For the hundredth time Tim slapped the pocket where he kept Kate’s map, and heard the reassuring crinkle. At the end of the corridor Peter Mills stood close to Dawson. When Addison saw the buckets he ordered the men to halt. “You can’t do your washing now,” he said. Red said, “The stuff’s dirty. We want it to soak.” “Soak it up here.” Tim broke in. “Captain Senn gave us permission to take it to the yard.” “Well, bring it along,” Addison mumbled. Devil lounged in the Navy kitchen door, picking his teeth with a splinter of wood. Allen and Red set the buckets by the door. As they started their walk Tim studied the guards. Except for the tall young private, they certainly were a sorry lot. Mills and Dawson stood with a knot of men watching a game of dice the prisoners had started near the cookhouse wall. It seemed to Tim that familiar things weren’t familiar any more. The barred windows in the jailhouse wall, the lamp, the sentries with their guns and glistening bayonets, the color of the earth, the skeletal branches of the spindly trees that rose above the cookhouse roof, seemed like things in a distant dream. At last Devil stopped them with a wave of the hand. “Stop your walking now,” he said, “and watch the game.” One of the players took out his watch, looked at it and put it away again. He spat on the dice and threw them once more, then gathered them up. “Well, that’s it,” he said in mock disgust. Red lowered himself to the doorsill and swung into the Navy kitchen. Allen handed the buckets to Devil, who handed them to Bell with a bow and flourish. A guard shouted, “Break up that game.” Allen started a good-natured scuffle with Frazer, who was stupidly facing the kitchen door. Tim dropped behind the screen of men and scrambled into the kitchen, cracking his shin against the sill. Red was already out of sight. Tim lost no time in rounding the boiler and kneeling with Red behind a stack of wood which was topped by towels and rags that hung from the line. Devil had built up the woodpile high and solid so that the men would have a place to hide. Tim tried to look out between the towels but Bell had hung them so that they overlapped. Bell’s hand came around the boiler, and one blanket and then another tumbled over Tim’s head. He drew them away, smiling in spite of himself, and shoved one toward Red. Bell whispered, “Bull Head’s in the courtyard now.” Tim thought about the dummies. He hoped that Addison’s eyes were as dull as they looked. Now Devil’s voice came deep and quiet. “Don’t worry. Bull Head’s gone inside again. You have nothing to fear from that thickheaded lout.” Bell said, “The wagon came at half past three. Aunty left some things for you. We put them in the packs.” At four thirty Addison sounded off again. “Time to go back inside.”