A hard-faced woman rose from her chair. “I never thought to hear such talk. I think I’ll be moving along.”
A heavy knock came at the door and Kane was let in, followed by three men, one of them with a bad limp, unmistakably Kane’s son. MacNeil greeted the men and in the silence that followed Tim heard the yelping and scratching of hounds.
Kane stood, his head nearly touching one of the heavy beams, the firelight making his face an ugly mask. He spoke in his rasping drawl. “In the presence of your neighbors, Mr. MacNeil, I want to say it one more time. These men should be treated as prisoners.”
“Prisoners of war, not criminals, Mr. Kane.”
Kane mumbled “Good night” and moved toward the door with his son and friends trailing behind. They were followed shortly by the hard-faced woman and one of the men who must be her husband.
The doctor, speaking for the people who remained, said, “I bid you gentlemen good night.” He smiled sadly. “This village was a happy place before the War. I wish you could have known us then.”
When his neighbors had left, MacNeil gave orders to the guard. “Station yourself in the upstairs hall. I’ll show the prisoners to their rooms a little later on. The night is cold. There’ll be no need of guards outside. Two can sleep while two stand watch outside the bedroom doors. You can set the shifts as suits you best.”
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.”