“Are you armed?”
“Not even a knife,” Tim said.
The big man spoke. “I’ll search them.” He dismounted, and leaving his rifle with the older man, moved forward with caution. “Step out from behind those weeds.”
They held their hands in the air, and the giant ordered, “Take off your haversacks and blanket rolls.” He watched them closely. “Throw them behind me on the ground.”
The soldiers did as they were told and the man slapped their pockets with the flats of his hamlike hands. Tim heard the crinkle of the map but their captor took no interest in this. He felt the diary and the book of photographs. “Unbutton your blouse.”
“That’s my diary and home photographs.”
The man’s expression didn’t change. He fumbled for the things but couldn’t find the top of the pocket and finally he said, “Bring them out yourself, but mind, if you try any funny stuff Mr. MacNeil will shoot you down.”
Tim brought out the album and the diary and held them in the palm of his hand. The man reached roughly for the leather-bound books and slipped them into his overcoat pocket.
Red lowered his hands but he held them away from his sides. “Those things are personal property.”
The big man flushed. “You dirty Yankee muck. You’d better raise your hands.”