Shadowfires

appeared.
    “ Now, Peake!” Sharp said in a hoarse whisper that was as
good as a shout.
    Another door opened back there, followed by hesitant footsteps,
and then shoes came into view at the left side of the station wagon
as well.
Peake's cheaper black oxfords were in even worse shape than Anson Sharp's
shoes: mud was smeared over the tops of them and caked along the
soles and heels, and there were twice as many burrs clinging to his
laces.
    The two men stood on opposite sides of the station wagon, neither
of them speaking, just listening and looking.
    Ben had the crazy idea that they would hear his pounding heart,
for to him it sounded like a timpani.
    “Might be ahead, between two of these cars, waiting to sandbag
us,” Peake whispered.
    “He's gone back into the woods,” Sharp said in a voice as soft as Peake's,
but with scorn. “Probably watching us from cover right now, trying
not to laugh.”
    The smooth, fist-sized rock that Ben had tucked inside his shirt
was pressing into his belly, but he did not shift his position for
fear the slightest sound would give him away.
    Finally Sharp and Peake moved together, paralleling each other,
stepping out of sight. They were probably looking warily into all the
cars and between them.
    But they were not likely to get down on their knees and look
underneath, because it was insane of Ben to hide there, flat on his
belly, nearly helpless, with no quick way out, where he could be shot
as easily as the proverbial fish in the barrel. If his risk paid off,
he would throw them off his trail, send them sniffing in the wrong
direction, and have a chance to boost one of these cars. However, if
they thought he was dumb enough-or clever enough-to hide under the
station wagon, he was a dead man.
    Ben prayed that the owner of the wagon would not return at this
inopportune moment and drive the heap away, leaving him exposed.
    Sharp and Peake reached the front of the line of vehicles and,
having found no enemy, returned, still walking on opposite sides of
the cars. They spoke a bit louder now.
    “You said he'd never shoot at us,” Peake remarked sourly.
    “He didn't.”
    “He shot at me, sure enough,” Peake said, his voice rising.
    “He shot at the car.”
    “What's the difference? We were in the car.”
    They stopped beside the station wagon once more.
    Ben looked left and right at their shoes, hoping he would not have
to sneeze, cough, or fart.
    Sharp said, “He shot at the tires. You see? No point disabling our
transportation if he was going to kill us.”
    “He shot out the windshield,” Peake said.
    “Yeah, but we were staying down, out of the way, and he knew he
wouldn't hit us. I tell you, he's a damn pussy, a prissy moralist,
sees himself as the guy in the white hat.
He'd shoot at us only if he had no choice, and he'd never shoot at us first. We'll have to start the action. Listen, Peake, if he'd wanted to
kill us, he could have poked the barrel of that piece through either
one of our side windows, could've taken us both out in two seconds flat. Think about it.”
    They were both silent.
    Peake was probably thinking about it.
    Ben wondered what Sharp was thinking. He hoped Sharp
wasn't thinking about Edgar Allan Poe's The Purloined Letter. He did not suppose there was much danger of that because he did
not think Sharp had ever in his life read anything other than skin
magazines.
    “He's down in those woods,” Sharp said at last, turning his back on the station wagon, showing Ben his heels. “Down toward the lake. He can see us, now, I'll
bet. Letting us make the next move.”
    “We have to get another car,” Peake said.
    “First you've got to go down in these woods, have a look around, see if you can flush him out.”
    “Me?”
    “You,” Sharp said.
    “Sir, I'm not really dressed for that sort of thing. My shoes-”
    “There's less underbrush here than there was up near Leben's
cabin,” Sharp said. “You'll manage.”
    Peake hesitated but finally said, “What'll you be doing while I'm
poking around down there?”
    “From here,” Sharp said, “I can look almost straight down through
the trees, into the brush. If you get near him down there on his own
level, he might be able to move away from you under the cover of
rocks and bushes, without you getting a glimpse of him. But see, from
up above here, I'm almost sure to see him moving. And when I do, I'll
go straight for the bastard.”
    Ben heard a peculiar noise, like a lid being unscrewed from a