Conspiring in camp

He gave her an apologetic shrug. "All right, all right, Jenny. Was just sayin'."

"He just needs to be outta sight an' talkin' distance of his regiment's camp," Newbury said musingly, mostly to himself. He was looking into the distance with a thoughtful frown on his face. "Coupla sword-bayonets to his back or somethin' oughta do it."

"Or three sword-bayonets," Jenny corrected with emphasis.

He was lost in deep thought. He knew what he'd heard and it was nothing good, nothing good at all. At first he'd not believed it really, then he thought it could've been bravado but that sort of thing just wasn't said. Not really. He'd been thinking all the way to where the tea was served and had gone further, passing it without really noticing. It was when he'd reached the bank that he stopped, looked at his bowl and knelt to wash it out. He listened to the chatter from the camp, heard a bit of song from one part and the shushing of it soon after. The water was cold to touch but as clear as a woman's tear.

Soon after, he stood, wiped the bowl on the side of his breeches and returned, following the smell of food as easy as actually seeing the place. With a bowl filled and the mug poured in with tea too he hesitated and stood in place. Promised to get the tea for the lass. Said so.

And so, he made his way back, not making his mind up yet on what to do and choosing the simpler way out. Not thinking about it no more and bringing tea.

"It ain't right, what he done to Cotton an' Maggie and all," Palmer mused, drawing on his pipe. He looked up as the new Rifleman - what was his name... Pye! That was it! - approached, bringing tea. He looked thoughtful and maybe even a little nervous.

"Tea.. um, fer.. miss Jenny." He smiled uneasily at Palmer, greeting him with a nod. "Is a full mug." As if that mattered. ".. jus' fresh made." Which mattered even less, but he was holding it out to Jenny and balancing his bowl, which was full and made his tummy growl like that of a starved beggar out in the slums of the city. "Is..good 'un." Rifles made. But he needn't say that too, they were all riflemen here, and they were talking about hurting someone before and it was just clearer and clearer, which he didn't have a feeling, was good.

Palmer nodded amicably to the new Rifleman. It didn't bother him where the new lad had served before; he was a Rifleman now and therefore one of them. Even so, he wasn't going to say anything about what they'd been discussing; it wasn't his secret to share.

"Was.. a good ..fight t'day." And the day itself was in most part rather great, educational. He looked more cheerful, though he felt less like it.

"May I?" There was basic logic that made him decide that they couldn't get in proper trouble - too basic really, but he was tired and he really wasn't used to these kind of things - if they didn't talk of it, and they wouldn't talk when there was someone , at the presence of whom they all started being silent or chatting about all the other things.

"May you what?" Palmer asked, curious as to what the younger man could mean. He wasn't going to stop him joining in, after all. That would just make him suspicious.

"Sit.. sit down. Join you." He felt most at ease talking to Palmer at the moment, and he didn't exactly look to say no. Not yet, just curious. Which was a good thing and he didn't dare to look at the others to see what they thought of it.

Palmer glanced at the other two. "Sure, I s'pose," he said, feeling a little awkward himself. He could hardly turn the lad away, now, could he?

Jenny stared at Pye and Palmer. Men! Sometimes they were impossible. She stood up. "Well, since we have a lovely long evening in front of us, I should go and get my knitting. No time like the present," she added pointedly. "If I want stockings this winter, I'll have to make them myself, won't I? Good night." And she turned and left.

"Thank ye, Zeb."

Pye looked surprised at her outburst, blinked a couple of times, wondered if she was going to spill the tea, sighed as she looked anything but a happy camper and decided that women were too complicated, too much of a handful. She's been helped earlier and now she'd just...

He felt grateful to Palmer, but expected that soon another man would be leaving, and looked towards Newbury. He shook his head and began to eat. Atleast food didn't have fits or unexpected tempers. And it was good, better hot than cold too.

This was too much for Newbury. He glanced at Palmer and sighed. There was no chance to discuss anything with Pye hovering around.

"Gotta report back to the sawbones," he said, deliberately not looking at Pye. It seemed that they would have to try taking on Hakeswill without the Palmers' help.

"See you lads later," he added. Then, like Jenny, Newbury headed off.

"..oh. See you." He waved all too cheerfully, for it wasn't real nor felt.

He'd expected it, and it was confirmed sooner than he had thought it would happen. He smiled at Palmer, just a bit forced and said:"...Yer.. can go too if ye want. I'll jus' finish this.. n'.. go get it washed then."

He looked at his bowl, and his appetite seemed to have been slightly abated. "...N' if yer need yers ter be washed, I can do it with this too. Save one a trip down."

"No, no, that's all right, lad." Zeb Palmer wasn't about to go chasing after the other two, though the way they had both walked off was verging on downright rude. Just what had this young man done to deserve that?

"If ye'er sure. " His smile was only a tiny bit wider, as he looked at his bowl. The mug he'd offered Jenny earlier seems to have been left behind mostly untouched. She was too quick in departing to make any of it even if it were her, that asked. He leaned down and picked it, pulled it closer and took a short sip. It wasn't as hot any longer, just the sort of warm that was comfortable to drink, but left a nice warm feeling down the throat all the way down to the belly.

"Don't mind if...yer have sumthin' else yer need, want t' be doin, Zeb, really." He nodded rather convincingly, and then he was silent, thinking that to speak more, might give the wrong impression, especially if the man did want to go and he was only slowing him down. It was nice, he said he didn't, but many men could just be nice that way.

"I'm sure. You drink that up and talk t'me, friendly-like. What made you want to join us? Not that I blame you; it's much better to be a Rifleman than anythin' else." He drank his own tea, throwing the dregs away.

The youth nodded, looking at the nearly empty bowl uncertainly, then at his mug. He took another few sips before placing it back on the ground by his leg, careful not to allow it to tip over.

"Well, I saw yer presentation of yer work n' all first. Looked like something I wanted... I felt would be a thing to try. You were amazin' there.. n' t' way yer ..." He turned silent for a moment again, and looked down at his hands.

"You was talking different 'bout your officers too, n'..wos' willing to talk."

Palmer nodded, drawing on his pipe. "Ah, Capt'in Vick'ry's a good sort of officer to have. Only bin a Capt'in since just afore Christmas, but you wouldn't think so, to see him. He's a proper gennelman, he is. Just don't cross him - he ain't pleasant when he's angry. He's one of them that start talkin' quiet at you, an' the quieter he is, the more angry he is. An' them eyes of his... you've never seen anythin' look so cold as his eyes when he's real angry. Though he don't get thataway very often, which is good."

"..Talkin' quiet n' not meanin' t' whisper...got that." Vickery hadn't looked like a man that was to be in ill temper. A happy, kind and warm demanour he was so willing to talk. Which, being he was new, might've laid some reason into it, or perhaps not.

"So he won't shout when you've crossed with him in the wrong way? Jus' quiet.. n' quieter?" He inquired, trying to imagine the man in such a form. Those eyes of his, having the cold look instead of his steady warm glance had him shaking the image away.

"Zeb...why's them so secretive? ... N' ... wot' was wrong exactly, 'bout Cotton's miss?" Jenny, Newbury, Maggie. He might have better not asked. He expected no answer. "...Are t' rumours...I mean, there's been some things said by the 33rd..."