I arrived back at the fort with my men nearly four days later. The weather had been pitching from sunny and stifling to downpour and thunder-claps. Thankfully, the men complained little; even David was subdued. It was the horses I was concerned about. Many were bored from plodding for hours and had begun to test their riders, prancing out of line, tossing their heads and lunging at one another. Asmodeus had grown so wild at one point that I had to switch him for a horse acquired on a raid until he had come to terms with himself.

I had started the Dragoons toward camp at dawn; it was midday and there would be another hour of riding before we reached the fort. Relieved that we would not be crossing any Colonial territory for the rest of the trip, I slowed the traveling pace. Yet this had little effect in the blistering heat of the day.

Starting the men on an old deer path, I reined Asmodeus to a halt when the sound of bones crunching and a blood-curdling horse-scream rang in the air.

"Sir, one of the supply horses has fallen." Wilkins informed me as he rode to the front of the line.

"Stay at the front," I ordered, taking Asmodeus to the back of the line to see what had happened.

A young sorrel gelding, noticeably of mixed breeding, lay prone on the ground, its front left leg twisted at a hideous angle with bones protruding from flaps of skin. It screamed in agony to the heavens, eyes rolling in shock, sweating heavily around its neck, where veins pulsed around his throat. His breathing came in quick bursts between the frantic high-pitched cries.

Dismounting Asmodeus, I walked over to the struggling beast, ordering a spare piece of linen to be brought and for the animal to be unhitched.

"Sir," Grigsby handed me a worn piece of cloth before I turned back to the horse who writhed on the ground next to his tack. He attempted to stand but crashed to the earth, shattering the leg further; his cries now pierced my ears.

"Easy there, we're going to make this quick."

The frightened animal turned its head about, mouth hanging open, tongue lolling, frothing with saliva, the joints of its shattered leg hanging by the bone, stained with fresh hot blood.

"Here, now…" I coaxed, getting the animal to face me.

"There you go," I slipped the linen cloth over his face and shushed him until he began to settle.

"All right, quickly then," I pulled out my pistol and cocked it, aiming it between the animal's eyes.

A single shot. The gelding made no sound and fell limp.

"Gather the supplies, put them in the wagons. Bordon, Wilkins, see to it that the horse is moved away from the path."

Half an hour of rest was given before I ordered the men to continue back to the camp where we arrived mid-evening. I led Asmodeus out to pasture near the stables and then went to my room to write a report that would be needed by Gen. O'Hara within the hour.

I had just sat down with parchment and quill when the headache that had been slowly throbbing throughout the end of the patrol increased to the point where I left for a quick douse of whisky before returning to carefully craft my report.

Where to begin?

Normally, I would just draft the thing out within as little as fifteen minutes, but this report would take some consideration. I had taken a 'family member'. The prat would not cease to fight; I should have ended him when I had his face in my hand. At the very least, I decided to ghost over the taunting and handed in my report shortly after I had finished.

"Colonel," O'Hara glanced up at me and gestured for me to set the report on the far corner of his desk while he continued to work with his own stack of papers.

"General," I laid the sealed report on his desk. "I trust you are well. And your wife?"

O'Hara looked warily at me but replied, "I am well. The lady is as well as can be expected."

"Good…"

"You may go," the general spoke with a short gesture to the door.

"Yes sir."

An hour after I had left his office, I was summoned back to see my superior.

"You requested to see me, General?"

"I did." O'Hara replied, lifting my report in his hand. "Colonel; you are usually thorough on your reports. Why not in this one?"

"Sir?"

"Could you not get David's last name? What was his rank? What was he looking for if he wasn't carrying dispatches?"

"Sir, the matter was a petty issue," I replied, feeling uneasy.

"Well you could have written it in and just marked it as a nonissue."

"Tavington," O'Hara frowned. "Surely you can do better than that."

The general continued to cloy at me with a demanding gaze until I told him exactly what had happened on patrol.

"So, he spat in your face and you saw fit to act on impulse and get into a row."

"He was belligerent from the offing of it." I replied. "I had no choice."

"You could have been the gentleman in the matter. But I see that is not in your manner." He replied emphatically.

"He's just a rebel," I answered, feeling my temper stir.

O'Hara scoffed.

"And as such, he should have still been treated with courtesy."

"General-"

"That is enough! Dismissed…"