Becky cocked her head to one side, her brown eyes earnest. “Oh,” she said helpfully, “Mrs. Crookston is real nice. She doesn’t even mark us down when we are retarded.”

Eric nearly choked, then whooped with laughter.

“Not retarded,” Lori said in disgust. “Tardy.”

Becky blushed and lowered her eyes, her thick lashes lying softly on her cheeks. “Oh, yeah,” she said, that irrepressible grin breaking through her embarrassment. “That’s what I meant.” Then she giggled, causing Eric to laugh out loud again.

He leaned over and hugged her. “That’s my Becky.”

Lori suddenly jumped up. “Look!” she cried. “Here comes Stephanie.”

Eric stood up as their older sister, astride her sorrel mare, came at a hard lope from the direction of the village.

“Eric!” she cried, pulling the horse up to a sliding halt and leaping off to face them. “Dad is back. He wants you in the village right now. All the men are meeting at the church.”

“Dad?” Eric echoed in surprise. “He and Cliff aren’t supposed to be back for two more days.”

“I know, but last night they saw lights.”

“What kind of lights?”

She shook her head. “They were a long way away. But Dad said that they looked like the headlights of automobiles! Coming down old U.S. Highway 89 from the north.”

“Car lights? How can that be? How could there be automobiles?”

“What’s an automobile?” Becky asked, looking up at her brother and sister.

Stephanie ignored the question and thrust the reins into Eric’s hand. “I don’t know how it can be, but Dad is worried. So go! The meeting has already started.”

Eric swung up, kicked the mare in the flanks, and leaned over her neck as she leaped forward into a pounding run.

Eric’s eyes snapped open, and it took him a moment to realize he had dozed off again. He shifted his weight, trying to find a more comfortable position against the rough bark of the tree, then glanced up at the sun through the boughs of the pine trees. It was now just past its zenith and starting its downward slide toward the west. He had ridden all night, finally joining up with Cliff shortly after dawn. But Cliff had not given him any time to rest. They had immediately headed north again, not stopping until a little before noon. His eyelids felt as heavy as the anvil irons in Ralph Maddox’s blacksmith shop.