This last body interred without fanfare, Lieutenant Anders sinking into the frigid water of the pond quietly and, hopefully, peacefully.

Robert left the sledge and walked the short distance to the stockade, where the embers of a fire still smoked. He fed tinder and wood to the fire pit until a good fire was burning, its light defying the gathering gloom.

It was a foolish gesture, but Robert ensured all his weapons were in working order and loaded; three pistols and a rifle, not that they could hurt the Robber King.

Standing next to the fire, he clasped his hands and bowed his head; it was time to make his peace with God.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Father,” Robert looked into the fire. “I have followed your path to this place and have only a few more paces to go before I meet your judgment. I was not a saint, nor was I a bad man, but I ask for your forgiveness and a single boon. Allow me in this life or the next to take my men home. Away from this cursed place and home to you, Amen.”

Taking off the extra layers of clothes, Robert presented himself as a Confederate Officer resplendent in his uniform with pistols tucked into the pockets of his coat and rifle slung over his shoulder.

He took one last look at the fire, his eyes turning hard and merciless, his expression firm with resolve, then he walked away, his form quickly lost in the twilight under the trees that were buffeted by the growing wind.

Hours passed. Eventually, the fire died to the icy wind as northern lights blazed overhead.

The last Rebel on Coal Island was gone.