The driver paid and started for the door.
"See you around," I said.
"Yeah, sure thing."
I turned back to the old man and asked, "What do I owe you for the groceries?"
"Call it three and a quarter," he said slowly, not taking his eyes off the window where the bus still sat while the driver worked the gas pedal. The aimless whirring finally caught and the bus lumbered off. "Something funny there. Real funny."
"What do you mean?"
He came out of it, took my money, and leaned closer so even Fred, who was still fingering plugs at the far counter, couldn't hear. "You know, that young feller came by last night and that bus of his was empty. There's a fork in the road up ahead and he went to the right. Nothing up that away at all. The road just deadheads into the brush for about three miles and that's it. And I would've sworn that's where he came from just now. Didn't hear him go back last night and ain't seen him all morning. Don't know where all those people come from."
"He said they were from some young people's group in Winook."
The old man looked surprised. "Winook? No town around here by that name that I heard of—and I been here a mighty long time."
I picked up my load of groceries and started for the door. "Maybe I misunderstood him," I mumbled. "He must've meant some other town."