The man in the yellow suit was as courteous as always. “The Fosters have been waiting since yesterday morning,” he pointed out. “Naturally, they’re very upset. The sooner we get there, the sooner that child will be with them again.”

“How come you’re so deep in it?” asked the constable suspiciously. “Maybe you’re in cahoots with the kidnappers, how do I know? You should of reported it right off, when you saw her get snatched.”

The man in the yellow suit sighed. “But of course I had to find out where they were taking her,” he explained patiently. “I came right back after that. And the Fosters are friends of mine. They’ve—uh—sold me their wood.”

The constable’s eyes went round. “I’ll be!” he said. “What do you know about that! I didn’t suppose they’d ever do a thing like that, friend or no friend. They’re the first family around here, you know. Proud as peacocks, all of ’em. Family-proud, and land-proud, too. But they sold off, did they? Well, well.” And he whistled in amazement.

They thumped along in silence for a while, out around the wood and across the star-lit meadow. Then the constable yawned deeply and said, “You ready to tell me how long this is going to take? How far we got to go?”

“Twenty miles north,” said the man in the yellow suit.

The constable groaned. “Twenty miles!” He shifted the shotgun that rested across his saddle, and groaned again. “Clear up in the foothills? That’s a fair way, all right.”

There was no reply to this. The constable ran his fingers down the gleaming barrel of the shotgun. Then he shrugged, and slumped a little in the saddle. “Might as well relax,” he wheezed, suddenly companionable. “We’ll be riding three, four hours.”

Still there was no reply.

“Yessir,” said the constable, trying again. “It’s something new for these parts, kidnapping. Never had a case like this before that I know of, and I been in charge going on fifteen years.”

He waited.

“You don’t say so,” his companion said at last.

“Yep, that’s a fact,” said the constable, with evident relief. Maybe now there would be some conversation! “Yep, fifteen years. Seen a lot of trouble in fifteen years, but nothing quite like this. ’Course, there’s a first time for everything, as they say. We got a brand-new jailhouse, did you notice? Listen, it’s a dandy! Give those folks nice clean accommodations.” He chuckled. “ ’Course, they won’t be there long. Circuit judge’ll be coming through next week. He’ll send ’em over to Charleyville, most likely, to the county jail. That’s what they do for your serious crimes. ’Course, we got a gallows of our own, if we ever need it. Keeps down trouble, I think, just having it there. Ain’t ever used it yet. That’s because they take care of the serious stuff over to Charleyville, like I say.”

The constable paused to light a cigar, and went on cheerfully: “What you got planned for that piece of Foster land? Going to clear her? Put up a house, or a store, maybe?”