The bloody catastrophe at Bull Run had cured him of that fantasy, and standing in the rain guarding a small useless bridge over a muddy creek north of Washington had convinced him that he would not reenlist when his time was up. Right now. being warm and dry in a hot bakery sounded just fine.

A rider was approaching. The misty rain and low gray sky had obscured Billy'svision until the rider was very close. Of course, he hadn't been looking all that hard, since it was highly unlikely that the rebels would have gotten this far without someone noticing. He thought about calling for his sergeant but that fine man was warming himself by a fire in a hut with a deck of cards, a bottle of cheap booze, and several cronies. Sergeant Grimes had told Billy only to call him out into the rain if it looked like Jesus Christ or the rebel army showed up.

Since it was highly unlikely that the one rider coming from the direction of Baltimore was either Jesus or the advance of the rebel army, Billy decided he could handle the situation by himself. He would not call Sergeant Grimes. The sergeant was a surly drunk and Billy wanted nothing more than to drive his bayonet right up Grimes's big fat ass.

Billy shifted his rifle. It was a little awkward since it was so large and Billy so small, but he was glad he did. The rider might be wearing civilian clothes, but he carried himself like an officer and the clothes were damned expensive-looking. Billy particularly envied the waterproof rain gear that must have kept him fairly dry. The rider was clean-shaven, looked muscular, and had piercing eyes that seemed to look right through Billy, who automatically drew himself to attention. It was impossible to gauge the man's height, but based on the length of the stirrups, Billy surmised that he was at least a little taller than the average man.