26 May, evening; by the river

There was nobody that he could see. The provosts had been in a hurry, thinking perhaps the worst had happened and so Pye was given an opportunity, that he might never again have in his life. He had to work fast though, and make sure that noone saw him enter either of the tents, or leave them. Leaning low, he slipped silently into the first. Just as he'd hoped. He looked around. Ah, there it was. A pair of packs. He'd filled each with some ware, a stolen scarf, a few examples of the silver cutlery, and then tucking it in paused.

His prime idea was only to have them found with all sorts of loot for which they prosecuted innocent men. He smirked at that. But then his shoe had given him another idea. There , on the side a little, something clung to it. Horse excrement, or as a normal soldier would have called it, horse shyte, also known as crap. And there alas were other words for it, but he had no time to dwell on that.

With a grin, for there was much of the crap found in the area where the horses had earlier been kept, he hurried to stash much of it into the bag , which though he had 'borrowed' from the tent.

Moving back into the first tent, knowing how short he was of time, he smeared the stinky bits along the underside of the blanket so that it could not be seen on first glance, but the moment one covered themselves with it, it would be more than obvious. He left a bit of the chunks there too, thinking that they better not be wasted , and tucked them where the feet might have gone.

First tent finished, he hurried to the next few, a bag with shit, a back with loot, both distributed liberally and with each new pack, at a greater speed and skill.

"Get him out of here," Smith barked. He waited until the two dismounted troopers had shoved their prisoner into motion, then glanced down at the now earnestly-shivering Giles. "That'll be the last time you go harkin' off by yerself, ain't it?"

Giles scowled. "Shut up."

His knee twinged painfully as he was pushed roughly forward. Goddamn brutes. "They didn't issue you lot with brains, did they?" Newbury muttered, doing his best to keep from losing his footing.

"Shut it," a provost snapped.

There, almost done. And better so. He returned the now filthy bag to its proper tent and slowly slunk into the darkness. Not too soon. He could hear sounds of people. He couldn't be sure if it was the provosts returning, or if it was someone else. But he'd been finished anyway, so he could return, wipe his hands on some grass. The river was a place he had to avoid for now. Especially the provosts were still on the prowl somewhere. He couldn't get caught with an empty bag, no canteen to use as an excuse and no other reason.

For once the rain had proved to be rather useful. It had moistened the thick large leaves of the trees, bushes and even the thin blades of the grass, and made it easier for the young rifleman, to rub the smell off of his palms.

He glanced at the cut on the side of his hand. With a scowl he gave it a few rubs with one of the plants, that had a flat round shaped leaf and had contained some water atop it, when he'd found it. There, almost no smell, and the earth behind his nails was almost gone as well. He didn't have to wipe it too clean, or that could turn suspicious as well.

With a nod he began to make his way back. Hopefully Newbury was there, though he wasn't sure he wanted to face him. Not after having been discovered by him. Not after that.

"Get over there and sit down," one of the provosts ordered, giving the greenjacket another shove toward an overturned bucket. "And don't talk."

The others were returning now, and going back to the work of seeing to their horses. Giles was helped toward the nearest tent and well-supplied with blankets. There were no end of glares cast toward their prisoner, for they all knew he was the one responsible for their mate's misfortune.

"Hey!" One of them cried, sounding alarmed. "What the bleedin' - uck!"

A bag came flying out of a tent, closely followed by a long string of heartfelt curses.

Newbury sat and didn't talk, just as he was bidden, but he couldn't help but smirk as the provosts' camp suddenly burst with curses and stinking, soiled kit. Somebody had gotten these bastards while they weren't looking. At least he was not the only one who hated them.

It was a pity he could only distantly hear some commotion come from the direction of the provost's camp. It would probably have been something priceless to see their first reaction to seeing their things in the most unflattering state.

He didn't know yet that in that very same camp Newbury was at that time sitting and holding his tongue. Perhaps it was better so. He hurried back to the wagon where usually the said rifleman would be found, sleeping, traveling or just entertaining the surgeon, who would have probably wished to have full reign of a rope to use on him as well as Cotton. There he expected to find the second rifleman as well.

"Oy, Cotton?" He called, in case the man was with his girl, and.. well being a man as any other. He looked around. There was no Newbury in sight. He had to be in the wagon then, probably fast asleep. He approached it and pulled at the flap to look in.

Nope. It housed no troublesome rifleman, with a busted knee.

++

The day had passed rather uneventfully, but when the evening came and he was about to retire , he heard the sort of cursing that would not have suited any gentleman who thought himself to be proper. What was going on with their neighbours. Firstly, they bolted from their camp, all on horses like their tails were on fire. That he could hear. When they returned, it was as if all hell broke loose.

Since he could not sleep, and his nature did not allow to pass on this opportunity to see what went on, the officer stood, adjusted his uniform slightly. And then he moved towards the camp, decided to request that they keep silent at the very least.

When he neared the first tents, he could see a rifleman, more easily recognisable by his green coat, sitting under guard. He arched a brow. Weren't these men up ahead? He must have been a deserter, surely.

"What the soddin' hell is all this?" Smith cried, digging silver cutlery from his pack.

Tomkins all but howled as he tried to flick smears of brown from his fingers. "It's all through me blanket," he complained.

"Officer!" Somebody burst out and the noises of disgust and surprised stopped sharply.

Cotton could finally hobble Willow and think about preparations for the evening meal. As he straightened up, he looked around, realising he hadn't seen either Newbury or Pye for a while. Where, he wondered, had they got to now?

"...What is going on here?" The man asked, his eyes narrowed brielfy on Smith and then Tomkins whose complaining was all but waking the dead. "You there, where's your commanding officer." A reflection of light caught his eye, and he advanced towards Smith. "What do you have there,.. Come out with it!" He ordered harshly. He might not have been their direct superior, but if the provosts were to be found looting, that would fail to matter.

++

Pye was getting worried. He couldn't see Cotton and neither Newbury. The last he'd seen of the latter, was by the river side. He sighed with relief when he realised he had stopped by the wrong wagon. The darn things all looked the same. And he hadn't seen Cotton's mule, which would've been a clear indication that the man was somewhere near.

As he moved past the said wagon, and then passed another, this one looking somewhat more familiar, he caught sight of the familiar face. Well Cotton was there." Cotton? Gabe!"

"Sir!" Tomkins answered crisply. " 'Tenant's dinin' with the 33rd tonight!"

Smith, meanwhile, was looking thunderstruck. He had no option but to hold out his pack, cutlery and all, for the officer's inspection. Where the hell had that stuff come from?

"..What's all this." The officer ignored Tomkins. It was Smith's pack that he went to inspect just then, and what he found, had made his expression much grimmer. "..... Silver cutlery... it almost looks like stolen goods..." He said coldly. He took hold of one of the spoons , turned it in his hand to make a closer inspection. Yes, it was certainly not something cheap.

"..All of you.., your packs, out for inspection. Now!" One man , a provost trooper never the less, was found with what looked like something he certainly did not purchase with his pay.

Cotton turned. Well, there was half of the missing pair. "Pye! You seen Newbury lately? I ain't seen him since he went off after them provosts was nosin' around earlier."

The provosts lined up sullenly, holding out their packs so the redcoat officer could inspect each one. Smith was fuming inwardly. It was that greenjacket's doing. He knew it. Scheming evil bastard had set them all up.

"I did." But the fact that Cotton did not see Newbury since the provosts had been snooping around, made Pye quite nervous. "...He was by t' river. Goin' off to fetch water I think. " He bit his lip. "You sure he didn' come 'ere?.. or is in his wagon?"

++

".. Cutlery.., fabric, ... a particular necklace, a snuff box.." The redcoat officer found in each of the packs something that did not belong there. "....Would you believe it... looters.. all of you." He said coldly. " Provosts! You should be ashamed of yourselves." Not a single honest man in the bunch. All had gone to arrest men who had been doing exactly as they. His question on where the looted things would go, once taken of the arrested men, was now answered.

".. what did this man do." He had noticed Newbury just then. A deserter probably. No better than these men. Who exactly could he send, to inform that the whole bunch here would be placed under arrest, though? ..Damn them, not a single honest man amongst them.

"Well, I thought he'd gone to see the surgeon an' I wasn't sure where you gone - I thought you was with him. Can't go runnin' after you when I've got to look after Willow, can I?" He shrugged. "Have you seen Newbury?"

It was Giles who answered. "He struck me, sir. Pushed me square into the river yon."

The other provosts were looking faintly resentful now, at the officer's rebuke. Each of them knew they were guiltless. Certainly they were better than the men they arrested.

"I was.. hereabouts." Pye insisted. Mules and horses were no good. They made men loose sight of other patients, which were prone to get in trouble. Perhaps, he was fussing too much because he'd gotten caught by Newbury, and as much as he feared encountering him now, he also feared he had encountered the Trooper.

"I think.. I.. dunno where he was last." He shrugged and frowned.

++

"He struck you?" He looked at Newbury and approached him. "Stand up, private." He might've known that the riflemen called themselves that, and that a private was by them considered a word used for common soldier, a redcoat. He did not care. He was angry with the provosts. Well, too bad he wasn't a deserter. A fine hanging would serve as a perfect reminder to the other men, that neither were the greencoats above the law, nor should any man dare deserting. It was good to freshen up their memories every so often, just so they knew, remembered.

"..Tell me, trooper. What is the punishment for looting... again?"

Newbury came awkwardly to his feet, unable to keep from wobbling despite a concerted effort. "Sir," he said, straightening to attention as best he could.

"Well, we can't leave him alone - who knows what sort of trouble he'll get himself into?" Cotton said, and paused, hearing voices that didn't bode well. "Did that sound like Newbury, to you?" he asked, looking at Pye with a frown. It had only been one short word, and he couldn't swear to its being the missing rifleman, but something wasn't right.

"Hanging, sir," Smith replied reluctantly. This greenjacket would be lucky to escape from this with his bleeding life, of that Smith was certain. Their officer would see this sorted out in the provosts' favour and justice adjudged to the true guilty parties.

The officer began to laugh. It wasn't a pleasant sort, nor was it a merry kind. He was laughing, not because he was happy but because something had struck him as ironic, hilarious in a sense that might be found as morbid by some. He watched Newbury for a little while longer, before he turned towards Giles.

"You say, this man struck you and pushed you.., correct?" He asked, wiping a tear from his eye. He pointed to Smith. "Come here." And then with a cool gaze on the rest of the provosts added. ".....I believe you know what to expect... when comitting the very same crime yourselves." This was the answer to the one he had requested, the punishment for looting.

+

"...It.." Did. And it came from the direction that Pye had earlier gone to and left with a satisfied grin on his face. It wasn't because of a lass that had met him there either. "...is." He cursed inwardly. "Gabe." Lets go look? Lets not go? He couldn't decide which to say. He frowned. "If he's there we better.. go quick." And then he pleaded in his mind that Newbury wasn't with the provosts.

Why was the officer laughing? Newbury didn't understand. He stared into the darkness and wondered if this was going to be resolved in some way, any way, soon.

"I do, sir," Giles confirmed, feeling uneasy for the first time. "It was his own greenjacket I saw, before I went over. Just with that same rent in the sleeve, there." In his momentary fear of being revealed for a liar, he was grasping for anything that would help his story remain believable.

Smith, meanwhile, had stepped forward at the officer's direction. "Sir?"

Cotton stared at Pye for a moment, then turned back in the direction they'd been heading in. That sounded like someone laughing, and that just couldn't be good. There was a clearing in the trees and he stopped. No, that wasn't good. Newbury was there, all right, along with a bunch of angry-looking provosts and an officer. Uh-oh.