frowned; what was wrong
with her?

"What is it?" he said. "What do you want?" He looked in the direction
she had pointed. "I don't see anything."

"They're coming."

"They? Who? Who are coming?"

"They are. The police. During the night the Sheriff had the state police
send cars. All around, everywhere. Blocking the roads. There's about
sixty of them coming. Some from town, some around behind." She stopped,
gasping. "They said--they said--"

"What?"

"They said you were some kind of a Communist. They said--"

* * * * *

Conger went into the cage. He put the gun down on the shelf and came
back out. He leaped down and went to the girl.

"Thanks. You came here to tell me? You don't believe it?"

"I don't know."

"Did you come alone?"

"No. Joe brought me in his truck. From town."

"Joe? Who's he?"

"Joe French. The plumber. He's a friend of Dad's."

"Let's go." They crossed the snow, up the ridge and onto the field. The
little panel truck was parked half way across the field. A heavy short
man was sitting behind the wheel, smoking his pipe. He sat up as he saw
the two of them coming toward him.

"Are you the one?" he said to Conger.

"Yes. Thanks for warning me."

The plumber shrugged. "I don't know anything about this. Lora says
you're all right." He turned around. "It might interest you to know some
more of them are coming. Not to warn you--just curious."

"More of them?" Conger looked toward the town. Black shapes were picking
their way across the snow.

"People from the town. You can't keep this sort of thing quiet, not in a
small town. We all listen to the police radio; they heard the same way
Lora did. Someone tuned in, spread it around--"

The shapes were getting closer. Conger could, make out a couple of them.
Bill Willet was there, with some boys from the high school. The
Appletons were along, hanging back in the rear.

"Even Ed Davies," Conger murmured.

The storekeeper was toiling onto the field, with three or four other men
from the town.

"All curious as hell," French said. "Well, I guess I'm going back to
town. I don't want my truck shot full of holes. Come on, Lora."

She was looking up at Conger, wide-eyed.

"Come on," French said again. "Let's go. You sure as hell can't stay
here, you know."

"Why?"

"There may be shooting. That's what they all came to see. You know that
don't you, Conger?"

"Yes."

"You have a gun? Or don't you care?