Perry fought off the quick surge of defensiveness that filled her. When she made no reply, the old man closed his ledger and moved away.

For a few minutes Perry sat like stone. Hunter was dying, and she'd done nothing to help him. She was miles away from Noma and not sure she could locate the barn again, even if she did find a way to slip back. She had no friend to turn to, and her only valuables were hidden away in the barn loft.

Hunter's low moaning jerked Perry back from self-pity. His head moved slowly from side to side, each moan tearing at the roots of her heart. With a sense of urgency she ran to the wagon and rummaged for bandages and blankets. To her surprise there seemed an abundant supply. She thought of her brother and how he'd written about the shortage of supplies in I^ee's army. This war seemed so unfair.

Minutes later she returned, loaded with a blanket and fresh bandages. For more than an hour she worked to make Hunter more comfortable. First she removed the dusty, blood-soaked wrappings and gently bathed the swollen flesh, now more infected than before. She rubbed the damp rag over his chest and face, hoping to cool him down. Carefully she wrapped his shoulder in clean cloth and covered him with the blanket. Hunter's hand covered her own as she pulled the blanket across his chest. He was now in too much pain to speak or open his eyes, but the feel of her hand within his relaxed him as no medicine could. His breathing slowed and he slept, now much weaker from loss of blood than before he'd been moved.

Perry sat back, exhausted, as the sun melted into the hills to her left. Men silently moved in the twilight, building small fires among the wounded. As more men returned to the camp, Perry noticed several helping the wounded around her.

The last rays of daylight disappeared. Smelling the cook fires, she felt strong hunger pains batting like crows in the pit of her stomach. She decided to follow the smell to the mess tent. Reluctantly she moved away from Hunter toward the campfire in the center of the clearing. Without much effort she found Luke squatting by the fire with a mug in one huge hand. He smiled at her and signaled her to fill a plate. He was the only one who paid any attention to her as she filled a tin with beans and bread. The meal wasn't much to tempt the taste buds, but in her famished state, any food would seem wonderful.

Moving to the edge of the campfire light, Perry devoured the meal like a hungry animal. Wiping her fingers on her pant leg, she smiled at her own behavior. She was a far cry from the Southern lady she'd been raised to be.

A shadow moved between her and the fire. Perry stared up at the black outline in the darkness, every muscle tense as the huge, blackened form moved toward her. She slowly pushed her hand into her pocket and gripped the knife. The mountain of blackness stood above her, only a foot away when he spoke. "Get enough to eat, boy?" Luke inquired, his face entirely hidden in darkness.

Perry let out a long breath and relaxed her grip on the knife. As she nodded, she decided maybe Luke wasn't as evil as she had first marked him to be. After all, he'd carried Hunter to camp. Maybe he'd help again. She ventured a question. "Sir, the orderly says there's a Confederate doctor in camp. Think you could get him to look at my officer? Reckon I'll never get nothin' if he up and dies on me."

Luke chuckled. "Don't see any harm in asking, kid. But are you sure you trust a Confederate doctor not to butcher him up even worse?"

Perry bit her bottom lip before replying softly, "Way I see it… he's gonna die if n he don't get some doctoring. Might as well take the chance."

Luke nodded. "All right, kid. I'll check around. You go on back to your soldier and I'll meet with you later. And by the way, if I ever get shot in this damn war, I hope you find me." He disappeared, making her blink as the firelight danced where he'd stood.

She stood and moved unnoticed back toward Hunter. Small fires placed every thirty feet between the wounded did little to add warmth or light. There was no mistaking the foul smell of dying as she walked among these men. The orderly had placed a blanket over each patient. Perry carefully edged toward the huge elm, knowing its shadow lay across Hunter.

Within a few feet from where she had left him, Perry glanced up from the path to observe a man kneeling over Hunter's body. He was a large black man with one arm in a sling. Light played across his face from the fire a few feet away. The firelight also reflected the gold disk he turned in his fingers. Hunter's disk. Perry's emotions exploded as she realized Hunter was about to be robbed of his only possession.

In one animallike spring she threw her body full force into the bulk of the black man, throwing him backward into the brush. Catching him off-guard, Perry plunged her arms and legs into his mass on the ground. She fought wildly. The man groaned in pain and shielded himself with his good arm.

"You filthy Yankee. Stealin' from a dying man. May your soul rot in hell. You scum." Perry spit out the words as she continued to rain blows on him.

Slowly one huge arm encircled her small waist and pulled her down. Using a leg to still her kicks, the black man pinned her to the ground. "Stop. Enough," he said in an educated voice that shocked her.

Perry stopped. He could break her back with a little more pressure.

"I don't know who you are, or what Hunter is to you, but I assure you, I wasn't stealing from him. I was only trying to make sure of his identity in the darkness, without forcing his face to the light. He's my commanding officer and my friend." With this the black man released her legs and pulled her into a sitting position. He studied her quietly for a moment as Perry quickly stuffed loose strands of hair back up under her hat. "The orderly said a dirty kid came into camp with Hunter. Said the boy nursed him all afternoon." The emphasis he put on the word boy left no doubt that he knew her secret. "What's your name, boy?" he asked quietly, amusement in his voice.

Perry stared directly into his eyes. She might as well use her own name; it was a boy's, anyway. "I'm Perry, and I found this here Yankee almost dead."

"Pleased to meet you, Perry. I'm Abram Johnson. I thank you for helping my friend. I owe my life many times over to him." Abram spoke as an equal to Hunter, not as a slave.

Suddenly his name registered in her memory. "Abram. That's the name Hunter kept saying, 'Hold on Abram.' You must be the one he keeps calling for.''

Abram nodded. She saw kindness in his smile as he looked toward Hunter's sleeping form. "We were separated during a storm. We're balloon surveyors. We were up, just over into Confederate territory, when the storm broke. The cable holding us snapped, then the wire whipped into us mightily and tore Hunter's shoulder wide open. I was thrown out and Hunter tried to pull me back in the basket, but with his shoulder hurt, it's a wonder he held himself in. I landed safe enough in a muddy field, but Hunter drifted another few miles with our balloon, the Northern Star. I'd about given up hope he was alive."

Both were silent for a moment as understanding passed between them. Both knew the other desperately wanted Hunter to live. Abram had been impressed by the small woman's fire as she'd fought for Hunter, and Perry could almost see the intensity of Abram's feelings toward his friend.

Abram offered his hand. "Thank you for helping Hunter. Let me know if I can return the favor.''

Raising her hand slowly, she looked past Abram and noticed Luke's form moving toward them. Quickly she leaned close to Abram and whispered, "There's the soldier who found us and brought us here. I sent him after a doctor in the prisoner camp."

Both turned to watch Luke's approach. Perry's tears reflected the firelight in the warm brown depths of her eyes. Luke was alone! She knew without asking that no doctor was coming. Her hope for Hunter dimmed. Abram, watching her out of the corner of his eye, saw the pain she felt.

"You want Hunter to live very badly, don't you?" Abram whispered.

Before Perry could answer, Luke waved toward them. Abram stood to address him. "The kid said you were bringing a doctor."

Luke frowned. "Wouldn't come, said he had all he could handle with what we shot up of his men."

Perry's heart sank as he continued, "Don't know as it would do any good to try and push him. Might end your friend's sufferin' earlier. Besides, the redheaded bastard hates Yankees. He took great delight in tellin' me where to go for just suggestin' he leave his men and come doctor one of us."

Perry's heart quickened for a moment. The doctor was redheaded. Could her brother be the Confederate doctor Luke had talked with? She hadn't seen Andrew for so long, but she'd heard he was near. Could he be this close?

"Sorry about him, boy." Luke shook his head and moved away.

Perry stepped forward, timidly reaching to touch Luke's arm. "Did ya get the doctor's name, sir?"

"Nope, didn't see it mattered none, anyway," Luke replied with a wave of his mighty hand.

As soon as Luke was out of sight, Perry turned to Abram, her face filled with hope. "I may know the doctor. Abram, he'd come if he knew I was here. You've got to get to him and ask him to help." Perry realized how desperate she sounded to this huge black man. All Perry knew of Abram was that he called Hunter his friend. Her only prayer lay in a hope that he cared a great deal about Hunter's life.

Abram backed off, skeptical of her plot. "First I need a few answers before I get in league with the likes of you. You're no boy, but I guess I can understand why you'd want to hide that. Also, your speech goes from being illiterate to refined. You give me some answers and I'll decide whether to trust you."