“Our farm lane,” he bit off the words with economy as he rocked on his feet. To have made it this far-so soon. The ’copter must have taken them a good distance from town before it failed.
“Sure it is your place?”
Dard nodded, wasting no breath.
“Hmm.” Kimber studied the unbroken white. “Prints on that are going to show up as well as ink. But no help for it.”
“I wonder. The place was burnt-no supplies to be found there.”
“Got a better suggestion?” Kimber’s face was drawn and gaunt now.
“Folley’s.”
“But I thought—”
“Folley’s dead, He ran the place with three work slaves. His son was tapped as a Peaceman recruit a month ago. Suppose we were to smarten up and just tramp in, Say that our ’copter broke down in the hills and we walked in to get help—”
Kimber’s eyes snapped alive. “And that does happen to these lame brains often enough. How many might be at the farm?”