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  Jean pushed at the door suddenly and it banged against the washroom wall.

  "There!" she said. "There's a door there!"

  She pointed to a door in the far wall of the washroom.

  "That door's been locked for years, lady," the man said.

  "It doesn't open?"

  "Ain't got no reason to open it."

  "It must open," Jean said. "My husband went in there and he didn't come out this door. And he didn't disappear!"

  The man looked at her sullenly without speaking.

  "What's on the other side of the door?" she asked.

  "Nothing."

  "Does it open on the outside?"

  The man didn't answer.

  "Does it?!"

  "It opens on a shed, lady, a shed no one's used for years," the man said angrily.

  She stepped forward and gripped the knob of the door.

  "I told you it didn't open." The man's voice was rising more.

  "Ma'am?" Behind her Jean heard the cajoling voice of the man in the fedora and green shirt. "Ain't nothin' in that shed but old trash, ma'am. You want, I'll show it to you."

  The way he said it, Jean suddenly realized that she was alone. Nobody she knew knew where she was; there was no way of checking if-

  She moved out of the washroom quickly.

  "Excuse me," she said as she walked by the man in the fedora, "I want to make a call first."

  She walked stiffly to the wall phone, shuddering as she thought of them coming after her. She picked up the ear piece. There was no dial tone. She waited a moment, then tensed herself and turned to face the two watching men.

  "Does-does it work?" "Who ya call-" started the man in the white ducks, but the other man interrupted.

  "You gotta crank it, ma'am," he said slowly. Jean noticed the other man glaring at him suddenly, and when she turned back to the phone, she heard their voices whispering heatedly.

  She turned the crank with shaking fingers. What if they come at me? The thought wouldn't leave her.

  "Yes?" a thin voice asked over the phone.

  Jean swallowed. "Would you get me the marshal, please?" she asked.

  "Marshal?"

  "Yes, the-"

  She lowered her voice suddenly, hoping the men wouldn't hear her. "The marshal," she repeated.

  "There's no marshal, ma'am."

  She felt close to screaming. "Who do I call?"

  "You might want the sheriff, ma'am," the operator said.

  Jean closed her eyes and ran her tongue over dry lips. "The sheriff then," she said.

  There was a sputtering sound over the phone, a series of dull buzzes and then the sound of a receiver being lifted.

  "Sheriffs office," said a voice.

  "Sheriff, would you please come out to-"

  "One second. I'll get the sheriff."

  Jean's stomach muscles pulled in and her throat became taut. As she waited, she felt the eyes of the two men on her. She heard one of them move and her shoulders twitched spasmodically.

  "Sheriff speaking."

  "Sheriff, would you please come out to the-"

  Her lips trembled as she realized suddenly that she didn't know the name of the cafe. She turned nervously and her heartbeat lurched when she saw the men looking at her coldly.

  "What's the name of the cafe?"

  "Why do you want to know?" asked the man in the white ducks.

  He isn't going to tell me, she thought. He's going to make me go out to look at the sign so that he can-

  "Are you going to-" she started to say, then turned quickly as the sheriff said, "Hello?"

  "Please don't hang up," she said hurriedly. "I'm in a cafe on the edge of the town near the desert. On the western edge of town, I mean. I came here with my husband and now he's gone. He-just disappeared."

  The sound of her own words made her shudder.

  "You at the Blue Eagle?" the sheriff asked.

  "I-I don't know," she said. "I don't know the name. They won't tell-"

  Again she broke off nervously.

  "Ma'am, if you want to know the name," said the man in the fedora, "it's the Blue Eagle."

  "Yes, yes," she relayed to the mouthpiece. "The Blue Eagle."

  "I'll be right over," said the sheriff.

  "What you tell her for?" the man in the white ducks spoke angrily behind her.

  "Son, we don't want no trouble with the sheriff. We ain't done nothin'. Why shouldn't he come?"

  For a long moment Jean leaned her forehead against the phone and drew in deep breaths. They can't do anything now, she kept telling herself. I've told the sheriff and they have to leave me alone. She heard one of the men moving to the door but no sound of the door opening.

  She turned and saw that the man in the fedora was looking out the door while the other one stared at her.

  "You tryin' to make trouble for my place?" he asked.

  "I'm not trying to make trouble, but I want my husband back."

  "Lady, we ain't done nothing with your husband!"

  The man in the fedora turned around with a wry grin. "Looks like your husband lit out," he said blandly.

  "He did not!" Jean said angrily.

  "Then where's your car, ma'am?" the man asked.

  There was a sudden dropping sensation in her stomach. Jean ran to the screen door and pushed out.

  The car was gone.

  "Bob!"

  "Looks like he left you behind, ma'am," said the man.

  She looked at the man with frightened eyes, then turned away with a sob and stumbled across the porch. She stood there in the oven-hot shade crying and looking at the place where the car had been. The dust was still settling there.

  She was still standing on the porch when the dusty blue patrol car braked in front of the cafe. The door opened and a tall, red-haired man got out, dressed in gray shirt and trousers, with a dull, metallic star pinned over his heart. Jean moved numbly off the porch to meet him.

  "You the lady that called?" the man asked.

  "Yes, I am."

  "What's wrong now?"

  "I told you. My husband disappeared."

  "Disappeared?"

  As quickly as possible she told him what had happened.

  "You don't think he drove away then?" said the sheriff.

  "He wouldn't leave me here like this."

  The sheriff nodded. "All right, go on," he said.

  When she was finished, the sheriff nodded again and they went inside. They went to the counter.

  "This lady's husband go in the lavatory, Jim?" the sheriff asked the man in the white ducks.

  "How should I know?" the man asked. "I was cooking. Ask Tom, he was in there." He nodded toward the man in the fedora.

  "What about it, Tom?" asked the sheriff.

  "Sheriff, didn't the lady tell you her husband just lit out before in their car?"

  "That's not true!" Jean cried.

  "You see the man driving the car away, Tom?" the sheriff asked.

  "Sure I saw him. Why else would I say it?"

  "No. No." Jean murmured the word with tiny, frightened shakes of her head.

  "Why didn't you call after him if you saw him?" the sheriff asked Tom.

  "Sheriff, ain't none of my business if a man wants to run out on-"

  "He didn't run out!"

  The man in the fedora shrugged his shoulders with a grin. The sheriff turned to Jean.

  "Did you see your husband go in the lavatory?"

  "Yes, of course I-well, no, I didn't exactly see him go in, but-"

  She broke off into angry silence as the man in the fedora chuckled.

  "I know he went in," she said, "because after I came out of the ladies washroom I went outside and the car was empty. Where else could he have been? The cafe is only so big. There's a door in that washroom. He said it hasn't been used in years." She pointed at the man in the white ducks. "But I know it has. I know my husband didn't just leave me here. He wouldn't do it. I know him, and he wouldn't do it!"

/>   "Sheriff," said the man in white ducks, "I showed the washroom to her when she asked. There wasn't nobody in there and she can't say there was."

  Jean twisted her shoulders irritably.

  "He went through that other door," she said.

  "Lady, that door ain't used!" the man said loudly. Jean flinched and stepped back.

  "All right, take it easy, Jim," the sheriff said. "Lady, if you didn't see your husband go in that lavatory and you didn't see if it was somebody else drivin' your car away, I don't see what we got to go on."

  "What?"

  She couldn't believe what she'd heard. Was the man actually telling her there was nothing to be done? For a second she tightened in fury thinking that the sheriff was just sticking up for his own townspeople against a stranger. Then the impact of being alone and helpless struck her and her breath caught as she looked at the sheriff with childlike, frightened eyes.

  "Lady, I don't see what I can do," the sheriff said with a shake of his head.

  "Can't you-" She gestured timidly. "Can't you l-look in the washroom for a clue or something? Can't you open that door?"

  The sheriff looked at her for a moment, then pursed his lips and walked down to the washroom. Jean followed him closely, afraid to stay near the two men.

  She looked into the washroom as the sheriff was testing the closed door. She shuddered as the man in the white ducks came down and stood beside her.

  "I told her it don't open," he said to the sheriff.

  "It's locked on the other side. How could the man get out?"

  "Someone might have opened it on the other side," Jean said nervously.

  The man made a sound of disgust.

  "Anyone else been around here?" the sheriff asked Jim.

  "Just Sam McComas havin' some beer before, but he went home about-"

  "I mean in this shed."

  "Sheriff, you know there ain't."

  "What about big Lou?" the sheriff asked.

  Jim was quiet a second and Jean saw his throat move.

  "He ain't been around for months, Sheriff," Jim said. "He went up north."

  "Jim, you better go around and open up this door," the sheriff said.

  "Sheriff, ain't nothin' but an empty shed in there."

  "I know, Jim, I know. Just want to satisfy the lady."

  Jean stood there feeling the looseness around her eyes again, the sick feeling of being without help. It made her dizzy, as if everything were spinning away from her. She held one fist with her other hand and all her fingers were white.

  Jim went out the screen door with a disgusted mutter and the door slapped shut behind him.

  "Lady, come here," Jean heard the sheriff say quickly and softly. Her heart jumped as she moved into the washroom.

  "You recognize this?"

  She looked at the shred of cloth in his palm, then she gasped, "That's the color slacks he had on!"

  "Ma'am, not so loud," the sheriff said. "I don't want them to think I know anything."

  He stepped out of the washroom suddenly as he heard boots on the floor. "You goin' somewhere, Tom?" he asked.

  "No, no, Sheriff," said the man in the fedora. "Just comin' down to see how you was gettin' on."

  "Uh-huh. Well-stick around for a while, will you, Tom?" said the sheriff.

  Sure, Sheriff, sure," Tom said broadly. "I ain't goin' nowhere."

  They heard a clicking sound in the washroom, and in a moment the door was pulled open. The sheriff walked past Jean and down three steps into a dimly lit shed.

  "Got a light in here?" he asked Jim.

  "Nope, ain't got no reason to. No one ever uses it."

  The sheriff pulled a light string, but nothing happened.

  "Don't you believe me, Sheriff?" Jim said.

  "Sure I do, Jim," said the sheriff. "I'm just curious."

  Jean stood in the doorway looking down into the damp-smelling shed.

  "Kinda beat up in here," said the sheriff, looking at a knocked-over table and chair.

  "No one's been here for years, Sheriff," Jim said. "Ain't no reason to tidy it up."

  "Years, eh?" the sheriff said half to himself as he moved around the shed. Jean watched him, her hands numb at the fingertips, shaking. Why didn't he find out where Bob was? That shred of cloth-how did it get torn from Bob's slacks? She gritted her teeth hard. I mustn't cry, she ordered herself. I just mustn't cry. I know he's all right. He's perfectly all right.

  The sheriff stopped and bent over to pick up a newspaper. He glanced at it casually, then folded it and hit it against one palm casually.

  "Years, eh?" he said.

  "Well, I haven't been here in years," Jim said hurriedly, licking his lips. "Could be that-oh, Lou or somebody been holin' up in here sometime the last year. I don't keep the outside door locked ya know."

  "Thought you said Lou went up north," the sheriff said mildly.

  "He did, he did. I say in the last year he might have-"

  "This is yesterday's paper, Jim," the sheriff said.

  Jim looked blank, started to say something and then closed his mouth without making a sound. Jean felt herself trembling without control now. She didn't hear the screen door close quietly in front of the cafe or the furtive footsteps across the porch boards.

  "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 po
ckets?" 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.

  "Never knew how they worked it though," the sheriff went on. "Never thought of the lavatory. Guess what they did was keep it locked for any man but one who was alone. They must've slipped up today. I guess Lou just jumped anyone who came in there. He's not any too bright."

  "Do you think they-" Jean started hesitantly.

  The sheriff hesitated. "I don't know, lady. I wouldn't think so. They ain't that dumb. Besides we had cases like this before and they never hurt no one worse than a bump on the head."

  He honked the horn. "Come on, snap it up!" he called to the men.