The sergeant appeared from the shadow of the doorway. “Corporal,” he rasped, “we’ve had enough trouble today without you doing a thing like that.” The color drained from the corporal’s face. “Just doing what you told us,” he choked, “getting the Yankees back in line.” The fat woman dropped to her knees and wailed, “Lord have mercy on us all. That boy didn’t mean no harm.” The sergeant turned on the woman. “Shut your face. You better do your selling some place else.” Tim loosened the boy’s clothing, exposing the white flesh and the ugly mouth-shaped wound. The sergeant squatted. “That’s nothing to worry about.” He reached into his haversack. “We’ll bandage it and they’ll dress it proper when you get to your jail.” “Where are we going, Sergeant?” Tim asked. “I’m not supposed to say.” “How long a ride is it?” Tim asked evenly. “Three or four hours I guess.” Tim stood up slowly. “This man needs a doctor now.” “My commanding officer would give me the devil if he knew about this.” Tim clenched his fists. “Greene needs care. He needs it now.” The sergeant wavered. “The train ...” he said. “The train be damned, Sergeant. Stabbing this boy was an act of cruelty. If you send him to a prison in the shape he’s in, I’ll find a way to let your commanding general know.” Greene was breathing heavily. He had lost a lot of blood. It had soaked his trousers and formed a little pool on the ground. “Don’t bother, Lieutenant,” he whispered. “I can make the trip.” Tim looked coldly into the Sergeant’s eyes. “Well, Sergeant?” The sergeant turned to the corporal. “Leave your rifle with me,” he said. “Bring a baggage wagon around from the back. You can drive the Yankee to the hospital. If he dies, it’s on your head.” “But ...” the Rebel corporal whined. “But nothing. I’ve had enough of you.” Greene looked up at Tim. “I’d rather stay with you, Lieutenant.” “You can’t do that. You’ll be better off in a hospital. If your wound had been higher, you might have been killed, but it’s just in the flesh of the hip. If it’s properly dressed, you’ll be well in a week or two.” The colored women were gathering up their bowls and baskets and getting ready to move away. The prisoners watched in silent anger as the corporal brought the wagon around and reined the horse to a stop. Tim and the sergeant lifted Greene gently to the wagon floor, and Tim touched the boy’s sleeve. “You’re a brave lad, Greene,” he said quietly. Greene smiled and turned his face away. As the wagon squeaked and rattled off, the sergeant turned to Tim. “Gather up the boy’s oranges, if you’re a mind to,” he said.