One man, larger and stockier in build than the other two, moved forward. His large bulk seemed caked with enough layers of dirt to cultivate a crop. Perry curled her nose at his odor, but she forced herself to stand firm. The man grunted and smiled with a mouthful of yellowed teeth. "Well, little Johnny Reb, what have you done to make us ail grateful? Did you stay out of the war so we'd have a chance to win?"

His two companions laughed at his joke and lowered their guns. They, too, were dressed in worn, dirty uniforms of faded blue. Both had slim, weasel-like bodies and dull eyes that reflected no love of life. Like men Perry had seen in the South, they'd done too much killing and not enough living.

Perry rubbed her nose on her sleeve and purposefully boasted, "I've been keeping one of your Yankee officers alive all day, sir. Found him nearly dead, I did. Knew he be one of your officers, so I thought somebody might just come lookin' for him. Figured if I kept him alive, there might be somethin' in it for me," she lied.

The huge soldier's eyebrows raised questioningly as he surveyed the room. Perry pointed upward. "He be up there, sir. I figured it was drier. He needs a doctor bad, 'cause he's lost a lot of blood."

The stout soldier motioned for his comrades to watch Perry while he climbed the ladder. Sweat beaded across her forehead as her heart thumped past the minutes. Her hands were in tight fists inside her huge pockets, her right fingers gripping her small knife. If this lie didn't work, maybe she could run for the door. Her heart pounded as she realized what nonsense that would be. A woman with a four-inch knife was no match for three men with guns. If they didn't shoot her, they'd surely discover her to be female in the scuffle. Perry had heard stories of lone women found by soldiers, and these three looked capable of any crime.

A booming voice echoed down the ladder. "The kid's right. There is a wounded man up here. Looks half dead." The stout man appeared at the edge of the loft. "Catch, Jack," he yelled, throwing his rifle down at the same time. "I'll carry him down."

"Fine, Luke," the man who caught the gun answered in a hollow, dead tone. Perry studied the two men before her and realized neither cared if Hunter lived or died. They must see men die daily; one more was of no consequence.

Brusquely descending the steps, the huge man returned with Hunter flung over his shoulder. Perry cringed as blood once more stained the outside of Hunter's dressing. She wanted to yell out for the man named Luke to be careful but was afraid her voice would give too much away. As she saw Hunter's pale face she blinked threatening tears away. How she wanted to comfort him. If only she could tell him that soon he would have a real doctor. If only she could brush the blond hair from his face-but there was no time, and three men were watching.

Luke turned to face Perry as he stepped off the ladder. He seemed unhampered by the burden on his shoulder. "Where's his uniform jacket and cap, kid?" he demanded gruffly.

Swallowing hard, she tried to think of an answer. She lowered her head and kicked at the dirt again. "Well, sir… well," she said, stammering, stalling for time.

"Well, what?" Luke demanded, moving within a foot of her. His breath fouled the air between them.

Perry tried to make her voice whine as she whispered, "I sold 'em to a Negra woman for food." She closed her eyes, praying she sounded convincing. If Hunter was a Union soldier, he would be safe. If not, maybe he could get doctoring before anyone discovered otherwise.

Perry's eyes flew open as she heard the soldier's laugh. "Enterprising little bastard, ain't he, fellows? Sonny, you may come out of this war rich, after all," Luke said, chuckling. "Well, come along with us, Johnny Reb. If this officer of yours does live, maybe you will get somethin' out of it. In the meantime, reckon we've got enough grub in camp to feed the likes of you a meal. Lookin' at those puny arms, I'd say you haven't been fed in weeks."

The other two men glanced at each other, as though wondering why Luke was bothering with a wounded man and a kid, but they didn't seem to find it worth the effort to comment.

With Hunter still folded over his shoulder, Luke moved out of the old barn that had been Hunter's refuge for two days. Perry followed quietly behind the men. She knew they glanced back often to ensure her progress. It would be foolish to run. Where would she go? How could she leave Hunter now without knowing if he lived or died? Her best plan of action seemed to be to follow along, then backtrack when she wasn't being watched. Luke was a gruff fellow, but he cared enough to carry a wounded man to camp, which was more than she could say for the other two.

Conflicting thoughts battled in Perry's mind as her feet plodded in the oversize boots. Maybe the camp wasn't too far from the barn and she could sneak back tomorrow to see if Noma had returned. Surely Noma would wait in the barn, or would she? Perry pictured Noma arriving, finding both Perry and Hunter missing. She wasn't sure Noma would remember to go to Granddad's old place. As one mile turned into another, then another, Perry planned.

Cannon fire rumbled around her in low moans. At first it seemed as harmless as the thin trails of smoke that drifted slowly into the clouds. Then the smell of impending death blended with the odor of a campfire. Early spring was paled by the winter of war.

Bodies scattered like litter beside the muddy path. They lay as a silent reminder of earlier battles. Blue and gray, with their blood blending together in death. Ragged, ghostlike characters knelt over the remains. Whether they were mourning or robbing, Perry could only wonder. Somehow the vulture or mourner brought the same sadness to her. The sight of the twisted bodies only strengthened her determination to help Hunter. She was a fighter and she'd fight to the death for this man who'd touched her soul with his gray eyes. Somehow for her there was nothing left but this one quest. If she lost it, she'd snap and vanish as quickly as the puffs of smoke from a gun blast.

His bandage was bright red now, and his face the yellowy paleness of lye soap. As she moved closer to check his breathing, they entered a clearing and the temporary Union camp. She looked up and froze for a moment. The Stars and Stripes flew above them. She hadn't seen a Union flag in years, but after her long walk it was somehow a homecoming sight.

Luke marched past the tents and mess wagon to the back of the clearing. Perry had no choice but to follow. The campgrounds melted into a shady, wooded area. Wounded men lay everywhere under the shade of the trees. Most were asleep or unconscious. A few moaned or cried in pain. Perry's heart ached for them. She could hardly bear to look at the field of suffering surrounding her. Men were bleeding where limbs had been torn from them. The dying were all around, and no one was helping to ease their pain. Perry wondered how Hunter could possibly be better off here than in the loft. At least there he could die in silence, without the stench of rotting flesh around him. He could sleep until death without the cries of another's agony ringing in his ears.

Luke bellowed at a lone man moving among the bodies. "Where's the doctor?" he inquired.

The thin, overworked soldier moved toward them. His limp was pronounced and his slow stride showed exhaustion. His voice was dull and lifeless. "Doc left just before the last battle with a load of wounded. I'm the orderly in charge till he returns." As he spoke, he lifted Hunter's head with only passing interest. "Anyway, this one probably won't make it till Doc gets back. Put him over there with the worst." He pointed with his bony finger.

Perry guessed the orderly was too old to serve as a soldier and wasn't particularly fond of his duties among the wounded. How could they assign such an uncaring man to this job? But then she realized the position would drive a caring man mad.

Luke nodded to the old man and motioned for Perry to follow. She admired the way Luke had carried Hunter all this way, seemingly unmindful of the extra load. His stockiness was due to a wealth of muscles. Though she noticed his two companions had complained several times during the walk and dropped in exhaustion as soon as they'd entered camp, Luke hadn't said a word about his burden.

They moved among the dying men until Luke found an empty spot near the edge of the clearing. He laid Hunter next to a large elm, showing more gentleness than Perry thought him capable of. Turning to Perry, he said, "You can stay with him if you'd like, kid, but don't see much use myself. About dark, if you wander back over to that mess tent, I'll see you get some grub."

As she knelt beside Hunter in the grassy shade Perry nodded and muttered, "Thanks." She watched Luke pick his way through the wounded and disappear into the distance. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on the damp grass. What a mess she was in! Perry had never felt so lost. A few days ago Captain Williams had issued orders for her arrest, and now she found herself surrounded by Union troops.

Hunter's bandage was blood-soaked and dirty, his face ghost-white beneath sweaty blond hair.

The old orderly moved toward her, a half-filled bucket of water sloshing at his side and a ledger book under his arm. Setting the bucket at Hunter's head, he opened the ledger. "Kid, you know this soldier's name?" he asked without interest.

Perry nodded as she drew the dipper from the bucket and gently lifted Hunter's head to give him a drink. "Hunter Kirkland is his name. He needs a doctor bad," she blurted in one breath.

The old man scribbled in the ledger book as he shook his head. "Ain't no doctor around, I already told you. I got me hands full with nearly fifty wounded to care for. You'll have to tend him best you can. You're welcome to use any bandages you find over yonder in the wagon." He waved his bony hand in the general direction of a supply wagon. "But as for me, I'm not wastin' my time on any that looks as bad off as him." He rumbled with an ugly chuckle. "I hear tell there's a Johnny Reb sawbones over among the prisoners, but any man'd be better off dead than to let one of them boys work on him."