Hindman’s Confederates had responded, marching, starved and barefoot, up from Fort Smith to that bloody fight in the snow at Prairie Grove. Through audacious skill, Hindman had managed to extricate his entire army in the middle of the night and withdraw to Fort Smith. But this time the Federals were right behind him, chasing him all the way to the Arkansas River.
Run, Brother Butler. Run!
Billy gave the whole thing his devoted consideration as he and Danny Goodman rode through the winter night, the hooves of their horses clopping on the frozen road. Around them, the trees rose like twisted black apparitions, winter-bare branches stark against the half-moon-lit and starry sky. Patches of snow—almost shining in the darkness where they lay back in the timber and along the north slopes—added to the illumination.
The buffalo coat Billy wore had been Paw’s, and it had come as something of a surprise that it fit him so well. Despite the cold and snow the thing was so warm he rode with it hanging open to keep from sweating.
Danny’s rather bony gray panted as it climbed the incline to the top of the ridge as they topped out of Cross Hollow with its abandoned military camps.
Billy had taken them by way of Lightning Oak Trail in order to avoid the main road as they cut west from the ruins of Van Winkle’s mill. Now, after breaking out on Telegraph Wire Road, he could look back, surprised to see that the farms that had once filled the bottom were gone.
“What happened to all the houses?” Billy asked.
“Abandoned, and then torn apart by the armies for firewood and coffins.” Danny blew into his hands to warm them. He was huddled in a coat made from an old blanket. “I really appreciate you doing this.”
Danny had tracked him down in the hills above the Hancock farm the night before, arriving at the trapper’s cabin with a sack of poorly ground cornmeal and a small bottle of whiskey. A blanket had been rolled over the cantle of his saddle.
Danny interrupted his thoughts, saying, “Sam Darrow never got over it when his boy, Jackson, was killed up to Wilson’s Creek. Formed himself one of them ranger companies. Said he was gonna ride down and visit the Shockup and Altee farms.” He looked around at the brooding woods again. “God, I hope I’m wrong about this.”
Billy, too, kept his gaze roaming. “Both Shockup and Altee came out as Union when Curtis was here. With a Federal army down to Fort Smith, and Yank troops going back and forth, a man’d have to have the bark on for sure to cause any trouble for Union folks.”
“According to what I heard, that is Darrow’s whole plan,” Goodman said, his breath fogging in the cold moonlight. “Said he wanted to make a point to the Yankees. Said he wanted to teach ’em a thing or two. That they might march through this country, but they wasn’t never going to hold it. As for me, I want to see what comes of it.” He paused. “Glad you came with me.”
“Why me?”
“Because I don’t want to be seen. And there ain’t no one can get us away if’n either Darrow’s bushwhackers or the Federals spot us.”
“Why do you care?”
Danny Goodman shrugged, worked his jaw. “If Darrow does this, harasses them farms, it’s gonna change this country. Not ’cause old man Altee or Ben Shockup did the Darrows dirt. It’s ’cause they ain’t got no other sin than that they’s Union.”
“What of it? I ain’t neither Yank or Secesh.”
“Your paw and brother are Rebs, old friend. That makes you and yours Rebs. I fought for Ben McCulloch at Wilson’s Creek and Oak Hill. That makes me a Reb.”
“You quit. You’re hiding from the conscription just like I am.”
He’d taken Danny along the back ways, reveling in his proficiency at “Injuning around in the dark” and moving quietly. He just wished Danny Goodman had a better horse.
The way Billy remembered it, if he kept to the Wire Road just this side of Mud Town, in a mile or so he’d hit the lane that led to the Altee farm. It sat back a quarter mile or so from the road. Of course, if they approached that way, they’d be in the wide open where the lane ran along the fields.
But if they turned off sooner, made their way through the woods …
“This way.” Billy reined his horse off into the forest. The snow patches and half moon allowed him to pick his way, the faint shadows giving him direction as they wound through the trees, ducking vines.
The first awareness he had of getting close came from the faint yellow glow that seemed to dance and flicker through the trees. Even as he picked it out, burning wood popped, the sound muted by the forest.
“Something’s on fire,” Danny whispered.
“Something big,” Billy agreed, kneeing his horse around a thick black oak and onto what looked like a trail. Must have been something the Altees used for it widened into a path and led them straight to the gap between what had been the chicken coop and the tobacco barn. Both were now collapsed into burning wreckage.
As they pulled up at the edge of the trees, the scene before them was sobering. The Altee place had been built of logs, steeple-notched, and had had a shake-shingle roof and plank floors. The charred walls still stood, the roof having fallen in to feed the inferno that still shot flames toward the moon-paled night.
A woman’s choked sob penetrated the fire’s roar. Billy edged Swat around the fires, until he could see. The big mulberry tree in the Altee front yard
