Tim stood up and edged around to take the lead. He tried the next tie with his foot, and they moved on again, stepping as before, each time with an awkward little hop. They hadn’t gone five hundred feet when the trestle ended and the track reached firm ground again. They moved into another wood, jogged down a slope and jumped across a rushing stream. They traveled through the night, moving from lowland to higher ground and back to lowland again, crossing half-a-dozen trestles shorter than the first. They stopped just short of another wood and faced each other and realized that now there was light. Red swayed, his back to the rosy glow in the eastern sky. His face was haggard, his eyes were sunken. He blinked and shook his head and turned to look back. Tim grinned. “There’s one thing certain. No hound in heaven or hell could follow that route.” They left the track and struggled up a heavily wooded hill looking for a likely bivouac. “We’re still too near the track,” Tim said. Finally they saw an upturned oak. Its roots formed a sheltered niche shielded on one side by a little pine. They took off their haversacks and opened them. They saw at once that Devil had outdone himself. On top of Red’s pack was a folded poncho, thin and patched but good to sleep on, nevertheless. Red spread it out. “No wonder I’m tired,” he said. “I was carrying a heavier load than you.” Tim found a dozen hard-boiled eggs, a small flask of brandy and a good-sized canteen. “It seems I was carrying an extra load too.” Red flicked the canteen with his finger. It made a hollow sound. “This thing is empty. The poncho weighs more than the canteen, the brandy and the eggs combined,” he said. “Let’s eat an egg. I wonder if they’re stuffed with caviar.” Tim finished off his egg and together they studied the map. It showed the rail lines leading away from Columbia. The trestles weren’t shown, and the route of the previous night was marked as an innocent curve. Considering the quality of Kate’s work, the map she had copied must have been less than complete. At a town named Alston the railroad would fork, the northern branch ending at Spartanburg. “I hope we’re close to Alston now,” said Red, “but I doubt that we’ve covered twenty miles.” “I doubt it too.” They spread out their blankets. Red settled down and Tim put away the remaining eggs. “We owe Devil a vote of thanks.” “Unless we’re lucky, we can thank him in person.” CHAPTER FIFTEEN The sun shone through the trees. Tim was chilled to the bone. He wished he had an overcoat.