12th June: The noose for the long-eared

"Horses... and wet dogs," Cotton said with a chuckle, re-corking his canteen. "Good idea, though." He unbuttoned his jacket and pulled it off, before pulling his shirt off, feeling somewhat self-conscious of the new scars on his back. "Not sure anything smells as bad as wet dog."

Pye tugged his shirt over his head and dropped it in a pile over his gaiters and shoes. He somehow did not want to have all of his clothes wet just so that he could be clean. He glanced at Cotton, noticing the fresh scars strewn about on his back. He averted his gaze respectfully. A pair of flogged soldiers ready for a scrubdown.

"Sure there is. A pair of wet dogs smell worse.. an' if they're right up close to you it's double terrible." He smiled, glad there were no dogs around. The nasty beasts were a true terror.

After he was accordingly stripped, he waded into the water. A few sharp breaths indicated the river being quite cold, though it did not stop the lad from kneeling into it. "Your back.. it's a'right now?" He inquired politely splashing some of the water over his chest.

Cotton bent to unbutton his gaiters, pulling them and his shoes off, before deciding that he wasn't going to be wearing wet trousers later, and dropped those onto the pile as well.

It was cold! Water was always cold, of course, but it was a moment before he could reply. "True... though they're all right if you get to know 'em." He shrugged. "Never had a dog, me. Squire did, an' some folks in the village did, o' course. I get on all right with dogs - with most animals, I think." He ducked under the water, and then straightened up, running his hands through his hair. "Me back's better'n it was. Lots better - I can lay on me back now. It's still a bit tender in places, but nothin' like what it was."

And it had only been fifty. He shivered a little at the thought of what it would have been like if he'd received the whole two hundred of the sentence.

"Dogs ain't ever alright. Not unless you are a lord.. or nobility. Couse they can smell that and they'll not bite you then. But be a lowlife." Well Cotton seemed to have had enough of Vickery's scent and before that, his master's scent, rubbed off on him from the work he had done, not to have dogs dislike him. Or perhaps it was a certain proportion of lowlife one had to be, to not have dogs get at their throats. Maybe that.

"And they'll try ter tear you into pieces." He concluded. He had sunk down to his neck in the water, which meant he was just about sitting on the bottom. He rubbed at his shoulders then leaned back. He remembered momentarily how somebody had near drowned him in a river such as this. He hesitated but then still leaned back to wet his hair. It was hot enough during the day for that to feel quite pleasant.

"It'll be a'right in t' long run. T' back. T' sensitive goes 'way. Just a bit stiff fer all times though." He indicated the example on his own back. "T' scars.. they're less givin' than t' skin normally is. But yer get used to it." He grinned.

"Reckon they only do that to folks they don't know, or folks who try stealin' stuff," Cotton said, splashing water over his chest. He grinned ruefully at the contrast of the dark tan on his hands and wrists with the white skin of his arms and chest. "There's a dog that's bin hangin' around the camp lately. You seen him at all? Little white thing. Real friendly he is."

And of course Pye had seen it - the creature had interrupted their conversation only the day before, after all.

"If that's so there's not a dog that will like me..." He was a thief by trade. He could show Cotton what he was able to do with the quickness of his fingers, but if dogs went for thieves he would always be on the run.

"That dog will stay with us in camp?"

He made a face and not so much on purpose as by accident (slipping on a stone) splashed Cotton.

He looked rather stunned and sheepish.

"I don't know, I reckon it's likely he will, though." Cotton was already soaked from head to foot, so the splash couldn't make him any wetter. He blinked, startled, and offered Pye a hand up. "You ain't a thief any more. Least, I bleedin' hope you ain't. Don't s'pose the dog'll do you any harm - you just need to get to know him. Like the Captain's horses."

Cotton better define what he thought as a thief being because Pye thought that he well was. Not a thief in the regiment. He had not stolen from his fellow men. He was wise enough to keep his grabby paws away from the officers too. Would be terribly daft if he'd done it! He did not respond to Cotton's hoping that he was no longer one. Instead he answered the latter.

"T' captain's horses are different...they's captain's. I think that makes them more...nicer. Still don't trus' em, but they only kick, while dogs tear you limb from limb. Bet that one would bite me throat out when I slept." He got up, feeling quite refreshed.

"Bet he wouldn't, then. You oughta give him a chunk o' meat an' see what he thinks of you then. Most dogs like folks as feed 'em, or play with 'em. Least, every dog I ever known did - they ain't so diff'rent from people, not really."

He shrugged. "A horse's kick can be real painful, y'know. Think it was a horse that kicked the Captain in the 'ead, an' how that didn't kill him, I'll never know. Must have a head like a... like a stone or summat. Hard as one, I mean."

He splashed towards the bank, grateful to be on dry land again, though it was getting dark and the heat had gone from the day by now. He quickly pulled his trousers on and wiped his chest down with his shirt.

"Share...me food with a dog?" Cotton must've had water get to his head, and freeze it a little. He shared his food with a chick, but that was so little. A dog would have half his meal. HIS meal! What a daft thing to do, to offer food to a beast who wanted to eat you instead.

He shook his head and studied Cotton, who had climbed up the bank. He sunk under the surface one more time, to be quite well as soaked as a man could get, before getting up again, and closer to the bank.

"T' captain got hit by t' horse?" He had not heard that bit of news. Not that he remembered anyway. "He's lucky then.. those legs right ter t' temple ...I'd guess that can kill you too. Only proves the horses are murderous too." He looked up. "...Gabe, if all goes well..me n' Burke will.. have a coat fer me ready. An' another.. yer ..wait. You know t' marine man?"

"Didn't say share. Said give a little bit - it's like us givin' crumbs to your chick, sort of." He used the shirt to towel his hair off before pulling the damp garment back on, then sat down to enjoy the peaceful view of the river for a moment or two.

"That's what I heard. He can't remember any of the fight at all, or what happened to him right after, but young Joe Cavender told me he'd had to help the captain back to camp, an' he had a big old gash in his side and a nasty lump on his head. Says he was awful confused an' near to called Captain Blackwood out, even!" Which was so unlike the Captain that Cotton found himself shaking his head over it, even now.

"Challenged a man fer a duel nearly?" Pye slowly splashed back to the bank, though he sought out a nice flat rock, on which he sat and kept his feet in the water still for a little while. He allowed his skin to start drying of it's own. "Captain Vickery?...Honest truth?"

Just as Cotton said, Pye could not imagine the captain getting himself into a fight such as that. He was too levelheaded for it. Too.. smart and skilled.

Cotton lay back on the grass and clasped his hands behind his head. "Honest. I mean, well, I warn't there. But young Joe said it was when they brung Friedler back - you wouldn't know him, I don't think - an' Cap'n Blackwood insisted that the Captain was carried to go an' see him, instead o' being able to walk over, 'member he had that great gash in his side? He says the Captain damn near called him out over it."

He chuckled at the picture. It was so unlike Captain Vickery, that.

"S' fortunate he did not. Even if t' captain were to win t' duel." Which was something that Pye did not doubt it. "He might've gotten in dear trouble for it.. or worse injury." He shook his head and reached for his shirt." Can yer throw that ter me, please?" He indicated the white heap that was his shirt. It was fairly new, but then his old one also had seen better days. Atleast his bruises were almost gone.

"Glad he's a'right now. You know. we've got three riflemen who'll be comin' back ter service soon. t' captain's pretty much a'right fer it. Then there's Burke, me partner. He's gotten a gash in him too. Which is mendin' so he'll be fit t' fight." He spoke quite proudly of his new partner even if it would need to be a week before he was completely certain that they would remain together. He had no objections and hoped that the other man would have none either.

"And me. When me fingers mend I'll be fit too." He glanced at them. "An' those will mend...proper fer me to shoot." He grinned then. "Can yer do hand tricks, you?"

Cotton balled the other's shirt up. "Catch!" he called, sitting up and tossing it to him. "It'll be good to have everyone back where they ought to be," he said. "It'll be a while afore Joe Newbury's fit for duty again, though." He sighed. Poor old Joe. He wished there was something he could do to help his mate.

"Hand tricks?" he asked, frowning. "What d'you mean?"

"He'll get better, Gab...Cotton." Pye said with confidence. "He'll get better much faster now that he's with us, n' he'll be back ter servin' with you before you'll know it's a next day." He nodded and pulled his shirt over his head, tugging it down and starting to button the sleeves.

"Aye. Hand tricks. Makin' things be there one moment.. n' not t' next... or..makin' a coin go across yer knuckles like it was walkin' of it's own. Sort of like that. Do yer know 'em?"

Cotton drew his feet towards him and rested his folded arms on his knees. "Hope so. He don't need to go gettin' in any more scrapes afore he'm completely well."

He shook his head. "I've seen that done, but I've never done it meself. Wouldn't know where to start." He grinned. "Reckon you need more, um... Need to be able to move your hands probably better'n I can manage, though."

"I can do some." Pye flushed red, and lowered his gaze. "If.. you want, I can show you?" Still as flustered he mulled over drying himself up or letting the air do it for him. He glanced over at Cotton. "But...if you want that, I will need a coin. " And Cotton would get it back, of course!

"You can do that?" Cotton said, intrigued, and dug out a ha'penny. "Haven't got anythin' else, hope it'll be all right."

"S' going to be as good as any." The lad took the penny, though since his trigger arm had injured fingers he used the other to show his tricks. The coin 'walked' smoothly across his fingers, tipping over as if it was following a different set of rules and laws of gravity. It disappeared into Pye's palm, but as the lad opened is again, the coin was gone. Only to reappear crossing his fingers a second time.

Cotton watched the coin walk across the lad's knuckle. "I seen a recruitin' sergeant do that once, with a shillin'," he said. "Never could figure out how he done it though - looks real good, I'll say that." He chuckled. "Not the sort of thing I could ever do, though. Don't think me fingers'd work like that."

"He must'a been a thief 'fore then." Pye said with a shrug. "You got ter have nimble fingers like. Mebbe not farmer's sort." He studied Cotton's hands and shook his head." I hope me other hand will... have t' fingers returnin' ter this." He held out the uninjured hand.

"But I don't know...I worry they might not."

"Best thing is to move 'em all the time once they'm mended," Cotton said. "Usin' that hand'll help get it all moving. It's if you don't use it that it'll get stiff an' be harder to use." He held his own hand out again, showing his strong, blunt fingers. "Don't reckon I can move my fingers as quick as you jus' done. Still. We'm all good at diff'rent things, ain't we? Be borin' if we was all the same."

"No. " The fingers seemed thicker and well used to hard labour but not to something that needed delicate attention. Not as delicate as pickpocketing, thieving, or running a coin across one's fingers. He flexed his injured ones and decided to heed Cotton's advice and not to fail to excercise the pair when fairing well enough, even if they might at first ache and protest. He did not want them stiff as claws. It would not work if he wished to fire, nor for his more delicate proceedings.

"Be borin' if we was all the same. Though wouldn't be possible neither." He reached for the shirt which he at last pulled over his head. "We couldn't all be kings.. but if we was all the same that meant there'd be no kings." He shook his head with a grin. "Stands to reason, don't it?"

Cotton grinned. "Be nice to wear a sash an' tell folks what to do... Well, maybe it would. You have to be born in a big house to wear a sash, though. Like the Captain was." He grinned. "Imagine, me bein' an officer! I'd be awful at it!"