They weren’t going to let some insignificant details stand in their way. Nothing could diminish their pleasure at the prospect of being entertained on a Nevada ranch.

The ranchers would say: “Quebec in Canada? Oh, long way from home!” And then they’d invite them inside, where it was cooler, for a drink. And they’d say that their neighbour had a son who was working in Canada. “Ah, oui? Is that so? Whereabouts, if you don’t mind my asking?” “Calgary, he’s in the oil business!” “Very interesting, but Calgary’s in the West, you know, whereas Quebec . . .” “Is that so?” And they had another neighbour who had a daughter working in Halifax? Well, it’s true Halifax is in the East, but you know, Quebec actually isn’t that far east: it’s somewhere between the two. See what I mean? Get the picture?

And Jack would nudge the girl with his elbow to tell her it was-n’t polite to say “get the picture” to their hosts, but the ranchers would be broad-minded and wouldn’t take offence at a small breach of etiquette. They would invite the visitors from Quebec to take a horseback ride around the ranch and give the cowboys a hand as they rounded up the cattle in the corral, if they weren’t too tired. Then they’d invite the visitors to eat with them, because as a matter of fact they had prepared a huge barbecue that very night. All their neighbours within a hundred-kilometre radius were coming over to eat and celebrate with them.

Jack and La Grande Sauterelle were having a lively conversation about the size of the T-bones they were going to eat at the giant barbecue when suddenly they saw the rancher’s house at the end of the road.

It was a large two-storey frame house with a very wide veranda on which, from a distance, they could see chairs and a table.

They didn’t see any people.

They saw trees, a swing under the trees, an old tire hanging on a rope from a branch, but no children.

Absolutely nobody.

Jack stopped the Volks in front of the steps that went up to the front door.

He opened the car door . . .

As his foot touched the ground a police dog pounced on him. He had just enough time to get back in the minibus.

Immediately two other police dogs emerged from under the veranda and hurled themselves at the Volks, barking furiously. The three huge dogs, drooling, lips curled, fangs threatening, ran around the old Volks, leaping up at the windows. One of them — the one that had appeared first — lunged at Jack. He put his front paws on the windowframe, stuck his head inside and clamped his jaws shut, just missing the man’s left arm; his teeth snapped on the air because Jack had instinctively flung himself to the right.