"Y-yes, sir. He come in a pick-up truck."
"Where are the keys?" Horner asked.
"But you ain't a-takin'—"
"Where are the keys?"
"You're wearin' them in your left-hand pocket, I think."
Horner checked the pocket. The keys were there.
"Where's the truck?" he asked.
"Round behind the barn. You take the lane there over to the fence. On t' other side of the fence, but it's Caleb's uncle's truck, mister. I swear, he'll tan Caleb's hide if you—"
"Well," said Horner righteously, and then felt foolish, "he ought to."
Then he heard Caleb sighing, knew the boy would be all right. He also knew that he would be safe in the pick-up truck for at least an hour or so. For the girl wouldn't dare tell her father, at dawn, coming from the barn, that Caleb's pick-up truck had been stolen. And even Caleb had a problem. Apparently it was some distance back to his uncle's farm—and there was still the problem of accounting for his absence in the night.