Greene crumpled to the ground, holding his side, gasping and sucking for breath.
Tim’s eyes blazed fury. “Why, you damned fool,” he said. He turned his back to the corporal and knelt beside Greene.
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.”