Of course, Nick could have hocked the damned thing in some town when he needed money, and by some quirk of fate it had been brought back to the same area it had left over a year before. That was possible, but Brice didn’t believe it. It just didn’t fit.

“Seen enough?”

Brice turned and saw Cartwell standing behind him. How long has he been there, he wondered, and forced a grin. The stocky built blond grinned back at him.

“Thought you might want a cup of coffee,” he said.

“Where the hell will you get coffee out here?”

Cartwell waved an arm toward the foot of the hills. “A farm down there. They wake up early around here. Sam conned the farmer’s wife into making coffee for the boys. Want some?”

“Might as well. We have a few minutes - in fact, we have a lot of time, before daylight.”

“Getting tired?” Cartwell asked, as they started down the hill past the ring of soldiers.

“A little. More like anxious to find out what the tale is on that wreck.”

“You’ve been talking to Dickson, I see.”

Brice nodded. “Yeah. Well, one thing we know. It’s apparently some kind of experimental [p54]  aircraft ... like a rocket, or something. And, if it isn’t one of ours...” Brice left it hang and Cartwell didn’t pick it up.

[p54]  

[p

]  

For a few minutes they walked in silence through the dew splattered forests, homing in on the glow of yellow lights that winked at them through the branches. Finally they reached the rutted, dirt road that twisted along the stream bed toward the framed shape of the farm house. Cartwell broke the silence as they neared the place.

“Don’t talk much about the wreck around these people, Nolan. They’re nice folks, but simple natured. They plant by the phases of the moon and the biggest event in their lives is going to the state fair. They’re Lancaster Dutch, recently imported, and they believe in the hex signs they painted on the barn.”

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