Caught Running

         They brought the man in, tied to a horse.  He no longer struggled in his bindings or made futile attempts at yelling through the ball of rags stuffed in his mouth. 

         “Caught him in the brush, sir.  He was a runnin’ down a game trail.  Goddamn deserter!”  The captain spat a wad of tobacco juice onto the prisoner's battered face.  “We roughed him up a little.”

         "Take him over there.”  The general pointed toward a large sycamore.  A group of soldiers were working with a length of heavy rope, wrapping it around a sturdy branch and tying a noose on the hanging end.  The captain pulled the deserter from the horse and dragged him toward the tree.

         “Get my chair from the tent.  Bring it for the prisoner.”  The general barked, and a private who had been tending fire ran to attend to the command.

         At the tree, the general placed his chair beneath the noose.  A hood sewn from the remnants of a confederate flag was slipped over the prisoner’s face, and three soldiers hoisted him, still bound, into the chair.  He stood motionless as the captain placed the noose around his neck.

         The gathering became silent.  The soldiers all moved slowly back to stand behind the general, except for the captain who stood at the ready beside the chair.  The wind gusted and a loose section of flag flapped around the deserter’s head.  In the distance, the sound of cannon fire.  The wind died down, and the sound of the prisoner’s heavy, ragged breathing could be heard.  One of the soldiers quietly intoned a prayer.

         The general nodded, and the captain kicked the chair from beneath the deserter’s legs.





                      

word count - 283