Dawson collapsed, his body shaken by shuddering, racking sobs. Mills eased him to the floor, and Frazer struck out with his hand and tore off one of Dawson’s shoulder straps with its Captain’s bars outlined in threadbare, greenish gold. “You’re not fit to carry a private’s slop,” he said.
Dawson grasped at his shoulder as if he’d been stabbed.
Tim said, “All right now, Frazer. Let me talk to him.”
Tim looked into Dawson’s eyes. “If you give me your word you won’t tell anyone about our plan, now or any other time, I promise not to leave this jail till every prisoner has sworn that you’ll come to no harm.”
Dawson said thinly, “Why should I strike a bargain with you?”
“I’m not bargaining,” Tim said evenly. “I’m giving you a chance to save your skin.”
Dawson lowered his eyes. His lower lip quivered and he looked up at Tim, then down again. “You have my word.”
Mills and Tim got to their feet and left the room. The others followed, leaving Dawson alone on the floor. Halfway down the corridor Mills turned to Tim. “I better watch Dawson from now until tomorrow morning.”
The other men crowded around, and Frazer said, “I’ll watch him too.”
“One man is enough,” Mills said. “I’ll go back and talk to him.”