“Not a thing,” answered Marcy, glancing at Charley Bowen, who stood among the prisoners, looking as innocent and unconcerned as a man could who had almost a hundred dollars in gold in his pocket. “And they gave my things a good overhauling, too.”
“What did you do with your scrip, anyway? Put it in your shoe?”
“I didn’t have any,” said Marcy. “If I had the corporal would have found it sure, for he turned everything inside out.”
Marcy elbowed his way to the nearest window to roll up his blanket and repack his valise, and after a while Bowen came up.
“If it hadn’t been for you they would have stolen me poor,” Marcy found an opportunity to whisper to him. “They are nothing but robbers.”
“What did I tell you?” replied Bowen. “Put your hand into my coat-pocket, and you will find it safe; but I warn you that you will lose it if you don’t watch out. There are some among the prisoners who would steal it in a minute if they got a good chance. What do you intend to do with it anyway?” he added, after Marcy had transferred the gold coins to his own pocket without attracting anybody’s attention. “The first time you try to spend any of it, someone will rob you.”
“It may come handy some day,” whispered Marcy. “Since you have showed yourself to be a true friend I don’t mind telling you that I don’t mean to serve under the rebel flag a day longer than I am obliged to.”
“Are you going to make a break?” said Bowen eagerly.
“I am, if I see the ghost of a show.”
“You’re a boy after my own heart, and if you want good company I will go with you.”