ALLENBY, IDAHO
                                          

Reception phoned Lennox three times without reply. The manager ordered immediate access - maybe the patron was ill. A strong hand shaking a shoulder brought Lennox awake. Mr Lennox had requested an early call said Room Service, did he still wish to take breakfast. Lennox cold showered, dressed, and was seated in front of bacon, eggs over easy, toast and coffee inside seven minutes.

     He made Sheriff Webster's office at exactly 8 o'clock. "I thought you'd blown town," said Webster.

     Lennox grinned. "I overslept. By the way, I got nowhere with Mallory."

     "I didn't think you would. He's as introverted as you can get, but he was one hell of a photographer." Webster moved to a chair behind his desk, picked up a file, handed it to Lennox and gestured him to a nearby chair. "The Pedro County lawmen have given permission for this action. You know what we want. You have a copy of the file and it could help determine what you are looking for. If you have something, then contact me. If you need an extra man we'll send you officer Raynes. In return we'll keep checking for info on Amy and Johnny. That's the least we can do. Good luck."


                                           JULIENNE, IDAHO
                                         
Tommy Wade drove rapidly from Julienne, past the Law Office and Bennett's Garage, hauling choking dust clouds along a loop road that swung them down among spruce, pine and cedar. He wondered when Rickard would blow a fuse. The reaction was not long coming. Rickard, tense with anger, cursed suddenly. "I'll kill that bastard sheriff!
We leave things a couple of days and we go back and get him." He glowered across at Wade. "Did you hear that fat son-of-bitch spouting law and order?"

     "Maybe we should forget him, Frank, and keep moving."

     "Well I say we don't! Nobody pushes me around like that. God damn it, I'll get that slob; laughing at me in front of his friends."

     "Why bother? We get nothing but trouble if we shoot a sheriff. I say we do as you first said; we hit gas stations and small banks. You get your kicks and I drive. That way we both get what we want."

     Rickard gave Tommy a sideways glance and nodded agreement. "Shut up and drive." He spoke without rancour: Tommy had a point; take it easy, spend a few dollars, and when Rickard was ready, they would return to Julienne, bump off the sheriff - and pick up the girl - strictly for personal pleasure.

                                                  *****

With Deputy Camano ensuring the Chevrolet left town, Jones smiled down at Lucy. "Hope that ruckus didn't upset you, little girl."

     She smiled, unsure of herself. "Not really, sheriff, but those boys seemed uptight somehow."

     "Yeah, they were just two guys thinking they could rough up the town, but they can't do that in Julienne." Jones picked up the tin, put it on the bar. "There is one more thing." He waited while she disposed of the beer Wade had not drunk and washed out the glass. Jones lowered his voice. "I'm sure you know what I mean when I ask are you treated right here?" He did not miss her glance in Carter's direction. It told him a lot.

     "I'm not happy, sheriff but there's nowhere else for me to work - except on my ma's farm, or other other farms. We need money. That's why I work this bar."

     Jones donned his Stetson and smoothed the brim. Deep down, he looked upon Lucy as the daughter he had never had, and never would have. "He shrugged. "Okay, just remember, if you need help - you know where to find it." With that, he crossed to the card players and laid a hand on Carter's shoulder. "How are my townsfolk this morning?" There was no answer. Eyes stayed on card hands still to play with money laying on the table and beer at varying levels of content. Jones nodded; the pain in his head had not subsided. "I take it you boys are upset by that bastard who just left here?" Still no one answered. Jones hoisted his gun belt, walked leisurely round the table. "I detest guys who mistreat young, purty Lucy." Jones came back behind Carter. "I'm sure all of us here treat Lucy right, and other youngsters like her, because I tell you this - if she is upset by anybody - I will kick his nuts." Jones patted Carter's shoulder. "Okay, I've said my piece and I say good morning to you."

     Carter waited until Jones had gone. "Did you guys hear that fool?" He looked round the table. "One day somebody will plug him and let out hot air."



                                 BROKEN ROCK, WASHINGTON STATE.
                                            
Clay Bullen had not seen Dan Buxton since yesterday, and, unusually for daytime, the entrance light was glowing at the gas station. He decided to check out the oldster and found him lying unconscious near a bed. Bullen grabbed the telephone to call Doc Taylor then noticed the phone line ripped from the wall. Back at his own shack, Bullen finally contacted a distant sheriff's office, explained what he had found, and added that a Doc Taylor was on his way. Okay, said the sheriff, leave it with us - but how do we reach Broken Rock?



                                            DELMAR, IDAHO.
                                           
Tommy Wade realised the Chevrolet was damaged: driving over rugged territory had weakened the transmission system. Even Rickard noticed it and he was no expert. Tommy said they needed a quick car change, but they were far from a fair-size town that would allow him a selective steal. "Keep going," said Rickard. "We'll decide what to do when we reach the next signpost." When they reached it, it read, Delmar, 7 miles. Rickard asked would they make it.

     The Chevrolet was shaking, the engine giving off blue smoke. "We're losing oil," said Tommy. We'll be lucky to travel another mile."

                                                     ****

Charlie Singleton lived alone in a shack he had built forty years ago. It stood a desolate forested mile outside Delmar. At eighty-three, Charlie had one pride in his life: an old Buick sedan. He seldom drove; except to ride into Delmar each Friday to purchase supplies. His sister, Beatrice came over to see him once a month; otherwise, he was alone, apart from Toby.

     Brown Labrador dog Toby heard the Chevrolet first, approaching from the mountain range. He got up from his position at the shack front door and barked once. "What is it, Toby?" Charlie came from the garden at the rear of the shack. Then, he heard it: a labouring engine, its effort reverberating in the trees. This auto was coming from the Ricardo mountain range, maybe from Bull Creek. Charlie nodded. The only places he knew in that area were Broken Rock, over the state line, and Julienne. And from here to Julienne lay lousy, dangerous, rock infested track. Then he saw the Chevrolet with smoke gushing from its bonnet. "Hell, Toby," he said. "This car needs a doctor." Toby growled, a subdued rumble. Charlie stared at him, a dog who had never growled in the nine years Charlie owned him. "What's wrong, boy? Are you trying to tell me something?"

     Toby skulked to his mat by the door. Charlie expected the Chevrolet to grind past him, but the driver, a skinny, tired-looking man in his mid-thirties, pulled up, leaned out the window and asked how far was it to Delmar.

     Charlie took off a dilapidated sunhat that had once been a top hat. He grinned, nodded to the smoking bonnet. "I don't reckon you'll make town with that engine. She's out of oil."

     Wade was impressed. "How can you tell?"

     Charlie's grin widened. He pointed back along the track. "You've left an oil trail, mister; that's not good for any engine."

     Rickard, looking past Tommy, saw a dark coloured Buick parked in bushes next the shack. He nudged Tommy's ribs, and whispered. "That looks a good car. Ask the guy his price." Tommy asked how much. Charlie said no sale. Rickard leaned across Tommy and offered Charlie one hundred dollars.

     Charlie fingered a hole in his multi-coloured shirt. "One hundred bucks for a classic Buick? You must be joking."

     "How about one-fifty with the Chevy thrown in?"

     "What do I do at eighty-three with a knocked out Chevy?"

     "The Chevy is almost new. Have it repaired. Then it would be worth several thousands of dollars."

     Charlie grinned, accentuating the white lines of his copper-colored suntan. "I've had that Buick almost twenty-five years. She is a 1949 Roadmaster 79, with automatic transmission. The fuel tank holds near nineteen gallons. She's never let me down. I use it weekly to grab supplies in Delmar. Went there last Friday; she moved like a bird in flight." He studied the Chevrolet, noted the scoured damage to the painted finish. "Why offer to buy my Buick? I can drive you in town to see Vic Henley at the local garage. He does good deals on car exchanges."

     "What about the Chevy?" Rickard asked.

     Charlie shrugged. "Leave it here. Vic will collect."

     "Okay," Rickard got out. "Grab your keys, let's go."

     "They're in the shack. I'll go get 'em."

     Charlie replaced his sunhat, stepped over Toby, and into the shack. Rickard followed him. Toby snarled. Rickard stared at the dog and Toby slunk away and sat beside the Buick. Charlie was rummaging in a drawer when Rickard came behind him.



                                          JULIENNE, IDAHO.
                                           
Lennox had not expected the sixty miles drive to Julienne to be arduous and tiring: but it was. He stopped on the rutted track under towering cedars and rechecked the file. Webster had given him plenty of information but Lennox doubted that Webster's suggestions would work. He restarted the engine and moved to the edge of town. The layout was what Lennox expected; in fact, almost exactly as Webster had described it. The drive had left him thirsty. He made a bar his first priority and pulled up outside Rick's Bar and got out to baking heat. Apart from a figure sitting on the Law Office veranda, the street was deserted. Children's laughter sounded from the school. He removed his Stetson, left it on the rear seat of the car, smoothed back his graying hair, and shoved open the bar's swing doors to find several customers sitting in a corner next a window. Lennox made the bar, smiled at the barmaid. "Hi, can you fix me a beer?"

     "I sure can. Want whisky with it?"

     "No thanks, I never mix drinks."

     Lucy Scanlon smiled, taking an instant liking to this man dressed in black. "Are you just passing through, or do you intent staying?"

     "I might stay a few days."

     Lucy placed a beer on the bar. "That's one dollar and twenty-five cents."

     Lennox gave her a ten-dollar bill. "Have a drink yourself."

     "Why, thanks, mister, I appreciate that." Taking advantage of Carter being upstairs, resting, Lucy gave herself orange juice, poured from an opened carton in the fridge behind her. She rang the purchase and gave Lennox change. He put the money in a pocket. "You didn't check your change, mister."

     "I don't have to; you look an honest girl to me." He raised his beer to her, drank her health and retired to a table near the swing doors.

     Lucy followed him, clean damp cloth in hand and wiped the table surface, put down a fresh beer mat for him. "Thinking of staying anywhere in particular?"

     "No. Do you have a place in mind?"

     "You could stay over at my ma's place. We live about a mile from here at our farm. We wouldn't charge you much, but I admit the money would be useful to us."

     Lennox noted her chiseled features, a striking girl; could not be more than fifteen or sixteen; around five feet six; one hundred and thirty pounds; natural blond hair combed straight back and held behind by a green band. Was she sure her mother could take in a boarder? Lucy nodded; said she was quite sure. A customer came in. Lucy returned to the bar. Lennox drank more beer, was thinking of buying another when he noted a man wearing a badge pass a window.

     Deputy Sheriff Amos Camano shoved his head over the swing doors, called, "Everything okay, Lucy?"

     "Yes, thanks, Amos."

     Camano smiled, glanced round the bar and saw Lennox. Looked at him, frowned, thought for a moment, took a second look, withdrew his head and moved quickly toward the Sheriff's office, his boots clattering the sidewalk.