"Well-I didn't say Lou was the only one who might have sneaked in here for a night," Jim said quickly. "Could have been any tramp passing by."
He stopped as the sheriff looked around suddenly, his gaze darting past Jean. "Where's Tom?" he asked loudly.
Jean's head snapped around. Then she backed away with a gasp as the sheriff dashed up the steps and ran by her.
"Stick around, Jim!" the sheriff called over his shoulder.
Jean rushed out of the cafe after him. As she came out on the porch she saw the sheriff shading his eyes with one hand and looking up the road. Her eyes jumped in the same direction, and she saw the man in the fedora running toward another man, a tall man.
"That'd be Lou," she heard the sheriff murmur to himself.
He started running; then, after a few steps, he came back and jumped into his car.
"Sheriff!"
He glanced out the window and saw the look of fright on her face. "All right, hurry up! Get in!"
She jumped off the porch and ran toward the car. The sheriff pushed open the door and Jean slid in beside him and pulled it shut. The sheriff gunned his car out past the cafe and it skidded onto the road in a cloud of dust.
"What is it?" Jean asked him breathlessly.
"Your husband didn't leave you," was all the sheriff said.
"Where is he?" she asked in a frightened voice.
But they were already overtaking the two men who had met and were now running into the brush.
The sheriff jerked the car off the road and slammed on the brakes. He pushed out of the car, quickly reaching down for his pistol.
"Tom!" he yelled. "Lou! Stop running!"
The men kept going. The sheriff leveled his pistol barrel and fired. Jean started at the explosion and saw, far out across the rocky desert, a spout of sand jump up near the men.
They both stopped abruptly, turned and held up their hands.
"Come on back!" yelled the sheriff. "And make it fast!"
Jean stood beside the car, unable to keep her hands from shaking. Her eyes were fastened on the two men walking toward them.
"All right, where is he?" the sheriff asked as they came up.
"Who you talkin' about, Sheriff?" asked the man in the fedora.
"Never mind that, Tom," the sheriff said angrily. "I'm not foolin' anymore. This lady wants her husband back. Now where-"
"Husband!" Lou looked at the man in the fedora with angry eyes. "I thought we decided agin that!"
"Shut your mouth!" the man in the fedora said, his pleasant demeanor gone entirely now. "You told me we wasn't gonna-" Lou started.
"Let's see what you got in your pockets, Lou," the sheriff said.
Lou looked at the sheriff blankly. "My pockets?" he said.
"Come on, come on." The sheriff waved his pistol impatiently. Lou started emptying his pockets slowly.
"Told me we wasn't gonna do that," he muttered aside to the man in the fedora. "Told me. Stupid jackass."
Jean gasped as Lou tossed the wallet on the ground. "That's Bob's," she murmured.
"Get his things, lady," the sheriff said.
Nervously she moved over at the feet of the men and picked up the wallet, the coins, the car keys.
"All right, where is he?" the sheriff asked. "And don't waste my time!" he said angrily to the man in the fedora.
"Sheriff, I don't know what you-" started the man.
The sheriff almost lunged forward. "So help me!" he raged. Tom threw up one arm and stepped back.
"I'll tell you for a fact, Sheriff," Lou broke in. "If I'd known this fella had his woman with him, I'd never've done it."
Jean stared at the tall, ugly man, her teeth digging into her lower lip. Bob, Bob. Her mind kept saying his name.
"Where is he, I said," the sheriff demanded.
"I'll show you, I'll show you," Lou said. "I told you I never would've done it if I'd known his woman was with him."
Again he turned to the man in the fedora. "Why'd you let him go in there?" he demanded. "Why? Answer me that?"
"Don't know what he's talkin' about, Sheriff," Tom said blandly. "Why, I-"
"Get on the road," the sheriff ordered. "Both of you. You take us to him or you're really in trouble. I'm followin' you in the car. Don't make any wrong move, not one."
The car moved slowly behind the two walking men.
"I been after these boys for a year," the sheriff told her. "They set themselves up a nice little system robbin' men who come to the cafe, then dumpin' them in the desert and sellin' their car up north."
Jean hardly heard what he was saying. She kept staring at the road ahead, her stomach tight, her hands pressed tightly together.