The Scotsman set fresh logs on the fire, sat down and pressed the tips of his fingers together. He spoke without a sign of hesitation. “Of course I know well what’s in your minds. I can’t lift a finger to send you on your way. If the guards are alert they can hear the slightest sound through the bedroom doors. But suppose for a moment that you reach the ground. Kane defers to me because he has no choice, but there’s nothing to stop him from setting up a guard along the road and I suspect he may have done just that. Such men will shoot to kill. Kane has a pack of ugly hounds. Even if you had a decent start, the alarm would soon be raised. Kane would like a chase like that. I’d give you very little chance.” MacNeil tapped the butt of his pistol, then put his fingers together again and spoke above the crackling of the fire. “Suppose you cleared the county and the state?” Tim had the strong impression that MacNeil was speaking exactly as he would to his own sons. “You have no overcoats, no food to speak of.” He massaged his temples with the thumb and fingers of his right hand. “And the last I heard, Knoxville was under siege.” Red pulled at his beard. “You’ve done as much as you possibly could to make us feel at home. You’ve restored our spirit.” The Scotsman looked at Red with a trace of fun on his handsome face. Then he grew serious again. “I hope I have no reason to regret the restoration of your spirit.” He stood abruptly. “I retire early. I’m afraid you gentlemen must do the same.” Two guards stood together by a lamp that hung on the wall at the back of the hall. They nodded their heads when they saw MacNeil. MacNeil said, “Lieutenant Bradford, I hope you’ll forgive me. I forgot to get your diary and photographs from Kane.” “That’s all right,” Tim said. “It was quite an exciting afternoon.” “I’ll see that you get them in the morning.” There was a stir at the back of the hall and one of the guards said, “Ho, Mr. MacNeil, here’s your grandson prowling about.” “Go to bed, Michael,” MacNeil said. “You promised I could see the Yanks before I went to bed.” “So I did.” Red said, “Good evening, lad.” The boy stood in the lamplight, his nightgown nearly reaching the floor. His face was tough for a boy so young. “You look better now,” he said. “You frightened me most to death outside.” Tim smiled. The boy said, “You’re most as good-lookin’ as people down here.” He lowered his eyes and frowned again. “Do you have any news of my father? Lieutenant Curtis is his name. A friend saw him wounded at the battle of Malvern Hill.” Tim looked down at the boy’s unruly hair and questioning eyes. He spoke softly. “This is a mighty big war, lad. We didn’t fight at Malvern Hill.” MacNeil spoke up. “Now off to bed, Michael. Sorry I forgot to keep my promise.” The boy looked up, speaking man to man. “I know you’re busy with the Yankees and such.” CHAPTER EIGHTEEN