Logan breathed deeply. For the first time since the action on the deer trail began, he tried to relax. Instead, his hands began to shake and he broke out in a cold sweat. His mind zoomed through the action, the shots fired, the yells of the Rebels, the splashing of blood and the death of the enemy. He wrapped his arms around his chest tightly. Finally his teeth stopped chattering but he couldn’t control his stomach. Leaning into the holly, he vomited.

He sat up and wiped the drool on his sleeve. Looking at his mens' positions he saw they were still staring at the road. He was sure Luke was close enough to hear his retching and felt a flush in his cheeks.

Sarah was wrong, he thought. I hate killing. The rush of survival had triggered his actions, not his desire to kill. “Please forgive me God,” he mumbled, “in Jesus' name.”

An hour later he focused his scope on the road and saw a column of eight men, four on each side of the road, approaching the bridge. The Union soldiers were clear of the bridge and the Militia had the breastwork piled across the road. Tate’s men were sitting or lying behind the works and had not yet seen the skirmishers.

Taking a small pebble, Logan tossed it down at Warner. It landed near him and he looked back. Logan rose up just enough to point up the road. Warner nodded and threw a fair-sized rock down at Meade. It worked and Meade aimed his rifle through the low branches of the scrub pine. Looking back at the trail, Logan tried to spot the Indian. After a bit he saw his face behind a pine branch. Ross nodded and held up his carbine.

Down on the road, Logan saw that the Rebs had stopped about a hundred paces short of the bridge to talk. One man moved off to the right and one to the left and began to advance. The remaining six men were strung out across the road facing the bridge. The two flankers came within fifty paces of the works.

A lone musket shot came from behind the breastworks.

The main group of Rebs went to ground. The flankers fired into the works and Logan watched one man fall. He heard Tate yell FIRE. Several shots exploded, kicking up dust on the road.

A volley of shots came from the Rebs and at least two men behind the breastworks toppled over. Tate ordered a withdrawal. His men started to run back toward Deer Creek carrying and dragging their wounded comrades. A loud Rebel yell sang out as the Rebs charged toward the works.

Logan sighted in on the man in the middle of the road and pulled the trigger. He heard his men on the hillside fire. What had looked like a Rebel victory became a sudden mass of confusion as the Rebs dove into the roadside ditches.

Two prostrate forms lay in the road. Only the flankers returned fire.. Tate was making good time. And not to Logan's surprise, Meade scrambled up the hillside seemingly unhampered by his leg wound.

Warner fired at the flanker near the creek and scrambled behind Meade. Logan had the same man in his telescopic sights. As he raised up from behind a rock Logan pulled the trigger. The man flew backward into the weeds.

As Logan's men scrambled past him, Ross fired his carbine. Logan sent another shot toward the flanker on the far side of the road.

Back on the trail, Logan stopped to survey the scene. With the exception of the two Rebel bodies, no one was near the bridge. The militia were out of sight and the Rebels were dragging their wounded back toward York and out of range.

This is war, he thought. Hours of marching, hiding, quiet waiting then, in just two minutes time, men were killed and wounded. Then everything grew quiet again.

Satan is laughing and clapping his hands and in Heaven tears are being shed for sinful man.. It is horrible.

“Lord help us,” he said. Mounting his horse, he led his squad back to Deer Creek.