“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.”