Margolin turned and went back into the house. The President, acting as though the press corps were still back in Washington, hiked to the barn without turning in their direction. The exhaust of a diesel engine was soon heard and he reappeared seated on a green John Deere tractor, Model 2640, that was hooked to a hay mower. There was a canopy and the President sat out in the open, a small transistor radio clipped to his belt and earphones clamped to his head. The correspondents began yelling questions at him, but it was obvious he couldn't hear them above the rap of the exhaust and music from the local FM station.

He wrapped a red handkerchief over the lower part of his face, bandit style, to keep from breathing dust and exhaust fumes. Then he let down the mower's slining blades and started cutting the field, driving back and forth in long rows, working away from the people crowding the fence.

After about twenty minutes the correspondents slowly packed away their equipment and returned to the air-conditioned comfort of their trailers and motor homes.

"That's it," announced Mitchell. "No more tape, unless you want me to reload."

"Forget it." Mayo wrapped the cord around the microphone and handed it to Montrose. "Let's get out of this heat and see what we've got."

They tramped into the cool of the motor home. Mitchell removed the cassette holding the three-quarter-inch vineotape from the camera, inserted it into the playback recorder and rewound it.

When he was ready to roll from the beginning, Mayo pulled up a chair and parked himself less than two feet from the monitor.

"What are we looking for?" asked Montrose.

Mayo's concentration didn't waver from the images moving before his screen. "Would you say that's the Vice President?"

"Of course," said Mitchell. "Who else could it be?"

"You're taking what you see for granted. Look closer."

Mitchell leaned in. "The cowboy hat is covering his eyes, but the mouth and chin match. The build fits too. Looks like him to me."

"Anything odd about his mannerisms?"

"The guy is standing there with his hands in his pockets," said Montrose dumbly. "What are we supposed to read in that?"

"Nothing unusual about him at all?" Mayo persisted.

"Don't notice a thing," said Mitchell.

"All right, forget him," said Mayo as Margolin turned and went back into the house. "Now look at the President."

"If that aid't him," muttered Montrose acinly, "then he's got an identical twin brother."

Mayo brushed off the remark and sat quietly as the camera followed the President across the barnyard, revealing the slow, recognizable gait known to millions of television viewers. He disappeared into the dark of the barn, and two minutes later emerged on the tractor.

Mayo snapped erect. "Stop the tape!" he shouted.

Startled, Mitchell pressed a button on the recorder and the image froze.

"The hands!" Mayo said excitedly. "The hands on the steering wheel!"

"So he's got ten fingers," mumbled Mitchell, his expression sour.