Raoul grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around. "You're a lawyer. You know damned well this meeting is illegal. Get over there with Pope and Hode, or you're no more a lieutenant in my battalion." Bennett stared back at him with beady eyes. "That's immaterial, seeing as we're all going home." "No one's going home," said Raoul, loud enough to make the men around him turn to look. "Get the hell back to your outfit." He gave Bennett a shove. The lawyer glowered at him, but slunk away. Raoul pushed his way to the front of the crowd. The men fell back, making way for his blue jacket with its officer's gold stripes. But the sun beat down on his head. He realized that he had forgotten to put on his hat, and he wasn't shaved and his jacket was unbuttoned. And, nothing. Hell, he could handle men. He didn't have to dress up for that. He drew his knife and faced the man on the barrel. "Get down off there." "Now listen, Colonel, this is a public meeting." Raoul waved the knife. "You've had your say. Jump." The man stared defiantly at Raoul. Raoul thought he might have to cut him up a little, and wondered if he was up to it. The man's eyes wavered from Raoul's down to the thirteen-inch blade. And he jumped. But he wasn't quite done talking. "It's a free country, Colonel. Man's got a right to speak his mind." Raoul said, "Tell that to Black Hawk." He wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but he heard several chuckles and was encouraged. He scrambled up on the three-foot-high barrel. It rocked under him, and the dregs of whiskey sloshing around in his body made him feel dizzy. He decided, after he got his feet set near the rim of the barrel, that he would be safer if he sheathed his knife. "You men's term of enlistment is not up. Any man who won't cross that river is a coward and a deserter, and I'll see you're dealt with." "Go to hell!" one man shouted. "You talk about cowards," another man called. "Didn't your whole battalion run all the way from Old Man's Creek to Dixon's Ferry, from forty Injun bucks?" "They don't call it Old Man's Creek no more," a raucous voice cried. "Now it's de Marion's Run." Raoul pulled his knife again. "The man who said that about de Marion's Run--come up here and say it again." He shook the knife. "Quit wavin' that pig sticker around and get down off that barrel, de Marion. We heard enough from you." Raoul saw a rifle pointed at him. The blood pumping through his body suddenly went from hot to cold. A new voice broke in. "Lower that rifle!" The tone was deep, easy and confident in command. It offered no alternative. The rifle came down as quickly as if in response to a drill sergeant's order.