sweat-stained civvies. The room was packed with the sick—moaning, feverish, calling out for water, trapped in troubled sleep, but alive, throats uncut, scalps attached.
Neither Cow Tom nor Harry wanted to enter. The room itself was dark, and as they approached, a man on the cot closest to the door threw up his hand to shield his face, closing his rheumy eyes tight against the lantern’s light. His face was a swollen swirl of lesions, red and angry, and followed a line of advance down his body, speckling his arms and legs.
“Water,” he rasped, voice barely audible, the words almost lost in a round of brassy coughing.
Something fell and clattered on the floor, and Cow Tom swung the arc of lantern light toward an interior door.
“Come out,” Cow Tom warned. He felt for his knife but it had been taken by one of Osceola’s braves. The door slowly swung toward them, revealing the young soldier who had handled theirhorses in the stable yesterday. He couldn’t be more than eighteen, still in uniform, a pistol in his unsteady hand.
“What are you about there?” Cow Tom asked.
“They let them go then?” the young soldier asked.
“No,” said Cow Tom. “The soldiers are dead.”
A twitch played havoc about his mouth. “The Indians?”
“Most followed Osceola to the swamps. All Seminoles with fight are gone.” Cow Tom spoke slowly, his eye on both the gun and the boy’s face.
The soldier lowered his pistol. “Seemed best to hide,” he said. “Better measles than a lost scalp. They took one look and left this room be.” The soldier raised his pistol again and pointed. “Why didn’t Osceola kill you?”
“Didn’t consider us soldiers, I guess,” Harry said.
“What name you go by?” asked Cow Tom.
“Billy.”
Cow Tom took a step backward, farther out of the darkened room.
“Well, Billy, I’ve no interest in measles,” Cow Tom said.
The boy considered. What little resolve he possessed evaporated, and he lowered the gun a second time. He kept to the outskirts of the room, walking toward them, and sat down on the floor near the open door. “I couldn’t truck being left like this, no food, no water,” he said. “A week ago, was me on that cot.”
“Harry and I can fetch water, and you give it to the men. Osceola’s people pretty much bankrupted the storeroom, but we’ll bring round what’s left, and scout for more.”
The boy agreed and Harry and Cow Tom left him there, relieved to be outside, away from the stink of disease and misery. Outside was death’s leavings, inside was toxic affliction. They preferred outside.
Harry and Cow Tom salvaged what they could find scattered around the deserted camps. They weren’t the only ones foraging. Some of the Seminoles who stayed behind had already lit fires, andhuddled wordlessly in small groups. They didn’t talk to Cow Tom or Harry, and the translators didn’t talk to them. Each went about their business, waiting for daylight. Cow Tom and Harry found containers, drew buckets of fresh water from the tower, and dragged them to the door of the infirmary. Each time they returned, they saw Billy holding to his part of the bargain, distributing water to those crying out for it, although the boy had no real talent at the sickbed, and stopped often to rest. He left food by the cots, but most of the sick’s appetites had fled, and the corn bits and hardtack were as likely to be consumed by rats as by the fevered men.
After a last delivery, Cow Tom and Harry returned outdoors. They skirted the slaughter ground, avoiding the soldiers’ corpses, resigned to leave them where they lay until morning, and found a remote spot, not too far from the protective walls of the fort but not too close to the infirmary, and spread their blankets for a second time that night. One kept watch while the other slept. Although the straggler Seminoles left behind seemed passive in their decision to Remove peaceably, neither Cow Tom nor Harry had desire to be caught
Neither Cow Tom nor Harry wanted to enter. The room itself was dark, and as they approached, a man on the cot closest to the door threw up his hand to shield his face, closing his rheumy eyes tight against the lantern’s light. His face was a swollen swirl of lesions, red and angry, and followed a line of advance down his body, speckling his arms and legs.
“Water,” he rasped, voice barely audible, the words almost lost in a round of brassy coughing.
Something fell and clattered on the floor, and Cow Tom swung the arc of lantern light toward an interior door.
“Come out,” Cow Tom warned. He felt for his knife but it had been taken by one of Osceola’s braves. The door slowly swung toward them, revealing the young soldier who had handled theirhorses in the stable yesterday. He couldn’t be more than eighteen, still in uniform, a pistol in his unsteady hand.
“What are you about there?” Cow Tom asked.
“They let them go then?” the young soldier asked.
“No,” said Cow Tom. “The soldiers are dead.”
A twitch played havoc about his mouth. “The Indians?”
“Most followed Osceola to the swamps. All Seminoles with fight are gone.” Cow Tom spoke slowly, his eye on both the gun and the boy’s face.
The soldier lowered his pistol. “Seemed best to hide,” he said. “Better measles than a lost scalp. They took one look and left this room be.” The soldier raised his pistol again and pointed. “Why didn’t Osceola kill you?”
“Didn’t consider us soldiers, I guess,” Harry said.
“What name you go by?” asked Cow Tom.
“Billy.”
Cow Tom took a step backward, farther out of the darkened room.
“Well, Billy, I’ve no interest in measles,” Cow Tom said.
The boy considered. What little resolve he possessed evaporated, and he lowered the gun a second time. He kept to the outskirts of the room, walking toward them, and sat down on the floor near the open door. “I couldn’t truck being left like this, no food, no water,” he said. “A week ago, was me on that cot.”
“Harry and I can fetch water, and you give it to the men. Osceola’s people pretty much bankrupted the storeroom, but we’ll bring round what’s left, and scout for more.”
The boy agreed and Harry and Cow Tom left him there, relieved to be outside, away from the stink of disease and misery. Outside was death’s leavings, inside was toxic affliction. They preferred outside.
Harry and Cow Tom salvaged what they could find scattered around the deserted camps. They weren’t the only ones foraging. Some of the Seminoles who stayed behind had already lit fires, andhuddled wordlessly in small groups. They didn’t talk to Cow Tom or Harry, and the translators didn’t talk to them. Each went about their business, waiting for daylight. Cow Tom and Harry found containers, drew buckets of fresh water from the tower, and dragged them to the door of the infirmary. Each time they returned, they saw Billy holding to his part of the bargain, distributing water to those crying out for it, although the boy had no real talent at the sickbed, and stopped often to rest. He left food by the cots, but most of the sick’s appetites had fled, and the corn bits and hardtack were as likely to be consumed by rats as by the fevered men.
After a last delivery, Cow Tom and Harry returned outdoors. They skirted the slaughter ground, avoiding the soldiers’ corpses, resigned to leave them where they lay until morning, and found a remote spot, not too far from the protective walls of the fort but not too close to the infirmary, and spread their blankets for a second time that night. One kept watch while the other slept. Although the straggler Seminoles left behind seemed passive in their decision to Remove peaceably, neither Cow Tom nor Harry had desire to be caught
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