James slowed his pace, but even still, with each rotation of the pedal, his breaths became harder to take. Closing the distance between Taft and the Pearce farm wasn’t easy...and it wasn’t quick.

But Travis had also said he was a little upset. The game hadn’t gone well, even though Travis had stayed until the end. So maybe he’d peddled a little harder than normal. James picked up a little speed. His heart beat hard against his ribcage and his carotid pulsed hard in his neck. Breaths came in quick pants that seemed to do an ineffective job of filling his lungs with air.

How could Travis have raced this hard and then had the energy and wherewithal to set a house on fire?

James reached the Pearce farm and clicked off the stopwatch.

Thirty-two minutes, seventeen seconds. Good. That was good. That meant Travis could not have been at the farm when the fire was called in.

For good measure, though, James spent the rest of the afternoon riding back and forth between Taft and the Pearce farm. Each time, the journey pushed exhaustion to a new level. By the time he reached the farm for the third time, he was exhausted.

Letting the bike fall sideways, he landed in the snow. His legs felt like rubber mixed with lead and tingled with pins and needles as the cold seeped through his jeans. With a hand that was shaking from cold and adrenaline, James pulled back his jacket sleeve and checked the time. His best: twenty-five minutes, three seconds.

“Oh, praise God!” He let out a sigh of relief. Still too long for Travis to have set the fire. James sank back onto the snow and rejoiced as the damp saturated his jacket and jeans. Travis was innocent; James could prove it, and he didn’t have to race to Taft and back—ever again. All was right with the world.

Now, he simply had to convince Duane, the town, and Paula Roggin. And Travis.

He pedaled back to Taft at a slow pace. His body appreciated the consideration. His muscles ached from the hard push up the hill. It was odd that his last trip had been his fastest. How did his overworked legs make it up the hill faster when fatigued than when fresher the first or second runs? Maybe that was another blessing from God. The oddity only made the truth stand out more.

In the Taft parking lot, he loaded Travis’s bike and then headed to Duane’s office. With this new information, the good sheriff was bound to investigate further. Perhaps then, Travis would confess the truth about what happened that night.

Dusk had set in by the time James arrived at the sheriff’s office. He headed inside and found Duane sitting behind his desk working on some paperwork. As James approached the desk, he pulled his notepad from his pocket and ripped the page from it that contained his travel time record.

Duane looked up at the paper outstretched in James’s hand. “Hey, buddy. What’s this?” He took the paper from James and scanned it.