oaring down out of the thickened part into the region where my
perception could make out the important things (Like three burly gents
wearing hunting rifles, for instance.) They jounced over the rough
ground and onto the lead-in road just behind us; another few seconds of
gab with our friends and they'd have been able to cut us off.

"Pour it on, Farrow!"

I knew I was a bit of a cowboy, but Farrow made me look like a
tenderfoot. We rocketed down the winding road with our wheels riding up
on either side like the course in a toboggan run and Farrow rode that
car like a test pilot in a sudden thunderstorm.

I was worried about the hunting rifles, but I need not have been
concerned. We were going too fast to make good aim, and their jeepster
was not a vehicle known for its smooth riding qualities. They lost one
character over a rough bounce and he went tail over scalp into the grass
along the way. He scared me by leaping to his feet, grabbing the rifle
and throwing it up to aim. But before he could squeeze off a round we
were out of the lead-in road and on the broad highway.

Once on the main road again, Farrow put the car hard down by the nose
and we outran them. The jeepster was a workhorse and could have either
pulled over the house or climbed the wall and run along the roof, but it
was not made for chase.

"That," I said, "seems to be that."

"Something is bad," agreed Farrow.

"Well, I doubt that they'll be able to clean out a place as big as
Homestead. So let's take our careful route to Homestead and find out
precisely what the devil is cooking."

"Know the route?"

"No, but I know where it is on the map and we can figure it out from--"

"Steve, stop. Take a very careful and delicate view over to the right."

"Digging for what?"

"Another car pacing us along a road on the other side of that field."

I tried and failed. Then I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes
and tried again. On this second try I got a very hazy perception of a
large moving mass that could only have been a car. In the car I received
a stronger impression of weapons. It was the latter that cinched it.

I hauled out my roadmap and turned it to Texas. I thumbed the sectional
maps of Texas until I located the sub-district through which we were
passing and then I identified this section of U.S. 87 precisely. There
was another road parallel and a half mile to the right, a dirt road
according to the map-legend. It intersected our ro