"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.