The men dodged into an alley between two of the houses and found their path blocked by a shaft of lamplight coming from the first-floor window of the house on their right. The light marked a yellow rectangle on the clapboard wall of the other house. Tim was about to duck the window and move into the garden at the back when a dog started barking behind the house. They waited quietly against the wall until the barking stopped, then retraced their steps. The street was still deserted, so they walked north at a moderate pace, turning to the left at the end of the block, rounding the corner of a darkened house and heading for the railroad track. The dog started barking again, and their impatience got the better of them. They ran along the side street, scrambled across the track and down the embankment and headed north. The track passed through a thinly settled part of town, and as they moved Tim felt a sudden exhilaration. Now it seemed unlikely that they would be seen before they had gained the shelter of the woods. The stars gleamed bright between moving clouds. Now the embankment had disappeared and the ties lay on the ground, not sunken as they sometimes were. The men walked beside the rails, through a grove of trees, and--without the slightest warning--came on a tumble-down shack. A good-sized dog was chained to a tree close by the shack and he barked and growled as if the devil was clawing at his throat. [Illustration: South Carolina Railroads, 1863] Tim and Red moved right along, but the door of the shack swung wide and a man stood, big and silent, silhouetted in the light. Tim stopped and raised his hand. “Good evening,” he said. “Sorry to pass so close.” The man didn’t answer and Tim turned to go. A voice boomed out above the snarling of the dog. “Come here, Yankees.” They turned and faced the door. Tim hesitated, then moved toward the light. The fellow was a Negro. His skin was dark as ebony. He looked as if he could break a man in two with a flick of his wrist. He half turned toward the menacing dog. “Hush,” he rasped. Then he cocked his head. “I see I was right.” Tim looked straight at the man but didn’t speak. Now the colored man rumbled, “I should turn you back. But I don’t care a damn for this War.” He lowered his head like an angry bull. “I don’t trust any man, white or black. Get out.” Tim started to speak, but the big man moved his hand through the air in front of his eyes as if he were pushing aside a rock. He raised his voice. “Get out!” As they moved away Tim shivered. His spirits sank. The encounter had seemed an ill omen. Off to the left the river glistened in the starlight. As they walked beside the track they crossed a highway at the edge of town and finally gained the shelter of the woods.