He could hear Travis’s voice, as though Travis was speaking from inside his mind.

Maybe he would ask Taylor to help him make a telephone call to the jail in Elbert County, he thought. Maybe it would do some good for Travis to know he had called.

He pushed his watch back into his pocket and began to work his way down the hill to the river.

Again, he heard the far-off call of Taylor: “Matthew, Matthew …”

In late day, nearing sundown, the men who had spent the afternoon searching for Matthew met at Howard Reynolds’s home, each trusting that someone else had found the boy.

No one had.

Ada Reynolds sat in a rocker on her porch, her head tucked, a soft moan mixed with her breathing. Like her husband, she was heavyset, and the fear over her missing grandson caused her to slump like someone carrying an invisible weight. Eleanor was with her. She had taken Beatrice Cunningham into Hiawassee to stay with Boyd’s parents after learning of Matthew’s disappearance, she said privately to Taylor and Noah.

“It’s the least I can do after all Howard and Ada have done for me,” she explained. “Besides, it’s time she spent some time with them. It’s been since February since they’ve had her for more than a day. I told them I’d get her on Sunday, but I may let them keep her a little longer. They’re not working, or anything.”

The men who had been searching for Matthew gave accounts of where they had been, and by their accounts the river had been covered over a distance that was greater than any of them could have walked in a strong stride. It was not possible for Matthew to have wandered farther.

“I’d say he didn’t go to the river, then,” Taylor said.

“He took his fishing rod,” Howard said solemnly. “I looked.”

“Maybe he went down to John’s Creek,” Moody said. “That’s not far away.”

The men mumbled agreement.

“Maybe we better call Whitlow and see if he can’t bring his bloodhounds over,” said Taylor.

“I talked to him a little while ago,” Howard told him. “He said he’d head on over soon as he could find the dogs. Said they was out running.”

“That’ll help,” Taylor said.

“I hope he don’t fool around,” Peavo mumbled, rolling the burning tip out of his smoked-down cigarette, then stepping on the tip. He examined the sky. “We still got a little light left. Why don’t me and Moody go down to the creek and look around. I got a flashlight if we need it. Everybody else can wait here for the dogs. That’s when they’ll be needed.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Howard said in a tired voice.

“You get Milton on the phone?” asked Taylor.

“Not yet. I left word for him to call me,” Howard answered.

“We’ll find him before too long,” Peavo said, trying to sound confident. He did not. He sounded jittery.

Some of the men used Howard’s telephone to call their homes, reporting on their whereabouts and the reason they were out. Their wives gave them messages of sympathy to pass on to Ada and Howard Reynolds, adding that they would put together food and bring it over, and would call other neighbors to have the men join in the search.