The old man jumped to the platform and strode down the line until he saw the derelict prisoners with their pots and pans and furniture. Some of them were leaning against the wall and others were lying on the platform in the sun. He bellowed again and the derelicts stared like sick rats at a ravening dog. Slowly they got to their feet. “Proud Yankee bucks,” the old man sneered.
The emaciated prisoners reached for the poles that held their belongings.
“What the hell is this?” the old man screamed, frightening one of his charges so that he dropped the end of a pole, letting his belongings clatter to the stones. “You can’t take your junk on the train.”
The men stood silent and timid in the sun. In a treacly voice that could barely be heard the old man said, “Just leave your stuff here and bring up the rear.”
“Filthy, bullying pig,” Tim said between his teeth.
Then his anger waned and he turned to Red. “I thought I’d never see you alive again.”
Red kept his voice low as the old man passed close to them. “A Confederate captain told us you were still alive.”
Red moved closer to Tim. “Captain Kautz has a plan of escape,” he whispered. “It was just to be the two of us. I imagine you’ll want to be coming too.”
Tim raised his brows. “That’s why you marched in here happy as a raw recruit.”
The old man stood on the platform, his pistol in his hand. “No talking in the ranks,” he ordered. “Move forward and be counted in.”