I didn't worry much about it because I felt sure that Heath could handle things and even if Rickard did write a story for the New York papers it wouldn't bother us. Coon Valley is a long piece from New York.
I figured we'd probably seen and heard the last from Rickard.
But in all my life, I've never been more wrong.
About midnight or so I woke up with Helen shaking me. "There's someone at the door," she said. "Go see who it is." So I shucked into my overalls and shoes and lit the lamp and went downstairs to see.
While I'd been getting dressed there'd been some knocking at the door, but as soon as I lit the lamp it quit. I went to the door and opened it and there stood Rickard and he wasn't near as chipper as he'd been in the morning. "Sorry to get you up," he said, "but it seems that I'm lost."
"You can't be lost," I told him. "There isn't but one road through the valley. One end of it ties up to Sixty and the other to Eighty-five. You follow the valley road and you're bound to hit one or the other of them."
"I've been driving", he told me, "for the last four hours and I can't find either of them."
"Look," I said, "all you do is drive one way or the other. You can't get off the road. Fifteen minutes either way and you're on a state highway." I was exasperated with him, for it seemed a silly thing to do. And I don't take kindly to being routed out at midnight.
"But I tell you I'm lost," he said in a sort of desperation and I could see that he was close to panic. "The wife is getting scared and the kids are dead on their feet…"
"All right," I told him. "Let me get on my shirt and tie my shoes. I'll get you out of here."