A Perilous Proposal by Michael Phillips

few yards from him burned a small fire. A black pan sat on top of its coals from which apparently came the sound and smell of frying bacon. Now he noticed, along with it, the smell of coffee coming from a pot next to the pan.
    Wherever he was, he thought, it couldn’t be hell. The fire was too small. And the old devil surely didn’t treat his guests with such luxuries!
    Now he saw a few trees. The grey light of daybreak began to awaken his consciousness further . . . now more sounds . . . shuffling feet . . . indistinct voices . . . the occasional snort of horses from nearby.
    He detected movement. He opened his eyes wider. There were men around, stirring in the morning mist . . . milling about . . . getting dressed . . . tending to their horses. They all wore the same color . . . the color of uniforms . . . he was surrounded by soldiers!
    Another groan escaped Jake’s lips, this one of fear. He was alert now. He knew he was in danger! He had to get up . . . get away . . . get to the woods before they noticed he was awake! He had to get out of here!
    But his groans had attracted someone’s attention. Jake struggled to turn his head. Beside the fire someone in a uniform stooped to one knee and stirred at the pan. He was dressed head to foot in dark blue.
    The soldier turned toward him. The light of the fire flickered and reflected from the man’s face. Jake’s eyes shot open at the sight of it.
    â€œSo . . . you’ve come to at last,” said the man, revealing a smile of friendly greeting. He stood and walked toward where Jake lay. “I was beginning to think I’d lost you for good.”
    All Jake could do was stare up in astonishment. The face looking down at him was black !
    â€œWho . . . who are you?” Jake tried to say. He couldscarcely speak. The words came out like the croak of a dying frog.
    The man chuckled.
    â€œYou just lie still, son,” he said. “Don’t try to talk. Don’t try to do nothing.”
    â€œBut I gotta git outer here,” Jake said in a groaning whisper.
    Again the man laughed. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, brother,” he said. “You got yourself mighty banged up. You got welts and bruises all over you, two or three broken ribs and maybe a broken arm besides. I don’t know if you could walk right now if you tried. So you lay still. You’ll be fine right here.”
    â€œBut where am I . . . who are you . . . what happened to those—”
    Jake’s voice cracked. His mouth was too dry and his lips too cut and swollen to continue. The man saw him trying to lick at his lips, turned away for a minute, then returned and bent to one knee beside him. He slid a hand under Jake’s shoulders and lifted him slightly, then with his other hand put a cup of cold water to Jake’s mouth. With great effort Jake managed to sip at it, though it was painful to swallow, until he had downed about a third of it. The man eased him back down.
    â€œThe name’s Micah Duff, son,” said the soldier. “Private Duff. You’re with a company of Illinois volunteers heading for Chattanooga.”
    â€œBut . . . dose others . . . dose soldiers that . . .” Jake began.
    â€œThat was a small detail of rebs. They’d have killed you sure if I hadn’t come along. But they’re gone now. You don’t have to worry about them no more. I was out ahead of our company. That’s what I do—I’m a scout. And I tend the horses. I was scouting when I ran into them. Lucky for you I did too. In case you hadn’t noticed, they were wearing thegrey of the Confederate rebels. We’re wearing the blue of the U.S. infantry. So are you.”
    For the first time Jake looked at himself. His legs were covered by a blanket, and he saw that he too was wearing a blue army coat.
    â€œIt was all I had to wrap you in to keep you warm,” said the man named Duff. In Jake’s eyes,