines stoically stand where he last saw him - his eyes automatically scanning the land for potential threats. Standing away from the sergeant, Hall looked bored with the proceedings.

"You told me we were going to be attacking a wagon train," Hall spat out. His face had the same tired look that everyone else shared.

"Well, Mister Hall, it appears I told you a little lie. I'm still not sure of your loyalties and didn't want the news of our movements to accidentally get out to the wrong people. But the fact is that only Raines here and I knew where we were going today."

"That's the whole Army of the Tennessee out there," Hall continued on as if he hadn't heard Gardner's words. "You aren't expecting us to tear in there and start a fight with the whole lot?" His voice wasn't one of fear, but incredulity.

"Just wait and see, Hall," Raines replied dryly. "The major here has a plan and they always work."

"My sergeant's flattery shouldn't be easily dismissed," Gardner said with a smile. "If everything goes according to plan, we will escape unharmed. Though it seems difficult, I have been ordered to slow this behemoth of an army down until General Johnston is in a better position of stopping it. Now that you are here, perhaps you will give us a hand."

"I won't risk my neck unless you willing to pay me for my troubles," Hall countered.

"I don't think you have much choice in the matter," Raines blurted out angrily.

Gardner put up a consoling hand and said, "Sergeant, there is no reason to threaten Mister Hall here. I'm sure he will do as we ask."

Hall's face stiffened into a cold mask. He finally nodded. "Very well, since I'm here, I suppose I can help – provided you take another look at the guns I have for sale. Tell me what you are planning to do."

Suppressing a triumphant grin, Gardner replied, "Ahead there is a picket of two men guarding the trail. Their job, as you know, is to guard the camp from a surprise attack. I suggest we quietly take care of them and then we can bring our horses into action. We will charge into the camp, shoot up the place and with a bit of luck, we can cause a little trouble before we make our escape."

Hall shook his head. "Those soldiers guarding the trail will be hard to deal with. It will only take one shot, and the entire camp will be warned of our coming. They will then line up in formation like proper soldiers and shoot us to hell and back. Do you really propose we go in there and cut the throats of the guards?"

"That's the idea," Raines grinned.

Gardner said, "Even though we aren't rank amateurs in these matters, Mister Hall, I was hoping you could show us the proper technique."

Raines smiled at Hall's obvious discomfort.

"If you say so, Major," Hall said resignedly. "Tell me what to do, and I'll take care of it, provided you really promise to buy those Spencer carbines from me."

"That's a fair bargain, Mister Hall. I'm sure we can help each other out in that matter. There are only two of them up ahead, and they are looking a little bored. Raines will take the man left of the trail while you take the other on the right. It will be necessary for you to strike at the same time so the alarm is not given out."

"I already know that, but what exactly will you be doing?" Hall asked.

"I will be waiting with the horses with rest of my men. Once you have returned to us, we will make our attack."

"Don't worry, Hall," Raines said nastily. "We've done this countless times before. Those city boys don't hear so good out here in the country. Just stalk them carefully and then move in for the kill. It only takes one good cut across the throat and they'll be quiet forever."

Hall looked at Raines blankly and replied, "I've killed men my share of men, Sergeant. Don't worry, I'll know what to do when the time comes."

Raines chuckled and said, "I hope so."

"Mister Hall, don't take my sergeant's words to heart. He is just worried that you will mess it up and give us away. So don't go away angry."

Hall merely shrugged and said, "I'm not angry and standing here jawing won't get the work done." He turned and stalked off into the underbrush, taking the right side of the trail.

"I don't trust him," Raines said quietly.

"Neither do I," Gardner shot back. "If he does anything suspicious, feel free to leave him behind – preferably dead."

The sergeant nodded and trotted off into the woods, moving quietly as he went. He was an experienced trapper and Gardner wondered how he could be replaced if anything happened to him. Perhaps someday, a lucky Yankee shot could kill him. If he could convince Hall to join them, then it would be good to have a possible replacement for the cantankerous Raines.

Knowing he had little time, Gardner went back to join the rest of his men. He walked quickly through the tangled trees to find them waiting impatiently in the clearing they had found near the trail. The men were busy nervously checking the loads in their pistols and quieting the horses. No matter how many times they did these raids, the men were still keyed up. Everyone knew that it only took one mistake before you caught a bullet. They had ridden with few casualties so far, but the men also knew it was only a matter of time before they ran into something they couldn't handle.

Pulling himself up on his horse, Gardner took out his field glasses and scanned the path ahead. There was little to see with the trees in the way, but the familiar action calmed his nerves. This was a dangerous place to be, and they could be surprised by a roaming patrol at any moment. He wished that Raines and Hall would hurry up and complete the job. He nervously rubbed his moustache and suddenly stopped himself since it was important to the men that he always looked unfazed by uncertainty. Nonetheless, as he waited, the minutes seemed to drag into hours.

The birds were chattering loudly in the branches above and sunlight glimmered through the young buds. Ahead of them, a sudden shot rang out, and the birds scattered noisily. There was another shot, this one softer than the first.

Damn it! That could only mean that blasted fool Hall went and got himself discovered. Gardner held up his hand high in the air to warn his men to be quiet. It was hardly necessary since they were veterans in this type of warfare, but he did it out of habit.

"Private James, scout ahead and see what's happening" Gardner ordered in a low voice.

Before the private could reply, a bugle called out, and the distant shout of men could be heard. The shot had warned the Federals that trouble was out there in the woods. It was only a matter of time before soldiers were sent to investigate. The major looked at the private and shook his head to stop him from leaving. Because their location was still unknown, there was no reason for them to break cover yet.

Another shot was fired and Gardner could hear heavy footsteps running towards them. Hall broke through the underbrush, his face heavy with sweat. He ran to his horse and quickly pulled himself up.

"What happened, Mister Hall?" Gardner shouted.

The gun runner pulled hard on the reins and wheeled his horse about. He replied, "They're coming into the woods! We have to get out of here!"

"I mean what happened to Sergeant Raines? Where is he?"

"He's dead," Hall said simply and pointed towards the direction of the camp. "We have to hurry, Major."

Gardner felt a pang of loss for his old sergeant. He was always there and though they were never friends, his companionship would be missed. "How did he die?" he asked with a sick voice.

"This isn't the time or place – order your men away from here before we are found. They are marching scads of soldiers straight in here to flush us out. It will only be a matter of time before their cavalry joins in the hunt."

The men around began to murmur nervously and look about the sparse woods for the best avenues of escape. Pistols were drawn and bridles held tightly in sweating hands.

"Nobody move," Gardner snarled over his shoulder. "First, I want Mister Hall to tell me what happened. Then I will tell you men what to do."

Hall gave an exasperated sigh. "Very well, Major, I'll make it quick. Raines and I were sneaking up into position. He was unseen and drawing close to his man. Suddenly the soldier turned and spat some tobacco out. In that moment he saw Raines and immediately shot him. My man ran towards the camp before I could get him. Using my pistol I then shot the soldier who killed Raines and left before they could bring up reinforcements."

"A bit of bad luck, eh?" Gardner replied coldly. "But at least you revenged Raines's death. Now we'll have to see what we can salvage from this situation."

The calls of the approaching infantry could now be heard through the trees. The voices seemed to be getting closer. It was only a matter of time before they were going to be discovered. Gardner did not want to be beaten back by the Yankees, so he barked out, "I want a loose skirmish line!"

"They'll cut us into ribbons," Hall warned, his eyes wide with shock. "The trees are too closely packed together for us to ride together."

"Don't tell me how to run this battle, Mister Hall," Gardner growled back. He didn't like anyone telling him how to fight.

His men complied with his order and they were soon riding in a rough line towards the camp. Tensions were high as his soldiers nervously peered through the foliage, looking for a target. The progress was slow as men rode past trees and the struggled through the thick underbrush. Gardner rode behind them with Hall at his side. It was hard to maintain order and the line of horses soon became broken and disjointed.

They didn't have to wait long before someone started firing. It was impossible to know whether it was their side or a Yankee soldier, but suddenly all hell broke loose. Horses reared up in pain, and men fell off their saddles as minie balls started humming through the air. Then there was a barrage of nearby musket fire that scattered leaves as it tore into the ragged line. More horses and men fell to the ground, splattering it red with blood.

"This is a massacre," Hall shouted. He was tucked low in his saddle with his Starr pistol resting in his palm.

Gardner gritted his teeth, knowing that Hall was right. This was no place for horsemen to be.

They came upon a small group of Yankees busily trying to reload their rifles. The pistols of the guerrillas quickly cut them down. A ragged cheer rose from his men's lips. It was good to see the enemy and fight back and win. They had shown these blue-bellies they weren't afraid.

"I want an orderly withdraw," Gardner finally shouted to his men. "Keep firing in their direction until we can get on to the trail and ride clear."

The noise and confusion was too great for his men to retreat in any type of orderly fashion. As soon as one man saw another turn away from the battle, it became a route. His soldiers broke away and started galloping away as quickly as possible. Horses bunched up together and fought to find a passage through the close trail.

The Yankee gunfire continued to pour it on with the sound of minie balls breaking the air. The shots were not aimed and only chance took down a rider or a horse. But Gardner could see that the situation was becoming desperate. If the Yankees outflanked his men, then it would be the end. He would be captured and hung as a guerilla fighter.

Hall's voice rang out. He began shouting the men into order. "One at a time, boys! One at a time!"

Gardner watched in amazement as his soldiers listened and actually began streaming single file down the path. Soon Hall ushered the major forward, and the group was moving speedily away from the sound of gunfire. In the distance behind them, Gardner heard a cheer from the Yankee soldiers. He felt his face burn in shame. It was impossible that those blue-bellied bastards had finally beaten him in battle.
Chapter 11

With a groan, Jack slid off his boots and let out a sigh of relief. His body ached. It felt good to be back in Stanton still in one piece. Upon his arrival, he had found the house strangely unoccupied for this time in the morning. No one but the maid Elsie was here. Meeting him at the front door, she was surprised to see him and had only blushed and turned away when asked of the whereabouts of Ezra. She soon left, readily agreeing to make the detective some coffee and breakfast. Jack then retired to his bedroom to change.

He heard footsteps, and his partner came through the door with an excited look.

"The entire town is busy wondering what happened to Gardner and his men," Ezra said. "Everyone noticed they came back with fewer men than when they left. Tell me, what happened out there?

"Where is Rose?" Jack asked, ignoring the entreaties of his friend.

"She's down at the camp right now. She left her store and went over to Gardner's house."

Jack said angrily, "I'll tell you what happened - that damned fool of a major almost got us all killed. He's so full of himself to think that the Federals could never take him in a fair fight. He's been too busy raiding wagons and gunning down wounded men. Then the idiot decided he could go against an entire army!"

"So it went badly?" Ezra asked eagerly.

With a sigh, Jack said, "There's really not much to say. It was an easy trip there, and we only spent one night camping out. There was a large encampment of thousands of Union soldiers a few miles from Pittsburgh Landing. Gardner was apparently ordered to slow them down."

"Seems like a fool's errand," Ezra commented.

"It was. We were supposed to raid the camp, killing whomever we could, before running for it. Gardner sent Raines and me to take care of the two soldiers guarding a path leading to the camp."

Ezra said, "I was in town and noticed Raines did not return with the rest of the men."

Jack smiled nastily and said, "That's because the bastard is dead. He was about to go in and kill that poor soldier guarding the trail, but I shot the sergeant before he had the chance."

Ezra's eyes widened and said, "That must have surprised him."

With a quick laugh, Jack said, "It surely did. All hell broke loose after that. After taking a potshot at me, those Union boys went running for help. The warning bugle was blown, and soldiers from the camp were rushing out of their tents, heading straight towards me. I ran back to Gardner and told him that Raines was killed by one of the guards. That seemed to make him angry to no end, and he still wanted to charge right into the camp. It would have been suicide. I tried to talk him out of it, but he lined his men up and started riding right into their guns, like the Charge of the bloody Light Brigade"

"He must be brave or a fool."

"I'm thinking he's a small man with big ideas. One nice barrage of rifle fire, and soon enough the major ordered a retreat. We lost eight men just for his pride."

"We? You almost sound proud of them. What about those soldiers they tried to kill?"

Jack carefully replied, "Gardner's men are good soldiers, and they weren't afraid of following orders. With a little real leadership, they could really damage the Union Army."

Ezra asked sarcastically, "But you think Major Gardner doesn't provide the right leadership?"

"Oh, he's not bad, but he's going to be a whole lot worse without his sergeant Raines. As far as I could tell, Raines was the real leader. However the soldiers seemed to like me well enough since I gave them some help in escaping. I really wasn't looking forward to being caught myself. We somehow managed to stagger back here, but it was a near thing, let me tell you. We had to dodge some aggressive patrols the entire day and through the night."

"You're damn lucky to be alive," Ezra said as he shook his head.

Jack suddenly remembered that he had asked Ezra to keep an eye on the encampment. He asked, "And do you have anything to report?"

"Gardner took the bulk of his men with him and only left five behind as guards. So with the losses they took today," he paused, "that leaves thirty-six men, not including the major. The remaining guards didn't do much except gamble and drink themselves sick every night"

"When the cat is away," Jack grinned. He knew the ways of soldiers freed from the eyes of their commanding officers. "So we just have to wait until Gardner goes on another raid. If I can somehow stay here in town with you, then perhaps we can take care of those guards and dig up that gold. With any luck we can leave before anyone is the wiser for it."

"There is going to be two problems with that," Ezra said with exasperation.

"You think they would hurt Rose once they found out it was us?"

"That is one problem. But I'm more worried about you. Since Raines is dead, Gardner will need someone to keep his men in line. You are the obvious choice for the job. Where else is the major going to get a trained military man around here?"

"You may be right," Jack admitted. "But we'll have to worry about it later. Right now I need to have something to eat. Elsie said she would make me something."

"She knows how to cook," Ezra answered with a lopsided grin. "There is one more thing I need to tell you – someone is waiting for Gardner at that little home of his. I didn't get a clear look at the visitor, but I suspect it is Ethan Davis."

That news made the detective pause. He finally said, "As much as I would like to kill Davis, I doubt he would be here in town to give every order personally. Right now we only have to worry about Gardner and the gold."

Ezra merely shrugged his shoulders. They went to the dining room. Elsie was there and she gave Ezra a friendly look as Jack sat down. She poured him a cup of coffee before returning to the kitchen.

"She's a pretty thing," Jack commented.

"And a good cook," his partner added.

Elsie came back with a plate which she dropped in front of Jack. "It's not much, sir, but it will have to do." It was piled high with bacon and eggs.

"That is more than enough," he said greedily. He gave her a leer over his mug. She really was beautiful.

Elsie giggled, curtsied and fled back to the kitchen.

"Sit down and have a cup of coffee," Jack said to Ezra in-between bites. The food was good and hot. His partner was right – she was a good cook.

At that moment, Rose hurriedly came in to the room. Ezra, who was about to sit down, remained standing out of politeness. Jack merely nodded at her and continued to eat. He was too damned hungry to care about social conventions.

"Thank God, you're alright," she said breathlessly. "Richard told me you were fine, but I had to be sure with my own eyes."

"Don't worry, Rose, it will take more than incompetence to kill me."

"How dare you say that?" her face flushed with anger. "Richard is well-respected for his military feats."

"That is the story he tells. He may be good at attacking helpless men, but yesterday I didn't see anything but foolishness on his part."

"That's not what I heard. The story that is going around town is that you messed up like a greenhorn, alerted the Yankee army, and went and got Sergeant Raines killed."

Instead of getting angry, Jack merely laughed it off. Of course the major would make such an excuse. But Gardner was probably closer to the truth than he guessed.

"I don't know what you find so amusing," she seethed.

Ezra gave a little bow to her and carefully said, "I think I will be going. There are some other parts of town that I would like to take a look at."

Jack said, "Be careful, Ezra. Don't get caught snooping around where you aren't supposed to."

"Don't worry, they just ignore us Negroes." He chuckled to himself and left. They heard the front door open and the crunch of his feet on the graveled walk.

Rose bit her lip and finally sat down at the table. "I'm sorry I spoke that way to you. You see, I was so worried while you were gone. I kept expecting to hear the worst."

"I didn't know you cared," Jack said flippantly.

She blushed and scowled angrily. "I don't want to see any friend of my uncle's harmed in any way. I'm tired of this endless bloodshed. It seems like such a silly thing to fight over – we should just let the South go their own way."

"That's not our decision to make," Jack replied bluntly.

"Are you always so rude with everyone or is it just us women?"

Pushing his plate back, Jack went and stood to look out the large bay window. He lit a cigarette and quickly blew the smoke out. It hit the pane of the window and dispersed against the glass. He said, "Men fight for many things, but men will fight hardest for an ideal. No one wants to see the states separate in such a manner. Now I want to apologize for my short temper. I'm just concerned about your relationship with Major Gardner. He is not the right man for you."

"Now why do you care?" she asked triumphantly. "I do believe that you are the one in love with me."

Jack felt his face grow hot, so instead of facing her, he studied the garden outside. He composed himself and said uncomfortably, "You could hardly blame me after the night we spent together. Rose, I'm getting tired of these childish games. I'm not a young man anymore, and I've never been comfortable saying these kinds of words. So I'll be blunt. I've developed a certain affection for you these past days, and I wish only the best for you."

"Oh, Jack," she cried out. She stood up and ran over to him.

He turned to meet her and took her by the hands. He looked her in the eyes and said, "Will you excuse my boorish behavior?"

"Oh, be quiet," she whispered and kissed him on the mouth. It was a cool kiss that turned hot within seconds. Her arms went around and pulled him closer.

Returning the kiss, Jack felt happier than he had for a long time. It felt good to be with this woman again. After a blissful moment, he pulled back from her arms and said, "What about your Richard?"

"Oh, hang him," she said with a giggle and kissed him again.

"You may be closer to the truth than you think," Jack admitted with a whisper.

Rose dropped her hands away from him and took a step back. "What do you mean, Jack?"

"I shouldn't have said anything, but you have to know the truth. Your uncle Hall has sent me here with two goals in mind. Not only I am supposed to retrieve that stolen money, I also have to bring Gardner back to face a trial. The government wants to try him for treason."

She let out a pent-up breath. "It's foolish for you to try. Let's forget him and this whole war. Take me away from here, and we will never look back."

Shaking his head, Jack said, "I gave my word to your uncle that I would do the best I could. At the very least, I have to get that gold back into the right hands. If you want to help me, then it would only make my job easier."

"I'll do anything that I can," she replied earnestly. "Richard invited himself to dinner tonight, and his guest will be coming with him."

"That could prove to be useful as a diversion. Who is the guest?"

"That's easy - Richard finally introduced me to him when I was visiting the camp. It's a man named Ethan Davis."

Feeling his jaw drop open, Jack said, "Ethan Davis? What did he look like?"

"He has bad limp but dresses well; blond hair and a moustache. Definitely has the air of a proper southern gentleman."

"So it really is Ethan Davis," Jack muttered to himself. So now he had a chance to take care of some old business. This was turning out better than expected.

"Why, is it important?" Rose asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Not very," Jack lied. He smiled to himself.
Chapter 12

Gardner paced back and forth, gritting his teeth. He could feel Davis's eyes following him as he treaded over the threadbare rug. He had just told the master spy of the disastrous events at the camp raid. With a little bending of the truth, he had managed to twist the story enough to deflect most of the blame onto that bastard Hall.

"So you're telling me that you failed to slow them down at all?" Davis spat out. He looked angry and clenched his cane tightly.

Gardner eyed the cane warily and replied, "Well, honestly, what do you expect me to do with just forty men? The Yankees could swat us like a fly anytime they wanted to."

"You're supposed to be the military genius around here," Davis countered ruefully. "Pray, what am I to tell General Johnston? Right now he and Beauregard are at the town of Corinth, but they need more time to gather their forces together. I told him that you were the right man for the job. I gave him my personal recommendation that you could do it, so now my reputation is called into question."

"I'm sorry, but I just don't have the soldiers available. If you cut loose some of that gold, then I'm sure I could easily round up some more men."

"That gold is for the rebellion," Davis said icily. "It is not for you to spend as you wish."

"I have expenses," Gardner said. He knew this argument was useless, but he had to make Davis understand the limitations that he worked under. How could he be expected to fight an army with such few resources?

Davis finally sighed and said consolingly, "I know it is hard for you, Richard. Money is tight everywhere, and I understand your difficulties. Good men are hard to find these days. You have a loyal core of fighters that serve you well. Perhaps I expected too much from you and your men."

"We will do what we can and will always attempt to carry out your orders to the best of our ability."

"I know you will," Davis replied soothingly. "Tell me, what are you going to do about the loss of Sergeant Raines?"

"I told you about this Mister Hall. For enough money he may be willing to take the place of Raines. The men seem to respect him enough, considering he is a Yankee."

"After what happened you expect he would be of some use to you? The way you told me, this Mister Hall was responsible for your lack of success."

"But he's an experienced man," Gardner admitted. "And those are hard to find right now."

"But perhaps he is just a little rusty? I would like to meet this Mister Hall, and only then I can give you an opinion of him."

"I took the liberty of inviting us over to dinner at Rose's. Her maid is a fantastic cook. I'm also sure that you will enjoy the company of Rose."

Davis nodded. "Ah yes, that magnificent creature. You're a lucky man. Tell me how did a girl like that decide she wants to marry someone like you?"

"I truly have been blessed," Gardner stated simply. He really didn't want to get into the particulars of his relationship with Rose. He did not trust men like Davis who had that easy, comfortable way with women. This spy would use any such information to his advantage.

"Mister Hall and Missus Wallace certainly make odd cousins," Davis said. "You would hardly think they were related just by the age alone."

Gardner merely shrugged and said, "Rose never went into particulars other than she hadn't seen him for a long time. They seemed to know each other well enough when I first brought him to her."

"Perhaps I can ask them myself," Davis said thoughtfully. After a moment's pause he changed the subject. "About that gold you have buried out front, I've finally come here to get it. I was unable to get the escort I wanted, so you and your men will have to take it to General Johnston's camp. From there it will be his responsibility."

Hiding his disappointment, Gardner merely said, "Good, I'll have it dug up and loaded into a wagon for you." He was angry at himself for not taking his chance at that gold, but then realized that there may be other opportunities.

*

Rose looked over the dining room for anything that may offend the eyes of her visiting guests. The table was set with her finest china, and she had helped Elsie polish the best silverware. She had a good bottle of wine out and a small decanter of whiskey for Richard to share with that Mister Davis. She heard Elsie busy in the kitchen, and the smell of baking chicken wafted through the open door.

Her thoughts returned to Gardner, wondering if she still loved him. Jack was right about him, but she couldn't help feeling guilty about her sudden change of heart. Richard had always been so kind and was one of the few solaces left after her husband's death. How would she act when he came to dinner? It was a question she did not want to consider, but knew she had to keep up the pretense of love until she could safely leave Stanton with Jack.

There was a knock at the door, and Elsie quickly hurried to answer it. Rose could hear Gardner's voice in the hallway. She steeled herself and forced herself to smile as she heard their approaching footsteps.

Richard came in. Davis limped behind, talking to Elsie, who was blushing from the sight of such a good-looking man.

"Good evening, my dear," Gardner said with a polite bow. He was dressed in his uniform, with a cavalry sword slung on his side. He looked every part the southern gentleman but his presence was dimmed by the charisma of Davis.

The master spy bowed before her and took her hand. He gave it a lingering kiss and said, "I thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home." His manner was brisk and easy as he looked around the dining room. "I see you have laid out a fine table to eat at. I can only be assured the meal will be equally good. I've been traveling for too long and rarely get the chance to eat a proper dinner. This will truly be a change for the better."

Rose found herself curtsying like a young girl. "You are too kind," she said gently. Davis was truly an attractive man who had the charm of a real gentleman. She smiled graciously and showed them to their seats. They waited patiently to sit until she had seated herself.

Elsie poured out the drinks and then stood back, waiting to serve.

Davis took an appreciative drink of whiskey and said, "I was hoping to meet your cousin, Mister Hall. Won't he be joining us?"

She felt the nervousness swell inside and could only stammer out, "H-h-h-e hasn't been feeling too well lately, so he has decided to go to bed early."

Gardner let out a horse-like laugh that she found rather disturbing. "So he couldn't face me another day?"

"Perhaps we should go and see him?" Davis suggested with a hint of slyness in his voice. "Or do you think he is sleeping?"

"I don't think that is a good idea," Rose answered as she attempted to control her emotions. Was this man suspicious of Jack? His probing questions were unsettling, but masked with simple concern.

"Then perhaps we should let him rest," he replied simply. "I would hate to tax his strength any further. But I do know that the major here has some further uses for your cousin."

"Like what?" Rose asked suspiciously.

"Gardner has just lost his sergeant to an unfortunate accident. He needs a replacement and an experienced rider like your cousin is a rare find. Do you think he could be persuaded to join us?"

"I'm not sure," Rose answered evasively.

Elsie broke up their conversation by returning to serve the soup. It was pea soup flavored by onions and carrots. She watched the faces of the men as they began to sample the beginning course.

After a tentative spoonful, Davis nodded appreciatively. "This is a fine soup."

Gardner chimed in and said, "I told you Elsie here had a way with food." She merely curtsied shyly and hurried off to the kitchen again.

"It must be good to have a man around the house again," Davis commented.

"Well this place can be a little lonely. But Richard here visits me every day when he can."

"I do at that," Gardner added as he dipped a crust of bread into the soup. "It is always a pleasure to make my visits here." He slurped noisily on the soggy bread. Rose wondered why his poor manners had never bothered her before.

Davis smiled and said, "But still this house is quite a walk from town. Doesn't that ever trouble you with just Elsie here? I mean a Northerner such as you must be viewed with some suspicion down here in Tennessee."

"My husband died fighting against the Yankees," Rose snapped.

"Mister Davis, what are you driving at?" Gardner asked, coming to her protection.

Davis held up his hand in a placating fashion. "I must apologize for making her angry. I'm merely curious how a woman found herself in such a predicament. Ah, here is the chicken. It does look delicious."

Elsie carried out a silver platter with a plump chicken surrounded by white potatoes. She set it down and let Gardner begin cutting into it.

"That looks to be a fine cut of meat there," Davis said graciously. "Again I do apologize for any unintended harm I may have caused. The passing of your husband must still be a painful memory."

"Don't let it worry you," Rose said quietly as she took a bite. The chicken, as usual, was delicious, but to her it tasted like sawdust

The spy went on. "I've been discussing the future with the major here, and they were the very reason for my previous words. You see he will be leaving here soon, and I want to see that you are protected from any harm."

"Who would hurt her?" Gardner asked incredulously. "I would kill any man who dare raised his hand against her."

Davis smiled. "This chicken is amazing - once again my compliments to Elsie. Is this veal stuffing?"

"I do believe so," Rose answered weakly.

Davis continued, "But to answer your question, Major, I'm afraid that tempers in time of war can run high. Those who can't strike a blow against the strong will easily attack the weak."

"That may be true," Rose admitted, "But the people in this town have never done anything outwardly cruel to me."

"I should hope not," Gardner said.

Davis said, "Nonetheless you may want to consider my proposition. We are leaving on the morrow to join up with General Johnston as he advances on the Union Army. I'm having Richard here break up the camp and apply his men to Johnston's needs as scouts. It would be better for you to come along with us. That way your safety could be guaranteed."

"How could you ask a woman to live with an army of men?" Gardner said with astonishment. "It is scandalous for a woman of her position to even consider such a thing."

"Spoken like a true gentleman," Davis said with a laugh. "But these are difficult times, Major. Her safety would be personally guaranteed by me. No harm could possibly come to her. The only other obvious solution would be for her to return north with her cousin."

Rose didn't know what to say and was relieved to see Elsie come in with the sweet potato pudding. She said, "This has been my home for many years, Mister Davis. I shall have to carefully consider your words before I make a decision."

"Very good, my dear, you have until tomorrow. And when your cousin is feeling better, tell him to stop and see me. I'm most interested in meeting him."
Chapter 13

With his hand resting on the butt of the Starr pistol, Jack knocked on Gardner's door. Expecting the worst, he waited impatiently, feeling the familiar tension of an approaching battle. Ezra stood by him with his shotgun held low. This morning they had decided it was best to take care of business and put Davis out of the way. Though the inevitable bloodshed could prove their undoing, it would be better to strike first instead of being caught by this master spy. At least this way, they could go out on their own terms.

On their way to the house, they had to ride past the camp. There men were packing up their tattered tents and cooking pots. Two wagons were piled high with food and goods. A team of tired-looking mules had been hooked up and they waited patiently, munching from a trough of grain. Jack also saw that the garden in front of the major's house had been recently dug up.

The door squeaked open and a hatless Gardner shoved his face out. "Oh, it's you," he barked. "Come in, and get your man there to help me." The major then walked away from the door, leaving it open.

"Ezra go and help him," Jack said softly as he pulled his gun out of his holster. They rushed in only to find the front room empty. A large traveling case was open in the room. It was nearly packed full of clothing and the odd assortment of goods a man would have on an extended leave from home.

Gardner walked in from his bedroom holding a pile of folded shirts. He looked questioningly at Jack's drawn gun and at the shotgun in the black man's hand. "Is there any kind of problem, Mister Hall?" he asked coolly.

"No – no problem, Major. I just wanted to show you this here revolver. I can get these at half the price you would normally see." Jack slid the Starr back into his holster and acted nonchalantly.

"When we have the time, we can talk guns later. But we are moving out soon. I expect you to come with me." He put the shirts into the case and moved them around trying to make more room.

"Yes, Rose told me a bit about it this morning," Jack said offhandedly.

"It was too bad you couldn't make it to dinner last night. I had a special visitor who wanted to meet you. Once I told Mister Davis about you, he was most interested in seeing you for himself."

"Yes, it is too bad. Exactly where is Mister Davis now?" Jack asked innocently as his eyes scanned the room, looking for any sign of the man.

"A messenger arrived late last night, and Davis had to leave unexpectedly. Now Rose may have told you some of what I am about to say since you were the topic of most of our conversation. Since the death of Sergeant Raines, I need an experienced man to help me deal with the men. I need someone like you."

"I'm flattered," Jack said graciously, "But I'm not sure your men would ever accept a Yankee like me giving out orders."

"They will do as I say," Gardner said firmly. "You gained their respect out there and, over time, I'm sure you will fit in just fine. Your quick thinking got us out of that Yankee trap. If it wasn't for you, we would all have died out there."

Jack shrugged and said, "It was my understanding that you didn't want my services. Word is that you were blaming me for the loss of Raines."

"Look, Mister Hall, I will admit I said some hasty words. But I need your experience, and my friend Mister Davis agreed with me. You will be well-paid and will be given the same rank as Raines – a sergeant. In effect you will be commanding the men when I am not in the field."

Jack paused before answering. Of course he didn't need this job, but he was nonetheless flattered by the offer. "If I take you up on this, you will listen to my military advice in future?"

"I valued Raines's no-nonsense approach. I will value your words in the same manner."

"Okay, I will join, provided Ezra here can stay with me."

Looking him over, the major suddenly noticed the shotgun resting in Ezra's hands. His face turned a little paler as he said, "Your servant can stay with you provided he doesn't carry weapons. You have to understand the men get nervous when they see a Negro with a gun."

"Ezra here may be my servant, but up north he is considered a freeman. I don't want your men to forget that. He only answers to me and won't be doing any work that I don't tell him to do."

Ezra gave Jack a quick smile that Gardner did not see.

"I will pass that information along, Mister Hall. I will be proud to have you join up with us. But I will require your man's help in getting my personal items squared away."

"That won't be a problem. I suppose I should call you sir now."

"At least in front of the men. They are a hardy lot and don't pay too much attention to authority – but they will follow orders if the right man gives them. I'm still trying to instill a sense of discipline into them. It's been difficult molding such soldiers into a disciplined fighting force, but they'll get the hang of it someday."

"Very good, sir," Jack said. "Are there any orders you wish me to carry out right now?"

"You saw the men loading up their gear outside. If you could direct their packing and hasten their movements, it would be very helpful. We don't have that much time until we leave."

Jack saluted and turned to leave. He reached for the door when he heard Gardner call out.

"One more thing, Sergeant Hall," Gardner said.

"Sir?" Jack answered back

Gardner smiled and said, "Did Rose tell you that Davis and I offered her our protection? That is to say she has been offered to accompany us on our journey to meet up with the armies under Johnston. From there she can travel to Richmond and remain there until the war is done."

"She did say something of that nature," the detective answered warily. "But she did not mention anything about Richmond."

"I thought it would be for the best. I will pay for her stay there until the war is ended. Has she given the offer from Davis any further thought?"

"I'm not sure if anywhere near a battlefield is a safe place for a woman."

"Rest assured that General Johnston will easily overcome the Union army. Who do they have that can protect them?" he gestured derisively. "That drunken Grant and that insane Sherman? And General Halleck is certainly no leader of men."

Jack merely shrugged and leaned against the door frame. "To tell you the truth, she gave it some thought and decided she could not refuse the offer. She is busy packing. She's also decided that she wants to take her maid Elsie with."

"That's fine since she should have a servant like any proper lady. After the men have packed their goods, have them send a wagon to pick up her luggage."

With a tip of his hat, the detective swung the door open and walked out to the camp. That damned fool, he thought. Little did he know that Rose didn't want him anymore. Little did he know that Jack was going to see him hang. That thought buoyed his spirits.

The camp was in disarray with bundles of tents and clothing stacked haphazardly on one wagon. The other wagon was heavy with barrels and boxes of ammunition. Three soldiers were sitting down in the matted grass, smoking their pipes and looking on as the others worked.

Raising his Starr in the air, Jack fired a round and saw that it had the desired effect as the men jerked their necks in attention. The soldiers went quiet as he said, "I've been asked by Major Gardner to work with you men. I know I can't replace the loss of Sergeant Raines, but I will do the best I can." He saw one man in particular snarl at the idea. He was a rough-looking fellow with a thick unkempt beard and dirty clothing. "Now about these wagons here, I want everything taken out and laid out. We must make better use of the space."

The men all grumbled loudly and gave him some dirty looks as they began pulling everything off.

Jack went over stood behind the men sitting on the ground. He snarled, "Since you three are so rested, you are going to pack the wagons while everyone else watches."

Those words brought some laughs from the other men, and the pace of the work increased. In a few minutes the bundles were stacked on the ground and the barrels rolled out.

Jack looked over the packs and picked out three of the heaviest ones. "Who owns these? They're heavy and take up too much room." Without waiting for an answer he unrolled them and found several well-protected heavy mason jugs. He popped open one of the corks and took a sniff. It was pure moonshine.

One of the men took a step forward. It was the rough-looking man with the disheveled beard. "You're messing with my stuff," he said angrily with his fists clenched together.

"You're messing with my stuff – sir!" Jack snapped.

"Yes, sir," the man replied testily.

Jack took a swig from the mason jar and smacked his lips. "I don't know where you got it, but it's damn good."

"Thank you, sir," the man said proudly. He appeared taken back by the compliment.

"What's your name, man?" Jack asked.

"Daniel Webb," he replied.

"Well, Mister Webb. I'm sorry to do this to such a fine drink." He turned the jug over and began to pour out the contents to the ground.

Webb's face turned red. With a roar, he charged at Jack. Stepping to the side, the detective threw his leg out and tripped Webb, who fell down into a heap. A few men laughed which only caused Webb to be further enraged. He stood up and charged again with his head held low, like a bull. Waiting until the last moment, Jack dodged him and then struck the man in the back of the neck. Webb fell down again, groaning with pain.

"I suggest you stay down this time," Jack said as calmly as he could. He tried to hide his own heavy breathing. This was a big ox of a man, and he didn't want to find himself trapped inside those thick arms.

"I will," Webb grunted.

"I will - sir," Jack added. "And don't let me catch you forgetting it. That goes for all of you. I'm here to help you, but I still expect you men to follow my orders. I know I'm a Yankee, but Major Gardner has seen fit to trust me. I'm not fighting for my home like the rest of you, but don't let that fool you. I was in the army for a few years and I know my way around the battlefield. Just consider me an experienced hand working for my pay." He looked around at the men as if daring them to question him. He had picked on Webb on purpose, knowing that standing up to such a man could only cow the rest of the soldiers. It seemed to have the desired effect since they did not meet his eyes but shuffled and instead stared at the ground.

"Good," Jack added. "Now go and stack those bundles back in the wagon. Pack them in the back and put them in good order." He took out the remaining brown jugs and tossed them hard to the side where they shattered against the ground.

The men watched as the other two soldiers began to work methodically, placing the belongings in an orderly manner. Instead of helping, Webb stood up and without a look back, staggered away.

"Don't worry, sir," one of the nearby men said. "When Daniel gets mad it takes him awhile to cool down. He'll be back."

"I know," Jack said confidently. He turned his attention to the food which he had loaded into the second wagon. There would be enough room now for Rose's belongings – provided she didn't bring too much with her. After everything was packed away, he ordered two men to drive the wagon over to her house and began loading it. The other wagon was brought over to Gardner's house to take his luggage.
Chapter 14

The covered wagon carrying Rose and Elsie was stuck deep in the mud. It was raining heavily and the spring weather had turned the roads into a thick impassable sludge. The axle creaked heavily as the driver lashed his switch on the backs of the poor mules. The animals strained forward, slipping helplessly on the slick road. This wasn't the first time a wagon has become stuck, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. A portion of the road here had washed out, and the driver had foolishly tried to force the mules through the streaming muck.

"You over there, come and help him," Jack shouted at four riders huddled close together watching the spectacle.

They gave him a dirty look and then slid off their horses to sink into the mud up to their calves. Cavalrymen didn't like to work this way and Jack could see the hate in their eyes. To some men it was almost an insult to have to dismount.

It was time to show them that he wasn't afraid to get dirty either, so he pulled himself down from his mare. His boots sunk deeply into the mud, nearly sucking them off as he struggled over to the wagon. "Come on, push!" he shouted at them.

"Why can't your servant help?" one of the man asked as he pushed. "You're working us like slaves."

"Never mind him," Jack growled. He knew his partner would balk at doing this kind of manual labor. And once he started, then Ezra would soon be asked to do all the hard work for everyone. "Now push!" he shouted at the soldiers.

The men leaned with all their strength against the back of the wagon, their legs sliding crazily about in the mud. With the driver lashing at the mules, the wagon slowly creaked forward. One of the front wheels suddenly pulled out of the rut, and then the whole wagon was freed. The driver moved the wagon a few feet forward before he stopped to rest the tired mules.

"Good job," Jack gasped to the men. He said to the driver, "In the future, don't work those mules too hard. We still have a way to go."

"Are you alright?" Rose asked from above as the men returned to their horses.

Jack looked up and saw her looking down at him from the covered opening of the wagon. She was wearing a hooded cloak and he found himself noticing how the dark cloth framed her beautiful face. She looked quite pretty and undisturbed by the falling rain.

"I'll live," he muttered back.

"Perhaps you would like to ride with us for a moment?" she asked, her eyes filled with invitation.

"Don't tempt me, missy," Jack answered back. "That would certainly get the tongues wagging if I was seen hiding away with you and your maid. I'm afraid I'll have to keep riding along and keep my urges to myself."

She stuck her tongue out and laughed. "How much longer do we have to go?"

"It won't be too long," he lied. They really had several hours of hard riding ahead, and this rain would only slowed them down further. They were planning to run into Johnston's army by nightfall, but that was highly unlikely in this weather. "But just in case, be prepared to spend the night outdoors," he told her.

She gave him a sweet smile and Jack could feel his heart warm, even though his feet were wet and cold.

"I do miss my little house," she said plaintively.

It has been hard to convince her to leave her house, but she eventually agreed on the condition that Jack accompany her. She had packed several large cases, and it took a long time to pare her clothing down to a more suitable traveling wardrobe.

"Don't worry, you can return to it when this war is over," Jack said soothingly.

"If it ever is," she said dryly. "Do you think it will ever be over?"

"Every war ends. One side has to give up eventually."

"I'm worried that my poor house will be looted or destroyed. I know how I was detested in that town."

"That's a strong word," Jack consoled her. "From what I could tell, they were merely suspicious of you. I'm sure it will all be in one piece if you ever decide to return. If not, then it can always be rebuilt."

"I just don't like the idea of them rummaging through my wardrobe and cellar."

Reaching up, Jack took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Don't worry, dear", he whispered, "at least you're with me."

"Sergeant Hall," Gardner's voice shouted out from behind him.

Jack quickly released her hand, hoping that the major hadn't noticed.

"Why is this wagon being held up, Sergeant Hall?" Gardner asked brusquely. He was mounted on his horse, eying the two of them. "We will never make it to Corinth at this rate." The major had been in a bad mood ever since they had left Stanton. He was rough in his manners and speech, treating everyone with contempt. He barely even smiled at Rose.

"I'm just having the driver rest the mules," Jack replied as he took off his hat and shook the rain from it. He slid it back on his head and continued, "We only just got the poor beasts out of that sink hole back there."

"Well, get them going now, they've rested long enough. And make sure to leave your cousin alone – you have enough work to do." With those words Gardner wheeled his horse around and rode to the front of the column.

"You don't think he suspects us," Rose whispered, her voice barely louder than the sound of the rain.

Jack gave her a wink. "He'll have to know soon enough. Now stay dry, and I'll try to convince him to pull off soon. This mud will break some exhausted horse's leg if we don't stop and rest. I think even Gardner can see the sense of protecting the horses from being hurt."

With a cheery wave to Rose, Jack went to the driver and ordered him to go on. The man scowled at him and flicked his switch on the backs of the tired mules. The wagon creaked on, the wheels cutting deep into the muddy road.

As the afternoon wore on, the rain stopped, and a pale sun began to shine through the broken clouds. Though the trees were scraggly and winter-worn, fresh young leaves clung to the branches. The faint chirping of birds broke the gloomy spell and men once again began to speak cheerfully to each other. But even with the weather improving, they were still running late.

Galloping up to Gardner, who had taken to riding in the front of the column, Jack said. "Do you think we should be setting up camp soon?"

Gardner cast a glance behind him and said, "I'm worried about that wagon load of gold we're carrying. The more time we spend out here, the greater the chance of being discovered by a wayward Yankee patrol. "

"Little chance of that, Major, we are in the middle of nowhere."

"I would hate to tell Mister Davis that we lost it all due to the concern that you have for your cousin. I know you really want to stop on her behalf."

"It was foolish to bring her with us," Jack said. "This is no place for a woman to be."

"What would you have me do? They would make her life uncomfortable at Stanton if she hadn't come with us - you know that as well as I do."

"You could have sent her north. She would be safe with our family in Maine."

Biting his lip, Gardner's face turned red. He spat out, "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

The men riding next to them turned to watch. Jack decided to play it safe and carefully replied, "I am only thinking of her safety."

"Clear off and let me talk to the sergeant here," Gardner snapped at the nearby men.

Following orders, they slowed down and let the others ride ahead.

"Let me ask you a question, Hall," the major said softly.

"Go ahead," Jack said cautiously. He could see the lines of worry around the other man's eyes.

"What are your intentions with Rose? I could not but help notice the way you have been looking at her."

"I am her cousin, of course I only have her best interests at heart," Jack smoothly replied. He knew Gardner must have seen his hand resting on hers.

They rode ahead a few minutes without saying anything further. Gardner stared off ahead as if in deep thought. The silence was suddenly broken by the major's harsh words. "Understand this, Rose and I will be married soon. There is nothing you can do to stop that. So keep your hands off her and instead concentrate on your job."

"As you say, sir," the detective coldly replied. "What are your orders?"

"Scout ahead and find us a place to camp. Somewhere off this damn mudslide of a road where we can rest the horses and defend ourselves."

"As you say, sir," Jack replied again. "I will leave as soon as I have found my servant." He gave Gardner a quick salute and rode back to round up Ezra. Jack wasn't about to go stumbling into an enemy patrol without some help. He found his partner riding alone near the back, his gray stallion slogging cautiously through the drying mud.

"What's going on, sir?" Ezra asked with a smirk on his face.

"The Major wants us to find a suitable place to camp for the night. I want you to accompany me."

"Yes sir," Ezra replied. Jack wondered at the sudden servility until he saw some soldiers riding within earshot.

They spurred their horses on, riding on the shoulder of the narrow road. The weeds were still wet, but it was better going here than the slick dirt. With a wave to Gardner, they trotted ahead of the column. The two detectives rode this way for a mile or two before slowing down. Since this part of Tennessee was not densely populated there was nothing but forest around them. It reminded Jack of his times in the army when, as a scout, he was able to roam the wilderness for days without seeing another living soul. It let a man think. He missed those moments of solitude.

Ezra interrupted his thoughts by saying, "You have to make sure that you don't pay so much attention to Rose. It's bound to make the Major angry, and that can only cause trouble for you."

"How do you know about this?" Jack asked.

"Word gets around. The soldiers couldn't help noticing the attention you've been paying her. And the major has been in a foul mood ever since we've started. Just lay low until we can find a way out of this mess."

"We should have left and gone back to Washington," Jack said, "But I wasn't about to let Rose down."

"Or leave that gold?"

"There is that. But I'm already fed up with that bastard Gardner. I'll be happy to see him swinging at the end of the rope."

Ezra gave this some thought before answering. "Did you ever think that the major wants the gold for himself?"

Jack nodded. "You are probably right. No matter how loyal a man, there's a king's ransom here - enough money to run to Europe and never be seen again. He couldn't help but have those thoughts."

Ezra shrugged and rubbed the neck of his stallion. "The only thing I know for sure is that I'm tired."

"It has been a long day. But we are in luck - the spot ahead should do fine for our needs."

It was a large field surrounded by woods on all ends. There was a small creek running through the middle that would provide a natural defense against any attacker. Thick bushes grew on the sides of the creek and would afford some protection from the campfires being seen. And after a wet day like this, the men would be glad to have a chance to dry out their clothing. Jack knew it wasn't an ideal site, since it was too close to the road, but it would have to do.

As Jack slid off his mare, Ezra dug through his saddlebag and took out a strip of jerky. He tore it in two and offered a piece to his partner, who gladly took it.

Jack felt sore all over. He still wasn't used to riding all day and was glad for the chance to stretch his legs. "Let's wait here and let them catch up."

"Fine by me," Ezra replied. He dismounted, reached into his jacket pocket for his tobacco pouch. He rolled a cigarette. He lit it and looked over the land. "It's a little close to the road for safety," he commented.

"Whoever is following us, I want to make sure they can find us."

Ezra couldn't help but look surprised.

Jack laughed and added, "We are carrying a wagon full of gold and two pretty ladies. Every bandit from here to Kansas is going to know about it soon enough. I'm not sure if I trust anyone in that town either. I would rather let them come to us instead of being ambushed somewhere along the way. At least here I can spring a trap on them."

"Surely they wouldn't dare attack us. There are too many of us and it would take one hell of a group of bandits to take us on."

"All they need to do is cause enough confusion to stampede our horses off and steal that wagon. That would only take a few brave men."

"Fools more like it," Ezra said blandly and drew heavily on the cigarette.
Chapter 15

Elsie at first found the trip fascinating since she had rarely left the confines of the town. Rose found her babbling narrative about the sights annoying and tried to instead pay attention to the well-thumbed novel she had had brought along. Eventually her maid had settled down into bored indifference as they adjusted themselves to the bumps and groans of traveling by wagon. The rain had at least smoothed the roads, but they had gotten stuck several times in the thick mud. When the evening came, it was a happy moment when the wagon finally ground to a halt. For once they were finally able to get out of the wagon and stretch out the aches and pains.

She noticed the soldiers glancing their way with interest, apparently taken in by the sight of two women not used to rough conditions. Jack soon had the men working - within a few minutes a number of tents were going up, horses led to the back of the field to be fed, and there was even the smell of newly lit fires. She saw that the major had dismounted from his horse, and it was being taken away to the paddock by his orderly. Gardner was stepping carefully around the mud puddles as he made his way towards her.

He called out to her, "Missus Wallace, I'm sorry I haven't been able to give you the attention that you deserve."

"That is quite alright, Major," she replied with a fake smile. For now, it was important to keep him happy.

Removing his hat with a flourish, Gardner said, "It is hard work keeping my men in line. I hope the ride wasn't too uncomfortable for you."

"To be honest, I haven't traveled this far by wagon since Robert and I first moved down to Stanton. It's a little rougher than I remembered."

"Don't worry, my dear, by tomorrow we will be somewhere better. I'm positive that General Johnston will be able to find some reasonable quarters for you and your maid."

"I sure hope so."

"Is there anything that you need to be comfortable?" Gardner asked gently.

Rose found herself hating his cloying questions but managed to smile falsely again. "I'm sure we will be fine, Richard. Hadn't you better look after your men instead?"

"Sergeant Hall seems to be doing a fine job, don't you think?"

Watching Jack, he seemed to be just about everywhere, giving a helping hand. His orders were carried out quickly, and the men seemed to enjoy his company. She nodded at Gardner and said, "He does seem to have a handle on the situation."

The major boasted, "That's why I wanted him working for me. He may not have the mind of a tactician, like myself, but he does know how to keep the men motivated in his own way."

Rose barely concealed a giggle. How could she have ever seen anything in this man? His manner was boorish, and he was so full of himself. Thank goodness it was only a matter of time before she would never see him again. It would be nice to be truly alone with Jack again. She smiled at the thought of last night when they had spent the entire night together. After a night like that, there was no reason to ever leave the bed.

"I wish I could read your mind when I see you smile like that," Gardner said as he studied her face.

"Oh, it's nothing at all. I'm just happy to be standing after being beaten around by that wagon ride. I really would like somewhere dry to sit, but I fear the ground is still too wet."

With a snap of his fingers, Gardner pointed at a nearby soldier. "You there, bring me a dry log for Misses Wallace to sit on. And make sure you don't roll it here. I don't want it getting wet." The surprised soldier saluted and ran off to the woods to find something suitable.

"Richard, it's no bother. I can wait if need be."

"A person like you should never have to wait. Now if you excuse me, I have to go see if your tent has been setup properly. It's going to be a long chilly night." With a quick bow, he put his hat back on and then left.

Rose watched his retreating back and sighed. It was hard to put up the pretense of love, and she hoped that Richard did not catch any slips on her part. Her thoughts were interrupted by the soldier who went off to find her something to sit on. He painfully carried a log over his shoulder which he dropped sulkily in front of her. She blushed and thanked him for his troubles. He shyly took his cap off and without a further word, went back to join his friends. She sat gingerly on the log and watched the men work.

After everything was set right, Jack came over with Ezra at his side. The detective's face was haggard with exhaustion. He stood uneasily and said, "Misses Wallace, we have a tent ready for you. I had them use a few layers of tarp to protect you from the wet ground. I hope it shall meet your needs."

"Why thank you, Mister Hall," Rose answered back. She gave him a wink and said, "It will be a lonely night."

He grinned back at her and said, "I'm sure you will be warm enough with the blankets. There will be plenty of room for you and Elsie."

"Pray, sit down here and rest for a while. You look terribly tired." She got up and offered him a place to sit on the log.

"I thank you, but it isn't right for a man to sit while a lady stands. I think I'll go rest in my own tent until dinner is ready." He tipped his hat to her and Elsie and then walked painfully towards his nearby tent. It had been a long day of riding. He opened the flap and quickly disappeared inside.

"Is he going to be alright?" Rose asked Ezra.

"Don't worry, ma'am, he's an old campaigner. He will do just fine."

"Make sure to give him any help he needs. He looks so tired."

"Don't worry, it's just been a long day, ma'am. We're all feeling a little tired by now. Now I suggest you and Elsie take a rest while you can. Tomorrow may not be any easier."

"Thank you, Ezra." With a motion to Elsie, who was giving the black man a friendly leer, they both retired to their tent. It smelled musty and even with the extra layers of tarp, the floor felt damp. In fact, everything felt damp. She shivered as she rested on an old wool blanket that had seen cleaner days. Elsie sat down next to her and they listened to the voices of the soldiers around them. Men came and went past their tent. The smell of cooking wafted through the cracks of the tent. Rose couldn't believe how tired she felt and could barely keep her eyes open.

Ezra soon came by with two plates of food. He placed them down on the ground in front of them. It was simple fare of beans, black bread and hot coffee. "Mister Hall told me to bring you some food. There's no reason to get the boys riled up with your presence by the fire. I'm sorry we couldn't offer you anything better, but this is what the men eat on the road."

"Thank you," Rose said as she studied the plate in front of her. Though normally not the type of food that she would enjoy, she soon found herself eating it with gusto.

Ezra also added with a whisper, "Mister Hall suggested you keep this close by." He placed a small derringer on the ground. The metal was well-worn as if it had been used many times before. This was no show piece.

She nodded and tucked it under a fold of tarp. "Please give Mister Hall my regards."

Ezra merely nodded. He looked grim, but he still gave Elsie a wink before leaving

The coffee was weak but hot enough to finally warm her body. As the sun dipped into the horizon, she found herself getting sleepier and sleepier. Elsie put the finished plates outside to be collected and closed the flaps as tightly as possible as if trying to keep out the chill of the night air. She then moved in next to Rose, and they covered themselves up as much as possible with the two woolen blankets that had been left in the tent. The voices of the nearby soldiers became low as night fell. Somewhere in the distance, a banjo was lightly strummed and soon quiet fell over their little encampment.

Rose was asleep and was soon dreaming of thunder breaking right over her. A loud crack repeated itself as she swung closer to consciousness. Suddenly she felt herself being shaken, and in the dim light of the night, she saw the maid's face clenched with panic.

"Wake up," Elsie shouted, and her urgency was punctuated by the sound of gunfire and galloping horses. The shots seemed to be coming from everywhere at first, with some distant and others sounding quite nearby. A dull thud smacked against the side of the nearby wagon. Rose jerked Elsie down to stop her from getting hit by an errant bullet.

"What's going on?" Rose asked her urgently.

Elsie merely shook her head and continued to hug the ground in a panic as the gunfire rose in a crescendo.

Rose pulled out the derringer and held it close to her body. It was comforting to have the cold steel resting against her palm. She gingerly moved one of the tent flaps back and saw two of the fires were burning high with wood, throwing long shadows across the matted field. Bursts of orange light from fired guns winked from the darkness across the creek.

She was surprised that she couldn't see any of the soldiers under Gardner's command. Suddenly she heard Jack's voice in the distance.

He shouted, "Hold steady, here they come again!"

Across the creek, a mass of mounted horses jumped over the waterway and charged into the encampment. In the shadows of the fire, they were just formless black shapes riding on top of dark horses. Their yells broke the air, and their gunfire swept into the camp. Minie balls thudded against the wagons and tore holes into the fabric of the tents.

A single musket ball whistled by Rose's ear. She immediately dropped onto the ground to join Elsie. The derringer felt hot in her hand as she tightly clenched and unclenched the grip.

Suddenly, the number of gunshots increased to a storm of noise. Men screamed and horses whinnied in pain. Rose heard the galloping horses swing away from the camp. She crawled to the tent flap and drew it back once again. Drawing her breath in shock, she viewed the scene of carnage in front of her. Dark masses writhed on the ground moaning in pain, while a horse to the left of her limped away. A single shot rang out, and the horse went down, giving a pained whinny before lying forever still.

Suddenly a voice she didn't recognize was right overhead. It said, "Are you alright, miss?"

She fired the derringer wildly in the direction of the voice. She heard a grunt and the same voice shouted, "Hold your fire!"

It was only then that she realized it was Ezra that she had shot at. "Are you okay?" she asked fearfully. She felt ashamed by her reaction.

"I'll be fine, but please put the gun down."

She nodded even though she knew he couldn't see her. Putting the derringer down on the ground she said, "Don't worry, it is okay now."

"There isn't even another round to fire, but I just wanted to be sure." Ezra ducked into the tent. His face was hidden by the gloom. "Thankfully you missed. I'm sorry I surprised you like that, but Jack wanted to make sure you were still safe."

"You mean Mister Hall," Rose cautioned him as she looked at Elsie. The maid paid them no attention but continued to franticly grip the tarp on the floor of the tent as if trying to dig a hole into the ground.

"Er, yes," Ezra said regretfully.

"Tell me, who were those men?"

The black man replied blandly, "We're carrying a load of gold. I would think they wanted to get their hands on it. Now wait here until you are given the all clear. I would recommend you stay still and keep low to the ground. There is no reason to have you blundering about and get killed by a stray bullet."

"I nearly did. Why didn't anyone come and warn me before this happened?"

"Mister Hall didn't know for sure that we were going to be raided. He thought they would try to steal our horses, so he put most of the men out by the paddock. When they instead charged in to the camp, we were taken by surprise. Luckily we were able to beat them back without too much loss. Now stay here." He ducked out of the tent and was gone.
Chapter 16

Gardner hated to admit to himself that he was asleep when the camp was attacked. The ripple of gunfire awoke him from his fitful sleep, and he had rolled out of his tent without even his hat on. He first thought the camp was deserted until he saw a boot sticking out of the underbrush. With a kick at the foot, he saw a wide-eyed soldier of his look at him with shock.

"Get down, sir," the private had said.

And with those words a hail of minie balls passed by close enough that Gardner had felt one brush by his cheek. He had quickly flopped to the ground with his heart pounding in his chest.

"What is happening?" he had asked the soldier who was peering ahead.

"Sergeant Hall told me to stay here for the night on guard. It was a might uncomfortable, sir. But one of the guards heard a coming band of horsemen, and then suddenly all hell broke loose."

A few nearby shots went off and Gardner covered his head with his arm until they subsided. "Well, what are we doing here, private?"

"Sergeant Hall told us to stay here and pick off any stragglers." With those words the soldier suddenly lifted his pistol and fired into the darkness. Somewhere a horse neighed in pain. Then they heard the heavy fall of a body as it hit the ground.

Over the barrage of bullets, Gardner suddenly heard the voice of Hall calling out orders. "Over there on the right - three horsemen coming your way!" A number of muskets on that side cracked loudly, but with the major position, he couldn't see what happened. One of his soldiers rushed up to one of the fires and dropped in a load of branches. He quickly ran off as the fire leapt high in the air. The sudden light bathed the little field with a bright glow.

Through the weeds, Gardner could now see a group of horsemen in the distance. They suddenly jumped over the creek to charge the camp. The whine of minie balls snapped through the air, and the pounding of hooves grew louder. The horses were soon clear of the creek and were met by a volley of bullets. He could only watch from the ground where he began to shake with fear. The bile rose in his throat, and he tried not to vomit in front of the soldier lying next to him.

In that moment, the charge broke. The remaining group turned and rode away in disordered panic. Horses and riders were left behind, littering the field in a trail of black blood. The raiders were dressed in dark clothing and now looked like lumps of dirt on the trampled field. There must have been a good dozen men lying there.

A ragged cheer rose from the ranks of his soldiers and snorts of laughter followed the retreating backs. They had won and were thankful to be alive.

"Stay down, you bastards," Hall shouted as some men picked themselves off of the ground. His words made the soldiers stop moving and a silence fell over the camp.

Gardner looked around and could not see where the voice of Hall was coming from. The soldier lying next to him saw his confusion and pointed up at the large tree in the middle of the camp. Now he could suddenly make out a form sitting high on one of the thicker branches.

"I think we got them on the run, boys! They're riding away as fast as they can! But I still want that picket line back in place just in case they come back for another chance." The sergeant's voice was ragged with shouting. He slid down the tree.

With as much dignity as possible, Gardner pulled himself up from the ground and brushed the dirt from his clothes. "Sergeant Hall," he cried out. "Come here this instant!" The major could feel the eyes of his men watching him as the sergeant strode purposefully over.

"Yes sir?" Hall asked. He looked composed and stared back with a hard, cold look.

Gardner could sense the insubordination in the sergeant's posture and this just enraged him further. "Why wasn't I awoken and told about this?"

"I wasn't sure what was going on until it was too late," Hall replied flatly. Anger flashed in his eyes.

"Just remember who is in command here," Gardner snapped back. He could see the men edge closer looking to witness a good fight, so he added, "And remember who's the Yankee here."

Hall seemed to have brushed of the insult and just said, "Your gold is safe, Major. That's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Back to your posts everyone," the major growled to his men. "Let Sergeant Hall and I finish our conversation in peace." He could see the men leave hesitantly, clearly interested in this outcome between the two. But they left nevertheless and Gardner was happy to see the impatient look on Hall's face.

"Look, I'm proud of what you did. But you could have least told me that you suspected we were a target of this raid. Who did this?"

"I have my suspicions," Hall replied. His explanation was cut off by Private Webb, who was breathlessly pulling a corpse towards them. A bloody trail followed the dragged body.

"What is it, Private?" Gardner asked.

"Take a look, Major," Webb replied. In the moonlight they could see it was the blacksmith Elijah. His eyes were open but had the glassiness of death. A black scarf hung loosely over his blood-soaked neck where a ball had punctured him in the throat.

"I don't believe it," Gardner found himself saying. He was surprised that the townsmen of Stanton would even dare to attack him.

"Greed will make men take the most daring of risks," Hall commented blandly. I never liked Stanton anyways."

"I imagine the feeling was mutual," Webb muttered.

Gardner stifled a chuckle. He then shouted an order, "I want all of those bodies brought over here and lined up."

"But I want the pickets kept in place," Hall added with a bark of a command.

The bodies were hauled over – it was a gruesome task - and the masks removed. Gardner recognized several townsmen. There was the butcher's oldest son, a farm laborer he saw working the fields almost every day, and even the brother of the mayor. Those thieving bastards would pay, he thought to himself. All this time they wanted to rob him. Once he was back from Johnston's camp, he would wreak his own vengeance on that accursed town. His thoughts were broken by the sergeant's words.

"What do you want to do with them?" he asked flatly.

"Let the birds have them. They're no longer a concern of ours."

"It doesn't matter," Hall agreed. "I'm sure they will be taken away by their friends once we leave."

"You may be right," Gardner agreed. Without a second thought he ordered, "Have some of the men gather up all the dry wood they can. And get the rest organized; we're going to leave right now and leave those bastard backstabbers a little surprise."

"Very good, sir," Hall said again and turned away to carry out his orders.

The wood was stacked over the rows of dead bodies. Gardner gave the word for the mass of branches to be lit. The orders were reluctantly carried out, but soon a fiery blaze lit the early dawn sky. The men silently watched the fire and only moved when they were harshly ordered to saddle up again.

*

Gardner sat outside the command tent of Johnston, feeling acutely uncomfortable. His normally well-cared for pants and jacket were spattered with mud and the proud feather on his hat was wilted with rain. Not that anyone would even notice here – this so-called army was nothing but a bunch of rag-tag soldiers who looked as if they would be more comfortable slopping the pigs. Where was the order and drill as required by the great leaders like Napoleon?

His mind went back to last night and the chaos surrounding the encampment. That bastard Hall didn't even tell him how the men were laid out waiting to ambush. He must have a word with that man and reminded him that his duties were first and foremost to follow orders, not go off on his own. Nonetheless, he had to hand it to Hall in defeating that band of raiders and saving the gold.

"Major, the general is ready to see you," the orderly told him with a tap to the shoulder.

Gardner shook his head with exhaustion and stood up to follow the man to the tent. The orderly opened the flap to let him slip through. Inside the spacious command tent, stood General Johnston and Mister Davis, who were studying a wrinkled map together on a rickety table.

Johnston was a tall man, a full inch higher than Davis. This made Gardner feel insecure as he stiffened his spine to salute. He noticed the general's deep-set blue eyes bore into him.

"Good afternoon, Major," Johnston's said, his voice booming like thunder. "Davis here was beginning to get worried that you would never make it here. We had reason to be concerned."

"That is true," the master spy said quietly.

The major explained, "We ran into some problems on the way. With the rain and all, we were forced to camp for the night."

"Rumor is that you also ran into some trouble last night," Johnston said as he pushed his brown hair back around his ears. His shaggy sideburns hung low to his neck, which was covered with the stiff collar of his splendid uniform.

"Rumors have a way of telling the truth," Davis commented dryly.

Gardner was taken aback by how the speed of rumors traveled. They had only been in this camp for just a few hours. A few careless words from one of his men must have spread like wildfire for it to reach the ears of the General so quickly.

"It was nothing, sir," he mumbled.

With a smile Johnston said, "That's good to hear. I trust that gold has been safely delivered here? We are short on money, and a paid soldier fights better than a penniless one."

"My men are guarding it as we speak," Gardner responded.

"Well then, I shall send my quartermaster to go and retrieve it. Rest assured it will be well looked after. You did a commendable job delivering it to me."

With a guarded smile, the major said, "Thank you, sir."

"Yes, you did do a good job," Davis added. "It must have been tempting to steal such a large amount of money for yourself."

The master spy's tone was flat, but Gardner could sense danger. Was Davis having him watched? "I assure you it was no temptation," the major said carefully, "I can only think of removing the tyranny of the northern states from our backs."

Johnston seemed to take those words to heart and clamped a hand on Gardner's shoulder. "With that attitude we can expect to whip those Yankees at every turn. Davis here told me that you were a good man. Now come here and take a closer look at this map. I'll explain what I have in store for those blue-bellied bastards."

Drawing closer to the table, Gardner looked down at the map and watched as Johnston sketched a finger across a bend of the Tennessee River. "Grant is gathering his forces here at Pittsburgh Landing and is awaiting the arrival of Buell. Mister Davis here has spies waiting to see where Buell is, and we're also waiting for any unexpected movement by Grant."

Gardner nodded.

"Now if they combine their forces, they will truly be able to overwhelm my army. By all accounts they outnumber us at least three to one. If they are given this chance to gather together then we cannot stop their march to Memphis. We will lose the railroad network there and maybe all of Alabama too." He paused to let the gravity of the situation take effect. "But Grant made the mistake of having his back to the river. By concentrating our forces into one massive attack, I see no reason why we shall not prevail. We shall then turn their flank and drive them into the river. They will have to surrender!"

"Our men can outfight them. I've seen it time and time again," Gardner added sagely.

"Well, I'm glad you've made it here since we will need all the help we can get. We have been marching for days and shall engage the enemy tomorrow."

"I see no reason for failure and wish you the greatest success."

"There is one more thing I want to discuss with you. I do have a little job for you and your men," Johnston said.

"And I advise you to take it," Davis added.

"General, whatever you require I shall do," Gardner replied firmly.

"We have little cavalry with us, but I think this kind of fight will require the hard steel of the infantry bayonet. However, I still require some soldiers to ride ahead and be my eyes and ears. Your men are practiced in the art of skirmishing and moving through the forest undetected. Davis here has told me of your exploits disrupting their supply wagons. Your movements have bought us valuable time, and I want to employ you to that advantage."

"Yes sir," Gardner replied. He felt proud of the recognition given to him and was going to prove to everyone that his own special methods of war worked.

"Very well, Major," Davis said curtly, "you may leave now."

Gardner hesitated before leaving. "Sir, there is one thing I forgot to mention. We have a lady with us and her maid."

Johnston looked perplexed by the statement.

Davis merely shook his head and said, "So Misses Wallace decided to go with you after all. I must say I am surprised. I was telling the General here that she was a fine beauty and what a lucky man you were."

"This is certainly no place for any woman of breeding," Johnston said. "But I shall make an attempt to offer her what little we have. It shall be good if you ask her to dine with me tonight. It has been awhile since I've been in the company of a good woman. You will also be invited, as a matter of course."

"Why thank you, sir," Gardner said as he lifted to flap of the tent. He felt happy as he left, walking past the bored-looking orderly. He then headed towards the small field where his men were resting. It was shaping up to be a good day and was he was eager to return to Hall to break the news to him. They were going to be a part of the attack on the morrow where his men were to be tested in a real battle.
Chapter 17

Leaning forward on his saddle, Jack searched the sparsely-leafed trees with his field glasses. According to the hand-drawn map tucked in his pocket, he should be near the Federal line. The trails here were thick with trees and bramble, a perfect location for an ambush.

It was still early in the morning, and the sun had yet to break over the horizon, but there was still just enough light to see by. He had traveled at least eight miles ahead of Johnston's army, and he still hadn't even seen one enemy patrol. Perhaps the information that Gardner had received from Davis was faulty, and the Union army had already left by using river boats. He just couldn't imagine any army leaving themselves so unprotected. He nudged the horse forward into the bramble-choked path.

Jack wondered how Ezra was getting on. He hated to leave him behind at the camp, but someone needed to stay and watch where that gold was going. He also felt better knowing that someone was watching Rose while he was out looking for the Union army. This was quite the bind he found himself in. How could he warn these seemingly lackadaisical Yankee soldiers that a whole army was about to come and sweep them away? If he tried to tell them directly, they would certainly have arrested under the suspicion of being a spy. He couldn't let himself be held as a prisoner while a battle raged on – he might lose Rose and that damned money.

Pushing a low-hanging branch out of the way of his face, Jack caught the odor of burning wood. He slowed down, knowing he must be getting close to a camp. Pulling gently on the reins, he patted the side of the mare's neck to quiet her down. He then slid off and pulled the horse deeper into the trees. It was time to hide her and go on foot.

Quickly tying the mare to a tree, the detective pulled out the Spencer carbine from his saddle sheath and began slowly moving in the direction he suspected the smoke was coming from. There was a sparse line of pine trees far ahead, which would be a perfect place to shelter from the rain and wind. The smell of burning wood – possibly from the nearby camp - was beginning to sting in his nostrils. Swinging the carbine behind his back, Jack dropped to the ground and began crawling through the dead leaves.

He paused behind a ragged bush, feeling the damp leaves thoroughly soaking his trousers. Rummaging through his jacket pocket, he pulled out his battered field glasses and began scanning the pine trees. He held his breath as he saw a flicker of movement.

It was a Union guard leaning lazily against a tree. The sentry was contentedly smoking a corncob pipe and had the sleepy look of someone who has been awake most of the night. His beard was scruffy, the uniform looked two sizes too large and long hair fell sloppily out of the man's cap. The musket leaning against the tree had the look of someone who knew how to take care of his weapon. The wood of the stock was well-oiled and the gunmetal shone even in the dim light of the early morning. This was not your average city-bred soldier, Jack thought, but a man who looked as if he knew his way around the country. The detective knew he had to be cautious when approaching such a soldier.

Crawling further along, a few branches under the leaves cracked softly under Jack's weight. He immediately froze and looked up again with his field glasses. The sentry was now standing upright with his gun held with both hands. The man was looking cautiously around trying to find the source of noise. Behind the sentry, Jack could barely make out rows and rows of tents sheltered from the wind by the pine trees. The information that Gardner received from Davis was right after all. Here was Grant's Army of the Tennessee.

The sentry suddenly called out, "I know someone is out there. Come out where I can see you."

Jack laid low on the ground and gently pulled his carbine in front of him. He didn't wish to shoot this soldier, but he couldn't take the chance of being caught.

Soon the sentry called out again, but this time to one of his fellow soldiers. It was another sentry that had gone unnoticed by Jack. The man was deeper in the pines and ran up to his friend with his rifle in hand. The newcomer was a big man with a recessed jaw and wide eyes. He looked uncomfortable in his overly tight uniform. Perhaps they would have been better off switching uniforms, the detective thought ruefully. The man nodded his head as the bearded sentry pointed in the general direction of where Jack was hidden.

Digging into his trouser pocket, Jack dug out a stub of a pencil and used the back of the map to write:

Be Warned, Johnston will soon be attacking in force. Pass the word.

He then pulled out a string from this same pocket and searched the ground for a suitable rock. If he couldn't speak to them, Jack thought, then he would have to find a different way to deliver a message. So he tied the scrap of paper to a fist-sized stone and tightly knotted a string around it.

The two sentries were now coming roughly toward his direction but veering slightly to the right. They were busy searching through the bushes and both had the worried look of men expecting trouble. At some fifty yards away, they were close enough so he could finally hear their voices.

"I tell you I heard something, Jeb," the bearded man said.

His big friend nodded and said, "I believe you, but I don't see nothing."

"Let's at least take a look around."

"If you say so, Willy," the big man answered.

Jack continued to peer through the bushes and waited until they were both looking away from his position. He then tossed the rock as hard as he could.

It sailed up in the air and struck the ground near the foot of the big man. He spun around with his rifle at the ready.

"Hold on there, Jeb," the man named Willy said as he leaned over to look at the rock. "It looks like someone is trying to play a trick on us." He picked up the stone and untied the string to get at the piece of paper. "What do we have here?" he asked.

"Someone wrote us a note?" his friend said stupidly.

"Can you read?" Willy snapped.

"I know how to write my name," Jeb said proudly.

"Well, that's more than I can say," Willy admitted. "We best hand this over to the sergeant and see what he can make of it."

Groaning inwardly, Jack wondered why he was unlucky enough to have given his message to two men unschooled in their letters. Well, he shouldn't be surprised. He could only hope that they made good with their words and delivered the note to an officer. At worst they would think the whole thing was a joke done by their friends. Then he had another idea.

He watched them turn their backs to return to their posts. He then raised his Spencer carbine and fired. The round hit a tree just two feet above the sentry's heads. They both fell down to the ground and Jeb's musket discharged into the air with a cloud of black powder smoke. Jack wasn't worried about him, but the sentry named Willy had the look of someone who knew how to use a gun.

Before they could make out his position, Jack quickly fired three more times. This created a blanket of smoke which he could use to cover his escape. He then leaped up and ran back towards his horse. His running footsteps crackled heavily in the dead leaves. It was only moments before he heard the report of a musket behind him. The minie ball whistled past his cheek and tore through the branches ahead of him. It would take a moment for them to load up again, so Jack turned once again and fired two more rounds in their general direction. By now they must think any number of men could be out here.

Finding his mare, the detective quickly untied the bridle from the tree and led the horse back to the trail. Behind him, a number of shouts were raised as he pulled himself onto his saddle. With a kick, he was moving away at a trot. He could now hear the bugles of the camp. Jack smiled to himself, feeling that his duty was done - Grant's army had their warning and would not be surprised by the columns of rebels coming their way.

He rode quickly for a mile or two before slowing the mare down to a walk. The sun was just beginning to rise above the horizon, and Jack could see it was going to be a clear day. Already active with the coming of spring, the birds chirped loudly in the trees above. As he cantered along, he reached down into his saddle bag for ammunition and reloaded the Spencer. It was now time to locate Johnston and spin him a tall-tale. Perhaps the general could be convinced to call off the attack if Jack could tell him a convincing story of how the waiting Union army was on high alert. It would be possible for such a story to pass muster if it wasn't for Davis. That man must have a legion of spies keeping an eye on the Union troop movements.

Deep in his thoughts, he almost ran right into a leading column of Johnston's army. The total number of soldiers was staggering and they were marching in high spirits. The men happily waved at him and continued on.

A colonel flagged him down. "Who are you?" the officer demanded.

Jack hastily saluted and remembering his cover, he said, "Sergeant Hall. I'm a scout reporting to General Johnston, sir."

"Very good, Sergeant. What did you see up ahead?"

"Sir, there is a large camp just two or three miles north by northeast of here. I can't tell you how many of them were there, but I saw plenty of tents and pickets." There was no reason to lie to this officer. They would continue to go ahead no matter what the odds were. He could see the steely reserve of the colonel and the proud, martial air of the men marching towards an unknown fate.

The colonel only smiled and said, "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Do you know where Johnston is now, sir?"

The colonel waved his hand lazily towards the back of his column. "I imagine the general is somewhere back there."

"Thank you, sir, and good luck."

"And you too. This is going to be a glorious day. I can feel it in my bones." He saluted to Jack, effectively dismissing him.

The detective wheeled his horse around and for a few moments watched the ragged group of soldiers march forward. He knew it was too late to stop this battle. The rebels were moving too fast, and no message from Johnston could stop them now. The soldiers here had the look of undisciplined troops, but he had already seen what they could do at Bull Run. If his message to the Federal army didn't work, then Grant's army would certainly be swept over by this band of determined men. He shook his head in the futility of it all. With a kick, he urged his mare on.

It took another hour to find the general and his staff. Even before that, he had heard volleys of musket fire in the distance. A sporadic rumble of cannon joined in the distant cacophony. Johnston was mounted on his horse and had a stern, studious look as he poured over the map held in his lap. Major Gardner was a few yards behind him with a worried expression.

Johnston looked when Jack rode up.

"Sergeant Hall reporting, sir," Jack said as he brought his mare to a stop.

"Very well. Sergeant," the general said in an off-handed manner. "What do you have to report?"

"Sir, I scouted ahead as ordered. I saw the enemy camp with my own eyes. They're right where I was told to find them."

"Good," Johnston commented, as if he was just told his dinner was ready.

"Coming back, I passed one of your columns. I imagine that gunfire we are hearing is them."

"I imagine so, Sergeant. I want you to ride back and tell General Cleburn to proceed as planned. We have to keep pushing the Yankees back until they break. I will be behind him with reinforcements. Do you understand, Sergeant?"

"Yes sir," Jack saluted. He pulled hard on the reins to wheel his mare around.

"Sergeant, if the Colonel can't make it through, then come find me as soon as you can."

With a nod of his head, Jack took off on the trail that he had just returned on. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter 18

It was a quick ride back to the site of the Federal camp. The crack of rifle fire grew louder with every step of the mare. This was a poor place for a battle, Jack thought. The growth here was too dense for the armies to see each other. The troops would be firing blindly into the woods with little hope of hitting anyone. He dismounted and carefully walked his horse over a creek deep with winter runoff. After mounting up again, it wasn't long before he was back at the trail leading to the camp. He recognized the stand of pine trees and rode carefully through them, even though the gunfire was still distant enough to be of no concern. But one could never tell where an errant bullet could strike.

As Jack gingerly rode through the littered remains of the camp, the smell of black powder smoke still hung heavily in the air. The camp had the look of being caught completely unaware. It had also been thoroughly ransacked by the rebels - packs were torn apart and contents spread haphazardly over the ground. Everything was in shambles with torn down tents and several corpses littering the ground. They were Union soldiers – some dressed in their uniforms while others were wearing very little. Here and there a moan would arise from a wounded man who did not have the strength to crawl.

A hand shot out. A man on the ground gasped out, "Please, help me. I need water."

With a grim expression, the detective dismounted and pulled his canteen out. To his surprise, he recognized the wounded man as the sentry who had shot at him. Willy looked bad with a pale, sickly face. Blood-soaked spittle dripped from the side of his mouth. Jack got down on his haunches and tipped the canteen into the man's mouth. "Drink slowly," he warned the sentry.

"Thanks much," the man replied with a choked whisper.

"Where are you hit?" Jack asked as he ran his hands over the dying man's bloodied chest.

"I'm afraid I took one in the belly. I won't last long – I've hunted enough deer to know you don't get far with a hole in your stomach." The words poured painfully out. Willy gave a wracking cough which made the skin on his face even paler.

Jack found the gaping wound which was still bleeding heavily. "What happened?" he asked even though he already knew the answer.

Willy reached for the canteen again and took a sip before letting out a long sigh. He then managed to choke out an answer. "There have been some skirmishes the past few days, but nobody really thought those Rebs were any danger. We all thought they were beaten for good. Someone even tried to warn us this morning, but we didn't think it was serious."

"That was me," Jack admitted. He liked this plain-spoken man.

"Ah, well, we tried to carry your warning, but after our sergeant read it he just threw it away. Why didn't you come and talk to us?"

"I was afraid of being taken in as a spy."

"Makes sense, mister. It was nothing but a joke to the sergeant."

"I can understand that," Jack said.

Willy's voice became a little fainter as he said, "The Rebs rushed right up on us, and there wasn't even time for a warning. They caught most of us off-guard. You can see what happened." He let out another wracking cough and then gave a small moan.

The detective watched as the man shut his eyes and quietly died. He then retrieved his canteen from the dead man's grasp. Saddling up, he rode away from the camp, following the sounds of the guns up ahead.

Here and there along the way, he saw individual bodies lying on the ground. There were even a few dead rebels to be found. The northerners hadn't all completely run away \- some had stayed to fight it out.

Soon enough, the sound of muskets firing grew deafening. The detective found himself in a little open field. Great clouds of smoke hung heavily in the air as round after round of minie balls were rammed into the barrels, primed and then fired. A ball struck a tree above Jack's head, and he reflexively ducked as the next big cavalcade of firing came. There was at least an entire brigade of rebels marching towards the tree line on the other side. Every few steps they would drop to their knees and fire into the woods only to reload once again. Their gunfire was replied by a sporadic peppering of Union musketry. Here and there a rebel would drop with a scream as he was struck down by the return fire.

Another mass of gunfire blew up a cloud of thick smoke, temporarily blinding Jack from the scene ahead. Behind the line of men he saw a general astride his horse, calling out orders to the officers about him. They were taking the concentrated effort to ignore the minie balls that whizzed through the air around them.

Jack rode up, holding his hat, and bent over his horse to minimize the target area. He hurriedly saluted to the officers before presenting himself to the general. "Sergeant Nathaniel Hall reporting with orders from General Johnston," he said. "Are you General Cleburne?"

"I am, son," the general replied. He spoke with a thick southern accent and his cheeks were clean-shaven.

"Strange place for an Irishman," Jack couldn't help saying.

"It's an even stranger place for a Yankee," Cleburne replied with a smile.

"You got me beat there, General," Jack replied.

"I can tell by your accent, Sergeant. What orders did Johnston wish to convey to me?"

Jack had to shout over the sound of another massed firing of rifles. "You are to move ahead according to plan, sir. If you run into any trouble that you can't handle, I am to find Johnston to bring up the reserves."

"These Yankees, if I can beg your pardon, aren't putting up much of a fight." No sooner than Cleburne made that statement when the rebel line put up a shout and charged the remaining distance into the woods. The sound of gunfire ceased in this patch of forest as the area was quickly cleared of the enemy.

"I see your point, sir," Jack said as he watched the mopping up of the remaining enemy.

"Well, Sergeant, we shall ride ahead soon. Stay with me in case your services are called upon."

"Very good, sir."

"After we are done here, I would like to hear your story of how you came to serve in these Confederate armies."

"It's not much of a story," Jack replied as they rode slowly forward to the next patch of open ground.

The brigade had formed up again and the soldiers – in a thick column - were marching through the trail. The terrain here was rough with trees scattered throughout. Signs of civilization could be seen as they came to a freshly tilled field and farm. There were plenty of places along the way to ambush an approaching army, and the Northerners were putting up a hard fight along the way.

The rebels advanced on the ground ahead, clearing out the pockets of scattered resistance as they moved ever forward. Hours passed and the sun grew higher in the sky. Soldiers tore their paper cartridges, emptied the paper into the barrel and pan, jammed the paper and ball into the muzzle and rammed it down, only to repeat the process over and over again. Bayonets were fixed, and the order to charge was given. Minie balls hummed past their ears and young spring leaves dislodged from the branches above. Thousands of soldiers yelled savagely as they continued to push the Yankees further and further back. It was a hellish scene as the dead piled up on the blood-soaked ground. Many prisoners were taken, and the walking wounded limped back to the safety of the rear.

The brigade eventually came to a tree-tangled sunken road. Here the Union gunfire became even more intense. They had natural cover behind fallen logs and shallow depressions. Near this position, a small peach orchard stood. Petals from tree blossoms rose and fell to the ground from the sheer quantity of lead flying through the air. Cleburne held up his sword and motioned the brigade forward. The men gave a warbling rebel yell as they plunged straight across the field towards the enemy position.

Federal cannons opened up, tearing great swaths into the rebel brigade. It was canister, designed to kill massed infantry charges. It worked thus: a tin canister filled with lead balls was loaded into the barrel and would breakup once the cannon was fired. It had the effect of a giant shotgun, and here it ruthlessly killed man and horse alike. The ground was soon soaked with blood as bodies were torn into fragments by the unceasing artillery fire.

Behind the action, Jack sat high up in horse, watching the action with his field glasses. He felt numb inside from the horror of watching the carnage before him. It seemed like an impossible nightmare that he was witnessing. Perhaps he would awake and still be inside his bed in Washington. Anything was preferable to this hell on earth before him. He began to feel dizzy, and realized he hadn't had a drink of water for hours.

"Stay here, Sergeant," Cleburne snapped at Jack. "There is no reason to risk your life. You shall be needed to get help if I do not return." He waved to his nearby orderly who held the reins for the general as he dismounted. With a wave of his cavalry sword, he ran to join his men.

The rebel soldiers were now prone on the ground, pointlessly firing in the general direction of the entrenched Yankee soldiers. A cannonball shot skipped across the ground and left a bloody trail behind as it knocked over men and horse alike. Wounded soldiers cried out, and the rest burrowed close to the ground, desperately trying to stay alive. Some hid behind the dead bodies of their fallen comrades, using the fresh corpses as cover.

Cleburne studiously ignored the murderous fire and shouted at his men to rush forward. Shot struck the ground near him and a minie ball even plucked his hat away. Cleburne picked it up, brushed it off and continued to harangue his men to move. The few soldiers that did soon joined the heaped piles of dead. Jack was amazed at the sheer folly and bravery of these men, but could only feel pity since their actions were in vain. Eventually the men began to slowly retreat, crawling away until they were clear of the killing zone. Through his field glasses, Jack saw that General Cleburne was miraculously still alive. The general shrugged his shoulders in vain and then ordered everyone back.

It wasn't exactly an orderly withdrawal as some men ran frantically back to the rear for the protection of the woods. But all in all, the soldiers maintained discipline and marched methodically towards safety. And still the torrent of lead came until the rebels were out of range. There was a pause and a sudden quiet as the Union cannons stopped firing. The silence was only momentary for soon the Federal artillery had reloaded - using cannon balls with their longer range. The iron balls began dropping into the rebel's scattered positions.

Cleburne limped back to his horse and calmly pulled himself up on his horse. He was greeted warmly by his small group of officers. Cleburne's face turned to them with disgust as he said, "This is pure slaughter. I want reinforcements brought up here as soon as possible. Now go, Sergeant, and tell Johnston!"

With a quick salute, Jack took off riding as quickly as he could. It felt good to be clear of the battle if only for a moment. Once he was out of sight, he slowed down to look at his watch. He was surprised that it was just after noon. It felt if he had been up for a week and lived a hundred lives. It was then that he realized he was hungry but his stomach had no appetite. He felt like he needed a bottle of whiskey and a place to lie down for a few centuries.
Chapter 19

Jack rode past the lines of wounded, who were slowly making their way to the back of the battlefield. Some were walking in pairs, helping each other out as they stumbled ahead. Others were carried by friends, but most marched alone in grim solitude. No one seemed too sure which way to go other than away from the sounds of the guns. They looked up in momentary fear when they heard the approaching horse but grew easy as Jack thundered by without stopping.

Torn and bloodied bodies were to be seen just about everywhere with groping hands reaching out for help. Jack's mare jumped over one body only to hear a curse yelled. He shook his head, wondering where in the hell Johnston could be. He headed towards the left flank and soon came across a group of rebels marching towards the action. Their officers shot Jack a questioning look as he galloped past them.

Soldiers in the ranks shouted questions to him, "Where you cavalry going?" or "We got them Yankees on the run?"

He ignored them and rode on until he saw a group of officers conferring together. Jack decided he was in luck when he saw Gardner hanging back behind the knot of men. And there was General Johnston giving out orders. Messengers would come and go, feeding him with the latest information of the battle.

Slowing down to a trot, Jack quickly saluted.

"What is it, Sergeant?" Johnston asked impatiently.

"As ordered, I met up with General Cleburne. We were making good time pushing the enemy back."

"And then they were forced to retreat?" Johnston said, finishing the sentence.

"Why yes, how did you know."

"There have already been some other reports. It looks as if the Yankees got some piecemeal divisions together in a defensive position."

"Yes sir," Jack affirmed. "I would guess there are at least two-thousand men there. Their fire is coming quick, and I saw a brigade smashed to pieces."

"Well, don't you worry, I've already sent up some reserves to take care of them. I'll be there soon enough to look for myself. But we are doing well today, and I don't think those Yankees can stop us for long."

"If you say so, sir," Jack commented and wheeled his horse to head back towards the front.

"Tell Cleburne that help is coming. Just have him hold the position until the reinforcements come. Also tell him I don't want the enemy breaking out and threatening our middle."

"I don't think that is going to be a problem, sir," Jack said. "They look pretty comfortable hiding in there and shooting at us."

"Major Gardner," Johnston shouted out. "Where are you?"

Gardner rode up from behind a line of soldiers. He had a wary look plastered tightly on his face. Jack also noticed that his lips were drawn back tightly into a grimace. This was a man trying to control his fear. Perhaps the major wasn't as brave as he made himself out to be. The detective couldn't help smiling at the thought.

"Yes sir," Gardner said meekly.

"Why don't you accompany your Sergeant? I'll catch up with you soon enough."

"I feel it is best if I'm here at your side."

"Nonsense, Major. I need good men fighting for me. I can tell you are getting bored following me around. Go on and join in the fun."

"If you say so, General," Gardner replied cautiously and started to ride ahead. He forgot to salute as he left Jack behind.

Jack shrugged his shoulders and gave Johnson a hasty salute. The general smiled at him and said, "There's a good sergeant. Watch carefully after your officer and see that he returns safely to his fiancée."

"Don't worry, sir - her man will come back for her." With those words, Jack urged his horse forward and soon caught up to the Major.

Gardner merely shot him a scathing look before staring ahead.

Jack could tell that the major was afraid of seeing a real battle. It was one thing to gun down outnumbered, helpless men and yet another to face them on even terms. This man was about to learn something about real fighting.

"Anything wrong, Major?" He couldn't help himself from asking.

"No, nothing at all," Gardner snapped back. After a pause he continued speaking with a voice that quavered with fear. "Is it that bad up ahead?"

"There have been a few dead bodies, sir, but I think the enemy is getting pushed back to the river."

He let out a sigh of relief. "Very good. With any luck this whole mess will be over soon enough. It must be something for you to be fighting against your own countrymen. I never figured war to be like this all. It is so chaotic, and I'm not sure how Johnston even knows what is going on. I mean it is one thing to be in a little battle, but with thousands of soldiers rushing around there is no control."

"Johnston's plan seems to be going well, sir, but I would hazard that most of it has been blind luck," Jack admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"I've never seen anything like it. He brought this whole army sight unseen and marched them right up to the enemy camps. The Yankees were surprised all right and couldn't put together enough men to give them a good fight. Well, that is until now – the enemy has found a natural fort, and they are even supported by artillery. It will take some work to get them out of there."

"I'm sure General Johnston has a plan to deal with them too."

"It had better be good," Jack said.

The crash of guns grew louder as they drew closer to the peach orchard. Already another brigade could be seen to their right, marching towards the sounds of gunfire. Jack and Gardner hung back and watched through their field glasses as the rebels began moving once again across the open ground towards the enemy position.

"That's Stewart leading the charge," Gardner commented as he watched. "I've heard he's a good man to have in a fight."

Union cannons opened up and tore ruthlessly into the marching men. Explosions ripped the earth and flung dirt and bodies alike high into the air. The attack inevitably ground to a halt as men hugged the ground looking for shelter. They rallied once more but soon faltered as the enemy musket fire swept through the ranks. The end result was only scores of bodies littering the field. The soldiers left standing were then ordered to fall back.

"Pointless murder," Jack found himself saying out loud. It felt odd to watch the enemies of the Union die. He felt pity for these rebels even though he did not believe in their cause. But still, they were men, just like anyone else, who deserved a better death than this.

The sun blazed high in the sky and time seemed to pass ever so quickly. Another brigade joined in the attack. The cannons boomed loudly again with the smack of musket fire following behind. Man after man fell from the barrage of lead pouring from the enemy-held ground. Return fire seemed to be useless since targets were hard to discern in the wooded thicket that was hiding the Union soldiers. It seemed like an endless struggle as multiple uncoordinated attacks were made against the entrenched position.

Shifting his glasses over the battlefield, Jack could see a peach tree with a dozen dead men lying underneath. Blossoms torn from the gunfire had covered the dying like snow. He shook his head in disbelief. This was a fool way to run a battle and would only end in despair. Why the rebels continued to attack this hardened natural fort was a mystery to him. Why didn't they just go around and flank them?

His thoughts were interrupted by Gardner speaking.

He shouted, "Here comes General Johnston! He'll drive those damn Yankees out of there!"

Johnston saw them and beckoned them to join him with his entourage. They rode over.

He said, "I see you were right, Sergeant." He pointed to the Federal line. "It will take a determined effort to break them." He had a weary look on his face, but his jaw was set hard with determination. This one spot was holding up his lines from advancing forward. Once the Federal position was broken, he would be free to roll up along their flank and drive them his enemies into the river. Victory was just around the corner.

"Gentlemen," Johnston said to his officers, "you shall ride with me and provide an example for the men."

The detective could see the white nervous face of Gardner look wildly about for a way to escape. Jack felt sick himself, wondering how he ended up in such a situation. It was foolish to be attacking his fellow countrymen in such a manner. He couldn't think of any way out of it either.

Upon seeing the general arrive, the shattered remnants of the brigades gave a shout and began to line up in formation. Officers called out, and the rest of the weary rebels joined their comrades. It was time to listen to their new orders.

Johnston stayed on his horse and silently surveyed the men gathering before him. Waiting until the men were completely assembled, he rode out in front and went slowly down the line with his hat off.

"Men! They are stubborn; we must use the bayonet!" He rode to the center of the line and shouted, "I will lead you!"

A massive yell went up, and the entire line moved forward in a running charge. Their shouting was quickly answered by a mighty discharge of Federal cannon that tore heavily into the ranks of men. A cloud of smoke hung over the enemy position as the cannons fired yet again. Among the rebels, blood misted in the air, and a heavy groan escaped the lips of a hundred men as the storm of lead tore into them. But still the charge went on as they advanced towards the Union line. Here the minie balls tore through the air, and the torrent of fire almost broke the hastily formed lines.

Jack could see all of this from his mount as he rode slowly with the officers in the rear of the attack. They were keeping pace with the charging soldiers ahead of them, riding carefully around the dead and wounded. Gardner was sweating profusely next to him, swearing underneath his breath. His words became louder as they grew ever closer to the sheltered Federal soldiers. Jack found himself shouting too, joining the chorus of the rebel yell. It was more out of fear than anything else. A minie ball thrummed loudly by his ear and another tore at the sleeve of his coat. An open bloody graze materialized on the front right shoulder of his mare and Jack found himself wondering sedately how much longer his luck would hold out. Gardner's mount suddenly buckled and whinnied loudly as it fell forward. The major was a good rider and threw himself clear before the horse collapsed in a heap.

Jack immediately reined his horse to a stop and jumped off to help. A minie ball struck the ground near his foot and ricocheted upward, striking the scabbard of his sword with a sickening rattle. He found the major lying on the ground, holding his right arm which was bent at an odd angle.

"Are you hurt?" Jack found himself saying even though he already knew the answer.

"I do believe my arm is broken," Gardner moaned in pain. His breathing was hard, his lungs moving like bellows. He said, while gritting his teeth, "If you would be kind enough to look after my horse, I would be much obliged."

Turning his head towards the major's horse, Jack saw it trying to stand without any luck. It was wounded in the chest. Blood foamed from the mouth; the eyes rolling with panic. Another errant bullet struck it in the back, and the horse screamed in pain. Jack quickly pulled out his Starr and shot the poor beast between the eyes. It gave one final twitch before settling on the blood-stained ground.

"Thank you," Gardner said softly, his face white with shock.

Already the charge had been carried away from them, and Jack saw that General Johnston had stopped his horse to watch as the rebel soldiers began to overtake the Union position. The Federals were still putting up a good fight, but nonetheless began to slowly retreat further into the woods.

With a grunt, Jack grabbed Gardner by the legs and pulled him behind the dead horse. It would be a good place to take cover from any remaining shots directed this way. By this time, the major could only nod his head as Jack said, "I'll be back for you soon."

Mounting up, he found his mare was still largely unhurt. He gave her a small kick with the spurs, and galloped it forward to a small knot of officers at the base of the hill. They were leaning over the body of someone.

"Where's the general?" Jack asked as he rode up.

"I fear he's been wounded," a colonel replied with bitter tones, "and most grievously at that."

"General," one of the officers lamented as he lifted up Johnston's head, "Please stay with us."

General Johnston merely smiled at them faintly. They watched as he closed his eyes. He was dead within a minute. The officers shuffled nervously from foot to foot, ignoring the sounds of the battle around them.

A nearby colonel suddenly snapped at Jack, "Go find General Beauregard at the Shiloh Church. Inform him that General Johnston is dead. We await his orders."

Jack saluted and said, "Major Gardner has been wounded and is back there. He will require care, but he should be alright. Tell him that I will return soon." With those words he rode off in search of Beauregard.
Chapter 20

Rose was inside the command tent, sitting on a hard-edged camp stool with her hands resting on the rough table. One of the general's orderlies was going through the papers and would stop to shake his head at the sound of thunder heard in the distance. Rose thought it was odd to hear a coming storm since she could see the bright early morning sun through the open flaps of the tent.

She had slept surprisingly well last night, burrowed deep under a pile of wool blankets that smelled like horses. Being in a tent was hardly a new experience for her, but it had been a number of years since she had slept outside day after day. The first time had been when she first traveled to Stanton with her husband. It was an exciting trip, being alone with John out in the dark wilderness. It was wholly different than her parent's safe home in the city. Her husband made love to her with wild abandon throughout the long ride, and she had enjoyed the entire journey.

She sighed to herself and smiled at the orderly who stood up with a stretch.

"Would you like some coffee, ma'am?" he asked.

"Why, thank you. Do you think it will be long before the rain comes?" she said pleasantly to make conversation.

"Rain, ma'am? That's not thunder you are hearing, that's cannon fire. By the sound, there's plenty of it."

"Oh," was all she could think of saying. She was suddenly worried about Jack and even felt sorry for poor Richard. She couldn't even begin to imagine what they were going through right now. And General Johnston – he was such the typical southern gentleman with the most wonderful manners. Last night, Richard had escorted her to a little dinner the General threw for his officers. While Johnston regaled her with many of an interesting story, Richard seemed nervous and mumbled his way through the meal. She had a marvelous night listening to Johnston speak humorously on all manner of topics. The various colonels and generals attending were all courteous, though fairly quiet as the night dragged on.

When the general asked Richard pointed questions, he would only answer in monosyllables. Upon reflection, Rose decided that this was caused not only the presence of such a man like Johnston, but the nervousness all men must feel the night before a big battle was to commence. Johnston showed no such misgivings, but continued to talk in a most boisterous manner. Whether this was bravado or what, Rose had no idea. Later in the evening, after being escorted back to her tent by Richard, she had been pleased to tell Elsie all about the evening.

The orderly came back with the coffee and placed it carefully in front of her. "Careful, it's still hot."

She took a tentative sip and asked him, "Have you heard any news of the battle yet?"

The orderly shook his head and said, "The general is out riding with his staff. The only men that will be coming back here will be the wounded. I've seen enough action to know not to trust their stories. They always expect the worst."

"What do you mean?" she asked, not quite understanding.

"Well, the wounded are in an awful state when they come in here - thirsty, tired and feeling ashamed of being out of the fight. Such men will tell you the most terrible tall-tales to excuse their own failures. I should know since I've been on both sides." He massaged his leg and went on, "I can't march right ever since I got this Yankee minie ball stuck in my leg."

"Oh, my dear man, I am sorry."

"That's okay, ma'am, the general had the good graces to keep me on his staff. It's a right better place to be than getting shot at. I still miss my old friends – those were good times." With a frown, the orderly sat down and began sorting through the papers again.

Rose sighed and listened to the distant thunder of the cannons, wondering how she got herself into such a situation. She should never have married John and gone to that forsaken town with him. It was too bad that she didn't meet someone like Jack earlier in life.

An hour ticked by with her still thinking of her many mistakes in life when her maid came rushing in with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, ma'am," she cried out.

"What is it, girl?" the orderly asked looking up from his work with irritation.

Rose intervened and asked, "Elsie, what has gotten you so upset?"

She pointed out the tent and tried to speak but the words did not come.

"Out with it," Rose snapped.

"T-t-the blood," Elsie managed to stammer out before falling to her knees with a sob.

Standing up, Rose pushed past the maid to look out of the tent. Here and there men were walking towards the hospital that had been setup in the nearby field. The soldiers often walked in pairs, helping each other along the dirt track. Blood was evident on everyone, soaking the uniforms with patched of red. Even from the distance, Rose could see a few had missing arms and cloth-wrapped heads. It was a horrible sight, and she found herself feeling faint. Perhaps it would be better to leave these men to their own fate. But she knew it was not in her heart to do so.

Pulling Elsie her maid of the ground, she said, "Get some water and blankets."

Elsie seemed to have regained some of her composure. She asked, "But why?"

"We're going to go help those poor boys," her mistress responded, full of determination.

The orderly merely shook his head and said, "I wouldn't recommend it, ma'am. There are doctors to look after the wounded. There is no reason for a woman to be subjected to the horrors of battle. It's a sight that will scar you forever."

Elsie nodded in agreement, clearly not liking the idea of dealing with blood, misery, and death.

"It is my Christian duty to help those in need," Rose snapped at the orderly.

She pushed Elsie forward. They both started rushing towards the field hospital tent to help. The groans of the wounded became louder as they got closer. The air was now thick with a stream of painful shouts and swearing. The thin spring grass in the field was stained red with blood from the countless wounded who had passed by. Men were laid out around the main operating tent, waiting warily to see the doctors inside. A small pile of limbs lay near the entrance and flies buzzed lazily over the fresh flesh.

"Get those blankets," Rose said angrily. Elsie meekly nodded and began running back towards the camp, sobbing.

Rose decided it would be best to comfort each man as best she could. Even as she went to help, the line of wounded seemed to be growing with each passing minute. She bent over the first soldier she came to. He had been hit in the head and dried blood covered most of his face and dirty blond hair. He would normally be a good-looking boy, but now only one eye was left. He looked at her with embarrassment.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" she softly asked.

"Miss," he croaked, "I don't think it's right for a woman to see me like this."

"Don't be silly," she said soothingly. "I'm here to help." She brushed the good side of his face with her hand and then began to loosen his jacket to make him more comfortable.

"Thank you," the boy whispered back gratefully and gave her a lopsided smile.

Before she could go on to the next man, a rough voice called out, "What are you doing there?"

She turned to find one of the doctors addressing her. He was wearing a blood-stained leather apron and had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Flecks of blood and other bodily remains marked his face and clothing. His face looked grey and exhausted.

Rose replied, "I'm just trying to help. Please don't tell me that this is no place for a woman. These boys here need to be looked after, and I mean to do it."

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "It is no matter to me, miss, but this is hard work that isn't fit for a lady. But we will need all the help we can get. The wagons will be coming back soon with the more grievously wounded."

"I shall be ready for them," Rose stated.

"Trust me, it's not going to get any better as the day goes on. Now you must excuse me." He ducked back inside the tent where the screams of those under the knife soon grew louder.

The day dragged into an endless nightmare as Rose offered what little aid she could. She held their hands and listened to their delirious entreaties. She was shunned by some, but readily accepted by most. She was called mother by a few as they feverishly fought against the clutches of death. The wagons came and went, unloading their cargo of misery. The field became littered with waiting men as the doctors found those few that could be saved by immediate treatment. The others could only wait to die or, against all fates, recover on their own. This once beautiful field had become a scene out of Hell. But never once did Rose stop or feel pity for herself.

Elsie came many times carrying blankets. Her lips were pursed with silent determination as she helped to cover the shivering men who were in state of shock. She dutifully returned each time and gave what assistance to her mistress as she could.

Rose had to walk carefully since the grass was now slick with blood and urine. Flies were thick in the air and every few minutes she had to brush them away from her face. She looked down at her dress and was surprised to see it stained with blood. Swaying dizzily, she suddenly realized that she hadn't had anything to eat or drink for the past few hours. She really felt no hunger, but realized she was terribly thirsty even with the trauma that surrounded her.

A friendly orderly offered a canteen to her. She took a drink of the warm musty water. Putting it down, she looked down the trail leading to the camp and saw Major Gardner being supported between two men. She ran towards him, being careful not to tread on any of the wounded at her feet.

"Hello, dear," Gardner said as she stopped in front of him. He was clutching his arm, and his face was lined with strain.

"Richard, tell me what is wrong. Have you been hit?"

He smiled faintly and let go of the men supporting him. They saluted him and started the trek back to the frontlines. "I'm afraid it's nothing serious," he said. "My poor horse was shot from under me. I was thrown off, and I'm afraid I broke my arm. My chest hurts terribly too."

She took Richard by his good arm and led him to the last shaded spot available which was still clear of regular soldiers. He gingerly sat down with his back against the tree. He winced in pain and looked as if he didn't even notice the sea of men in front of him.

He said, "If you could be kind enough to get the doctor for me, it would be much appreciated."

Looking over the scores of wounded men, Rose said, "I'm afraid they are only treating the badly wounded right now. You may have to wait until they are free to see you."

"Damn it, Rose, I am officer and demand treatment now!"

The barrage of words hit her like a slap to the face. "Very well, Richard," she replied coldly. Rose then stalked off to the tent to find a doctor. She realized that Jack was right about the major - he really was an insufferable ass.

The tent was crowded with groaning soldiers strapped to the operating tables. The rough sound of the saw filled her ears as the doctor's helpers kept the man from writhing in pain and possibly falling off the gurney.

One doctor stood watching the proceedings with a disinterested air. He looked surprised as Rose tugged on his sleeve.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I have an officer outside who is demanding attention."

"An officer, eh? Is his condition very serious?"

"He was thrown from his horse. He may have a broken arm and possibly a chest injury."

"There's really not much we can do for him right now, but I'll send someone over as soon as I can."

"He's by the tree at the edge of the field. I will convey your words to him." Her words were cut off by the low moans of an unconscious soldier as his bloodied leg was finally removed. The limb was tossed aside as the surgeon began tying off the blood vessels on the remaining portion of the leg. Rose felt queasy as she turned and hurriedly left.

In contrast, the air outside smelled good and fresh. She leaned heavily against a tent pole to breathe it in. Without warning, she began to sob and then sat helplessly down on the ground, wondering about the futility of it all.
Chapter 21

Shifting his weight to his good side, Gardner couldn't help but let out a groan. His chest felt sore and every time he moved, he could hear a faint snap coming from inside his ribcage. His right arm was also starting to swell and the ends of his fingers felt numb with pain. Where did Rose go? That damned infernal woman said she was going to bring him a doctor, and it had been over an hour since she had left. His anger began to rise, causing the pain in his chest to worsen.

He looked over the crowded field in front of him once again and watched with disgust at the weakness of the wounded men. He felt ashamed with himself for being out of the action and felt anger at Sergeant Hall for escaping unscathed in the battle. It wasn't fair that a premier soldier like himself should be subjected to this. Why, he hadn't even been shot, but had instead been hurt by that damned horse pitching forward. Gritting his teeth, he felt the rage boiling up inside and wondered how General Johnston was getting on with the battle. As time went by, the sound of the cannons firing had become more sporadic, and the number of arriving wounded was also decreasing. Perhaps the Yankees had finally been routed.

He thought that the battle had been a frightful mess, seeing those scores of men taken down by gunfire. He had seen death before on the various raids, but had never seen so many fallen at once. It was more frightful than he could ever admit to anyone. He was scared and was secretly glad that his part was over. Perhaps if he was given a chance to rest then he could approach a battle again with a braver heart.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky. Finally he saw Rose approaching with an angry-looking man who was wearing a blood-soaked leather apron.

"Is this him?" the man said brusquely. The tone of his voice was rough and tinged with exhaustion. The sleeves had been rolled up and the arms were stained with what Gardner could only believe was dried blood.

This man, the major thought, would pay for his insolence once he was reported to his commanding officer. "Don't speak to me that way," Gardner snapped haughtily.

"Yes, this is the major," Rose said simply. Her face was also tight and her eyes had dark circles under them.

The man said, "Well. Major Gardner, I'm a busy man. I was told by Doctor Hamblin to take a look at you even though there are others in more need than yourself. But I suppose rank has its privileges."

"So you're not even a real doctor," Gardner sputtered with indignation. He was not used to be talked to this way. If he was in better health, he would have struck the man across the face for his insolence. "Look here, I want to see a qualified medical man, not some lackey. What is your name?"

"I am his assistant, Andrew Voigt," the man replied coldly. "Now I suggest you tell me what is wrong with you before I decide to leave to help someone who truly needs it. If your wounds are substantial then you will be assisted as necessary."

"Very good, Mister Voigt, but I will lodge a protest with General Johnston."

"You may do as you wish, Major," Voigt replied without concern. "What are your injuries?"

Gardner felt helpless as he said, "I was pitched off my horse after it was shot from under me. I do believe my arm here was broken in the fall. It seems obvious enough by the swelling. My chest here hurts badly too. I'm having a hard time breathing."

"Lift up your arms over your head," Voigt said harshly.

Pulling his arms up, Gardner winced as the pain shot up his arms and chest. He could see Rose's face looking stoically at him. She was obviously angry at him for the harsh words he had used with her. What did the fool woman expect?

Voigt leaned down and began to prod at the ribcage and tugged on the arm. Both motions were painful, and Gardner had to bite his lip to stop from screaming out.

The orderly's voice was without emotion as he said, "You do have a few broken ribs, Major. You'll live, unlike most of the men you see before you. Now I'll have Missus Wallace here wrap up your chest tightly and make a sling for that arm of yours."

"How long will I be out of the action?" Gardner asked.

"It will be awhile before you can even stand to ride a horse. The pain will be too much for you until those ribs heal up. I suggest you lay low for a few weeks and you will recover just fine. Now if you will excuse me, I must go back and help the doctor."

"Very well," Gardner said and waved off the man with his good arm. Voigt turned away and strode quickly back towards the makeshift hospital.

Without saying a word, Rose left and within minutes returned with a pile of linen bandages. She helped him take off his coat and shirt, pulling hard on the sleeves. He did not give her the satisfaction of making any noise from the discomfort it caused. The spring air felt cold against his lily-white chest, and he felt somewhat embarrassed by a woman seeing him in this state.

"Please, Rose," Gardner said, "I can do this myself."

"It's no problem," she said with a faint smile.

Gardner wondered if she taking some perverse pleasure in seeing him hurt. He could barely believe the idea. He then impatiently sat back and let her wrap the linen around his chest. It didn't make him feel any better, but the extra support allowed him to sit a little easier.

After she was done, he said, "Thank you, my dear. That helps more than you can imagine. I just wanted to apologize for the cross words we had."

He felt her stiffen. Rose pushed his shirt back on and then tied two ends of linen together. This sling slid over his arm and then the jacket was put loosely over his shoulders. Gardner sighed and leaned back against the tree.

He continued on and said, "You see, I was disappointed in being carried away from the battle and brought here. It is hard being left out of the fight."

She hesitated before saying, "Richard we really must talk about our future together."

He felt a tremor of doubt as he asked, "What do you mean, my dear?"

"It is hard to put into words. But so many things have happened recently, and I've been most confused by it all."

Gardner interrupted her and said, "Don't worry, everything will work out in the end. I will see that you are brought to a safe place. I was hoping you would want to go to Richmond and wait there until the war is over. But I must say there is no reason why you should be here helping to look after all these wounded men."

"I like to help if I can. It makes me feel useful. But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

Her further words were cut off by the arrival of Private Webb. He was riding his roan, and his bulky body seemed to dwarf even the girth of the horse. Still the man managed to slide down off the horse with surprising speed. He gave Rose a searching look before saluting Gardner. "Sir, I've been ordered by Mister Davis to find you," he said.

"Well, you've found me," Gardner said grumpily. He wondered how Webb came to be ordered about by Davis. "What do you want, Private?"

"Davis has been looking for you. He wants to ask your permission for using us to scout ahead for General Beauregard."

"Beauregard? I thought we were reporting to Johnston."

"I guess you haven't heard, sir. Johnston died. He was shot by some Yankee bastard."

Rose gave out a little gasp.

"Webb, I would prefer it if you would refrain from using such words around Missus Wallace here. But how could Johnston be dead? I saw him with my own eyes just a few hours ago and he was still very much alive."

"It must have happened after you saw him. That damned hornet's nest of Yankees cost us plenty of men."

"What is Beauregard doing now?" Gardner asked, trying to ignore Webb's continued use of foul language.

"It is not my place to say, sir, but right now we aren't doing anything."

"Come help me up," the major commanded. Webb's powerful arms gripped him and began to pull Gardner to his feet. The pain traveled up his side and straight down his broken arm. "Be careful there, man," he managed to gasp out.

"Sorry, sir," Webb replied roughly.

"I must be on my way, Richard," Rose said and turned to leave.

"We shall speak later, my love. You will be out of this nightmare soon enough."

She shrugged her shoulders and started walking back towards the hospital.

"You know, I'll never understand women as long as I live," Gardner said as he was helped on top of Webb's horse.

"I don't think any man ever will, sir," Webb replied as he gently led the horse away.

It was a short ride to Beauregard's command tent. Men were crowded outside, and messengers were coming and going. As they neared, they could hear an argument going on inside. After Webb helped him off the horse, it took some time, but they were able to push through the waiting group of officers. There was Mister Davis arguing with General Beauregard.

Davis said, "I see no reason why we should stop, General. The Yankees are on the run, and this is our best chance to crush them." He pounded the table in front of him to punctuate his argument.

Beauregard was standing at the large map table and looked over the assembled officers before answering, "I have already stated my reasons, Mister Davis. The men are exhausted and scattered. We can resume operations in the morning after they are rested and reorganized."

"I tell you, sir, my scouts tell me that the Federal front is weak. Their soldiers are huddled down by the river, waiting for the riverboats to come and save them. We control the heights above Pittsburgh Landing and can destroy them only if we act now."

The general said, "But the enemy artillery there is strong and is already forcing my men back with their continual barrage. The coming riverboats will only add to their firepower. The landing is strongly defended, and it would take too much time in the coming night to organize an attack. I shall speak no further on this matter."

Davis sighed and sat down. He noticed the major's arrival and said to everyone, "Here is Major Gardner. His men are the best scouts we have. Let's at least ask him to take a look on our behalf. If the Yankees are strong, then we should reassemble before attacking. Otherwise we can take a token force and push them into the river."

Every eye went to Gardner who suddenly felt uneasy by the sudden attention. He found his voice faltering as he said, "I'm afraid I am not able to carry out such orders. I fear I have been wounded and cannot lead my men at this time."

"I am sorry to hear of your condition, Major. What about your Sergeant Hall?" Davis asked. "Do you think he has the ability to break through their lines and find the truth?"

"He is an able man," Gardner replied uncertainly.

"Webb, I want you to go find Sergeant Hall and have him report here."

With a quick salute, Webb left the crowded tent. Davis went on discussing with Beauregard and his officers the need for moving onward. It was decided that Sergeant Hall should scout ahead with at least twenty men - enough to break through any picket line and discover what the defenses of the enemy were like. Perhaps it would be possible to mount a night attack and in the confusion, force the Federals to flee.

As the talking went on, Gardner felt his head swim uncomfortably from the pain. His ribs ached worse than ever, and he found it difficult to stand. He wished he could be excused from this infernal meeting and lie down in peace. But he didn't dare show any weakness in front of these other officers. Such a failing would only hurt his chance at a future command.

The tent flaps parted again and Gardner saw Hall come in. He looked bedraggled and annoyed. Suddenly Hall stopped. His jaw dropped open momentarily before snapping shut.

"Why hello, Mister Blackwood," Davis said coldly. "I was hoping he would meet again someday." The master spy then gave a nod to Webb, who placed his thick hands around Hall's neck before he could say anything. Soon he was soon stripped of his pistol.

Gardner felt confused by this unexpected turn of events. Who was this Blackwood that Davis was going on about? Surely he must be mistaken. "What is this?" he managed to say.

"May I introduce you all to Mister Jack Blackwood of Washington, DC," Davis said, his words harsh with hate. "This man here is a detective who works for the Union. He is the man who has foiled me in the past and gave me this limp when he shot me from my horse. Perhaps we could return the favor by giving this spy to the firing squad."

There was a murmur from the crowd as they watched on.

Jack smiled and said, "I wish I could take that shot back. If I aimed a little higher you wouldn't be here."

"Get him out of here," Davis shouted at Webb. "There is no reason that a Yankee spy should be here any longer. Hand him over to my guards and see that he is safely locked away. I will want to question him at my leisure."
Chapter 22

Webb's heavy fist struck the detective hard in the stomach, causing him to pitch forward even with the two burly men holding him by the arms. Jack coughed and raised his bloodied face again. The beating had been going on for countless minutes, and he wondered how much longer he could last. Webb let out a bark of a laugh and struck at the stomach once more. Bile rose in Jack's throat. He spat it out.

"You're not being very helpful," Davis said. He was standing a few feet away, watching the proceedings with obvious distaste.

Jack managed to smile and reply, "I'm afraid I don't like the questions."

That bought him another blow from Webb. Jack felt his knees buckle, but he managed to stay standing. He wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing him crack.

"Hold up there, Webb," Davis said. He limped closer to the detective and pointed his silver tipped cane at his captive's chest while the two men on the side chuckled. "As paid informants for the rebels, my men are always in danger. What does Washington know about me?"

Jack merely shrugged and stared at the ground before him. It really wasn't important what he told Davis, since he knew that any story would be taken as a lie. It was better to say nothing until they tired of the questioning. Darkness was already beginning to fall over the hastily formed rebel camp, and even the sound of the Federal artillery in the distance was beginning to slack. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Davis nod at Webb again.

Even though the detective was ready for it, the massive blow to his jaw rocked him hard. His head spun dizzily. He felt a molar pop out from the top of his mouth. He spat it out and gave a choked laugh.

The words felt thick as he said, "That's all your big boy has got?"

Ignoring the taunt, Davis said, "It is Gardner and that damned gold we stole. I bet the Federals want it back. That's it, isn't it?"

Jack shrugged again and waited for the beating to continue. Through his half-closed lids, he could see Davis walking back and forth, swinging the cane and looking to be deep in thought.

The master spy suddenly stopped and said, "You're protecting Missus Wallace, aren't you? It was she who invited you down to Stanton to spy on Gardner. You're supposed to get that gold back."

Jack didn't say anything.

"Perhaps we should get her over here. I imagine she would crack soon enough with a few slaps. A Yankee spy like her doesn't deserve any better."

"You leave her alone," Jack growled and pulled hard on the men restraining him. He almost broke free, but Webb stepped in and struck him hard in the side of the head. Jack fell limp to the ground and fought to remain conscious. His head pounded like a drum and swam with a red dull pain. He was going to get that bastard Webb and tear him to shreds, he thought to himself. He was going to kill him slow and painfully until there was nothing left of him.

"Webb, go fetch Missus Wallace," Davis said.

"You will not," a voice answered. Jack fluttered open his eyes and in the receding light could see Gardner standing there, his back ramrod straight. He had his pistol pointed at Davis.

"I think it best you not interfere," Davis snapped. "You're not feeling well and should be resting."

"I won't have anyone speak poorly of my Rose. You understand that?"

The pain in his head began to recede, and Jack could once again focus on the world around him. He felt the hands holding him slacken as the men listened to Davis and Gardner speaker.

"Major, this is of no concern of yours. I'm merely questioning this here spy that you freely admitted into your command. He was under your employ and has been gathering information that could hurt the both of us. Surely you can see that Missus Wallace must be questioned. You wouldn't want us to think that you had any part of their plans, would you?"

Gardner swayed uncertainly but the gun barrel managed to stay trained on Davis. "I know she is innocent and believes that this man here is really her cousin. It has been a long time since they have known each other."

"You don't know that."

"And neither do you. But I do know I will shoot any man who hurts my Rose. I will find out in my own ways where her loyalty lies. But I can assure you, it is not with this man."

The master spy sighed. "Very well, I will not question her tonight. I give you my word as a gentleman. But please go lie down. You can't be helping those wounds of yours. Go help him, Webb."

The big complied, and the major resignedly dropped his pistol into his holster. Together they both disappeared into the darkness.

It was now dark enough that Jack could barely make out the features of Davis.

"Well, Mister Blackwood, what ever should I do with you? You are no use to me alive, but I'm sure that General Beauregard would take much pleasure in having you shot in the morning. I'm afraid the military still likes to do things by the book. Personally I would rather make sure you are dead than leave anything to chance."

"Here's something for you to remember me by," Jack said quietly. Suddenly, with a powerful lurch, Jack broke free of the men holding him and ran towards Davis with his arm arched back. He swung, hitting his enemy full in the face. They both tumbled together to the ground in a heap. On top, Jack battered at the other's face until he was pulled away by the two burly guards. They began to kick him in the ribs as he tried to crawl away.

"Stop!" Davis shouted. The blows immediately ceased, and the two men stood still, breathing hard from their exertions. "Pick him up," the spy ordered. The strong arms wrapped around his chest, and they stood him up.

Jack stood there swaying with his arms pinned to his sides. The cane lashed out several times, striking him around the shoulders. Compared to the blows of Webb, this pain was nothing.

Breathing hard, Davis said, "Now take him away and put him in the shed. Get some regular army to put a guard over him. They can shoot him in the morning." He then turned and strode quickly away.

"You're lucky to be alive," one of the men said to Jack. "I would have killed you with my own hands. No one gets away with hurting Mister Davis like that."

Without a further word, the guards led him away towards the church. There they found the shed. The few tools inside were removed before they threw Jack inside. He struck the wall on the opposite side and fell to the ground in a heap. The men laughed and slammed the door shut.

In the darkness, Jack held his head in his arms and listened. The shed was a rough structure, and a gentle night breeze whistled through the wide, rough slats. He could hear a pair of feet leaving and then in a while, a number of men returning. They talked in low voices together, and then someone laughed. Soon it was quiet except for an occasional whisper. He guessed that there were two guards outside and they were apparently bored by this unexpected guard duty.

Jack sat there, thinking of some way out. He was surprised by the turn of events and wondered how he could get out of this situation. He wondered if Davis would keep his word and not question Rose. He knew that master spy well enough to doubt it. That bastard would do anything to save his own skin and could easily sacrifice the loyalty of Gardner.

He shakily stood up and fought the urge to retch. He sneaked over to the door, tried the handle and found it unlocked. He began slowly opening the door, planning to make a dash for it, when a bayoneted rifle stuck through the open crack. Jack shut the door, knowing that the guards were watching him carefully. There was nothing to do but wait and hope their attention would wander as the evening wore on.

It was getting later in the night. The shuffles of the guards outside became fainter. The camp outside began to quiet down - only the occasional squeak of a passing supply wagon could be heard. Jack froze as he heard a voice, then a low groan and a heavy thud against the wall of the shack. Soon there was the sound of footsteps running and then a muffled scream. Within moments, the door opened, and Jack saw a shadow standing in front of him. He readied himself to tackle this stranger until he heard a familiar voice.

"Jack?" Ezra whispered.

"My God," his partner said thankfully, "I'm glad to see you."

"Likewise," Ezra said flatly. "Now we have to get out of here before someone comes and checks on these two."

"How did you know where I was?"

"News travels quickly, and it was only a matter of time before I located the church. Mind you, they tend to ignore people like me. I just told the guards I was bringing dinner to you. Before they had a chance, I smashed one over the head, but I had to permanently silence his friend. You see, he was running to get help, and I thought it was better to use the knife than let him do that."

Jack could see the two bodies of his guards lying in the rough grass around the shack. Neither of them stirred.

"Now what?" he asked. "We are surrounded by soldiers. It would only take one of them to stop us from getting out of here."

His partner shook his head and said, "Come and follow me. I already have this planned out. Or at least I hope I do."

Just around the corner of the church was an ambulance wagon. Ezra boosted himself up to the buckboard and motioned for Jack to get in the enclosed back. Inside was a long bag holding the Spencer carbine, a shotgun and several pistols. A canteen of water and a box of biscuits were also there.

Jack began to eat greedily. "You think of everything," he said between bites.

"Worst comes to worst, we can always shoot our way out of any trouble," the black man said. He flicked the backs of the two horses and they began to trot forward. "We best head towards the Federal line."

"But between us and them are thousands of rebels," his friend cautioned.

"That's why I borrowed this here ambulance. They'll let us through if I tell them I am out here to pick up the wounded. For now you'll just have to lie in the back and pretend to be hurt."

"There isn't much pretense here," Jack said. "I'm hurt pretty badly. You don't have a cigarette do you?"

Ezra let out a small laugh and reached back through the connecting window with a match and cigarette.

Jack lit it. He watched as his partner threaded his way past patrols and picket lines. They virtually ignored him and let the wagon through without comment. After he had finished his cigarette, Jack suddenly remembered something. He had been too concerned with his own position and had forgotten the big picture. "What about Rose?" he asked as he threw the cigarette butt out.

"I asked her and Elsie to come with us. Rose refused to go. She said she wanted to stay and help the wounded."

"I see," Jack said. He was surprised by this turn of events and hoped she would remain safe. This whole situation had become nothing but a mess. There was no chance of getting the gold back, and Gardner was still protected by the sheer number of Rebels. There was nothing left to do now but save his skin and make the best of it.

"Get down," Ezra murmured, "we're getting closer to the front lines."

The detective lay down on floor again and listened intently as the wagon slowed down. He gripped the butt of the pistol and waited.

"Where are you going, boy?" the voice said.

Ezra fell into a deep southern dialect and answered, "I was told to get the wounded, sir"

"Good, there's plenty out there. We can hear them moaning from here. You be careful out there, boy, and watch out for those Yankees."

"Yes, sir," Ezra answered and the wagon rattled forward again.

Jack let out his breath and eased the grip on his pistol. The soldier had been right - he could hear the chilling sound of the wounded. There were moans, screams and sobs as those too hurt to walk slowly died. The chill of the night hastened their deaths, but it was still a cruel way to go. He could also hear his partner swear under his breath as the wagon bounced along the rough trail.

"This is Hell," Ezra whispered as afraid to wake the dead.

"Worse than Hell," Jack commented. This was a deserted land and neither side dared to move into this area between the forces, lest the fighting start up again.

In another fifteen minutes, by Jack's reckoning, they were clear of the killing field and plunged into a forest track. A command suddenly was shouted out from the gloom of the woods, "Halt!" The voice had the hard accent of a Northerner.

Ezra pulled hard on the reins and stopped the wagon.

Jack stood up in the back and shouted, "We're Yankees!"

"We'll see about that," the voice answered back. Four armed soldiers stepped out from the shadows.
Chapter 23

"Tie that tourniquet tighter," the surgeon growled at her.

Rose nodded, resisted the urge to scream with frustration, and tried again. The blood made her hands slippery, and she pulled as hard as she could on the leather loop. With a final effort she was able to close the hasp. Her eyes were now blurry with fatigue, making it hard to see. She leaned dizzily against the table to hold the leg as the doctor used his knife to methodically remove the flesh around the knee. At this point Rose had seen enough not to be affected by such sights anymore. It had been a long morning, and the afternoon looked to be filled with even more horrors. In the distance, the sounds of battle could still be heard. She wondered how much longer they could go on killing each other.

She had woken up that morning still feeling tired from the day before. Her dreams were blood-filled nightmares of the worst kind, and she had gotten little sleep. Maybe it had been a mistake not to go with Ezra to rescue Jack, but she felt bound to help these poor soldiers. These boys with their broken bones and shattered lives deserved any kindness they could get. The medical staff was so shorthanded that they even reluctantly agreed she could help inside the makeshift hospital. It was grueling work filled with the screams of those unfortunate to need the bone saw. Even with ether or chloroform, the patients would shout and twitch about. But even though her mind was numb with visions that would haunt her in the future, she was still glad that she had decided to give what little help she could.

The man on the table, though given a rag-soaked dose of chloroform, began to whimper as the bone saw began to cut into him. She reached for the man's hand and squeezed it tightly as the surgeon strained over his work. Soon he was finished and tossed the remnant of the leg to the ground where it was to be collected by an orderly. He then began sewing up the arteries and veins with a needle and cotton thread. At this point the soldier's low moans thankfully subsided as the surgeon finished his macabre job.

"Now," the doctor said energetically, "we will have to take this flap of skin and make a suitable stump for a future wooden leg. We want this gentleman here to be comfortable if he is to ever walk on his own again."

Rose nodded numbly and watched as the surgeon began the final task of closing off the wound. He worked quickly and methodically, his hands well-practiced from doing this procedure countless times. She spent the time shooing the flies away and seeing that the patient remained unconscious by applying more chloroform. The first thing she was told was not to keep the rag on the patient's face too long or he would be poisoned by the fumes. But either way, the surgeon had to work quickly once the rag was taken off of the face. By now the soldier's skin was bloodless, and his breathing was shallow but steady. When the doctor had finished, bandages were then wrapped loosely over the stitched up wound, and she finally began to relax.

Soon the doctor stood up, stretching his back. "Thank you for your help, ma'am. Let's see what we have next. But before you do anything else, I suggest you take a moment and get some fresh air - it is getting rather stuffy in here." He waved at two stretcher bearers who came and gently removed the patient from the table. They carried the unconscious man away with a wool blanket covering the battered body.

Rose stepped outside and was relieved to breathe in air that wasn't fouled with the smell of urine and chloroform. She saw wagons loaded with more wounded, coming down the trail, pushing the walking wounded to the sides. To her ears, the sound of the cannon fire was growing more intense. There was also a new sound – the distant crack of the musket which she immediately recognized. But this was not a single shot, but a whole barrage of them that sounded like fresh pine kindling sparking in a massive bonfire.

She turned to find an orderly standing next to her. He was an old man with a graying beard. A lit cigar was resting in his hands, and the smoke curled slowly into the air. He listened intently to the far off sounds of battle. "Sounds like they're getting closer," he commented more to himself than Rose.

"Are we in any trouble?" she asked.

The man shrugged and said, "It is no concern of ours, ma'am."

"But surely the men here will be in danger if the battle should move this way."

"Don't worry," the orderly drawled. He tapped the ashes of the cigar using the side of his hand. "Even the Yankees don't make war on the wounded." He gave a little bow and then returned to his duties.

Rose let out a sigh and looked over the sprawling mass of wounded men arranged around their little tent hospital. How many more would come? And how many more would die here, waiting for help? She brushed back the welling tears from her eyes and went back inside.

The doctor she was working with was looking over a new patient who was sitting up on the table with his shirt off. The soldier's face was shorn and his broad face looked shocked when he saw Rose approach.

"What is she doing here?" he asked with surprise.

"Don't worry about her," the doctor grumbled as he examined the man's shoulder. "You're lucky to be alive. A few inches shorter and no power on earth could have saved you. That Yankee minie ball went clear through your flesh here, and there has been no damage to the arteries. You've been a lucky man and should only feel a little stiffness after this heals up."

"Can I go back soon?" the man asked fervently. "The Yankees are pushing us back, and I want to go help my unit."

"I don't think so," the doctor answered.

"Is it bad up there?" Rose asked as she handed over some bandages for the doctor.

"Bad enough," the patient admitted. He made a face as the wound was probed once again. "Word is we've been ordered by Beauregard to withdraw, but the commanders are none too happy with that."

"And I'm none too happy with your moving about," the doctor added. "Now sit still, stop jawing, and let me bandage you up. I will not be needing your services for a while, Missus Wallace. I suggest you getting something to eat, and then we'll be ready to continue in a few minutes."

"I'm not sure I can stomach anything," she admitted.

"You need your strength, ma'am. Don't even think of what you've seen here today, just eat." With a wave of his hand, he dismissed her, and concentrated on wrapping the bulky bandage around the soldier's shoulder.

Rose left the makeshift hospital and began walking towards her tent. From the north, a line of rebel soldiers began running towards the camp. The sound of the musket fire suddenly became more intense, and there was now a flood of soldiers moving past the hospital and through the rows of remaining tents. They looked like devils with their faces stained black with gunpowder.

A soldier with frightened eyes tossed away his pack and pushed Rose aside. She went sprawling and quickly picked herself up to run towards her own tent. Inside she found Elsie huddling on the floor, covered with a wool blanket.

"Oh ma'am," she managed to squeak out. She was holding the reloaded derringer that Ezra had given Rose, the barrel waving wildly in the air.

"Careful, you fool girl," Rose said as she snapped the little pistol away from her. "You might shoot someone."

"What are we going to do?" the maid moaned.

"We are going to stay here for now, silly girl. We will be perfectly safe once we are rescued by the Federal soldiers. They'll be here any moment, so there isn't much else to do but wait."

"But Yankees! They're bound to do something terrible to us."

Even with the chaos around them, Rose couldn't help laughing. "Don't worry, Elsie, I'll take care of you."

"Yes ma'am," Elsie said, her face still pale with fear. She suddenly let out a scream as the flap of the tent parted and a hand reached inside.

Rose spun around to face this new danger. She lifted the derringer up and was just about to fire until she recognized the face of Richard poking through the opening.

"Put that that toy down," he said sourly. His face was wracked with pain and he moved stiffly to the single chair resting against the tent pole. He slowly sat down and grunted uncomfortably. "I thought you two would need my protection," he said gallantly as he could.

"Oh, Richard, you fool. You should have stayed resting," Rose said. "You must be in terrible pain."

"It is worse than yesterday," Gardner admitted. "But I'm worried some Yankee will take advantage of you."

"There's no real danger to us. They are in too much of a hurry to bother with two women."

"You may be in no danger, my dear," Gardner said, "but I'm likely to get my neck stretched if the Yankees find me here. I need your help in getting me out of here. It is best if we all leave together and return to Stanton. Once there, I can have a chance to regroup my men and pay these bastard Yankees back."

"But how can we leave? By now all the horses have been taken, and you are certainly in no shape to walk out of here."

"Nevertheless we must try. Now come and help me." He stood up and began to limp towards the opening of the tent.

Rose mustered what courage she had left and said sharply, "Hold on, Richard." She had the derringer up now and out of the corner of her eye saw Elsie looking at the two of them in a state of shock.

He turned and saw the gun pointed at him again. He gulped once and said, "What is it?"

"I want to know what happened to my cousin Nathan."

"Whatever do you mean?" he replied innocently.

"His man Ezra came and saw me last night. He told me that he was taken away by Ethan Davis, the man that you work for. What did Nathan do?"

"Nothing," the major said evasively.

"Ezra was going to go off and rescue him."

"I forgot about him," Gardner admitted. "But anything Davis did was for Hall's own good – him being a Yankee and all. Apparently they didn't trust him, and Davis thought it would be better if your cousin was put somewhere safe for a while."

"The funny thing is, Richard, I can always tell when a man is lying. I've had plenty of practice when I was married to that fool husband of mine. I know who Nathan really was, and I know who he was after. It was you. His name is really Jack Blackwood, and he was sent by my uncle to take care of you."

"Oh, Miss," Elsie finally said.

"Quiet, girl," Rose said firmly. "This isn't a good time to tell you this Richard, but no time ever is. It would be better if we called off our engagement."

Gardner's face fell in dismay and his hands shook with anger. "But, Rose," were the only words he could say. He then lunged forward and tried to grab at the derringer. His broken ribs made him slow and clumsy, but he still managed to get a hold of the barrel of the gun before Rose could react.

Without even thinking, she pulled the trigger and watched in horror as the end of Gardner's thumb disappeared in the blast. The bullet traveled on, tearing a small hole in the tent canvas. The major could only stare at his bloodied hand with bewildered shock.

"How could you?" he cried out.

Rose pushed him away and calmly said, "I had better wrap that up before you bleed to death. Elsie, find me a handkerchief in the baggage."

Elsie looked numbly at her and then slowly responded to the command.

A fine silk one was quickly found. Rose began to wrap the handkerchief around the stub of Gardner's thumb. By this time she felt impervious to Richard's pain. She had already seen too much today to care about such a small wound. Anyways, it served him right for trying to bully her. During this care, he remained impassive and stared blankly at the ground.

It was then that she heard the sounds of approaching horses and realized that the panicked shouts of the fleeing rebels were gone. Ducking out of the tent, she saw cavalry soldiers clad in blue riding into the camp. Their sabers were held high and flashed in the afternoon sun. The Federals had arrived. She couldn't help but smile when she saw Jack and Ezra riding at the front of the pack.
Chapter 24

Jack watched as the soldiers loaded the last of the gear into the freight car he was standing inside. The engine ahead gently let off steam as other men entered the long string of passenger cars. Ezra was working at the back of the car with a cigarette stuffed into his mouth. He was trying to make some order of the baggage that had already been loaded.

The young Lieutenant Barnes, who had been assigned to the detective, was giving some final orders to the four men carrying a narrow cot for the use of the prisoner Gardner. With a heave, it was loaded up and slid into position inside the car. It had been two days since the battle and Jack was ordered to take the traitor back to Washington by freight car. It was decided that in his medical condition it was best that the major remained as immobile as possible.

The lieutenant pulled himself up into the car and saluted.

"There's no need to salute me," Jack said. "I'm no officer."

"Sorry sir, it's just a habit. We've loaded up everything as you requested. I have to say that General Grant was happy about getting that stolen money back. He couldn't stop talking about the good luck and what it will mean to this campaign. He was willing to give you everything at our disposal."

Jack nodded. The gold had been found inside the rebel camp, still loaded up on the same wagon used to deliver it. Except for Gardner and his men, only General Johnston and his quartermaster knew what lay inside the chest. The fleeing rebels were more interested in taking the horses than looting their own camp. The detective realized that he had lucked out there. He also wondered where Davis could be now. Surely Davis wouldn't let Gardner or that gold out of his grasp so easily. But Grant saw no need for shipping it back to Washington when he had immediate need for it now. .

"Mister Blackwood, here is the prisoner," Barnes said.

It was Gardner with two guards walking at his side. He looked to be in a sad state. His right arm was in a sling, his left hand bandaged up, and he walked gingerly as not to put any undue strain on his broken ribs. A single manacle was attached to his good arm and was held firmly by one of the guards. After entering the rebel camp, Jack had found Gardner cowering on the floor of Rose's tent – a broken and bewildered man who could only stare at him with hatred. It had admittedly been a pleasure to properly introduce himself to the major.

"Bring the prisoner this way," Barnes motioned to the two guards. They had to lift the major up and through the door of the freight car. This motion made him groan with pain. He then shuffled over to the bed and sat down, his face set in a cold mask. The guard released his side of the manacle and then snapped it shut on the part of the bed frame where it couldn't slide free. Handing over a key to the lieutenant, the guard saluted and joined his companion to make their leave.

Barnes studied the key before placing it in Jack's hand. "I trust you will keep this prisoner guarded at all times?"

"Don't worry, Lieutenant, Ezra and I will take turns keeping watch until we get to Washington. After all the trouble I took in getting him, I don't want to lose him now."

"Well, it is not my place to say anything, but they should have shot him here and now. A traitor deserves swift punishment, and I see no reason to bring him all the way back to Washington for a show trial. It's just a waste of time."

"I think they want to make an example of him." Jack turned and met the eyes of Gardner.

The major scowled at him but said nothing.

"Mister Blackwood, it has been a pleasure meeting you. I wish you a safe journey."

"I take it Misses Wallace has been given a good seat?" Jack asked.

"She is riding in the car with the officers. She will be in good company."

"I'm sure she will," Jack grinned. He could only imagine the type of attention she would get from the clamoring officers who hadn't been in the company of a woman for ages. Well, it was better for her to ride in comfort than sit back in this cold freight car with the three of them. It was, after all, going to be a long trip back to Washington.

Barnes jumped down to the ground and gave Jack another salute.

He returned the salute with a smile and watched the retreating back of the lieutenant.

Gardner said, "Mister Blackwood, you seem to have gotten the better of me - for now."

Jack turned and sat down on a wooden case across from the bed. He said, "I would have been happier to get my hands on Davis."

The prisoner smiled and said, "But second best is better than nothing?"

"I wouldn't say that – you've been causing enough trouble for those armchair generals at the War Department. They will be happy to see you swing from a rope. But be warned that I wouldn't mind shooting you myself. So don't take any chances with me."

Ezra came to listen to the conversation and stood by the bed with his palm resting on the butt of his pistol.

Gardner looked nonplussed as he said, "So tell me, Mister Blackwood, what do you do for a living?"

"It's not much of a living," Ezra interjected.

"Ezra and I are partners. We work as detectives – taking care of those matters that many would prefer go unmentioned."

"It sounds like seedy work. Does it pay well?" the major asked with apparent interest.

The whistle blew, and the train began to slowly chug forward. The motion was sickeningly jerky at first, but soon they were moving at a good pace.

After the ride had settled down, Jack cautiously answered back, "Does it pay well? Well enough, but mind you, I'm not going to die rich doing it. But it does have its own rewards."

Ezra snorted and said, "I'm still waiting for my reward."

The major lowered his voice conspiratorially and said, "Perhaps I can help you gentlemen out."

"In what way?" Jack asked.

"That gold that you recovered for the Federals – that wasn't all of it."

Jack felt his heart beat a little faster as he said, "So you took some for yourself. Weren't you worried that Davis was going to find out?"

"Yes, that was a concern, but I wasn't going to let all that money slip out of my hands. Right now I'm offering it to you two, if you let me free."

"I'm not interested in making any deal with you, Major," Jack lied. He was interested but did not want to seem too eager. Perhaps there was a way of getting some gold and still have Gardner delivered to the authorities.

"Look, you fool, there is at least ten thousand dollars of Yankee gold that I hid away. You wouldn't have to work for the rest of your life."

"Jack, perhaps we should hear him out," Ezra said eagerly.

"Sorry, partner, but we can't let him go. It will be our necks on the line if they discovered we aided in his escape."

"I give you my word as a gentleman that I shall never tell anyone," Gardner sputtered.

Jack lit a cigarette and stood. He leaned with his back against the wall of the freight car. He could feel the vibration as the car gently swayed back and forth over the rails. "Let me think about it," he finally said and with those words he left. He gave Ezra a nod and went to the door separating them from the passenger car ahead. Opening the door, he stepped carefully between the two cars, watching the rushing track below.

Opening the door, he found that the next car was comfortably appointed. Several officers of varying ranks were sitting around, talking amongst themselves. As he passed, they looked up at the detective with obvious distaste. He found Rose busy talking to a gray-haired colonel.

"Excuse me," Jack said as he saw Rose smile at him.

"Yes, what is it?" the colonel asked.

"I was addressing the lady," Jack replied brusquely.

The colonel's face grew cold as if he was about to let out a torrent of curses.

"Please, Colonel, this is my friend Mister Blackwood who I was telling you about."

"Oh, I see. A high-spirited fellow to be sure," the colonel said as he visibly relaxed.

Rose patted his hand. "Don't worry, Colonel, I will come back and then you can tell me more about your little village. It does sound most interesting." She stood up and gave the detective a wink. She took his arm, and they walked to the connecting doors. Jack opened it and led her out. They stood outside and watched the rushing landscape go by.

After a few moments, she turned to Jack and said, "Thanks for rescuing me from that old bore. I feel sorry for the other soldiers in there. They all want to talk to me but fear of stepping on the colonel's toes."

"I would feel the same way." He grinned.

"Jack, we haven't had much time to talk lately."

He felt an empty pain in his heart. He laughed off her words. Jack said, "I know. But don't worry, we will have plenty of time to catch up in Washington."

"When I heard that you were taken away by Davis, I was sick with worry. And after Ezra left to rescue you, I felt so lonely. But once those wounded soldiers started to trickle in, I knew what I had to do."

"And by all accounts you did a very good job."

"Thank you," Rose replied graciously. "But I feel bad about leaving Tennessee. There are still sick and hurt men to be looked after."

"You saw the hospital the Federals built. The wounded there from both sides are being looked after quite well. Anyways, there are plenty of opportunities for nursing in Washington. The city is full of wounded soldiers."

"Well," she paused looking for the right words to say. "I want to continue nursing. I want to continue to help."

"I don't see any reason why not. I certainly would respect your wishes in that regard."

She sighed and looked out at the trees and hills that passed by. "I shall miss my flower garden," she said quietly.

Jack could barely make out her words and said, "Did you say garden?"

"Yes, why?" Rose replied.

"It is of no consequence. You were about to tell me that it would be better if we didn't see each other for a while."

"Why I would never say anything like that!"

"But it's true," he replied. He felt a vague anger boil up inside him and it was his turn to take his eyes off of her. He reached into his pocket and fished around for a cigarette.

Rose said, "Perhaps you are right. You see, I want to devote my hours to the wounded. It would hardly be fair to you if I was gone all the time. Once this war is over with, we can pick up where we left off."

"That would be for the best," Jack lied. He stuck the cigarette into his mouth and found his matches. He lit one and managed to cup his hands long enough to light the end. It tasted foul and dried out, but it was still better than talking.

Suddenly the train lurched as the brakes squealed. Rose was thrown unexpectedly forward and Jack reached out. His arms wrapped around her, and he just managed to stop her from falling onto the rails below."

"Thank you," she said, breathlessly once she had recovered.

Jack only nodded and opened the door to her car. He said, "I suggest you get back to your seat. That colonel is going to come looking for you sooner rather than later."

She looked at him briefly and gave him a half-formed smile before slipping into the passenger car. He watched her walk away for a moment and then shut the door. It was time to get back to guard Gardner. He sighed and thought of what could have been. But it was no time to feel sorry for oneself. He had lived through a terrible battle and there was no time for self-pity after such an experience.
Chapter 25

The major looked up at the blue sky and thought that today was a good day to die. The gates clanked shut behind him as he was led into the crowded prison courtyard. The gallows was in the middle of the yard. Its presence weighed heavily on his mind. The pastor next to him mumbled incoherent words alongside him. Gardner found it immensely irritating.

The men waiting in the courtyard grew quiet and stared as he walked slowly surrounded by an escort of guards. Most of the witnesses were soldiers, but here and there civilian dress could be found. Gardner's eyes went over the crowd, and he was proud to see that no one could directly meet his glance. They all looked to the ground as if in shame. But one pair of eyes met his steadfastly. Gardner suddenly realized he was seeing Jack Blackwood, who was dressed in a scruffy brown suit, an unlit cigar dangling from his mouth.

The detective nodded at him.

Gardner raised his manacled hands to return an awkward salute. That bastard came to watch this, he thought to himself. At least there was someone here that he knew - someone to witness this travesty of injustice. But no matter what, he wasn't about to give this crowd the pleasure of showing any weakness.

When they arrived at the stairs of the gallows, Gardner unflinchingly climbed them. Each step was steadily taken, and he reached the top of the platform without missing a beat. The pastor behind him had a harder time and would have nearly stumbled off the sides if one of the guards hadn't caught the old man.

Gardner marched proudly to stand under the noose which was swaying gently in the early summer wind. He ignored the words of the captain next to him and instead watched a few sparrows hopping about on the roof of the prison. The words of the captain suddenly became a question, and Gardner realized he was being addressed.

The captain said testily, "Do you have any final words you wish to speak before the sentence is carried out?"

Gardner paused and composed himself. Stepping forward, he looked over the sea of faces and said, "Let it be known that I went to my death with a clear conscience. What this court accused me of, I do not deny. They call me traitor and have sentenced me to death. But let it be understood what I did do was for my beloved state of Virginia and to bring freedom to those who have no quarrel with you. I have no hatred for you, but I see that you are merely misguided. Even if you do win over the South, you will lose in the end since you will all be slaves."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Mark my words this government of yours will bring you no good. They promise freedom when they bring tyranny. Their aim is to put you all in chains."

"Hang him," a shout cried out from below.

Gardner paused and looked over the crowd once again. They were now looking eagerly towards his death. His eyes hunted across the faces turned towards him and he finally found Blackwood's face. When their eyes locked, Jack raised his hand and saluted.

Gardner took a big breath of air and then said to the captain behind him, "I have nothing further to say. I am ready."

The captain nodded and grabbed the back of his manacled wrists, pulling the prisoner firmly to stand above the trapdoor. A black hood was placed over the major's head and ropes bound his wrists and ankles together.

Gardner's breathing grew faster. He could feel his heartbeat pounding wildly in his chest as the noose was tightened around his neck. He didn't want to die. He didn't want to lie in some forgotten grave, never to be mourned over.

Through the hood, he could hear the priest start to mumble again and he knew he only had seconds to live. "Dear God," he cried out as he heard a wooden squeak. The floor beneath gave away to empty space.

*

"Are you alright?" Major Hall asked.

Jack slowly nodded as he watched the body of Gardner sway on the gallows. This was a sick business, and he wish he had followed his partner's example. Ezra had declined to come, saying he had seen enough men hanged in his time. But Jack thought it was his duty to see the execution through. Though he was a fool, the major hadn't really been a bad man. It was just a shame that it hadn't been Davis swinging up there instead.

They turned away from the gallows, following the crowd out, past the prison walls.

"The staff at the War Department is proud of what you were able to accomplish," Hall prattled on. "They want you available for some other jobs."

"I'll think about it," Jack replied gruffly. Right now he just wanted to get a drink.

"I thought you would like to know that some of that gold went missing. There was some suspicion that it could have been you. I told them that it was impossible since you had no possession of it at any time."

Jack briefly smiled.

Hall went on, "I suppose Davis used some for himself."

"I suppose so," Jack said. He had a guess where that gold went, but he wasn't about to share that information with Hall.

They walked down the street and turned into the nearest saloon. It was crowded with off-duty soldiers and a few civilians. Jack found a table in the back while Hall went to get the drinks.

His friend returned with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He filled the glasses and took a sip. "I wonder how much more they will water this stuff down," he commented.

Jack dumped his drink down his throat and swallowed with distaste.

"Look," Hall said as he poured another shot into the detective's glass. "Rose told me that there were some strong feelings between you two. She really didn't go into too much detail, but I can guess what happened. There is no reason for you to lose any sleep over her. I can tell you that she has always been a stubborn girl, even when she was little. She had a way of twisting men around her finger."

"Oh, I don't find any fault with her decision," Jack said honestly. "Tell me, how is she getting along now?"

"With a few words from me, she's gotten work at the Seminary Hospital in town. She's become a terror there and is demanding better treatment for all the wounded. I tell you she is right popular with the soldiers."

"The work will suit her," Jack said.

"Rose sends her regards to you and told me she will always remember your visit to Stanton. Once the war is over, she hopes to return to her home there."

Jack knew he wanted to visit her home too. For underneath her flower beds there was a fortune of gold. Gold buried by Major Gardner with Rose's permission. That would be a trip worth making.

"What are you smiling about Jack?" Hall asked, looking over his glass.

"Oh, nothing," the detective replied as he finished off another shot of whiskey.

###

Connect with Paul Westwood Online:

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The Works of Paul Westwood:

**The Color of Sin:** Las Vegas. Devon Pierce lives a life of his own choosing, surviving by his wits and violent actions. For those in desperate need, he is the judge and executioner of last resort - above the law and incorruptible. Cleora Kinney, an exotic dancer, has been wronged and the Afghanistan treasure of her deceased father has been stolen. Only Devon can set things right. But first he must follow the clues found hidden deep in the shadowy underworld of the city of sin.

**Grave Injustice:** It had been in the Warren family for years: the ancestral home deep in the South. After the death of James's reclusive uncle, the house is now his to sell. But James is haunted by a childhood memory of a ghostly horror of a deceased young girl. With the help of his wife Beth, who is a law student, the young couple must solve a murder from the Civil War and lay to rest the spirit that still haunts the grounds. But the danger is not only in the past, but will come crashing into the present. Their lives and fortunes will be forever changed.

**Nano Zombie** : Not all zombies are undead. Brent is a man who lives in the near future, a crumbling civilization where man feeds upon man. Escaping from the chaos of the city, he is suddenly thrust into an unspeakable nightmare of sickness and war. In a world of apocalyptic horror, he battles for those he loves, an orphan girl and a woman with a mysterious past. In the desolated countryside, Brent fights to stay alive and find a cure to the most terrible disease that humanity has ever seen.

**Nano Zombie Redemption** : This exciting sequel to Nano Zombie has Emily battling to stay alive in a dying world. Now that her adopted father, Brent, is gone she must learn how to survive on her own. Food has run out and the Infecteds rule the dust-filled wasteland. With danger at every turn, she, along with her companions, try to find a way to finally defeat the zombie hordes. The horrific journey will test their bonds of friendship and even love.

**Horror America** : Move over Sherlock Holmes! When the supernatural game's afoot, helpless people call on the good Dr. Townsend to save them. Ghosts, the undead, werewolves, and more horrors that man was not meant to see are loose in 1870s America, so it's up to Captain Parker, a gunslinger for hire, and Dr. Townsend to stop the horror. Yet when Townsend's beautiful daughter falls under the spell of a mysterious suitor, their fortitude will be tested in a battle like no other. Written in a series of connected short stories narrated by Parker, this novel will keep you turning pages late into the night.

**Lonely Are The Dead** : 1977. A ruthless serial-killer is stalking Bay City. His purpose is unknown, but the dismembered victims are always young and beautiful. In order to find the perpetrator, Police Detective Markus has to set aside his personal troubles, and pull the evidence together before panic sweeps the city. His only ally is Karen Dekker, a reporter with a tortured past and the chance to break the biggest story of her career.

**The Cursed Sun** : Two centuries after the Final War, civilization struggles to rise from the radioactive ashes of the new Dark Ages. An innocent man turned outlaw is forced on a journey across a desolated landscape, risking his life to deliver a warning to the growing rebellion. The message he carries will change the balance of power, and with it, the hopes of humanity.

**Murder at Zero Hour:** William Grant, an American, joins the British Army during the Great War. He is posted to France, where he witnesses the horrors of war on the front line. During a dangerous night patrol, a captain is murdered, leading to a series of unanswered questions. With only his wits, Grant must solve the mystery while keeping his own skin intact. Will he be a victim of war or just another victim?

**At Harper's Ferry** : The book that started it all. Jack Blackwood is a lonely drunk who starts a detective agency in the heart of Washington DC. As Fort Sumter is attacked, he and his partner Ezra are embroiled in a case that could change the very course of the war: the son of a retired congressman has gone missing, along with military papers outlining the Union's Anaconda Plan. At the heart of the matter is a beautiful prostitute, a trail of dead men, and a spy who will stop at nothing to deliver the plans to the Confederacy.

**At Bull Run** : The second book in the Blackwood Series. A wealthy man hires Jack Blackwood to find the murderer of his only son, who had recently joined a newly-formed Union cavalry regiment. In a city crowded with temptation, the investigation uncovers a killer who is targeting prostitutes and soldiers alike, causing panic in the ranks. Only Jack's wits and the power of the Colt can put a stop to the killings.

**At Shiloh** : The third book in the Blackwood series. As Grant's Army marches through Tennessee, it is beset by guerilla fighters led by the traitorous Major Gardner. An invaluable shipment of gold is stolen from the Union and must be retrieved at all costs. Posing as a guntrader, Jack must not only complete this impossible mission, but survive the perils of battle and the amorous advances of a widow trapped in an unfriendly town.

**The Blackwood Trilogy** : Jack Blackwood is a widower and a drunk. Ezra Miller is an ex-slave in a white man's world. Together, they run a detective agency in Washington DC. As the Civil War rages, they are involved in a series of cases that will change the very course of the war. This anthology collects all three adventures – At Harper's Ferry, At Bull Run, and At Shiloh - at one low price.

Free Bonus Chapter of The Color of Sin:

It was supposed to have been a nice and quiet evening at home. My current home being an old warehouse that I had personally converted into apartments. I, of course, had kept the entire top floor and left the space underneath empty so I wouldn't be bothered by the worst impulses of humanity: noise. The other units brought in a tidy income though I purposefully kept the rents low enough to keep out the neuvo-rich. Instead, the building was populated with artists, workers, and a mish-mash of hustlers and conmen. They were the type of people who kept to themselves and weren't always asking questions about the landlord above. Instead they were quite happy to get entrance to such a secure building at an affordable price. And considering the area we lived in, D Street Avenue in Las Vegas, a little safety went a long way.

I was sitting on the sofa with my legs up on the footrest and half a Gimlet at my elbow. On my lap was a tablet. I was scrolling through a map app, trying to find the best way to drive out of this town. July was coming, which meant the hottest part of the year. A vacation was due, and I was entertaining the thought of taking my car on an extended tour of Oregon. I really didn't want to leave - I liked this town - but I was overcome with a feeling of restlessness. I had been bored as of late, which often happens in my line of work.

In the corner of my eye, I saw the graceful movement of Melodie Glass, who was working on some new dance moves. She had come over for the privacy and the fact that I had a large space to practice in. The massive JE Labs speakers and Mark Levinson electronics were an additional bonus. The high-reved pop music sounded dismal to my ears, but she seemed to enjoy the fidelity as she stretched and contorted her dancer's body into moves that only can be done by top-level gymnasts or professional strippers. She was the latter sort.

Melodie was pale with long black hair, smooth skin, and a face that revealed an Asian ancestor. She was skinny but well-endowed on top – work done by a good plastic surgeon – and had the well-muscled legs of someone who moved all day for a living. She was wearing a faded black leotard with red legwarmers. Her hair was pulled back and kept in place with a hair clip. Though taller than your average woman, she was still a few inches shorter than myself.

She was working her body hard. If I had installed a stripper pole, I'm sure she would have been sweating even harder. But instead, she was practicing her floor routine, the gyrations meant to keep the dollar bills coming. With the stiff competition in Vegas, the men and women who made their living at exotic dancing, Melodie made sure to stay in shape and keep her dances fresh. Even with the air conditioning running at full blast, there was a slight odor of perspiration. From the track lighting above I could see a gleam of sweat on her exposed skin.

I put the tablet down and took a sip of my drink. Lime juice mixed with gin had a wonderful way of sharpening the senses. As I drank, I saw Melodie stop. She went over to the CD player and turned off the power, sending a momentary thump through the speakers. I frowned, knowing that something serious was on her mind.

"Devon?"

"Yes?" I replied as I set my drink back down.

She took a step closer. "Is it true what people say about you?"

"What do people say?"

"That you help people in need."

"I don't think I've ever been called charitable."

"You know what I mean."

I gave her a half of a smile. "Yes, it's true that I help those who can't help themselves. Of course there has to be some profit in it." I vaguely pointed at the luxury furnishings and the expensive rug at our feet. "This sort of stuff doesn't come cheap. I am, after not, not running a charity here. But there are some rules to the game. The first, of course, is that I won't go killing for money. The second is that I won't harm the innocent, though the latter is questionable since I have never met anyone who is truly innocent."

"You're the most cynical man I've ever met," she purred.

"I prefer the word experienced. But I did not earn my money by doing anything that is unethical – within the confines of what I consider ethical, that is."

She leered at me. "That leaves a wide range of possibilities, honey." She instantly turned serious again. "Maybe you really could help a friend of mine. Her name is Cleora Kinney. She's a co-worker of mine at the Pussycat Lounge. She's only been there a few days and anyone can tell that she isn't cut out for the life. But I do know that she needs help and I can't think of anyone but you."

I scratched my chin in thought. After a few moments of this, I said, "I wasn't exactly planning to be in town for very much longer. Anyway, I'm not hurting for money right now."

"This is something interesting."

"What is it?" I asked, taking the bait.

"Last night, after our shift was done, we got to drinking and talking. After a few beers she opened up and told me everything. We're talking a lot of money here."

"A few thousand dollars? A hundred thousand?"

"Maybe it would be better if you would talk to her yourself. I would hate to tell you the wrong thing and have you turn down the job. She can explain it better than I can."

"Now you've got me interested."

She closed the space between us with a few sultry steps – all hips and doe-like eyes. It was a good performance that got my heart racing, even though I knew the act was as false as a street bought Rolex.

She said, "That's the point, honey. She'll be here in a few minutes."

"What?"

She reached over and ran a hand through my hair. "Don't worry, you'll like her. Everyone does." She then sauntered off, showing her backside to good effect. She went back to the stereo, turned the CD back on, and began to dance to the rhythm of the music.

I returned my attention to the Gimlet. I took a drink and tasted nothing. I was too busy being angry with Melodie to notice the flavor. I put the glass down and tried to return my attention to the map on the tablet. But the route I had chosen instead blurred and disappeared from my vision. Instead I busily thought of the possibilities: a changed will that left the poor girl out of a sizable estate, a drug dealing boyfriend, or some stolen merchandise that she knew about. Dancers like that were always making friends with rich men who wanted to share their wealth. What could be different with this woman?

The door buzzer went off. It was just barely audible over the thump of the music. I got up off the sofa, threw Melodie a nasty smile, and went to unlock the steel reinforced door. After that, it was a walk to the elevator that I had specially modified so that it took a code to access my two floors. As an extra precaution, the door leading to the staircase was locked with thick doors at the floor levels. With the wired alarm system I had installed myself, no one could get inside without me knowing. In case I was out of the building, I had a computer setup to send an email to my cellphone. This may all sound rather paranoid, but when you do my type of work, a little caution goes a long way.

The door to the elevator opened. I got inside, selected the ground floor, and waited impatiently as I was taken slowly down. In the entryway, I saw a young blonde waiting behind the door. The glass of this entryway was reinforced with chicken wire. The wood was thick and old, an original part of the warehouse. With a flourish, I opened the door and let her in.

"I'm Cleora," she said as she offered her hand.

"Devon Pierce," I replied. We shook. "Come right this way."

In silence, we rode up in the elevator. There I studied her. In profile she looked good. With small features, she looked more like a teenager than a woman who works the stage for a living. Her nose was straight and the color of her eyebrows matched the color of her blonde hair. She had honest to goodness freckles, blue eyes, and a page boy haircut. She was wearing a shapeless top and a black skirt that went down to the knees. Long white socks and tennis shoes added to the school girl effect. The calves had the muscled tone of a dancer. I could see why men would like her, but there was also a coldness there that would be hard to penetrate.

"Come right this way," I said as I opened the door to my apartment.

She went in and let out a gasp. It's a common enough reaction when new visitors see the wood floors, plush rugs, the paintings on the brick wall, the gleaming stereo, and the Herman Miller furniture. The entire effect was that of stylish modernity and was a far cry from the ghetto streets a few stories below us. This was my hideaway from the world and only trusted souls were allowed into the inner sanctum. Part of my annoyance with Melodie was giving access to her friend without my permission. But if you can't trust your friends, than who can you trust?

"Are you a drug dealer?" Cleora asked.

Seeing the arrival of her friend, Melodie stopped the CD player. I noticed that this time she had done it correctly by using the buttons. She said, "No, and he's not part of the mob either. He's just a rich bastard."

I could see that this answer did nothing to clear up the confusion. I added, "I'm not that rich. But I do like to live comfortably. As for my income, I consider myself as a sort of an investor. This building, for example, used to be a warehouse. I provided apartments for the people of this neighborhood and in the process built a place for myself that I found comfortable. I also have other interests that meet my financial needs."

"But why this neighborhood? You could be living big in Summerlin." That was a more swank part of town.

Melodie answered, "Devon here isn't like other people. He likes to associate with conmen, junkies, and strippers. He thinks normal people are boring."

I nodded. "And their lives are rather boring without the sort of problems I find interesting. Perhaps I could help you."

Melodie said, "Cleora, why don't you tell Devon here all about your problem. I'll go shower and change." With those words, she went down the hallway and went into the bathroom. The sound of running water was immediately heard.

It was obvious that Cleora was feeling uncertain, so I went over to the bar and fixed her a drink. While I was pouring out the vodka, she sat down at the stool and waited until I was done. She gratefully accepted the screwdriver, taking a tentative sip.

She said, "I don't feel right being here. I mean what can anyone do for me?"

"I don't know anything about your situation so I can't possibly answer your question. But we could start at the beginning."

Cleora gave me a shy look, an honest to goodness inside view at the real woman underneath the veneer of the armor she must have developed in her line of work. I could see why Melodie said that this girl was not cut out for the job as an exotic dancer.

She finally said, "Okay, but this is going to sound a little crazy."

"Try me."

"My real name is Amy. Cleora is my professional name – everyone uses it except my sister. You see I was an army brat. That meant I never had a real home. Instead my family traveled from base to base. Five years ago, when I was eighteen, I got pregnant. This happened over in Henderson."

This was a suburb that southwest of Las Vegas.

"We were living in a little ranch home in a neighborhood Luckily my old man was off on his first tour in Afghanistan when I found out I was going to have a child or else there would have been hell to pay. The father of the baby was a boy named Timothy King who was an awkward kid I went to school with. There was nothing ever serious about us, instead we were just friends who liked to fool around. I don't know where he is now. I really don't care. So I had a little girl. She's named Madison. She's the only reason I came to you. I want her to go to college. I want her to have the things that I never had."

I nodded and didn't say anything. Now that she was on a roll there was no stopping her now.

"My father Bill Kinney was a captain in the Special Forces, doing some type of work for the government. It was all hush-hush, you know, top secret. We were never rich, that's for sure. But somehow when he was sent over to Afghanistan, he must have discovered some way to make money. I don't know what it was or how he got it back to the States, but that's not important. I know it had to be illegal, whatever he did. I mean they don't hand out free cash to soldiers, do they? But he was a hard man who thought he was the toughest thing on the planet. The older he got, the more he had to prove himself. A week after he returned from his final combat tour, he went out to the bar. He got into a fight with a younger man - some tough college football player. It must have been a lucky punch, because apparently my father just folded up like a house of cards when he got hit in the side of the head. He never regained consciousness. He died two days later."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She gave a shrug. "That was two years ago. I wasn't that sad at the time. And I'm not exactly grieving now."

"How did you find out about the money?"

"When Bill came back, he couldn't keep it a secret. He told my mother and my sister Kim and I that we were going to be rich soon. He also told us that we couldn't tell a soul. He made us promise."

I pursed my lips together. "Did your father tell you the source of this new found wealth?"

She shook her head and took another sip of her drink. "I thought he was making it up. Not that he was the sort of person to lie, but he came back from the war a changed man. He was a drunk.. He was abusive toward my mother. He threatened my little girl. I thought he was telling us lies about the money to keep us happy."

I was skeptical now. "What made you change your mind? I mean one day you don't believe him and the next you're suddenly sure that there is a fortune just waiting for you."

"I'm getting there. Eight months ago a man named Keith Miller came to the door. He ended up staying with us. He claimed to have known my father over in Afghanistan; that they had served together in the Green Berets. He was just out of the army and looking for a job. My mother let him stay with us until he could get back on his feet. I wish she had thrown the bum out on his ass."

The sudden venom caught me by surprise. But before I could say anything, she continued on, her jaw tight and unyielding.

"Keith said he knew my father well. He said they had spent two tours together. He had no family and nowhere to go. At first he seemed so kind. He was good with his hands and really helped around the house. After a few weeks, he even got a job as a bouncer at the club I worked at in Henderson. He isn't a big guy but he's got muscle. I've seen him fight and toss out some real tough guys. I admit that it felt good to have someone strong around. He seemed to like me and my daughter quite a lot. And with my mother sick with lung cancer, my sister and I really needed him.

"In the end I fell in love with Keith. We might as well have been married, that's how close he was to me. He seemed to be a good man. And when mother died, Kim quit job as receptionist so she could take care of her two sons from a former marriage and my daughter. It was up to Keith and I to bring in the money. Things were tight and I was glad for all the help I could get from him. But there was some strange quirk about Keith that became quite bothersome. You see he loved to talk about my father. I thought he was just waxing nostalgic about an old comrade, wanting to know Bill's habits: where he liked to visit, or where my dad hunted, or what kind of work he had done around the house. Keith also took a real keen interest in gardening and found some excuse to dig up most of the yard. I didn't pay any attention to this until the day that he left."

"It sounds like he was looking for something," I commented dryly.

She took the final sip from her glass. The ice cubes were all melted. I also noticed that the water in the bathroom was off and Melodie hadn't come out yet.

"Whatever it was, he found it," she said. "One day I awoke and Keith was gone. He only took his personal stuff and never showed up at work. This was two months ago. To be honest, I wasn't all that surprised. I knew that he wasn't that good for me. But there was one strange thing that really got me shook up. In the back of that house was a patio that wasn't much larger than one of your rugs. It was made with old flagstones. One of them had been removed. Underneath was a hole that contained a scrap of canvas that was olive green. I can tell you that it didn't take too many leaps of the imagination to put the pieces together. Something, perhaps that money my father talked so much about, had been hidden there.

"I was angry as hell. I thought I would never see Keith again. I had to quit my job at Henderson and come to Vegas to get a better paying job. But just last week, after I had gotten out my shift at my new job at the Pussycat Lounge, I was driving home. I saw him outside of the Sands casino, pulling some breezy redhead out of a new Lexus with temporary tags. She looked high maintenance and much too rich for a man like him. Before I could find a parking spot, the two of them disappeared inside. I searched around the casino but didn't see them. I ended up camping in the lobby. It was an hour later when he came out with that woman. Like a fool, I ran after him, demanding all sorts of explanations. He practically ran away, dragging that bitch with him. They hopped into that car and took off. I ran to my car and started following them. Two blocks later, he dropped her off at the entrance of a ritzy condo called Eastgate. After that, I lost him in the traffic. I think he knew that I was following him."

"And you think he found the money that your father hid? Perhaps he just shacked up with a new woman."

Cleora actually blushed. "I can tell you that Keith isn't the type who can a snooty woman fall for him. He's different – uneducated and good with his hands. He's no gigolo."

I let out a small sigh of exasperation. "It's a general observation of mine that woman of all classes aren't particular when it comes to a man's background. If they like what they see, then they'll try and get him."

"You don't know Keith. He's a brute. And I'm not just saying that out of hatred. He can be tender and even sweet, but there's an anger inside of him that is downright scary. I have the scars to prove it. No woman in her right mind would be with him long. As I said, I was glad when he was gone. I also got scared that he would come after me, once there weren't any witnesses around. He can be cruel if he thinks he's been wronged. I'm glad that I left Henderson."

"You no longer live with your sister?"

"No, I share an apartment with one of the girls from the Pussycat. It's easier that way. I send my extra money back to my sister, who is busy taking care of my daughter, and visit them on the weekends."

"Would you like another drink?"

She shook her head. "No thanks. So will you take on my case?"

"I'm not a private detective. Let me give it some thought and I'll get back to you."

Cleora dragged a cellphone out from the heavy purse that was still slung over her shoulder. "Would you like my number?"

"That won't be necessary at this time. I'll contact you through Melodie."

After that, I walked her down to the front entrance. I waited until she got into her car – a beat up Kia – and drove away. Deep in thought, I went back to the apartment. Once the door shut, I could hear the Melodie humming some unknown song. The sound was coming from the bedroom. I went there, walking gently on the sides of my feet.

"Hey," I said through the half-open door.

"Why don't you come in?" Her voice was low and filled with desire.

I took a few steps inside. With the gauze curtains across the windows, the room was dim. I could just see the Stickley bed and matching side tables with their Tiffany lamps. Lying on top of the bed was Melodie. She wasn't wearing anything at all except for a smirk. The look suited her quite well. She was propped up on a pair of pillows, her long black and wet hair leaving a dark stain on the cotton. There was no extra fat on this specimen, only toned but shapely muscles that only accentuated her natural curves. She wasn't shy about me looking either, but we had our fling in the past so there was nothing new that Melodie could share with me.

"So what do you think of my new friend?" she asked. She said the words casually as if we were talking on a street corner.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. "I like her. It appears that Cleora has led a tough life. But she still managed to find her way through. That proves she's got her head on right."

"I like her too. So will you help her out?"

"I've got to think about it. There is a lot I need to know before I can even begin to find out what was stolen from her."

"So do think really think that this Keith character did find something that her father buried in the backyard?"

"It seems plausible. Bill Kinney served in Afghanistan. To me that means poppies, opium, and heroin. With all the supplies being ferried back and forth, it wouldn't be that hard to smuggle some drugs into the country. You know as well as I do that it is a quick and dirty way to make some money."

Before I could react, Melodie grabbed my arm. I did not resist as he pulled me closer, guiding my hand to one of her perfectly formed breasts. That plastic surgeon really was a genius. But before my fingers touched the ruby hardness of her nipple, pulled back, easily breaking her grip.

"Damn it, Devon," she said sourly.

I rubbed my chin and stared into her dark eyes. "You know as well as I do, Melodie that the game is over between you and I. Anyway, I thought you had a new boyfriend."

"I do," she said nastily as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

"Hold on, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"It's too damn late," Melodie spat out. She ran out of the bedroom and into the bathroom where she slammed the door with enough force to make the internal walls shake. She was a strong girl.

I went back to the living room. There I began to paw through some records that were tucked inside a bookcase. I found a Handel record. I went over to the Goldmund turntable, turned it on and, after turning a few knobs, had some glorious baroque music pouring elegantly out of the speakers. I stood in front of the stereo and listened intently, trying not to think of what could have happened in that bedroom. Don't get me wrong, I liked Melodie quite a bit and felt like a fool for turning her down, but I also did not want to rekindle that old flame. Before we had broken up, things had gotten complicated. I was happy to be friends with her and didn't want anything more than that – or so I told myself.

When she finally came out of the bathroom, Melodie was dressed in her street clothes: a miniskirt, a red sleeveless top, and a pair of high heels. Her damp hair was twisted into two long braids. A plastic grocery bag containing her workout clothes were in hand. She looked shyly at me, unable to meet my eyes. This was so unlike her that I felt a moment of pity.

"A fight with Angelo?" This was Melodie's boyfriend, a small-time hustler who I personally disliked. Of course I generally didn't cotton to anyone who sold cocaine.

She nodded. "It was a bad one. I was just trying to prove something to myself. I'm sorry."

"It's no problem."

"I wish things had worked out between us. If they did, I wouldn't be stuck with Angelo. He can be such a bastard sometimes."

I raised an eyebrow. "So can I. Things weren't always smooth sailing between the two of us."

She frowned, her eyes misted with tears. "Angelo is my Keith. They both take advantage of women who are in need. But I can't help myself. That's why I feel so strongly about Cleora. You have to do something for her."

"I'll have to think about it," I said. "Come on, let's get you home."

I escorted her down to her car, a new Mini Cooper. A chaste kiss on the cheek and I sent her on her way. I watched the taillights recede into the maze of traffic. I could already feel the heat of the day slowly start to give away to the chill of the desert night. It would take hours of time but it was inevitable. Around me were the sounds of civilization: people talking, the thud of a car door shutting, and the low rumble of an airplane flying overhead. But I was far away from all of that. Instead I was thinking that I needed some time and space to forget. And only then could I make a decision.

