Her words seemed to convince the filling station man that he had nothing to fear. Dropping the revolver into the cash drawer, he said in a more friendly tone:
“I guess you folks are on the square. Anyway, you wouldn’t get much if you robbed the till tonight. I only took in $37.50. Not enough to pay me for keeping open.”
“You say a cab hasn’t been through here tonight?” Salt asked impatiently.
“There’s been cars through, but no taxi cabs.”
“Where do these roads lead?”
“One takes you to Belle Plain and on to Three Forks. The other doesn’t go much of anywhere—just on to the swamp.”
“Any houses on the swamp road?” Salt inquired.
“An old trapper has a place up there, and the Hawkins’ farm is on a piece. Closest house from here is the Widow Jones’.”
“How far?”
“Oh, not more than three—four miles.”