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May 1920

In covert conversations whenever they got the chance, Bates and his informant set up the plan to turn the tables on Craig and discredit him, using the same stash Craig had previously tried to nail Bates with.

They sat next to one another at the midday meal together, a chance they had tried not to take very often. Men in prison had little to do other than to speculate about what everyone else was up to; Bates didn't want to take the chance that the plan would get back to Craig or even that his unusual chattiness with another inmate would be noted and remarked on.

"When do you want it to happen?" his friend asked, without looking up from his plate.

"Tomorrow night."

"What about Mr. Durrant?" They had to have a guard who wasn't in Craig's pocket, in order to make things look right.

"No. Any other warder but him." Bates was fairly certain Durrant was Craig's ally, and didn't want to take the chance. "Tell Turner about it; he's straight." He paused, thinking about it, then added, "But don't tell him till the afternoon." The last thing he wanted was for the raid to occur before he was ready, or for there to be time for the guards to discuss it and Craig to hear from one of his pals what was to happen.

They kept eating. Bates had wanted to ask this man for some time what advantage there was to him in getting Bates out from under Craig, but he hadn't wanted to jeopardize the only source of information he had, or alienate the only person who had tried to help him. Now, though, he needed to know—needed to be sure that he wasn't putting his fate in the hands of someone who was going to betray him just when he needed a friend the most.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. They looked at each other, his fellow prisoner's gaze measuring and weighing Bates's character, or at least, that was how it appeared. "Why are you helping me?"

At last, the other man said, simply, "I can't stand Craig."

They both went back to their food and didn't say another word. Bates was left to speculate whether Craig had stepped on this man's system, or overpaid the guards he had already paid, or if it was as simple as one man not liking another.

On the other hand, if this worked … he didn't really care why.

The following night, Bates was careful to act like normal; which wasn't difficult. Since Anna's letters had been stopped, normal had largely consisted of lying in his bed and staring up at Craig's mattress. He actually managed to lose himself in visions of what it would be like to be home with her and was legitimately startled when the door was flung open and Turner walked in, keys jingling, shouting, "Stand up! Against the wall, the pair of you."

Two other guards had come in with Turner. One of them reached down and grabbed Bates by the jacket, shoving him across the cell. He stumbled and nearly fell before he reached the wall, and then he stood there, keeping his face as still as he could, waiting, grateful that no one could see his heart pounding.

Craig stared at Turner insolently, angry that a raid was occurring without him getting forewarning from his pets. "What you looking for?" he asked.

"Just keep quiet."

Unlike the last raid, when only Bates's mattress had been shaken out, the guards were going through Craig's bed as well, untucking the sheets and very thoroughly checking for contraband.

Durrant came in halfway through, staring at his fellow guards in confusion. He and Craig looked at each other silently.

At last one of the guards found the contraband—the same stuff that Bates had found in the wall next to his bed, carefully placed in Craig's mattress—and held it up. "Mr. Turner."

"Well, well. A very mysterious package … I don't think."

Bates very carefully didn't react. Craig would know, of course he would, but there was no sense letting it show; the last thing he wanted was for the straight guards to know what had been going on, if they didn't already. Craig didn't look at him, but out of the corner of his eye Bates could see that Durrant did. He kept his eyes straight ahead.

Turner advanced on Craig, holding the contraband up in front of him. "Craig, what do you call this?"

Craig didn't even bother to glance at it. He looked Turner in the eye. "I don't know. I've done nothing."

Turner looked at Durrant over his shoulder. Bates could see Durrant and Craig glance at each other, but there was really nothing either of them could do.

Shaking the contraband in Craig's face, Turner said, "You better come with us, Craig."

As the other guards filed out of the room, Bates let his breath out in a very small sigh of relief.

Craig glanced at him at last. "You'll be sorry." He was dragged from the cell.

Possibly. Bates wouldn't be underestimating Craig again. But for now, at least, he had earned a reprieve, some time alone without Craig's constant presence, and, just maybe, the chance to get off the governor's list and be able to write to his wife again.