25th May Coming early

Pye watched Cotton and copied the manner in which he had adjusted the grip on his rifle, and its angle. He glanced at his own now, just to make sure that the barrel was indeed facing downwards. He grinned glancing at the ruined wagon. "Plenty enough, if it don't get soaked through. "If it wasn't already. The past few days had been sure wet. Some more, some less, though maybe the wagon had been better off. It didn't look as bad as it could've. He sloshed right into a puddle of mud.

"..Me?" He blinked, wishing that Vickery would have had a solution for him, though he doubted it even so. The man was a good and fair officer, but what good would he have of aiding a common soldier when his services were no longer needed, Pye wondered.

"..If I could do anythin?.. Well I'd be a lord then." He grinned, laughing softly. "Be doin' nothin' but have me hunts organised, hunts with a whole flock of dogs,going after them foxes or pheasants or deer."

"Aye, that'd be real nice, that would," Cotton replied, chuckling. "Never have to go out workin' in the rain an' the cold. Jus' stay in by the nice warm fire an' do whatever you wanted to." A raindrop landed on his nose and he raised a hand to wipe it away.

He thought the drops were coming down more frequently now, and rolled his eyes as he heard Captain Vickery order the company to secure arms.

"We already done that, sir," he said, speaking quietly so only Pye and Roper could hear him. He patted his rifle. "There's some sense to marchin' at ease, anyhow."

He glanced at the men and grinned. Just as Cotton had said, though quietly enough not to draw attention to himself at such boldness, the rifles had been secured and there would be no rain, certainly, coming up no barrel that was carried by a Rifleman at least.

He felt a few drops land on his face, one on his cheek, one he could taste on his lips and the last had just barely touched his skin, heading of to land somewhere on the front of his coat. The rain was back. It would increase.

"It'd be nice, but.. ain't happenin' couse we weren't born that." He smiled. "I dunno what else I could do...jus' wish I could have a roof over me head and some warmth for it. And food. As certain' as can be here.. atleast. Really would like that. Food, not ter starve. That'd be just fine!" He grinned and nudged what resembled a piece of cutlery of some sort with the front of his boot. There were a few more from the set and he nudged it forward again.

"If you want a new knife an' fork, grab 'em quick," Cotton said, sending a spoon skidding over the road to land a couple of feet away. He already had a knife and fork, and a spoon, of his own, mismatched and battered, but cared for. His mum had pressed them on him when he'd left, and they might not look much, but they were his only link with the home and family he'd left behind.

He winked at the lad. "Out of all the jobs you could do, then, if you had the right learnin' how, what would you like best? An' I'm sure the Captain could help, after all this here war's done with. He's a right gentleman that way, is our Mister Vick'ry."

The moment those words had left Cotton's lips, the lad knelt down and scooped from the floor the first spoon he could come to reach. Just as quick as it was taken hold of, it disappeared. A knife he'd nudged forth earlier followed suit and then, at the next step, his hand snatched a few utensils that had been together in the small pile. He straightened out again and wiped his hand on his trousers. They were muddy anyway, and his knees had seen better days so another set of prints hardly mattered.

"I dunno. I'd like ter..." He looked at his bread bag and smiled. "Chickens... that's wot' I would like to raise. Or do something like that. If I were to work then..." He shrugged. " Maybe that. Could watch t' sheep too. " He didn't know of that many professions but those he thought could suit him. He couldn't make bread, couldn't cook worth much more than to not remain hungry. "Captain?..That'd be awfully generous of him. I couldn't ask him of that, Gabe. I owe him a'ready. Lettin' me join here. Lettin' me be a rifleman. I owe him that much!" He glanced at Cotton's pack thoughtfully and wondered for a moment if the man was still in pain from what had happened in what seemed like a long while.

"Oh, he won't mind. He's real nice that way, see. Y'know he's only bin a Captain for a short bit? Since jus' afore Christmas, I think it is. He's already turnin' out to be pretty good, though." He grinned as Pye snatched up one or two bits, without slowing down.

"An' don't be daft, neither. He let you be a Rifleman 'cause he could see you was goin' to turn out to be a good'n, like the rest of us. An' you fit better with us than with the 33rd, don't you?" He loosened the chest-strap off a hole and hoped it would do for a bit. What he wanted, of course, was one of those comfortable cowhide packs the French carried. There wouldn't be much chance of finding one just yet, though, so he'd have to make do with the British-issue Trotter.

"I do, but he could'a said no. He didn't."

He agreed wholeheartedly that captain Vickery was turning out to be a good captain. Or rather, since Pye had come later and didn't know him at the beginning, that Vickery was as of at present a fine captain already. He felt loyalty to him and thought that it was the same with Cotton and the rest. If a man inspired that, without the need of a flogging...Captain Vickery just had it in him then.

"..Ey. You a'right?" He asked , noting the the adjustment that Cotton had made to his straps. "s' . .a fool's question." He murmured more subtly and frowned. "Is it 'urting again?" His eyes skimmed briefly across the pack or the right direction which suggested he did not mean whether the pack itself was heavy and weighing down on Cotton's shoulders, but rather if the back, against which the pack was rubbing, was causing him discomfort.

Cotton sighed. He'd thought he'd got away with it without Pye noticing. "It's mostly all right, though it ain't all quite healed up yet. And these packs ain't so comfy anyhow, without rubbin' where it's already hurtin' a bit. I'll take it off for a bit when we get to have a bit of a break."

Depending on what happened later today, he'd ask Maggie to take a look at it for him, too. He thought it was healing all right, but you could never tell, especially when you couldn't see for yourself.

"Could be worse, though. Could've had the whole two hundred." Fifty wasn't anything to complain about, not really, and a bit of discomfort was nothing after the agony of the flogging itself.

"'Can carry some for you." Pye said, adjusting his grip on the rifle. "Better that it gets to heal as proper as it can...else it might rub n' heal a long while too long...long while longer." He corrected himself and shrugged.

"Rubbin' only will make it worse anyhow." He looked on ahead. They'd be going downwards for a little while then up again. In both ways the path itself could be rather precarious, and in both directions, up or down a hill, they could slip if they weren't careful. Especially as with more rain, more ground turned into a worse menace than it was.

"I'll be all right, it ain't so bit bad, not really." It wasn't, and they'd likely stop for a break some time soon, depending on how close they were to the French rear-guard. "I got to get used to it anyhow, an' you've got your own things to carry, ain't you? Thanks for the offer, though. It's real nice of you."

He was concentrating on his footing now. The rain had started properly now and the road was turning to more slippery mud.

"Got them things... But ain't got that ter bother me with them." He wiped a hand over his brow. The shako did manage somehow, to shield his eyes and forehead in part from the onslaught of rain. A few cool drops of rain falling at the back of his neck though, made it clear it was nowhere near perfect.

He didn't press further, though if Cotton might have changed his mind, his offer would still stand, for as long as he needed it anyway. Once they were to reach the top, there was a chance that they would be able to halt again. They've marched a good deal as it were. He glanced up and blinked. Then there was a stir at the front. Another man pointing to their left , and further down the hill which they've just made half way across.

An animal was spotted. A horse with its saddle neat on its back, its reins were tucked under one side of it, which luckily prevented the horse from having them thrown over his head, and also from having them tangle into a bit of branch or bush, and from having to break his leg by stepping across it.

He tugged his neckcloth a little tighter to the back of his neck. Marching in the rain could be more than a little depressing. He gave a half-shrug and whistled a bit of the Rogue's March.

"What're you whistlin' that for?" Roper wanted to know. "They hang folks to that."

"It's a good tune, an' I can't help 'em hangin' folks to it," Cotton replied, breaking off.

"Mad, that's what you are," Roper retorted and lapsed into silence again.

"Mebbe so, but it's still a good tune."

"Cotton," Vickery called back. "You worked with horses, didn't you? Think you can maybe catch that one?"

"I'll have a go, sir," he replied and slipped out of file, walking cautiously over to it with his hand held out.

The horse backed slowly, swaying his head his ears flattened back while his the white of his eyes could be seen somewhat. His upper lip curled up for a moment and his front left hoof was stomped into the ground before it slowly stopped. He still observed the rifleman wearily but he was not moving from the spot at least. He shook his head, throwing his mane left and right, his tail not docked but hanging at a certain length at the back.

His left ear flipped forward, before jerkily returning to its flattened state.

"Ssh, I ain't goin' to hurt you none," Cotton said, pausing in his walk, though he still held his hand out. "See, I'm jus' a friend, ain't goin' to do nothin'." He kept talking quietly, trying to reassure the horse and put it at ease. It would help if he had a bit of sugar or salt or something. He had a thought.

He carefully unbuttoned his breadbag and reached in to find a carrot, careful not to startle the horse as he moved it to his other hand to hold it out.

The calm voice of the man that tried to approach him was certainly working some wonder with the animal, for it's twitchy and tense demanour eased a little more after Cotton had spoken. He flinched and raised his head jerkily back, whne he saw him move to his side then seemed to blink and lower his head seeing that there was something of great interest brought forth. He shook his head and neck again, and then made the first slow tentative step forward. He stretched his neck as far as it would go, almost comically trying to reach the treat without coming too much closer.

His lips snapped together but he saw that without another step his efforts would be futile and so made it closer again, nearly his whole body leaning forward. His tail swung around, smacking at imaginary flies. If he felt the rain, he gave not much indication but the soft stir of his hide for that short moment.

His attention was now almost fully on that carrot, an ear slowly moving forward to listen for any danger , ready to bolt at the slightest of provocation.

Cotton couldn't tell, from his angle of approach, whether the horse was a mare or a gelding. He continued speaking softly to it, offering the carrot as he stepped closer.

He thought it was likely to be a gelding, judging from the way it tossed its head, and the nervous swish of its tail. It was a beautiful chestnut, though the Rifleman thought its back looked a little sore under the saddle.

"Ssh. I'm your friend, see? I ain't goin' to hurt you," he said, taking another step forward, careful not to startle the animal. "You'm a beauty, you are. A real beauty. I wonder where you come from, then. Poor horse, out here all alone. It's no place, this ain't, not for a beauty like you."

The horse managed to reach the carrot at last. He looked a lot more immersed in the attempt to remove the carrot from Cotton's grasp and tugged at the orange end of it. The white of his eyes was gone, and the nervous, tense posture that the animal had, was slowly becoming more relaxed.

The animal listened, his ears twitching in the direction of the rifleman. He studied the uniform for a moment and then made a bite at it, thinking it edible perhaps, thanks to the colour of it.

Vickery had paused by the file of marching men, so he could watch Cotton. The man certainly seemed to know what he was doing, as the horse hadn't turned and bolted. It seemed to be interested in something the Rifleman was holding in his hand, and Vickery saw the flash of orange. Ah; he'd got a carrot.

Cotton allowed the horse to investigate the carrot, and smiled as it sniffed at his sleeve. "No, you cain't go eatin' that. I don't taste so bit good, me. Not like this here carrot." He raised his free hand, slowly and gently, allowing the horse to see it before he stroked the animal's neck. "You'm a real beauty, ain't you?" he said. "I ain't goin' to hurt you, see. Wonder what your name is. Prob'ly summat Frog, I shouldn't wonder."

The horse jumped a little bit, but made no attempt to stand back. Quite on the contrary , he began to nibble at the carrot, leaning closer to the rifleman. The others were still there and observing them, and though one of the riflemen had an urge to call to Cotton to ask him what was taking him so long, he did not dare scare the horse. He would've heard it from the captain then, and that was worst.

Pye grinned as he saw the horse nudge at Cotton's side with his head. If anything, the horse was calmed down enough. Its saddle had a pair of bags, that seemed to have only been somewhat wet from the rain, but possibly its contents were not. There was no shabraque that would indicate a French cavalry's owner.

"Ssh, easy there," Cotton said, continuing to stroke the animal's neck. "Where've you come from, then, I wonder?" he continued. "Be nice for the Captain to have another horse, though not so nice for me, o' course, havin' to do the work. Reckon you wouldn't mind havin' that saddle off, though it'll have to wait a bit if you come 'long of us."

He waited till the horse had finished the carrot, before stroking its nose. "Would you like to come with me?" he asked, carefully pulling the bridle free and tugging it gently, to see whether the horse would come with him or not.

The horse followed Cotton slowly , a few steps at the time, then made a gentle jerk at the bridle and made a step back. It made another few steps, but they seem to end in a strained circle, again as if trying to have Cotton go with him rather than he with the rifleman. He blinked and observed the human again, nudging him with his nose. Then he lifted his head higher and looked over his shoulder in the direction from which he came. He stared at that spot for a while , and did not budge, not even an inch.

He lowered his head then and mulled over the patch of grass between his hooves. Did so for a few moments then lifted his head and looked behind him as far as his head could twist, before his attention was at last on the rifleman again.

"It's all right," Cotton said, wondering what was going on. Horses didn't just appear out of nowhere, after all. He glanced in the direction he though the horse had come from, but couldn't see anything much.

He kept stroking the animal's neck reassuringly. "I ain't goin' to hurt you," he said again, giving the bridle another gentle tug.

The horse made to pull Cotton in his own direction and paused. He was not spooked, he was just acting rather stubborn and disobedient. If he were acting more mischevious, then maybe it could've been that he was playing with Cotton. Even so, he was not doing exactly as asked.

The riflemen were standing there, waiting. And some dared to pick at their canteens and drink from them on the given opportunity. Pye chose the time to feed the chick and give it some water before he stored it back in the bread back, where it was nice and warm.

"All right, boy. What's up there that you want to show me?" Cotton said, feeling daft for asking such a question of a horse. He turned to call quietly over his shoulder, grateful that they had stopped for a break. "Zack. Would you get the Captain for us, please?"