MacNeil kept his prisoners ahead of him as he showed them the way. He directed Red to a door in the middle of the hall and Tim to a room that faced the front as well as the side. “Make yourselves comfortable. Would you like some tea and a bit of bread to tide you over till suppertime?” “Don’t trouble, sir,” Tim said. “Sleep is what we need right now.” A fresh-lit fire crackled on the hearth. Tim spread his blanket on the floor, stripped off his clothes and hung them over the fire screen to dry. He drew a ladder-back chair close to the hearth and turned out the contents of his haversack and arranged the clothes on the chair. A pitcher and a tumbler stood on a table by the bed and a china basin steamed on a wooden stand. Tim reached for a sponge that hung with a towel at the side of the stand and washed and dried. He helped himself to a drink of water, raised a window a crack and slipped between the clean white sheets. One window of his room faced west and he judged by the angle of the sun that it must be past midafternoon. He lay for a moment, staring at the white ceiling overhead and wishing he could find pleasure in lying between sweet-smelling sheets, but the thought of going back to the damp, cheerless walls of the jail, the petty tyranny of the guards and the boredom, was enough to make him sick. He drifted into an uneasy sleep. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Tim woke to the sound of knocking on his door and the voice of MacNeil. “Will you join me at supper in twenty minutes?” “Thank you, sir.” The room was dark except for the flickering light on the hearth. Outside, the gaudy sky above the nearby hills was laced across with thin gray clouds. Tim struck a match and lit a lamp on the bedside table. He turned down the wick so that it wouldn’t smoke the glass. When he had finished dressing he looked into a mirror that hung near the lamp. His eyes were sunken and he had a light beard. He buttoned his blouse and straightened the tattered sleeves, smoothed the front. He sat on a chair to put on his boots. The boots were still damp. His stomach was painfully hollow but after a meal he would be fit as a fiddle. Tim puzzled about MacNeil. The man seemed moderate in his views. He had a fine sense of justice and it was plain he had a core of steel. Tim heard voices outside and realized he hadn’t lowered the window. He caught the sound of Kane’s voice. “It’s folly to keep them here. They should be shut in a shed with guards all around.” Tim heard the whine of a dog. MacNeil’s voice had an edge of impatience. “They shall have a meal and a good night’s sleep. They’ll have a spell of bread and water back in Richland Jail.” “If I had my way I’d break their spirits now.” “Good night, Kane.” Kane mumbled sourly. There was still enough light so that Tim could see the dark shapes of the man and his dogs as they moved into the gathering dusk.