"My uncle. Miguel Trelawney. He's up in the house."
"What's wrong with him?"
"That's what I don't know. He looks—I think he's terribly sick. In some way."
"How long has he been sick?"
She hesitated. "This morning."
"Since the time the grid-power went off?"
Jill looked startled. "Why, yes."
And that about cinched it, Dowland thought. He said, "You two were alone here?"
"No. I'm sure this all sounds very crazy, but—" She nodded at one of the buildings down the slope from them, a long wooden structure identified as a feed barn in Dowland's pictures of the ranch. "My other uncle, Paul Trelawney—he's locked up in there."
"Locked up?" Dowland repeated.