27 May; Pursuing a prankster

Belcher looked around to see whom the man was addressing. He realized that he himself was being asked to lead the way. "Yes sir. It's Belcher, sir."

His quote had fallen on deaf ears, it seemed. "Yes, yes, Belcher," Matthew muttered. "Well, anyway. What's happened to the provost in hospital?"

"Oh." He had not thought of needing to explain all of that. He himself had not seen the damage and had only heard a minimal explanation. "I ain't exactly sure sir, but I think he were tarred and feathered. Weren't that it, Judd?"

Belcher and Judd. Matthew committed himself to remembering those names for the next little while, at least while he was playing gumshoe with them, at any rate. He kept up easily with the two, Lavinia darting about and gamboling at his heels.

Tarred and feathered? How the devil had someone done that without raising a hue and cry? "How?" Matthew asked, in blank surprise.

Judd shrugged. "Guess that were it. An' all wrapped in brambles too."

"Oh aye? Din't hear 'bout no brambles. That way, sir. Sergeant Burr figured as mebbe some cove snuck in through back. Can your dog smell a man, way she smells a rabbit?"

"But the provost just stayed quiet through it all?" Matthew said. How could a man possibly sleep through another slathering tar on him, and perhaps wrapping him in brambles as well? Had the provost been unconscious? He must have been; it'd not make sense any other way.

"I'm sure she can. She's never tracked a man before, though. Do you have something that belongs to the assailant?" Matthew paused for a moment. Tar...and feathers... "Perhaps she can follow the tar?"

"Whatever you think best, sir."

"I suppose so. Is this provost, and the...scene of the crime...all the way back in the infantry encampment?" he inquired, as they seemed to be marching on...and on...and on. It wasn't going to deter him from looking into it, but he hoped it wasn't quite that far away. They'd have come quite a distance looking for him, if it was.

Keiju wrote:"What is the meaning of all this?" A harsh voice demanded, belonging to Finch, the surgeon's mate who was appearing on the scene with a freshly-lit lantern. One of the Inniskillings had fetched him from his bedroll, since Mister Todd was still attending to the provost in question.

"I gotta speak to the fella's in yon wagon," Burr explained evenly. " 'Bout a provost that's been - "

Finch's glare was obvious even in the dim lantern light. "Out of the question. No. That man is not to be disturbed until tomorrow, at the earliest. Off with you!"

There was no sense in arguing with the man. Burr shrugged. "Yes sir. Ye oughta show us where that third fellow's at," he added, looking pointedly at the Rifleman. He was not one to give up on a task easily.

Cotton shrugged. Pye could be anywhere. He just hoped the lad had enough sense to stay out of trouble. "Not too sure where he is," he said. Did this sergeant expect him to be able to just click his fingers and have Pye appear from nowhere? "Maggie might know. If he's not with her, then belike he'll have took hisself off to the 33rd - he've got friends there, like I said."

"Worth checkin'," Burr remarked. If the missing Rifleman could not be found tonight, he would assume the lad was trying not to be found and react accordingly. Whoever this Maggie lass was, she would be the next person to ask.

"Where's she at, then?"

"Maggie? Where I left her, over at our fire." Oh. "She's me wife, Sar'nt."

He turned to head back towards his fire, but hadn't gone more than a few yards when he nearly fell over someone. Well, he was almost on top of the lad before he saw him, but that was mainly because of the dark jacket and trousers he was wearing. There was only one other person apart from Newbury, himself and Jestel up here who wore that uniform. "Pye?" He appeared to be asleep, which was understandable at this time of day.

Well, Burr thought. That had been easier than he'd expected. "Seems we found him," he said dryly.

Ow. Whoever was not minding his footing ought to be ...before he was able to finish that thought he heard his name called. He stirred more considerably and stretched. His eyes halted blearily on the form of Cotton. One pair of legs, two pair of unfamiliar legs in unfamiliar trousers and... He did not continue but look up at the faces of men towering above him. He pretended to need a little longer to wake himself, in this time trying to gather his thoughts. They could not have caught onto him, could they? He carefully swept his chick up and slid it into his bread bag.

"Wot's that odd company fer?" He asked, glancing up at the men. "..could mind yer going Gabe. Near broke m' neck on it." He yawned again.

"Sorry," Cotton said. He hadn't meant to kick the lad, but if he did insist on sleeping in peculiar places, he ought to expect it. "Bin here all evenin', I should think, the way you got so cosy down there."

"Rouse up, laddie," Burr told the Rifleman, wise to the warning given by the first one. Clever buggers. "Gotta question or two for ye."

Pye got up to his feet looking at Burr, and straightened. "Sergeant." He said after he'd marked the sign of his rank. "Questions?" He nodded to Cotton. "Ain't a better place fer it.. unless sum'one comes 'round not looking at his feet. Ah but t' sleep wos' a'right.." He said more quietly, as if meaning the words to be given to Cotton, a friendly agreement, and not for Sergeant. Though, of course it was the other way around.

"Been anyplace this evenin', other'n this patch of dirt?"

"Yes." Pye answered with a shrug. "Been t' check that m' chick was a'right. Ate summat bad, see... saw it was a'right, n' collected few worms fer her." He shrugged. Then it got darker, n' here I am. Sleepin' all till you woke me." He looked confident of his story. He could not have said he wasn't anywhere, but this was a likely story. He had all but to stick with it. Not mention Jenny, or seeing her, not mention more details that were necessary and boring, yet useless.

Worms and a chick. That was something new.

"Hands," Burr said, holding up his shuttered lantern. It was easy enough to check the veracity of the boy's claim, since there was but one way to acquire worms of any sort.

Pye held them up. They still held bits of dirt on them where he had clawed the earth. He could've done it for a chick though, easy enough. In the dark nothing else but the dark earth could be seen. He hadn't lied in doing the digging and Pye was suddenly glad to have mentioned it.

"..'ere sergeant." He murmured holding them so he could see. He made a mental note to get to the the 33rd right the next morning, early too. Have his clothes washed and cleaned if any tar had perchance got on it.

Cotton rolled his eyes, fairly sure nobody could see him do so. Didn't the lad ever wash his hands? He supposed that it was a good thing he hadn't claimed he'd used a spoon or something, though it took a deal of dirt to poison anyone. But even so...

It was probably a good thing Maggie wasn't around. She'd be horrified.

The boy's fingers were filthy all right. Burr inspected the offered hands closely all the same. Hm. That was dirt and something else that didn't feel quite like dirt.

"What's this on yer palm?" The sergeant moved the lantern to shine more light onto the Rifleman's opened palms.

"Dirt sir." He said , forcing his voice to sound calm. "..got m'self ter dig deep. Jus' learning to find those things, sir." Why did the sergeant need to see his palms and catch on the stain. It was dark, could that have helped at all? "Might be bird poo eh.. pardon me words.. if'un.. t' chick'd done it."

What was he supposed to have done? And why was this sergeant poking around after it all? Captain Vickery was going to go spare, Cotton knew he was.