Sorry it took so long to write this chapter-I had a busy week.

Know thy Enemy

Sibella took Alan's arm and they waited for Esther. "Come along, Morgan. I know what a sweet tooth you have," Esther said, reaching for his crutch and standing by his chair.

"Go ahead without me, Esther," Morgan said. "I just remembered something I need to tell Adam. I'll join you in a minute." Esther's face froze. "Go ahead, Esther. I'm not going to sneak out the kitchen door or steal a kiss from Mrs. George although I should after that prime rib. So tender I could cut it with my fork."

Esther huffed and turned to Sibella. "Does Adam do this to you? Treat you like you can't be trusted with a simple conversation? I just don't understand it."

Adam watched Sibella closely as she glanced from Esther to him. "Not yet—at least not that I know but then I would imagine there's a lot I don't know. Please, join us, Esther. It's nicer and more comfortable in the drawing room with the fire and the cushioned furniture. Leave them here to the stiff-back chairs and their cigars. I don't want my hair to smell like tobacco smoke anyway. Come take Alan's other arm. Oh, and Adam, tell Mrs. George to leave the dishes for tomorrow and go home, would you? And let Moss know to ready the buggy."

"Of course," Adam said, condescendingly. "Any other orders?"

Sibella smiled coyly; she rarely had the chance to give Adam orders so she was going to enjoy the moment. "Yes. When you join us, would you put more wood on the fire?"

"Your wish is my command," Adam replied.

"Thank you, dear. Shall we go?" Sibella asked Esther who, glaring at her husband, took Alan's other arm. They left Adam and Morgan alone.

"You recognized him, didn't you?" Adam asked, leaning on the table with both arms.

"Oh, I recognized him from somewhere but didn't make the connection until you brought up the war. He's that goddamn deserter, the thief, the bounty jumper. His name was Bowman! Came in with the other recruits."

"Yes," Adam agreed. "Private 1st class Bowman. Jumped his bounty, not his only one, I'm sure. That fucking bastard. I should have hog tied him so he'd never have escaped from camp or just shot him on the spot."

"I wanted to reach across the table and goddamn throttle him!" Morgan's face flushed with anger. "What are we going to do about him?"

"Well, I'm going to give Mrs. George Sibella's message, and then you're going to join Esther in the drawing room. I'm going to excuse myself and head after him; I'm sure he'll leave town or try to." Adam stood, breathing heavily. He was now certain Culhane was Bowman, the deserter and it explained where the man had gone during his engagement to Sibella. He had gone to war, not to fight, but to make money. Sign up under a name, collect the $300 bounty and then, as soon as possible, desert the battalion, sign up again under another name and repeat the process. A crafty man could easily make thousands, that is if he was never caught. And Thorne was a gambler so it would appeal to him.

"No, Adam, no. I want to go after him too. I may be a cripple but I can still sit a horse and shoot. I want to plant a bullet right between his goddamn eyes!"

"Morgan, I know how you feel. I feel the same way, but I can make an excuse to leave, maybe not plausible, but acceptable. But what would you tell Esther? That you and I are going to a saloon or visiting a whorehouse? That wouldn't go over big with Sibella or Esther but still better than 'We're going to hunt down a war criminal'."

"But, Adam, I…I can't just sit here and do nothing. Not with knowing who he is."

"You can do something-talk me up to Sibella because my leaving might just end my marriage."

~ 0 ~

Sibella excused herself and hurried up the stairs after Adam. She flew into the bedroom where Adam had removed his jacket and tie, tossing them on the bed.

"Where are you going? After Thorne? Hunting him down like you said you would?"

Adam looked at her as he took off his cufflinks. "Yes. I'm going to find him. Morgan confirmed what I suspected—Thorne's a Union bounty jumper and a thief. That only makes me sure he stole the gems from the jewelry set." Adam pulled off his white starched shirt over his head after unbuttoning the first four buttons, and opening a drawer, pulled out a work shirt, slipping it on and quickly working the buttons.

"Don't go, Adam, please." Sibella grabbed his arm. "Please! I don't care about the jewelry or any jumped bounty…I don't care! I only care about you, about us! Just please, stay home tonight. You can write letters to the proper military authorities and let them find Thorne. You don't have to do this! It's not your problem to solve!"

Adam tucked in his shirt tails. "It is my problem. I made a mistake years ago and I'm going to correct it. I love you and understand your worry, but this I have to do; Thorne Culhane can't get away with all he's done. He can't. I'll be back as soon as I can, but Alan is staying the night so you won't be alone. Here." Adam reached up to the top of the highboy for a pistol; he checked it, opening the cylinder and then, with a flick of the wrist, snapped it shut. "Keep this close by. It's loaded and ready. And remember what you learned about shooting, how you hold your wrist, aim a little ahead and ease the trigger. Just don't shoot Alan or yourself." Adam kissed Sibella and then, holding her closer, kissed her again. Without another word, he headed downstairs while Sibella stood devastated.

~ 0 ~

There had been many losses on both sides and Captain Cartwright always wondered how any side could declare victory after a battle unless it was who had lost the least men. In reality, he knew what defined a victory, and since there was a rout on the Confederate side, he could claim the battle won as he had pushed back the enemy. And yet there were so many dead lying on the field, so much blood. As exhausted as they were, the surviving soldiers, even himself and his first lieutenant, Morgan Graham, went among the bodies, checking for those still living while the walking wounded headed back to camp. It was the victors who were responsible for the dead, always surrounded by the dead. The captain even dreamed of them, haunted by their faces.

That night, Captain Cartwright lay in his tent, too exhausted to sleep. His head felt full, his body ached and the wound on his arm throbbed; it wasn't severe but just bad enough to remind him it was there. Tomorrow or the day after, volunteers and the black contrabands who followed the regiments, would dig mass graves and bury four of five soldiers, sometimes from both sides, in each. The Confederacy and the Union would be united in death.

"Captain Cartwright, sir?" The captain was suddenly alert and sat up at the voice outside his tent.

"Come." He placed his hand on the pistol by his side. It was always by his side.

The flap was pulled open and a young man of about 18 years and holding his rifle, stuck his head inside. "Sorry to wake you, Cap'n, but I thought I should report Private Bowman left the camp defying your order. I know I'm on watch, sir, and supposed to shoot, but that's the enemy, not our own. I thought maybe he'd gone to take a piss or shit, you know, the loose ones really stink like hell, but it's been a good twenty minutes now and he's not back. I thought I should inform you."

"Thank you, private." Adam stood up and reached for his shoulder holster, slipping it on; he would reprimand the private tomorrow for not stopping Bowman. "Which direction?"

"Toward the battlefield, sir."

~ 0 ~

Adam and Morgan followed the path the battalion had used returning to camp. The grass was still tamped down, branches broken and blood staining the earth. They could smell the start of decay of both human and equine bodies. At the sound of someone approaching, Adam and Morgan drew their guns and stepped into the shadows, waiting as quietly as they could, wondering if it was the advance guard preparing for a night attack. But instead, it was Private Bowman on his way back to camp. Adam cocked his gun and Bowman froze at the sound. Adam and Morgan stepped out from the trees.

"Private Bowman." The captain's deep voice cracked the silence like the report of a rifle.

Bowman froze and then gave a nervous chuckle as he turned to the two officers. "Captain Cartwright, relieved it's you and Lieutenant Graham. I thought maybe it was some stinkin' reb hiding close to camp, you know, a sniper or such."

"My orders were not to leave camp. Why did you?" The captain still held his gun on Private Bowman.

"Just…just out for a walk, Captain, that's all. I was thinking it's a beautiful moon, especially after such a bloody day, and how I sure would like to be back home and fuckin' that girl I'm going to marry."

Captain Cartwright raised his gun and eased the hammer. "Well, you're not fucking any one tonight unless you'd like to fuck yourself, so head back to camp, private. Double-quick!"

Once back in camp and in the light of the campfires, Lieutenant Graham noticed Bowman's pockets were full, one almost to bulging. Some of the wakened soldiers and the private on watch, craned their necks to see what was happening. While Private Bowman was close to bolting, the only thing holding him from doing so was Adam's drawn pistol. Bowman was sure the arrogant Captain Cartwright would shoot him in the back for desertion if he took off and might still. Graham began to search Bowman's pockets and found gold lockets with pictures of wives and children, finger rings, framed miniatures of loved ones, brass buttons, some with fabric still clinging to them, blue and gray and butternut, pocket watches and stars and wreaths. In his upper jacket pocket was folded script from both sides.

"You're a goddamn ghoul," Graham spat out. "Those men aren't even dead a whole day and you're out stealing their belongings."

"Well, they won't be needing them!" Bowman replied and then felt the sting of Lieutenant Graham's slap across his cheek.

"Lieutenant Graham, report to your tent. Now!" The captain watched as Graham, shaking with anger, saluted and replied with a 'Yes, sir,' and then turned and stiffly walked away. The captain decided he'd deal with him tomorrow as well.

The captain ordered Bowman's hands tied and for him to be kept in the supply wagon, posting a guard outside. He then had the looted items gathered and taken to his tent; in the morning he would try to sort them among the dead but he knew many families wouldn't have their loved one's possessions returned; wouldn't even know he had died. So having taken care of the immediate issues, the fatigued captain finally caught a few hours of sleep, rising before the sun. Today he needed to send some scouts to reconnoiter and find if the enemy was still in the area and report back but first, he needed a hot cup of coffee. Slowly putting on his shoulder holster and jacket, he left his tent. The guard was asleep and snoring outside the supply wagon. The captain knew the man was young, still a boy, and exhausted from battle and all that had come after, but he was top of the duty roster. The captain woke him and the guard jumped to attention, apologizing for falling asleep, didn't even know when he had. The captain checked inside the wagon and called over the guard to see Bowman was gone.