Читать книгу Settling The Score - George McLane Wood - Страница 12

Chapter Six

“Lord of mercy, look at that,” he murmured. “What do I do now? Who do I give this to?” Jeff wondered if his captain was gonna keep all this money for himself. Was that the reason he told Jeff to keep it to himself? Okay, he wasn’t gonna leave it here, and he wasn’t gonna tote it around looking for a nice rebel officer to give it to. What to do, Jeff old boy? He decided to keep the money for himself. Oh, he’d give some to his right-hand man, but he’d keep the biggest portion for himself.

“What do I do with all this?” Jeff murmured. How many sacks? There were six. He’d keep five and a half sacks and give half a sack to his corporal. How could he keep five and a half sacks of heavy coins on the back of his horse? He couldn’t. So he’d bury five, pour half the sack into his saddlebag, and give his corporal the rest. Jeff quietly removed the strongbox from the wagon, dug a deep hole in the soft soil at the foot of a big oak tree, and buried it containing those sacks of beautiful gold and silver coins. Jeff carved JN on other side of that tree with his bowie knife. He’d return after the war and reclaim his treasure, if he was still alive.

“Corporal Smith, front and center, on the double. Here, this is your share, I already stuffed my share in my saddlebag.”

“God-a-mighty, Sergeant.” He peeked in the bag. “Is all this really mine?”

“Yes, go put it in your saddlebag now and don’t say anything about this to the other men, or one of ’em will most likely kill you for it.”

“Oh, thank you, Sergeant. I am beholden to you and I’ll never forget you for sharing with me, I promise.”

“Go on, Corporal, go see to our men. And post some sentries! I’m fixin’ to roll up in my blanket.”

“All the gold and silver there is will never make up for the killin’ of my papa, you dirty ragtag Confederate sons of bitches.” Jeff murmured to the soft night air before he dropped off to sleep in his blanket.

“Where are we at now, Sergeant?” His corporal asked. “We’re about into North Carolina, according to my confiscated Yankee issued compass and my map, Corporal. We’re still a long way from the border of Virginia,” Jeff replied.

“Where do you reckon our fellow cavalry went to?”

“I suspect they went north by west, maybe to Virginia or into southern Ohio. They’d need to reprovision somewhere and most likely they’ll need medical attention. We’ll head that away. Assemble our troopers, Corporal Smith. Let’s go fight our way to Western Virginia.”

Indeed, they did fight all over North Carolina, once they’d been chased by superior forces all the way back into South Carolina. They skirmished with the enemy for the rest of the year and then some, until the New Year’s month of March found Jeff and his battle-weary troopers finally getting back close to Virginia soil.

Sundown found Jeff and his C Troop on the eastern edge of Virginia. They hadn’t encountered a rebel in several days. Jeff and his troopers were dog-tired. Tired of riding and tired of being chased. Jeff called a halt for the night at a narrow stream of clear water and posted sentries. Looking at his map and pocket compass, he verified the creek was the east fork of the Elk River. The next river they’d come to would be the Ohio. So far, they’d not seen their fellow C Troop horse soldiers. Jeff and his troopers had been in their saddles since before dawn. Having finished their humble rations, some men were talking, keeping their voices low. Most of their campfires were beginning to burn down. Other troopers were already rolled up in their blankets asleep.

Jeff could see the twinkling lights of a small village, named Westvale, about a mile on to their west. He decided to go see if a store was still open. He wanted to buy some different kinds of food for his men. Jeff called Corporal Smith and placed him in command until Jeff returned. Mounting his tired bay gelding, he slowly walked him out of the camp and onto the road toward the village. There were lamplights still in the general store, so Jeff stepped down from his mount, looped a bridle rein round a hitch rail twice, and entered the store.

“I need to buy some grub for my men.”

“Yes, sir, what ya got in mind to buy, soldier boy?” the old man with a goatee croaked.

“Let’s see, how about three sides of bacon, three dozen eggs, if you got somethin’ to tote ’em away without bustin’ ’em. Some taters and some onions, some flour, corn meal, lard, a bag o’ salt, and coffee and some sugar. Add some leaf tabaccy fer smokin’ and a few black twists fer chewin, if you got any. I’ll be wantin’ to buy enough grub to fill up four dozen grown men. Think you can fill that much of my order?”

“If you got enough money, son, I can fill your order.”

“The rank’s sergeant, mister. And I got enough gold and silver money to pay, mister. You can start filling it.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll git right on it, Sergeant.”

“Livery stable in town?”

“Yes, sir, Sergeant, farther on down the street, same side of the street, yah can’t miss her.”

“Be back shortly to pick up that grub, mister. Have it ready.”

Jeff eased back up on his tired bay gelding, turned him slowly, and headed on down the street. “Need to buy two sound-bodied packhorses, mister, leading reins, and four large saddlebags to go on ’em. Add twenty pounds of oats and two nose bags.” Jeff inspected the horses. “How much?” He bought them and paid the stable man in coin money.

“Damn, soldier boy, I ain’t had my hands on this kind of money since before the war.”

Jeff’s chuck order was ready when he rode back to the store. He checked it off as the store clerk filled the saddlebags on the packhorses. “How much do I owe you, mister?” Jeff counted out gold and silver coins to the delight of the goateed old storekeeper, who was gleefully rubbing his hands together.

“My Lordy, Sergeant, I ain’t never sold this much money’s worth of goods at one time since I been in the selling business. I do thank you kindly.”

Arm-carrying the three dozen eggs and leading the two packhorses took some maneuvering. The pack pony loaded down with chuck fixin’s didn’t much wanna leave his warm stall, so he took some coaching as Jeff left the sleepy little town of Westvale and within it the two happy merchants with gold and silver money weighing heavy in their pockets.

His troopers were deep in sleep when Jeff rode back into camp. He carefully sat aside the basket full of brown eggs he’d been arm-carrying, and then unloaded the saddlebags of food fixin’s next to the smoldering coals of the campfire. Jeff hobbled the packhorses, unsaddled his gelding, and rubbed him down. Jeff placed a bag full of oats over the nose of his tired friend and laid his bedroll nearby. Jeff lay down with his arms folded behind his head and counted the dark night’s stars till his bay finished his oats, then after removing the bag, he patted his tired old bay on his neck and rolled up in his blanket nearby, and he and his gelding slept like two babies till dawn.