* * * * * * * *
In the meantime Joyce Mills, in her bus boy costume, was creeping through the weeds down a one-time cattle lane that led away from the barn toward the wheatfield.
Once she reached the field, she rose on hands and knees to crawl toward a wheat shock. She was nearing the dark shadow cast by one of these shocks when a shot rang out.
Dropping flat in the shadows, she waited and listened, breathless. She heard the blood beating in her temples. It was like the ticking of a watch in the dark.
Creeping around the shock, she started toward another. She had just reached the second shadow when she heard a gruff voice say:
“What you shoot at?”
“Something dark moving out there. Dog, maybe.”
“Wolf, maybe.”
“Might be.”
Again the girl’s blood raced. Would they come to search for her?