Free Black Ransom by Stone Wallace Page A

much their sole recreation. You’ll see a lot of guns ’round here, Burrows. When you work, when you eat. Even during break period. Chances are within a coupla weeks you’ll even be seein’ guns in your dreams.”
    Ehron Lee listened but did not acknowledge. He doubted he’d be allowed to speak in any case, unless he was asked a direct question. He hoped he wouldn’t be. He didn’t think he’d be able to offer much of a reply beyond a rasp; his mouth was dry and his throat was parched.
    Flanked by two uniformed guards, Ehron Lee followed Superintendent Watson as he started across the sandy grounds. Watson continued speaking while they walked, though they were not words Ehron Lee particularly cared to hear.
    â€œWasn’t sure at first where we’d put you, Burrows. Sometimes we get so crowded here we’ve had to fit four to a cell. But some room was made for you yesterday; three men tried to break out. Two were killed. The third . . . well, let’s just say you won’t be meetin’ him right away. So you’ll be bunkin’ with just one other for the time being. ’Round here that’s considered a luxury.”
    Superintendent Watson took another sweeping look around the compound. He wore a satisfied expression as he surveyed his “kingdom.”
    â€œUnderstand you were a soldier,” he said crisply. “Lieutenant in the Union army. Impressive, but holds no merit here. The only uniform we recognize here is the one you’ll be issued and won’t have no fancy hardware pinned to it. You must know something ’bout discipline, though. Well, that’s fine because it won’t take long for you to discover that discipline and obedience are two qualities we insist upon here.”
    Ehron Lee noted the strange yet telling smile offered him by the superintendent.
    â€œMr. Brady, you’ll take charge of the prisoner,” Watson then said, turning to one of his men, who was chewing aggressively on a wad of tobacco. He was a barrel-chested man with sparse, close-cropped hair. The white glare of the sun reflected noticeably off his pink scalp.
    The man named Brady expectorated a brown stream of juice, half saluted, and said, “Yessir,” before giving Ehron Lee a nudge with his rifle barrel to get him moving.
    Watson broke away from the men and headed toward his office. Ehron Lee, prodded forward by Mr. Brady, was directed toward another building.
    Before Ehron Lee would be taken back to the superintendent to officially be read the rules of Rockmound, he first had to exchange his clothing for prison issue. He couldn’t truly be considered a convict until he was dressed as one. There was no consideration of proper fit; Ehron Lee was of medium size and thin, so he was thrown a bundle in approximation of his height and weight.
    Once he was outfitted in his gray, black-striped uniform, Ehron Lee was escorted by Mr. Brady to the superintendent’s office, where Watson flipped through the papers prepared by the court.
    A look of familiarity crossed his stern features as he came to an item recorded on one page, and he lifted his close-set, piercing eyes toward Ehron Lee.
    â€œI see here you served under Henry Halleck at Corinth,” Watson said, phrasing his words in a way that did not encourage an answer. Nor did he elaborate the reason for his comment.
    In any case, it was quickly dismissed as Ehron Lee stood silently and motionlessly for twenty minutes while Watson slowly and precisely explained the rules and regulations of daily prison life. Ehron Lee listened without really hearing. What did catch his attention was a photograph sitting off to the side of the superintendent’s desk. It was of a youngish woman, dark-haired, attractive, whom Ehron Lee imagined was the superintendent’s daughter. Although there was hardly a resemblance between the woman encased in the ornate silver-edged frame and his wife, Ehron