unworthy of you. You are one of those who keep these sick and injured men from cursing God and turning their faces to the wall.” Silence followed Ransom’s impassioned speech. A
V
-shaped blue vein was beating prominently in the center of his otherwise pale brow.
Cartwright blinked. Then he tore the spectacles from his nose and started to clean them on his stained apron with a violence that inevitably dislodged the left lens. He replaced the spectacles and put the lens in his apron pocket. Then he screwed up his left eye out of which Ransom’s long, lean body was now somewhat blurred and made a funny sound in the back of his throat. Lieutenant Bennett finally broke the embarrassing silence.
“Sir, some of the men saw Rebel campfires lighting up the sky to the south of us. They say the woods are crawling with Reb cavalry.” He looked significantly at Cartwright. “Will I be discharged in time to fight, Doctor?”
“Your lieutenant here is real eager to get back to the killing,” Cartwright spat out. “I’ll discharge this officer, to go out and get wounded again, to kill or be killed, when I’m goddamn good and ready and not one damn second before.” He was really angry now, and when he spoke it was with a sweeping gesture of his trembling hand that took them all in. “If I had my way I’d mark your papers unfit for combat and send you the hell home. If I had my way I’d mark everyone’s papers unfit for combat, including my own, and send us
all
the hell home.” There was another heavy silence as Cartwright took out his empty pipe, made a whistling sound through the stem, and then chewed on it like it was a piece of Sherman’s licorice. Then he nodded abruptly and left.
“Thank you again for attending my officer, Doctor,” Ransom called out.
Cartwright waved his hand dismissively and kept right on going.
“I was just giving Old Bob some fresh water,” Jesse said as Thomas Ransom arrived at the roped-off area where his horse was tethered alongside others in the corral. The attractive, well-groomed roan was slurping from a wooden bucket.
“He’s a good old boy, aren’t you, Bob?” He stroked the animal’s neck affectionately. Then he looked at the redheaded private with a frown. “How did you know he was
my
horse, come to think of it, how did you know his name?”
“He told me.”
Ransom laughed. “He’s my horse, all right. Old Bob is my good friend, aren’t you, boy?” He used his long fingers to brush the mane. “We’ve been together since I enlisted and know each other’s foibles. We have a very one-sided agreement. If I am seriously wounded in battle he will carry me to safety. Unfortunately I cannot promise to perform the same selfless act for you, can I, old boy?”
Jesse’s laughter made the large honey-colored freckles dance across his puckish nose. The Vermonter’s expression turned hard, a steely quality in his eyes, as he said fervently, “Bob has always done his part, and more. We must
all
do our part.” There was an unmistakable determination in those eyes that looked out at the world in the direct gaze and in the firm set of the slightly raised jaw. A kind of inescapable sense of his own heroic destiny, a destiny he would rush headlong to embrace, even if it brought him face to face with the same fate as his father, who had perished in the Mexican War. “Perhaps one day I shall even be given the opportunity to show the courage and selflessness that animated my father, his strong leadership—”
And his heroic death.
The words hung there, unspoken. “I’ve no doubt that you too will do your part when the time comes,” he added.
“I’m very small,” the boy said with regret. “Cornelius calls me runt of the litter.”
“You have more than enough character in you to be the kind of man to make your God and your family proud.”
Jesse held the bridle as Ransom swung his long, slender body into the saddle. The Vermonter crossed his arms
V
-shaped blue vein was beating prominently in the center of his otherwise pale brow.
Cartwright blinked. Then he tore the spectacles from his nose and started to clean them on his stained apron with a violence that inevitably dislodged the left lens. He replaced the spectacles and put the lens in his apron pocket. Then he screwed up his left eye out of which Ransom’s long, lean body was now somewhat blurred and made a funny sound in the back of his throat. Lieutenant Bennett finally broke the embarrassing silence.
“Sir, some of the men saw Rebel campfires lighting up the sky to the south of us. They say the woods are crawling with Reb cavalry.” He looked significantly at Cartwright. “Will I be discharged in time to fight, Doctor?”
“Your lieutenant here is real eager to get back to the killing,” Cartwright spat out. “I’ll discharge this officer, to go out and get wounded again, to kill or be killed, when I’m goddamn good and ready and not one damn second before.” He was really angry now, and when he spoke it was with a sweeping gesture of his trembling hand that took them all in. “If I had my way I’d mark your papers unfit for combat and send you the hell home. If I had my way I’d mark everyone’s papers unfit for combat, including my own, and send us
all
the hell home.” There was another heavy silence as Cartwright took out his empty pipe, made a whistling sound through the stem, and then chewed on it like it was a piece of Sherman’s licorice. Then he nodded abruptly and left.
“Thank you again for attending my officer, Doctor,” Ransom called out.
Cartwright waved his hand dismissively and kept right on going.
“I was just giving Old Bob some fresh water,” Jesse said as Thomas Ransom arrived at the roped-off area where his horse was tethered alongside others in the corral. The attractive, well-groomed roan was slurping from a wooden bucket.
“He’s a good old boy, aren’t you, Bob?” He stroked the animal’s neck affectionately. Then he looked at the redheaded private with a frown. “How did you know he was
my
horse, come to think of it, how did you know his name?”
“He told me.”
Ransom laughed. “He’s my horse, all right. Old Bob is my good friend, aren’t you, boy?” He used his long fingers to brush the mane. “We’ve been together since I enlisted and know each other’s foibles. We have a very one-sided agreement. If I am seriously wounded in battle he will carry me to safety. Unfortunately I cannot promise to perform the same selfless act for you, can I, old boy?”
Jesse’s laughter made the large honey-colored freckles dance across his puckish nose. The Vermonter’s expression turned hard, a steely quality in his eyes, as he said fervently, “Bob has always done his part, and more. We must
all
do our part.” There was an unmistakable determination in those eyes that looked out at the world in the direct gaze and in the firm set of the slightly raised jaw. A kind of inescapable sense of his own heroic destiny, a destiny he would rush headlong to embrace, even if it brought him face to face with the same fate as his father, who had perished in the Mexican War. “Perhaps one day I shall even be given the opportunity to show the courage and selflessness that animated my father, his strong leadership—”
And his heroic death.
The words hung there, unspoken. “I’ve no doubt that you too will do your part when the time comes,” he added.
“I’m very small,” the boy said with regret. “Cornelius calls me runt of the litter.”
“You have more than enough character in you to be the kind of man to make your God and your family proud.”
Jesse held the bridle as Ransom swung his long, slender body into the saddle. The Vermonter crossed his arms
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