The blind jump forced the riders to spread out a bit, since controlling the horses as they dropped the four feet of the jump presented more risk than a regular jump. As the riders started to spread, young Duncan, riding for Company H, moved into second place. Through the combination jump, he held his position then let his rawboned buckskin have his head for the dead run to the finish line. After more than three miles of hard riding, this last spurt to the finish line was a measure both of the endurance of the horse and the skill of the rider in husbanding his mount’s energy. The final sprint was close; the rider from Company D was determined to prove his mettle as well. Montgomery’s men had something special to prove. They were determined to show they were just as good or even better soldiers as any in the regiment, regardless of the problems Monty and his cronies like Davison had created. Riding neck and neck with Duncan, Raiford from Company D kept repeating to his horse "We gotta win. We gotta. Go, boy." Subtly, gently, so the judges could not see, Duncan eased back on his mount, giving Raiford the lead. More than most, Duncan understood.
As the winners from the seventh race were being recognized, Charlie stepped behind Duncan. "Pulled him a bit, did you?"
"No, sir. He just did not have as much left as I thought."
"Right. Well, you are a good man, Duncan. A good man. I would be proud to have you carry the colors for me."
"Well, sir, you never know. There are still tomorrow’s contests."
Charlie smiled and moved away. It was time for the officers’ race; he was riding although if he and Jack won, the rewards and points would go to the line officer that placed first. The officers’ circuit was a complex double figure eight around the course, followed by a long straight on the outside track. The race was a little over three and a half miles, a test of both the rider’s skill and the horse’s endurance. The field was limited to one officer from each company plus one officer from the general staff. As the riders assembled, Charlie noted that the same young lieutenant who had brought word of Montgomery’s injuries was riding for Company D. He nudged Jack over to stand beside the young man and wished him luck.
Jack was full of energy. All day he had watched the other horses race, while Charlie held him back. From Jack’s point of view, this was unfair. Now he had a chance to show off, to prove he was the dominant stallion in this herd. Charlie had his hands full as the horses lined up for the start. The flag dropped and Jack was off before Charlie had a chance to do more than settle in the saddle.
Jack took the lead immediately, trying to shake off Charlie’s attempts to hold him back and conserve some energy for the sprint at the end. As far as Jack was concerned, Charlie could tell him where to go, but they were going there at Jack’s pace, not Charlie’s.
The pace the horses set was brutal. Charlie constantly tried to check Jack’s speed, but the big black just took the bit between his teeth and charged on. Jack sailed through the first series of jumps, and leapt into the water, throwing a huge spray of icy foam behind him as he plunged ahead. The horse had been watching; he knew that the blind drop had a long, down-sloping flat after it. He sailed long over the drop then gathered himself for the combination jump. Jump, stride, stride, jump, stride, stride, jump. Then Jack was off to the final straight with only two jumps to go. Charlie let himself look back for a moment.
Right off Jack’s left flank, the young Lieutenant, Major Swallow’s cousin from Company D, was hanging on for dear life. His mount was heavily lathered; the boy was sheet white and his jaw was locked, but they kept the pace. The two horses, one coal black, the other a light chestnut almost a hand shorter than Jack fairly flew over the ground, brushing through the last two jumps as though they had wings. The rest of the field was almost ten furlongs behind, but it did not matter. This was an issue of honor, of excellence, of rising to the challenge.
Jack refused to let the smaller horse take the lead. The big black reached deep into himself and found the energy for a final sprint. The chestnut still kept pace, and they crossed the finish line with Jack in the lead by less than a length. As the Lieutenant came across the line, and tracked into the cool down zone, the boys of Company D literally mobbed their young officer. They raised him to their shoulders and bore him off to preside at the dinner of roast venison that went to the winner of the officers’ race. Tarent personally took charge of the light boned chestnut, checking to make sure that the dead out run had not blown the beast.
Charlie wiped the sweat from his forehead then rubbed Jack’s nose. "Good boy. You just had to have your head, old fellow." McFarlane took the reins from Charlie as Sheridan, Rebecca and a host of others swept up to the winner’s circle. McCauley was noticeably absent, no doubt handling the myriad of details Sheridan had dumped on his lap as a result of the morning meeting.
"Well done, Redmond," the General grinned at his commander. "Now, we shall see if you can resolve some of the other problems we face as well as you ran this race."
Charlie looked at Rebecca with a rueful smile and shrugged. His General had called.
--*--
The light of day had long since waned as the four men sat amid piles of papers, rolled maps, assorted tax ledgers, and empty coffee mugs. Charlie was still dressed in his britches and field tunic, smelling of a strange combination of horse sweat, cigars, and the smudge from the fireplace that was not drawing as well as it should. When the wind blew from the southwest, the chimney always backed up. It was but a small burden to an experienced field officer, and having an office with a fireplace was a luxury.
"So, Charlie. If you get the seed you asked for, do you think you can at least give these folks the basics to get started on the road back?"
"Yes, sir, I do. Most of my men have been very willing to help these people rebuild."
Polk added, "To be honest, sir, I think they are glad to be doing something other than fighting or sitting around waiting. For many of them, it feels a little like being at home to be mending fences, winter-plowing fields, and repairing roofs."
"Well, that is good. But I am still worried about the more vehement elements of this little society."
"That continues to be a problem. But one at a time, we are bringing them over."
"Well, if you can bring Mrs. Williams over, it may constitute a miracle." McCauley had listened politely to Mrs. Williams during the luncheon earlier that day. She had managed to offend every union officer present.
Charlie snorted. He stood and stretched. "A brandy, General?"
"Yes, thank you."
Charlie looked inquiringly at the other two men then poured brandies for each of them. A silence hung in the room, as they had one more issue to deal with and none of the men wanted to broach the subject. Montgomery.
Finally, Sheridan addressed the problem, starting with the summary dismissal of Davison and his small group of cronies.
"You know, Redmond, I have confirmed your dishonorable discharge of Davison and the others. But I still worry about them. They are just the kind of men to stay in the area and prey on the locals. Keep a sharp eye out." Sheridan considered his brandy for a moment, then added, "And if they do cause trouble, turn them over to the civilian authorities, you hear me?"
"Yes, sir. However, sir, I believe I am part of the civilian authority here right now, as the regional representative of the U.S. Government."
"Yes, but get Frazier and the others involved. I am afraid if they do create trouble, it will be serious trouble. I would rather see the locals handle any capital crime."