As the train moved forward it seemed to Tim that the heat in the car had already risen ten degrees. He leaned toward Red. “Do you think Kautz got away?”
“Sure he did. The water was high,” Red said, “and you’d be with him if it wasn’t for me.”
“We’ll have our chance,” Tim said.
As the train moved through the night the air in the car became unbearable. The middle-aged guard stumbled forward and slid the door half open. “We have to get some air,” he said, “but you all stay clear of the door.”
Tim breathed more easily now. The sky was soft and deep, and the stars touched the crests of the rolling hills with a faint, unearthly light. Tall pines were etched against the blue, and occasionally the light of a lamp marked a beckoning square in the dark outline of a house.
The train moved through the night, its headlamp sending a feeble light along the rails, its firebox glowing orange, the smoke from the engine streaming behind.
In the caboose the old captain laid his pistol on the table and fanned out his playing cards. He frowned at the scar-faced sergeant who sat across from him.
In the other cars the prisoners slept and the guards struggled to stay awake.
When Tim woke, the train had stopped but he could hear the engine’s slow, metallic puffing sounds and the guards talking outside the cars. He couldn’t remember where he was and in a sudden panic he reached out in the dark and put his hand on someone’s arm.