They talked for a while, looking into the fire, and when the flames had died they put the corn in the embers.
When the corn was roasted Red kicked aside the embers and picked out the ears. They shucked them, working fast so as not to be burned. The kernels were orange gold and charred in places. Red said, “What a feast.”
“Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll find some more along the way. There was nothing like this in jail.”
Red held his watch to the glow of the fire. “It’s quarter to eleven. Let’s push on.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They spent their fourth morning in shelter from the rain. They had circled farms, forded dozens of streams. More than once they had ducked off country roads to avoid teams of oxen and country wagons, but as far as they knew they hadn’t been seen.
The rain had started an hour ago. Now it was coming down in torrents, swelling the streams and turning the rivers to turbid floods.
They had found a sheltered place at the edge of a deep ravine. They had bent four closely grouped saplings, tying the top of each to the base of another and covering them with the poncho Devil had given them. They had made a mush of rokeeg and water and eaten the stuff. It was tasteless now.
They had stretched their blankets on logs laid side by side, and Red was so tired that he slept like a baby on this bed that was something akin to a corduroy road.
The rain beat against the poncho and dripped through leaks, soaking Tim’s blanket and wetting his clothes.