Devil was sitting on a barrel and Bell squatted on an empty wooden box. Bell doused his empty plate in a pail of water and put it on the table. He held his hands over his knees and cracked his knuckles. “Are you more anxious than the rest?”
“Some others are anxious, too, of course.”
Bell got up from the box. He reached into a corner and brought out a copy of a Charleston paper only two weeks old.
“Aunty brought me this a few days ago.”
He unfolded the paper and pointed to a column that was headlined Present Position of Union Troops. “Sherman’s in Memphis now, and Burnside’s been in Knoxville since early September.”
Tim said, “Knoxville’s closer by some three hundred miles. But granting that we’d have a chance to get to Burnside’s lines, how will we get away from here?”
Devil stood up and walked to the door. When he was satisfied that none of the guards was near he crossed the little room and pulled aside a couple of ragged towels that hung across a corner on a piece of string. A big rusty boiler was there. “Look here,” he said, pointing at the wall behind the boiler.
There was a small, sashless window halfway up the wall. “That leads to the woodshed, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” said Devil, “and the fence at the back of the woodshed happens to be in sorry shape. If a man could find a time to do a little work he could loosen a board in the fence.”
Bell was keeping watch in the doorway. He turned around to speak to Tim. “The boards of the fence are wide, and the nails were hammered in from outside.”