It had been surprisingly easy to slip away from Morgan’s Reach and, as the bicycle tyres hummed reassuringly along the tarmac road, he’d felt a surge of excitement. This was a proper adventure, for he’d never been this far on his own before – but it was a good, fairly straight road and he knew exactly where he was headed, so there was no danger of getting lost.
Having listened to Frank’s story, and mulled it over for a while, he’d gone back early the next morning to question him more closely. Once he’d gleaned as much information as possible he’d returned home, found his great-grandfather’s old maps and pinpointed the spot where the man had last been seen. From everything he’d heard, the man was definitely heading north and would soon come to Morgan’s Reach – but was he planning on coming into town or to skirt around it?
He’d come to the conclusion that the man didn’t want to be seen, so would probably go cross-country. Exactly where he might be headed was a bit of a problem, but he’d listened to Django’s stories often enough to know that everyone left a trail, no matter how careful they were. If he could reach the railway cutting just the other side of the main track to Wilga, where Frank and Jim had met him, then he could begin his search and put his own tracking skills to the test.
Danny had cycled on as the sun beat down, the water-bag and binoculars bumping against his hip. After two hours he’d become hot and thirsty, his legs beginning to ache from the prolonged pedalling. He’d been tempted to stop for a while and rest, but he couldn’t waste time; he needed to get as far from Morgan’s Reach as possible before anyone noticed he was missing.
He felt guilty about worrying his mother. He loved her very much – but when you were just a kid no one really listened to you, and it was hard to make the grown-ups understand how important certain things were, and how necessary it was to see them through.
His rambling thoughts were interrupted an hour later by the unmistakable sound of a utility truck coming along the road behind him. Luckily it was still the other side of the long bend he’d just negotiated, so he had time to hide.
Jumping from the bicycle, he dragged it with him as he scrambled down the steep side of the run-off ditch. His heart was beating wildly as the utility came nearer and nearer, and he ducked even lower as it passed. The red cross on the white door and the man behind the wheel were all too familiar. Uncle Terry was out looking for him.