Finally they saw an upturned oak. Its roots formed a sheltered niche shielded on one side by a little pine. They took off their haversacks and opened them. They saw at once that Devil had outdone himself. On top of Red’s pack was a folded poncho, thin and patched but good to sleep on, nevertheless. Red spread it out. “No wonder I’m tired,” he said. “I was carrying a heavier load than you.”
Tim found a dozen hard-boiled eggs, a small flask of brandy and a good-sized canteen. “It seems I was carrying an extra load too.”
Red flicked the canteen with his finger. It made a hollow sound. “This thing is empty. The poncho weighs more than the canteen, the brandy and the eggs combined,” he said. “Let’s eat an egg. I wonder if they’re stuffed with caviar.”
Tim finished off his egg and together they studied the map. It showed the rail lines leading away from Columbia. The trestles weren’t shown, and the route of the previous night was marked as an innocent curve. Considering the quality of Kate’s work, the map she had copied must have been less than complete.
At a town named Alston the railroad would fork, the northern branch ending at Spartanburg.
“I hope we’re close to Alston now,” said Red, “but I doubt that we’ve covered twenty miles.”
“I doubt it too.”
They spread out their blankets.
Red settled down and Tim put away the remaining eggs. “We owe Devil a vote of thanks.”
“Unless we’re lucky, we can thank him in person.”