Red was still asleep as Tim got up. He pulled off his boots and shook out his socks, then put his socks and boots back on again. He walked to a well near the corner of the lot. A guard standing nearby nodded to him, and Tim pumped some water and doused his head. “Is the water good for drinking?” he asked. “I reckon so.” Tim cupped his left hand and pumped and drank the clear, cool water. When he straightened up he saw the Confederate lieutenant walking toward him. “Good morning,” the man said. “The rations will be along shortly.” Tim smiled. “That’s good.” “My name is Davis,” the lieutenant said suddenly. “My home’s in Georgia. How about you?” Tim smiled again. “Bradford,” he said. “I’m from Connecticut.” The lieutenant raised his hand in a kind of salute and moved off, walking easily among the prisoners, talking to Dawson first and then to some of the other men. A wagon rattled into the lot, driven by a big young Negro boy perched high on the wooden seat, smiling proudly and nodding to the Confederate lieutenant. Some of the early risers helped build a fire. They heated water for coffee, and the colored boy passed out rations to the men who were awake. The other prisoners opened their eyes, stretched and shambled over to stand in line. Red was one of the last to stir. When he saw Tim sitting near him with a corncake in his hand he sat up straight. “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked accusingly. “There’s plenty of food, and I figured you needed your beauty sleep.” “And so I did.” When they had finished breakfast and settled themselves with tin cups filled with steaming bitter coffee Red leaned forward. “You and I are going to get away,” he said. “From this point forward we’ll bend ourselves to that one end.” “This country is good,” Tim said. “I should think a man could live off the land.” “We can’t depend on doing that. The more supplies we can take, the better off we’ll be.” Red laughed. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” “By tonight we’ll probably be in that jail,” Tim said, waving toward the gray roof that stood above the trees “We’ll have to make our break from there.” Red looked along the tracks. “It would help if I could swim,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “We’ll ask the guards to give you lessons in the river yonder.” “And then in three or four months, when I’m good and ready, we can beg their leave,” Red said with a grin. * * * * * About midmorning a man, who must be Captain Senn, and a fat, dull-eyed corporal walked with Lieutenant Davis to the middle of the lot. Senn was a humorless man who wore his immaculate uniform awkwardly. He sported a blue forage cap and white gloves tucked into the crimson-edged belt that was looped around his slightly oversized blouse. He carried no pistol, but a long sword bumped against his side. His stiffness contrasted with the easy manner of Lieutenant Davis.