Barnes

Concealed in a lush hummock a quarter of a mile away from the railroad tracks waited a tall, narrow-hipped man wearing the same non-uniform as his men, including their characteristic tan riding-duster.  The brim of a flat-crowned, sweat-stained hat shaded his impassive face, darkened by years in the sun.  The hat also partially hid the patch bandage above his left ear.  From beneath a mature hackberry tree, he observed the situation unfolding before him from half-closed eyes, squinting against the glare in the direction of the approaching locomotive.  He was, according to the belles of Charleston, South Carolina where he grew up, and to those he had met since leaving there, a handsome man.  Broad shoulders and straightforward features accentuated the well-trimmed moustache and small beard surrounding his mouth and covering his chin.  Flecks of premature gray accentuated the hair on his head and on his face. However, his most notable features were the cryptic green eyes that lightened or darkened according to his mood.  To the ladies, and to friends, he had the thoughtful, honest look of a philosopher; his enemies saw the hard penetrating glare of a killer.  The truth was, Tim Barnes had been both in his short life.  Although he wore no brass or braid, nor any other mark of rank, Timothy John Barnes was, at the age of twenty-one, a major in the Confederate Army.