Maybe Forester was right. Maybe Will was a born cattleman.
But then the gates came into view—along with two bluebellies stationed there and what looked like a whole platoon of them camped around Will’s home.
The sight gave him a jolt, and his first urge was to open fire.
Instead, he turned to Rufus. “Help the other men lead these cattle to pasture. I have to go check on my family.”
“All right, Will,” Rufus said. “But are you sure you don’t want me to ride with you?”
“I appreciate it, Rufus, but no. Go take care of the herd.”
“All right.”
“And Rufus?”
“Yeah?”
“If shooting starts, get out of here. Tell the other men to ride, too.”
Rufus shook his head. “We’ll stand with you if it comes to fighting, Will.”
“There’s too many of them to fight. If shooting starts, run.” Without waiting for a reply from his friend, Will broke away and rode toward the bluebellies.
The guards stepped forward, rifles at the ready.
Further back, closer to the house, men rose from where they’d been lounging and retrieved their rifles as well.
The guards halted Will and demanded to know his name and business.
“My name’s Will Bentley. Where’s my family?”
“It’s him,” the younger of the pair said in an alarmed voice. He lifted his rifle. “It’s Will Bentley.”
The other, older man wore corporal’s stripes. “Lower your rifle, Stallworth. Mr. Bentley, I would ask that you peacefully surrender your arms and come with us, please.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“You are being detained. For questioning.”
“Why?” Will asked. But he knew. Sully had sicced them on him. Or maybe Pew.
Everything in him wanted to fight, but he surrendered his weapons and followed the men toward his home past other soldiers, who spread out, rifles in hand, watching him warily.
Reaching the house, Will dismounted.
A private stepped forward. “I’ll take your horse for you.”
“No, you won’t,” Will said, hitching Clyde to the post. “Nobody touches my horse.”
“We’ll do more than touch your horse,” Johnny Reb, a burly, tough-looking sergeant said, stepping forward. “We’ll take him. And your cattle, too. And we’ll sell this ranch.”
“On what grounds?”
“On grounds of you wore the gray,” the hulking sergeant said and poked Will in the chest with a thick forefinger. The sergeant was obviously enjoying himself and showing off for the other men, whom he outranked. If this guy was in charge here, Will was in big trouble. “You fought against the Union. So you forfeited your right to property.”
“Only thing I own is the clothes on my back,” Will said.
“Lie all you want, Johnny Reb,” the sergeant said, trying to goad him into a fight. “We’re taking your ranch and your cattle and everything else you got, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
