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e hummed a little； Harry said； and Percy roused himself enough from his funk to say that the lugoon dripped spittle from his lax lower lip； a drop at a time； until it had made a puddle between his feet。 Like a dog dripping off the end of its tongue on a hot summer day。
They drove in through the south gate when they got to the pen； right past my car； I guess。 The guard on the south pass tan back the big door between the lot and the exercise yard； and the stagecoach drove through。 It was a slack time in the yard； not many men out and most of them hoeing in the garden。 Pumpkin time； it would have been。 They drove straight across to E Block and stopped。 The driver opened the door and told them he was going to take the stagecoach over to the motor…pool to have the oil changed； it had been good working with them。 The extra guards went with the vehicle； two of them sitting in the back eating apples； the doors now swinging open。
That left Dean； Harry and Percy with one shackled prisoner。 It should have been enough； would have been enough； if they hadn't been lulled by the stick thin country boy standing head…down there in the dirt with chains on his wrists and ankles。 They marched him the twelve or so paces to the door that opened into E Block； falling into the same formation we used when escorting prisoners down the Green Mile。 Harry was on his left； Dean was on his right； and Percy was behind； with his baton in his hand。 No one told me that； but I know damned well he
