The judge's town car tears along the dirt road, bumping to a halt in the middle of a muddy field. Pine trees rustle in the bluffs. A snowy egret glides along a pond.
Pine trees rustle in the bluffs.
A snowy egret glides along a pond. But the judge's mind is racing back 136 years, to a time when the crackle of musket-fire flew across the meadow and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. A time when the ponderous Red River meandered through this spot, and gunboats struggled to navigate its shallow waters. Wahlder's eyes twinkle. Over the years, the river changed course around the wrecks and it now flows 150 feet to the west.