“I dunno,” Pa said. “Seems like it’s gittin’ on winter to me.
Fella’d have to live here a long time to know.”
“Which way we a-goin’?” Tom asked. “I dunno. Al, he turned off lef’. Seems like he’s goin’ back the way we come.”
Tom said, “I can’t figger what’s best. Seems like if we get on the main highway they’ll be more cops. With my face this-a-way, they’d pick me right up. Maybe we oughta keep to back roads.”
Ma said, “Hammer on the back. Get Al to stop.”
Tom pounded the front board with his fist; the truck pulled to a stop on the side of the road. Al got out and walked to the back. Ruthie and Winfield peeked out from under their blanket.
“What ya want?” Al demanded. Ma said, “We got to figger what to do. Maybe we better keep on the back roads. Tom says so.”
“It’s my face,” Tom added. “Anybody’d know. Any cop’d know me.”
“Well, which way you wanta go? I figgered north. We been south.”
“Yeah,” said Tom, “but keep on back roads.” Al asked, “How ’bout pullin’ off an’ catchin’ some sleep, goin’ on tomorra?” Ma said quickly. “Not yet. Le’s get some distance fust.”