know more about him," Mrs. Hacket said. "I think we
ought to know more, for our own good."

* * * * *

"Hey, mister! Want a ride?"

Conger turned quickly, dropping his hand to his belt. He relaxed. Two
young kids in a car, a girl and a boy. He smiled at them. "A ride?
Sure."

Conger got into the car and closed the door. Bill Willet pushed the gas
and the car roared down the highway.

"I appreciate a ride," Conger said carefully. "I was taking a walk
between towns, but it was farther than I thought."

"Where are you from?" Lora Hunt asked. She was pretty, small and dark,
in her yellow sweater and blue skirt.

"From Cooper Creek."

"Cooper Creek?" Bill said. He frowned. "That's funny. I don't remember
seeing you before."

"Why, do you come from there?"

"I was born there. I know everybody there."

"I just moved in. From Oregon."

"From Oregon? I didn't know Oregon people had accents."

"Do I have an accent?"

"You use words funny."

"How?"

"I don't know. Doesn't he, Lora?"

"You slur them," Lora said, smiling. "Talk some more. I'm interested in
dialects." She glanced at him, white-teethed. Conger felt his heart
constrict.

"I have a speech impediment."

"Oh." Her eyes widened. "I'm sorry."

They looked at him curiously as the car purred along. Conger for his
part was struggling to find some way of asking them questions without
seeming curious. "I guess people from out of town don't come here much,"
he said. "Strangers."

"No." Bill shook his head. "Not very much."

"I'll bet I'm the first outsider for a long time."

"I guess so."

Conger hesitated. "A friend of mine--someone I know, might be coming
through here. Where do you suppose I might--" He stopped. "Would there
be anyone certain to see him? Someone I could ask, make sure I don't
miss him if he comes?"

They were puzzled. "Just keep your eyes open. Cooper Creek isn't very
big."

"No. That's right."

They drove in silence. Conger studied the outline of the girl. Probably
she was the boy's mistress. Perhaps she was his trial wife. Or had they
developed trial marriage back so far? He could not remember. But surely
such an attractive girl would be someone's mistress by this time; she
would be sixteen or so, by her looks. He might ask her sometime, if they
ever met again.

* * * * *

The next day Conger went walking along the one main street of Cooper
Creek. He pass