Chapter 90

My thoughts returned to Matthew as I remounted Wind. The jail wagon was nowhere on the road in front of me, yet fresh tracks showed on the road, so it must have survived the fire. Too concerned for their well-being to push the horses, I resisted the urge to canter and set off at a leisurely walk.

After about five miles, I topped a rise and saw the wagon halted on the road ahead. I turned back down the hill, dismounted, and walked to where I could watch with my long glass without exposing myself to the troopers’ view. They were replenishing their water supply from a small roadside spring. Sgt. Roscoe handed over a canteen to the white army deserter. He drank deeply and then squandered the rest by pouring it over his head. Roscoe was slow in the doing of it, but he brought Matthew a refilled canteen.