I crossed the rivers with the great, ringing names out of Western history: the Trinity, the Colorado, the Brazos, and the Red. The weather cleared, and I shot Kodachrome by the yard. I went on north through Oklahoma and into the southeast corner of Kansas. They found lead and zinc in that corner of the state around the turn of the century, and they dug up the whole country and stacked it in great gray piles behind the mine structures, now mostly abandoned and falling into decay. It makes a weird-looking landscape, and creates difficulties for a writer trying to figure out what the place looked like before the digging.

I began working my way westwards, having completed my main chore. I could have gone straight home, I suppose, but the fact is, I still wasn't quite sure I was going home. And if I did go home, I had no idea what to say to Beth when I got there. I suppose you could say I was stalling while I tried to think up some excuses for my inexcusable behavior. Anyway, it seemed a pity to come so close to the old roaring cattle towns of Abilene, Ellsworth, Hays, and Dodge City without stopping to see what they looked like.

Abilene was a waste of time. They had no sense of their historical past; they were much prouder of President Eisenhower, it seemed, than of Wild Bill Hickok. As a writer of Western stories, I found this hard to understand. Ellsworth was just a sleepy little prairie town on a big railroad. Hays I didn't get to because daylight was running out on me, and it would have taken me too far northwards, anyway. I kept plugging to the south and west and hit Dodge City shortly after dark. It was time for a bath and a night in a real bed, so I pulled into the first tourist court that looked passable, cleaned up, and went into town to eat. Here they'd gone to the other extreme: the whole place was a museum of the old cowboy days. I cruised back and forth along the dark streets for a while, kind of lining up the places I wanted to see when they opened in the morning.

When I got back to my room at the tourist court, the phone was ringing. I knew nobody in this town, and I'd told nobody I was coming here,- but the phone was ringing. I closed the door gently behind me, and walked over and picked it up.

"Mr. Helm?" It was the voice of the motel manager. "I just happened to see you drive in. You have a longdistance call from Santa Fe, New Mexico. Just a minute."

I sat down on the bed and waited. I heard him get the operator, and I heard the phone ring five hundred miles away, and I heard Beth answer. The sound of her voice made me feel guilty and ashamed of myself. I could at least have called her from San Antonio, as I'd promised to do. But I'd sent a couple of cards to the boys. You don't have to say anything on a picture postcard.

"Matt?"

"Yes," I said.

"Matt," she said, speaking in a tight, breathless way, "Matt, Betsy's gone! She disappeared from her playpen on the front porch an hour ago, while I was making dinner… And before I could noti1~' the police, that man who was at the Darrels' party, the big, mean-looking one, Loris, called up and said she would be safe if-" Beth hesitated.

"If what?"

"If you were willing to cooperate. He said to tell you… to tell you somebody was waiting to see you with a proposition. He said you'd know who he meant… Oh, Matt, what is it, what's going on?"

AFTER I'd hung up the phone, I sat for a little while looking at the silent instrument. I suppose I was thinking, but there wasn't, when you came right down to it, a great deal to think about. The next move was obvious. Loris had given Beth full instructions: not only what to tell me, but also where to reach me. To know this, the way I'd been moving around the past few days, he had to have a man following me. This man would undoubtedly be standing by right now to see how I reacted, to my wife's phone call.

My orders were to head for home, where further instructions would be waiting by the time I arrived. There wasn't much choice. They'd be waiting for their boy's report. I couldn't even make any useful calls; he might be listening in, somehow. I had to be seen driving off obediently in the right direction, s~ that he could get on the phone and let them know that the first stage had fired properly and the projectile seemed to be headed toward a satisfactory orbit.

I got up and packed my things quickly, loaded them into the rear of the pickup, and climbed into the cab. There was a certain amount of suspense as I drove through the town; I couldn't tell whether or not I was being followed. But he was a thorough workman, and I picked him up in the rear-view mirrors shortly after' we left the city limits. I could hardly miss him. He was driving a new car with one of those four-lamp setups that ought to be banned. They have two beam levels; one merely blinds you temporarily, but the other's a lulu, capable of incinerating the retina and searing the optic nerve if the guy doesn't dim in time, which he generally doesn't, particularly if he's coming up from behind.

This chap was a real mirror-burner-upper. My problem wasn't keeping track of him, it was staying on the road with all four of his searchlights glaring at me from two mirrors. I guess he felt it was his turn to crow. I must have given him a hard run across three states-he may even have thought I'd done it deliberately-and now he was damn well going to escort me on my way in style.

He stuck with me through the first small town west of Dodge; then, suddenly, he was gone. I kept on driving, knowing he'd have to give me at least one chance to pull a fast one before he made his report, or his conscience wouldn't let him sleep. It was a long fifteen minutes; then a car doing at least eighty-five came up from behind and whipped past and went on to the west down that long straight road. 'It was a new white Chevy.

I wasn't sure this was my man, but he was waiting for me up the highway, and fell in step behind me when I passed. We proceeded in this way for another half dozen miles, then he disappeared from my mirrors, and I looked back in time to see him swinging into a roadside joint I'd just passed. I gave him a little time, and turned back, stopping well before I reached the place.

I went ahead on foot. The lights were on, and the white fan-tail Chevy was parked by the building with half a dozen other cars. It was empty; my man was apparently inside.

I had a long wait. I guess, his duty done, his report made, he'd taken time for a coffee and a piece of pie. It probably wasn't a drink, since Kansas has some legislation on that subject, too. At last he came out. I was behind him as he paused by the car door to find his keys. He was a pro; he didn't move when the barrel of the Woodsman touched him in the back.

"Helm?" he said after a moment.

"That's right."

"You're a fool. I've just talked to a certain party in Santa Fe. Any tricks you pull will come out of your little girl's-''

The safety of the gun made a soft snicking sound in the darkness, cutting him short. I said gently, "Don't remind me of things like that, little man. It's very hard on my self-control. My truck's right down the road. Let's go."

I kept him covered while he drove. It was only nine thirty when we pulled up in front of my cabin at the Dodge City tourist court, although it seemed much later. I hated to back-track so far, but it was the only place I could take him without attracting attention, and I needed a temporary headquarters with a phone.

"Lift up the seat," I said after we'd got down from the cab. "There's a roll of wire and a pair of pliers underneath."

He was really a small man, I saw, when I got light on him at last, inside the room with the door closed- a small, shabby, inconspicuous man in a brown suit. He had brown eyes, too. They looked shiny and glassy, like cheap brown marbles. I wired his hands behind him and then I wired his ankles together. He didn't have a gun. I sat down by the phone and made a long distance call. Mac answered right away. It was as though he'd been expecting to hear from me.