“He won’t get away,” Mike said softly. He patted Doug’s shoulder and went back into the house. Doug could hear his voice, though he could not tell what he was saying, and a few moments later he heard the sound of footsteps behind him as the policemen hurried outside.

The rocks of the ridge were orange in the light of the setting sun, the trees black triangular outlines. Venus had already appeared low in the west, and in the east the moon had risen, brightened. They drove up the narrow road slowly, in single file. Below them, the lights of the town seemed deceptively tranquil, benign, as though nothing out of the ordinary could ever happen in such a sleepy little community.

Doug drove with Tim in his pickup, and neither of them spoke on the ride up the ridge. The radio was off as well, and the only noise was the rattle and clatter of the truck as it bounced over the ruts and washboards of the rough road. Doug looked in the side mirror and saw Mike and the other policemen following close behind in their patrol cars, the other pickup bringing up the rear. When they reached the top of the ridge, Doug told Tim to pull over and motioned out the window for Mike to follow suit.

They all got out of their vehicles. The night was cool, an advance scout for the coming fall. There were no clouds, and the new moon was surrounded by a faint hazy white halo.

“Why are we stopping here?” Mike asked.

Doug put a finger on his lips to tell the policeman to be quiet. “We have to walk the rest of the way. It’s the only way we’ll catch him. If he hears all those cars and trucks driving up the road, he’ll be gone before we even get there.”

Mike nodded. “All right, then. Lead the way.”

They walked slowly across the bumpy ground, the policemen with their guns drawn, everyone nervously alert, on edge, listening for the smallest sound, looking for the smallest movement. They passed through a patch of sticker bushes, maneuvered through the giant manzanita.

And then they heard it. The familiar rhythmic chanting that brought a chill to Doug’s blood, raised goose bumps on his arms.

He looked back at Mike, who nodded for him to keep moving. They crept forward slowly, quietly, until they were at the edge of the field. Doug stopped.

The mailman was dancing, as Doug had known he would be, arms flailing with wild abandonment, legs kicking up in spontaneous counterrhythm.

And the chant.

“… rain nor snow nor sleet nor hail…”

The chill that had enveloped Doug increased as they approached. There were ten of them all together, he was not alone, but he felt as afraid as if he had been facing the mailman by himself.