“What is it?” I heard Duncan’s voice repeating from the bed.
“It’s me,” I rather weakly proclaimed.
“What has happened?” was the question that came after a moment’s silence.
I leaned with my face against the painted door-panel. It was smooth and cool and pleasant to press one’s skin against.
“They’ve found Dinkie,” I said. I could hear the squeak of springs as my husband sat up in bed.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s all right,” I said with a great sigh. And I listened for an answering sigh from the other side of the door.
But instead of that Duncan’s voice asked: “Where is he?” 363
“At Alabama Ranch,” I said, without realizing what that acknowledgment meant. And again a brief period of silence intervened.
“Who found him?” asked my husband, in a hardened voice.