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Lou had set up the farrier station. Sergeant Maddox was asleep under the wagon. Thinking to clean up, she grabbed her kit and went towards a creek she'd noticed when they drove into the tree line. The troopers were spread out to the west in groups of twenty or so doing a search of the area for running Yankees. Some of Stoneman's boys had taken flight and the Tennessee boys smelled equipment and Union rations. The pursuit was on. Lou had heard some faint gun shot reports from time to time, maybe a half mile off, as she built the campfire. Not really concerned, she had nevertheless put her pistol in her belt. She had checked and it was loaded. She'd done the target practice as ordered many times and had gotten adequate in the skill, but she didn't like it.
Just as she approached the sound of running water, she heard the canter of hooves behind her. Quickly turning towards the source of activity, she caught sight of Alex about thirty yards behind her.
"Hey, trooper," she cheerfully greeted the bugler. His calling horn bounced on his thigh as his mount briskly moved closer to her.
"Farrier 'Boy', I'm fine and dandy and how are you this fine day? Lordy, lordy, we whipped 'em every way and a couple of new ones!" Alex was full of residual excitement from the disaster Wheeler's cavalry had brought down on Sherman's horse soldiers. "We got Stoneman, Lou! And supplies, yes some fine vittles." He sat on his horse a few feet from Lou. Reaching behind himself, pulling up his saddlebag flap, he jerked out a greasy, formerly white, cotton bag. "Salt Pork, Lou. It ain't ham. Reckon old Long Charlie would quit his complaining if he got hold of a big helping of this?" Holding the ten pound bag out towards Lou he laughed and answered his own question, "Spect so!"
As he leaned forward, swinging his trophy, Lou caught a flash. Startled, she focused on the sparkle. Alex was too much into his prideful celebration of a big supper to notice the activity behind him and his mount. As the spectre took form in Lou's mind, she froze for a second then grabbed her Navy Colt revolver. In what seemed an instant of movement - a methodical flow - she cocked the big gun, took six steps away and to the side of her confused brother, aimed and fired. The charging rider's chest exploded in scarlet, his head stretching toward the sky, then falling back, his saber tumbling from his limp hand. The attacker seemed to bounce as he hit the ground and was hidden in the foot tall grass. She aimed again, sighting the second rider coming up just behind the fallen one. His carbine was bouncing as he tried to aim at Alex and her. The pistol roared again.