'He ought to be,' Boynton said.
Ward shrugged. 'Don't matter to me, but I got to listen to him moaning.'
Boynton looked toward Given's bunk. 'A man that don't know how to drink has got to expect that.' He turned abruptly. Their steps moved down the hall and the door slammed closed.
'No sympathy,' Ward said. He made another cigarette, and when he had lit it he walked over to Given's bunk. 'He'll come back in about two hours with our dinner. You'll still be in bed, and this time you'll be moaning like you got belly cramps. You got that?'
Staring up at him, Given nodded his head stiffly.
At a quarter to twelve Boynton came up again. This time he ordered Ward to lie down flat on his bunk. He unlocked the door then and remained in the hall as the day man came in with the dinner tray and placed it in the middle of the floor.
'He still sick?' Boynton stood in the doorway holding a sawed-off shotgun.
Ward turned his head on the mattress. 'Can't you hear him?'
'He'll get over it.'
'I think it's something else,' Ward said. 'I never saw whiskey hold on like that.'
'You a doctor?'
'As much a one as you are.'
Boynton looked toward the boy again. Given's eyes were closed and he was moaning faintly. 'Tell him to eat something,' Boynton said. 'Maybe then he'll feel better.'
'I'll do that,' Ward said. He was smiling as Boynton and his deputy moved off down the hall.
Lying on his back, his head turned on the mattress, Given watched Ward take a plate from the tray. It looked like stew.
'Can I have some?' Given said.
Chewing, Ward shook his head.
'Why not?'
Ward swallowed. 'You're too sick.'
'Can I ask you a question?'
'Go ahead.'
'How come I'm sick?'
'You haven't figured it?'
'No.'
'I'll give you a hint. We'll get our supper about six. Watch the two that bring it up.'
'I don't see what they'd have to do with me.'
'You don't have to see.'
Given was silent for some time. He said then, 'It's got to do with you busting out.'
Obie Ward grinned. 'You got a head on your shoulders.'
Boynton came up a half hour later. He stood in the hall and when his deputy brought out the tray, his eyes went from it to Pete Given's bunk. 'The boy didn't eat a bite,' Boynton observed.
Ward raised up on his elbow. 'Said he couldn't stand the smell of it.' He watched Boynton look toward the boy, then sank down on the bunk again as Boynton walked away. When the door down the hall closed, Ward said, 'Now he believes it.'
It was quiet in the cell after that. Ward rolled over to face the wall and Pete Given, lying on his back, remained motionless, though his eyes were open and he was studying the ceiling.
He tried to understand Obie Ward's plan. He tried to see how his being sick could have anything to do with Ward's breaking out. And he thought: He means what he says, doesn't he? You can be sure of that much. He's going to bust out and you got a part in it and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it. It's that simple, isn't it?
OBIE WARD WAS RIGHT. At what seemed close to six o'clock they heard the door open at the end of the hall and a moment later Stan Cass and Hanley Miller were standing in front of the cell. Hanley opened the door and stood holding a sawed-off shotgun as Cass came in with the tray.
Cass half turned to face Ward sitting on his bunk, then went down to one knee, lowering the tray to the floor, and he did not take his eyes from Ward. He rose then and turned as he heard groans from the other bunk.
'What's his trouble?'
Ward looked up. 'Didn't your boss tell you?'
'He told me,' Cass said, 'but I believe what I see.'
'Help yourself, then.'
Cass turned sharply. 'You shut your mouth till I want to hear from you!'
'Yes, sir,' Ward said. His dark face was expressionless.
Cass stared at him, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. 'You think you're somethin', don't you?'
Ward's head moved from side to side. 'Not me.'
'I'd like to see you pull somethin',' Cass said. His right hand opened and closed, moving closer to his hip. 'I'd just like to see you get off that bunk and pull somethin'.'
Ward shook his head. 'Somebody's been telling you stories.'
'I think they have,' Cass said. He hesitated, then walked out, slamming the door shut.
Ward called to him through the bars, 'What about the boy?'
'You take care of him,' Cass said, moving off. Hanley Miller followed, looking back over his shoulder.
Ward waited until the back door closed, then picked up a plate and began to eat and not until he was almost finished did he notice Given watching him.
'Did you see anything?'
Given came up on his elbow slowly. He looked at the tray on the floor, then at Ward. 'Like what?'
'Like the way that deputy acted.'
'He wanted you to try something.'
'What else?'
Given pictured Cass again in his mind. 'He was wearing a gun.' Suddenly he seemed to understand and he said, 'The marshal wasn't wearing any, but this one was!'
Ward grinned. 'And he knows you're sick. First his boss told him, then he saw it with his own eyes.' Ward put down the plate and he made a cigarette as he walked over to Given's bunk. 'I'll tell you something else,' he said, standing close to the bunk. 'I've been here seven days. For seven days I watch. I see the marshal. He knows what he's doing and he don't wear a gun when he comes in here. A man out in the hall with a scattergun's enough. Then this other one they call Cass. He walks like he can feel his gun on his hip. He's not used to it, but it feels good and he'd like an excuse to use it. He even wears it in here, though likely he's been told not to. What does that tell you? He's sure of himself, but he's not smart. He wants to see me try something--and he's sure he can get his gun out if I do. For seven days I see this and there's nothing I can do about it--until this morning.'
Given nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing.
'This morning I saw you,' Ward went on, 'and you looked sick. There it was.'
Given nodded again. 'I guess I see.'
'We let the marshal know about it. He tells Cass when he comes on duty. Cass comes up and sure enough, you're sick.'
'Yeah?'
'Then Cass comes up the next time--understand it'll be dark outside by then: he brings supper up at six, but he must go out to eat after that because he doesn't come back for the tray till almost eight--and he's not surprised to see you even sicker.'
'How does he see that?'
'You scream like your stomach's been pulled out and you roll off the bunk.'
'Then what?'
'Then you don't have to do anything else.'
Given's eyes held on Ward's face. He swallowed and said, as evenly as he could, 'Why should I help you escape?' He saw it coming and he tried to roll away, but it was too late and Ward's fist came down against his face
