“But, if Fiddler’s Green is a place you go after you die, I’ll never get any older,” Autie Reed complained. “I’ll just have to stand in the corner forever.”
Everyone laughed at that, and this time, the laughter was genuine.
“Colonel MacCallister?” a voice called from the darkness outside the bubble of golden light put out by the campfire.
“Who’s out there?” Tom Custer called.
“It’s me, sir, Private Burkman.”
“Well, John, don’t stand out there in the dark, come join us.”
Custer’s orderly stepped far enough forward that he could be seen.
“What can we do for you?” Tom asked.
“General Custer sent me to find Colonel MacCallister.”
“You found him,” Tom said. He pointed to Falcon. “He’s the only man among us who isn’t drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” Boston said. “And neither is Autie Reed.”
“I said the only ‘man’ among us who isn’t drunk,” Tom said, and again, the others laughed.
“What do you need, Burkman?”
“The general’s compliments, sir, and he asks if you will join him in his tent?”
“I’ll be glad to,” Falcon said.
“Colonel MacCallister!” Tom called as Falcon started after Burkman. Falcon turned back toward him.
“We’ll be gettin’ up a card game in Fiddler’s Green. Will you be sittin’ in?”
“Not if I can help it,” Falcon called back, and again, all around the campfire laughed.
As Falcon followed Burkman through the encampment, they passed a group of soldiers who were singing. The singing was surprisingly good, with the voices blending in perfect harmony.
When Falcon reached Custer’s tent, Custer was writing a letter while drinking coffee and eating cookies. Pushing the letter aside, he picked up a tray and offered a cookie to Falcon.
“This is the last batch of cookies Mary made before I sent her back on
“Thanks,” Falcon said, accepting a cookie. He took a bite. “They are very good.”
“Libbie and I have had a lot of people cook for us over the years we have been married, but I do think Mary is the best yet.”
“It is a good cookie, General, but I get the idea you didn’t call me here just to enjoy the cookies.”
“Huhmp,” Custer chuckled. He pulled a cookie crumb from his mustache, held it on the end of his finger for a moment to examine it, then licked it off. “You are a pretty perceptive man.”
“You have something on your mind?”
“Are you going with us, or, are you going to stay here with the steamer?” Custer asked.
“I have come this far,” Falcon said. “It is my intention to go the rest of the way with you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t. I wish you would stay here with the boat.”
“May I ask why?”
“I just think it would be better that way,” Custer said.
“General, if you are concerned about my rank getting in the way, I will tender my resignation to General Terry tonight and accompany you as a civilian scout.”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Custer replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s just that—well—if anything happens—I don’t want to be responsible for you.”
