Destiny of Eagles by William W. Johnstone Page B

town.”
    â€œI guess you’re right,” Ward replied.
    Sergeant Haverkost, who had been on lookout, came riding up. “Cap’n, beggin’ your pardon, sir, but they’s Yankee cavalry a-comin.”
    â€œVery good, Sergeant. Get the men mounted,” Captain Ward replied.
    â€œWhoa,” Falcon said. “Captain, we aren’t turning tail, are we? Shouldn’t we stay and fight them?”
    â€œHow are your shoes holding out, Lieutenant?” Captain Ward asked.
    â€œMy shoes?”
    â€œAren’t the soles getting a little thin?”
    â€œNow that you mention it, I reckon they are.”
    â€œIf the Yankee cavalry is here, that means their supply depot isn’t guarded.” Captain Ward smiled. “I say we do a little shoppin’, then burn what we can’t carry away with us. It’s about time we destroyed some Yankee property.”
    â€œRight!” Falcon said happily.
    Captain Ward led his men into the supply depot, thinking it would be almost totally unguarded. But to his surprise, there was an infantry company waiting for them. Ward fell with the first volley.
    Falcon leaped from his horse to try to rescue his captain, but bullets were whizzing all around him.
    â€œGo!” Captain Ward shouted. “Get out of here! Take the men and go!”
    One minié ball took off Falcon’s hat, and another penetrated the loose flap of his sleeve.
    â€œLieutenant, let’s not lose both of us here!” Captain Ward shouted. “I order you to get the men out now!”
    Falcon nodded, then remounted. He shouted to the others.
    â€œFall back! Fall back!”
    Two other men were hit and unseated. Another one slumped forward, and stayed mounted only because his friend held him in the saddle.
    The Confederates withdrew, riding hard until they were well out of range. Then Falcon stopped them.
    â€œWhat do we do now, Lieutenant?” Sergeant Haverkost asked.
    â€œWe wait until nightfall,” Falcon said. “Then we go back and get them.”
    The wounded man who rode away from the ambush died late that afternoon. His death, and the capture of three of their own, kept the men’s blood running hot until that night. After sunset, Falcon led them back to the supply depot. Dismounting, they counted off every fourth man, designating him to be a horse holder. Then, advancing on foot, Falcon led the rest down to the clearing where the ambush had taken place earlier in the day.
    What they saw stopped them in their tracks. The rage Falcon felt was so overpowering that he let out a scream of anger and defiance.
    * * *
    â€œI hung ’em,” Puckett said, concluding the story.
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œIt was me that hung ’em, Falcon. Captain Ward, Private Higgins, and Private Morrison. I was in command of the Union Infantry troops that were guarding the depot.”
    Falcon was quiet for a long moment. The rage he had felt at the time he discovered the bodies of his captain and two of his men hanging from a tree limb had long since subsided.
    â€œWhy?” he asked.
    â€œRebels had destroyed three bridges, knocked down more than a hundred telegraph poles, and robbed two supply wagons. I had orders to make an example of anyone we caught who was engaged in that activity.”
    â€œSo you killed your prisoners,” Falcon said.
    Puckett stared at the untouched steak on his plate. He was silent for a long moment. Then sighing, he nodded and said, “Yes, God help me, I killed them. At the time, I thought it was a legitimate act of war,” he continued. “But I know now, and have known for many years, that what I did was wrong. It has haunted me ever since.”
    â€œWhy are you telling me this now, after all these years?”
    â€œI was there when you attacked the depot. I saw you jump down from your horse and try to save Ward. At first, I thought you were your father, you looked so much like him.