The first false light of pre-dawn had faded. It was as dark now as the middle of the night, but in half an hour daylight would come. Rain fell in fitful squalls now; the rain seemed to be stopping. Horner had never been so cold in his life. He thought hours had passed, but knew that was impossible because dawn had not yet chased the night. He shivered and broke for shore in an agonizingly slow crawl. He dragged himself out of the water and lay there, gasping, panting, still shivering. After a while he got up. The sullen sky seemed brighter across the river now; dawn was coming. He had to get away. He had to get out of his tell-tale prison denims before it was fully light or he would never get out of them at all.
Very faintly he heard the wail of the prison siren. Slowly he walked up the muddy embankment, then set out in a southerly direction. The rain came down harder now, as if determined to make things as miserable for Horner as it could. He came to a fence. It was barbed wire and it meant people weren't far. He decided to climb the fence, parting the top two strands and going through. He found himself in a pasture. Something big and blocky loomed ahead—a barn. At least he could sleep there for a few hours. He would be comparatively safe if he could find a place up in the loft somewhere, but of course that would be delaying the inevitable, for if he waited till night he would still be within siren distance of the state prison.
He lifted the lock bar cautiously and let the big barn door swing out. There was a faint protest of rusted metal and Horner allowed a full two minutes to pass before he went inside. The cattle smell was strong. A cow lowed uncertainly off to his left, but he could see nothing. He passed a smaller door, not meant for cattle, and the smaller door was not locked. He smiled as it swung on its rusty hinges in the rain and the wind. If anyone was about, that would explain the other hinge noise. Meanwhile, Horner was ravenously hungry. He would eat anything, even cattlefeed.... He stumbled suddenly, reaching out awkwardly to right himself. A bucket clanged against wood, and he froze.
Then, not ten feet above Horner's head, a sleepy girl's voice said, "Go back to sleep, will you, Caleb honey? It wasn't nothin'."
"I heard someone down there."
"It wasn't nothin', Caleb honey," the girl repeated. "One of the cows kicked inter somethin', is all. Put your arm back around me Caleb love, there Caleb, ah Caleb."
"I still thought. I—"
"Caleb. I swear, boy, what is the matter with you! My old man will be up an' to the barn a few minutes fum now an' all you can do is talk. Caleb Wilson if you don't ... ah...."
The gloom inside the barn was less complete than it had been outside, only moments ago. Rain drummed on the roof as Horner groped slowly forward, found the foot of a ladder which probably went up to the loft. The boy named Caleb and the farm girl were up there and, from the tone of their conversation, probably undressed. Horner needed Caleb's clothing. He wondered for a moment if it would be tell-tale farm clothing, a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, perhaps. He couldn't get very far in New York with that, not when an alarm was out for an escaped convict. But if Caleb had come a-courting in his Sunday best....