Hel Morgan

Three

The sun was blazing down in all its glory as sweat dripped steadily from Hel's brow. His back was aching, his arms burning from the strain. He carried O'Brien in his arms, Cotton miraculously able to carry Sampson Turner. They had struck out at sunrise, carrying their wounded comrades west, following the stream, and the enemy. Stopping every mile or so, they were weak and shaking with hunger, but Morgan was not going to quit and Cotton was spurred on by his leader's determination.

"How much farther you think Cap'n?" Cotton's voice was strained and Morgan looked over at him during one such rest.

Sweat coated the man's face, and his eyes were red. Still, there was a steely resolve beneath the fatigue, and Hel took heart from that.

"Can't rightly say Private, five, six miles, maybe more."

They drank from the stream and cupped water into their hands for O'Brien and Turner before starting on again. It was backbreaking, agonizing, exhausting work, but neither soldier gave thought to quitting. It was not themselves they fought for now, it was for the two wounded men they carried, for the fourteen men who lay dead and buried behind them. They carried on for all the thousands of men who laid down their lives for the cause of freedom, for the innocents who lost their lives by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Freedom was not an easy thing, it did not come smoothly to those who wanted it. It was paid for at high cost, many times by the blood of those who stood their ground and refused to back down. It was that drive that kept Hel Morgan and Elijah Cotton moving.

Sundown came before Morgan stumbled to a halt, easing his living burden to the ground. He heard Cotton lower Turner to the grass and move up beside him. Wordlessly Hel pointed.

"Glory be..." Cotton was struck with hope. A house!

"Don't get excited Private, we've no way of knowing who lives there, or even if someone still does."

They dropped to the grass, weary and shaking, but their eyes turned hopefully toward the cabin. If only-! When darkness fell a short while later Hel struggled to his feet. He looked down at Cotton.

"I'm going to check it out. Stay here and stay sharp. If you hear any shooting, don't come, protect our own. That's an order Private." He put severe emphasis on the last part, looking square at Cotton.

The Private struggled to his feet and straightened his shoulders. His salute was sharp and crisp.

"Yessir, understood sir."

"Very good," Hel returned the salute, a sly grin on his lips. "Keep watch."

Checking his Henry, Morgan started off, moving quietly toward the small cabin. He saw a light flicker and come to life, shining in the window, and hope welled within him. He had to have help, and food!

Moving with extreme caution and more than a measure of exhaustion, he held his rifle firmly, ready for a moment's notice. He edged into the small yard, hoed clear of grass and debris and soft-footed it to the window, keeping his body low. There was a small shed in back of the cabin, and a pole corral with two horses. Hel eased up against the cabin wall and snaked along to the window, warily raising his head to look inside. Between the folds of curtain, he saw a woman moving slowly around a tidy kitchen, tending to something cooking on the stove. He waited, watching and listening. When she served up only one plate of food and sat down at the table to eat he knew she was alone. For how long he couldn't guess and didn't have the luxury to wait.

Hel moved silently around to the front of the house and tested the door quietly. The handle moved under his fingers and with a sudden move, he swept the door open and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. The woman jumped up from the table with a startled cry, her face going pale, her large grey eyes wide. Hel put a finger to his lips, warning her to stay silent. She watched him with terror in her eyes as he checked the room beyond the only door and found it empty. He turned back to face her and lowered the rifle to his side.