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“What?” His answer came out like a thrown fist.
Eyes thinning, the man spit his answer. “It seems there’s an informant about.”
Joseph’s ears went hot. “You are looking in the wrong place, checking him.” He nudged his chin toward Anvil. “Neither of us is culpable. I am working under the command of Major Stockton. You may ask him yourself.”
Without a second look, the man began leading Anvil away as if Joseph had said nothing. Crimson clouded his vision. He grabbed the soldier by the arm. “Do not think of it.”
Turning, the man’s face cramped. “Let go.”
Joseph shoved the soldier back, rage locking into his muscles’ memory—how it felt to know that he was about to fight and that he would win. A bolt of strength shot down his back. He firmed his fists and widened his stance. “You will not take my horse without a fight.”
Righting his posture, the soldier hunched, mouth sneering to one side. “You will regret this.”
“Private Abrams!”
The two soldiers turned at the shout, but Joseph remained, fists ready, muscles taut, not willing to take his pointed vision off the enemy.
“Captain Higley, sir.”
Higley?
At this, Joseph allowed a brief look, but his tension only increased, teetering on the edge of explosion. He’d fought three men many times before, but…Hannah’s face flashed in his vision like a pleading apparition.
If he were taken, she would be alone.
Easing his curled fingers, Joseph brought himself to his full height, the incoming fire of demands and explanations seconds from impact.
“What’s going on here?” Higley’s impressive frame made the two privates look laughably small.
The tall one answered first. “I have just been assaulted by this man.” His arm stretched out in full, long finger pointing.
Higley offered a cursory glance toward Joseph before marking the other two in his sights. “It appears to me you are taking a man’s property.”
“Property?” The second soldier finally spoke. “You know Major Pitman’s orders.”
Higley’s expression was unchanged, but for his eyes that narrowed. “Nowhere is it stated we are to take anything.” He threw a look to Joseph. “I can vouch for this man. He is working with us.”
Again the spindly soldier stepped forward, his voice sounding more like a whining child. “You will let him get away with what he did—”
“On your way, Private Abrams. You too, Cotton.” The gruff command made both men straighten. “I shall see you at camp.”
Striking Joseph with a last hard look, the men huffed off, leaving Joseph and Higley alone.
Reaching for the dangling reins, Joseph nodded to Higley and tugged Anvil back to the post, grappling for a reason why the man would have come to his aid.
Once again tying Anvil secure, he spoke, blaming his frank remark on his spiked pulse. “An informant, hmm? Good luck catching him.”
Whatever reaction Joseph expected, the slight chuckle and quick smile Higley offered wasn’t it. “What are you doing in town? I thought you were to be at the foundry?”
His words were so genial and familiar, Joseph found himself strangely comfortable. He eased his stance. “I needed a few other supplies.” He paused. Something about Higley’s expression prodded him to expose the rest of his needs without a second thought. “Problem is, the work is difficult with only three men.”
“You need another?”
Joseph gave a slight nod to the side. “With more we could work faster, but it seems there’s only the three of us that know the workings of a forge. Making gun barrels is simple enough, but it takes a few men to—”
“Perhaps I could lend assistance.”
“You?”
