As the boy pushed back onto the crowded road, Pete turned to his staff. "One of you stay here in case any more couriers come back looking for me. One of you go back up the road as far as Fairfield, keep them things moving, keep them moving. I'm going up to join General Hood and can be found on the road to Taneytown."

Wearily swinging his leg off the pommel, he slipped his foot into the stirrup and urged his mount to a slow trot. The road was narrow, coming down out of a low ridgeline that cut across the road toward Emmitsburg. The battery that had just rumbled past had come to a stop, and pushing around it, he swore at the sight of an ammunition wagon blocking the way ahead. The driver and half a dozen men were squatting down looking at the rear axle, the left rear wheel splayed out at a drunken angle… apparently a lug nut and the wheel had come loose.

"Damn it!" Pete snarled. "Don't just sit there staring; get some men and, if need be, heave that damn thing off this road. You're blocking the entire column!"

"Ah, sir, we can fix this in ten minutes."

"I don't have ten minutes! Heave it off the road now!"

The men saluted and as he rode on he heard one of them whispering that "Old Pete" was in a bad temper.

Damn it, I am in a bad temper! he thought angrily. Two or three breakdowns like that could delay a column for an hour or more. If this was going to work, they had to get into Taneytown before Meade began to shift He had to assume that the signal station had sent a warning, that even now staff officers were galloping about Meade's headquarters, heading out to the various corps. Fifth and Sixth Corps were still not clearly accounted for. If they were coming up from Westminster or Taneytown, they could be turned around in fairly short order, and the race would be on.

The rear of Law's brigade was ahead of him, swinging down out of the pass, keeping a good pace. An orchard opened up to his right and he edged his way off the road and into the rows of peach trees. The trees nearest the road had already been stripped by the passing column, but in the middle of the orchard the fruit was still untouched. As he moved up to a slow canter, he reached out and snagged one from an overhanging branch and bit into it grimacing slightly. The fruit was still hard, not quite ripe. In Georgia they'd be ripe, and he thought for a moment of his boys-a summer evening, picking peaches for a cobbler-and forced that away. They're dead. Don't dwell on that now. My babies are dead and gone from the typhoid.

He rode on, half consuming the peach and then tossing it aside. The orchard gave way to a wheat field. It took a moment to find an opening in the split-rail fence. The wheat brushed against his boots, heavy golden stalks ready for the harvest. In fact part of the field had already been cut, but no one was working the field today. Not with a war on.

He hated trampling down the hard labor of another. There were more than a few who these last two weeks were taking pleasure from it, making the Yankees feel what a war is like, the men said; but his nature rebelled against such wanton destruction and vandalism. Someday this war was going to be over. If we win, we have to be neighbors once more.

As he reached the bottom of the field he saw the farmer standing by his barn, a portly wife clinging to his arm. Pete tipped his hat, and she offered a wan smile. The farmer just glared at him, saying nothing.

The path from the barnyard led back down to the main road into Emmitsburg, and he followed it The street was packed with troops, men of Law's brigade. The village was typical of the region, small two- and three-story houses, packed together tightly, their front steps right on the walkways flanking the roadway. Windows were open, curious civilians peering out at the flood of men pouring down their „ thoroughfare. A tavern had a provost guard outside its door. The troops streaming past peppering him with jests and more than a few barbed comments about good infantry going thirsty while officers lingered inside. He was tempted, just for a second, to actually stop and go in, to see if any officers were indeed malingering within under pretense of securing contraband liquor. The guard nervously saluted as Pete continued on.

The road curved down a gentle slope, past a church that had a Union hospital flag hung from a window. The doors were open and he could see a surgeon at work. Some casualties from the previous day's fight had most likely been moved down here during the night A dozen soldiers, a mix of Yankees and his own, were on the steps of the church, one rebel boy moaning, holding a crushed foot up in the air, blood dripping from his smashed boot Several others were obviously sick, one an old man with a waxy pallor and blue lips, wearing a tattered uniform, a soldier from the Texas Brigade.

Several of the Yankees saluted, and Pete returned die gesture as he pressed on. Directly ahead was the intersection with the Gettysburg-Emmitsburg Road. A regiment in open order was deployed in a field north of the intersection, slowly pushing up along either side of the road in a heavy skirmish line. As he reached the junction, he spied Robertson, commander of the lead brigade in the march. Robertson was standing to the side of the road, talking with his staff.

Behind him, in the fields to the south of town and below the convent, the Texas Brigade was deployed, guarding the approach to the south.

"How are things here?" Pete asked.

Grinning, Robertson saluted.

"No real trouble so far, sir. Skirmish to take that signal tower," and he pointed up to the high ridge behind the convent "Gotta figure we just knocked on the back door of the Yankees."

"Why is most of your brigade off that way then?" Pete asked casually. Robertson was a good officer, who knew his business.

"A couple of the stragglers we picked up"-and he gestured to where half a hundred Yankees were sitting glumly in an open field, guarded by several mounted provost guards- "one of them said there was a brigade of Yankee cavalry south of here and coming up this way."

Pete nodded, shading his eyes as he scanned the road to the south. No dust on the road, no sense that anything was coming, but still a brigade of Yankee cavalry slamming into their line of march could play havoc; even a brief delay at the crossroads here would reverberate clear back to Gettysburg, bringing the entire march to a halt He silently cursed Stuart Rather than rounding up headquarters details and mounted staff to push the head of the column, it should have been a full division of Stuart's troopers securing the way.

"General Hood?"

'Talked with him about a half hour ago, sir. He's heading east with his staff to scout the bridge at Monocacy. He should be at the front of Law's brigade. The head of their column should be a couple of miles down the road by now."

Pete nodded, gaze still looking south, then turning in the saddle, he studied the road northward. All of the wheat and corn in the fields to either side of the road was trampled down, hundreds of burnt circles marking campfires, clear evidence that a lot of men had been through here in the last couple of days.

"So far though," Robertson offered, "it looks like every one of them Federals hightailed it up to Gettysburg yesterday. Other than that sorry bunch sitting over there, a couple of surgeons and the Signal Corps unit, there was nothing here."

"Could change damn quick though," Pete responded. "Rest your men, then fall in on the rear of Hood's column once the rest of the division has passed. If there's a fight up ahead, I want your brigade of Texans in it I want to keep my units together as much as possible. But if anything starts to loom up from either direction, you get word up to me quick. I'm going forward, and once into Taneytown I will establish headquarters there. You got that?" '