Now in the silence Tim could hear the settling of the stove as it cooled. Red shifted his weight and the floor creaked. There was no sound from the courtyard.
Tim’s knees began to hurt where they pressed against the wooden floor. He twisted his shoulders to relieve the numbness in his arms. He felt for his haversack and ran his fingers over its bulging sides. He turned to Red and whispered softly, “I hope the packs will go through the window.”
Red whispered back, “I just hope we’ll fit through.”
Then, like a pistol cocking and firing, the jailhouse door opened and slammed. Footsteps crossed the yard, and Senn spoke to one of the guards. “Let me out the wagon gate and mind you fasten it well behind.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Senn had gone one of the guards said, “The old boy’s a worrier, sure enough.”
During the past few days Tim and Red had observed from their cell as the guards stood evening watch. When Addison and Senn had left, the guards usually stood together and talked by the wagon gate, or sometimes—if they thought they weren’t being watched—they played a game of cards.
Now that Senn had gone the guards would probably be slack in performing their duties. But if they stayed close by, it would be much worse than if they paced the yard. Tim wondered if the chance to escape might not be lost. If only they had been able to get through the window while Devil was kicking up noise.
Now one of the guards was walking around the yard. He stopped not far from the cookshack and talked to the other, who must be near the woodshed door. “Does that fatheaded corporal watch the yard?”
“He sleeps between the change of guard.”