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guess. Son, that 'cow' is Vale's Chablis of Postrock, Postrock ranch's prize
Charolais show bull, or he was until he got too mean to handle."
Garreth swallowed. "Mean?"
"He's put three men in the hospital. You could have paid for that walk with
your life." The deputy handed back the driver's license. "Suppose you forget
about looking at the night sky and go on back to town."
Garreth went, shaking in retrospective fear. But gradually, new feelings
replaced the fear. He had found a plentiful source of blood, and he had
controlled the bull. Best yet, he had not had to kill for his meal. He had
better find a cover for his nocturnal hunting trips, though. The next deputy
might not believe that he was driving for lack of anything better to do.
He would take up "jogging." Everyone ran these days. Tomorrow before he set
out south to look at more school records, he would buy a pair of running shoes
and a warm-up suit to lend his story credence. But maybe he should be a bit
more careful, too, about what cattle he fed on.
12
One day . . . two . . . a week. Garreth combed the records of the towns
around Hays, places with exotic names like Antonino, Schoenchen, Liebenthal,
Munjor, Bazine, Galatia, and, of course, Pfeifer. He could hardly afford to
overlook Pfeifer. But in all of them, he drew a blank. Deciding that
mentioning Lane's name in any connection might leak back to alarm her, he
revised his questions to ask about any Bieber girl who had left home late in
her teens during the thirties, possibly to go to Europe or one of the coasts.
That should sound innocent and expected in light of his cover story to
directly question as many Biebers as possible.
The question brought some response. A number of older people said, "I
remember that. She went to the college in Hays and ran off with one of her
professors. Caused a big scandal." They spoke with a curious accent, hissing
final s's, turning w,'s to v's and v's to f's.
"Do you remember her name and where she lived?" Garreth asked.
One old woman said, "She was one of Axel Bieber's granddaughters, I think.
Axel was my mother's half brother's cousin. They lived in Trubel up in Bellamy
County."
Trubel? Garreth checked the letters. No, the B would not fit the postmark.
Still . . . Heart pounding in hope, he headed for Trubel.
It proved to be another dead town . . . six houses, a general store-cum-gas
station and post office, and the inevitable grain elevator. The high school
had burned near the close of World War II, destroying all its records, and had
never been rebuilt.
Garreth tried to swallow his disappointment. "There used to be a family
here headed by a man named Axel Bieber. Are any of them still around?" he
asked the man at the general store.
"There's Rance and Ed Bieber farming south of here about six miles," was
the reply.
Garreth lost his way twice before finding the farm. Rance Bieber turned out
to be a man in his thirties, a great-grandson of Axel Bieber. He knew nothing
about one of his father's cousins running away with a college professor. His
father, Edward, was off in the state capital at a meeting protesting grain
prices. His mother had been dead for twenty years.
"Where can I find one of your father's brothers or sisters who might know
this cousin I'm looking for?"
"Well, the closest are an uncle in Eden and an aunt in Bellamy."
Garreth took the names and addresses and went to see them. Both said
essentially the same thing, that they knew of the cousin-the scandal had set
the family on ear-but they did not know the woman personally.
The aunt in Bellamy said, "My Grandpa Bieber wouldn't have anything to do
with Uncle Ben-that was her father. My grandfather was a Lutheran, you see,
and Uncle Ben married a Catholic woman and joined her church. Grandpa never
forgave him for becoming a Papist."
"Where does your uncle live, do you know?"
"He's dead now, I think."
Graves and more graves. Disappointment settled in a cold lump in Garreth's
stomach. "Where did he used to live, then?"
"Oh, up in Baumen in the northern part of the county."
The lump in Garreth's stomach dissolved. Baumen was one of the towns on his
list from which the letter to Lane might have been mailed.
That day he paid off his motel bill and moved his base of operations to
Baumen. After checking the cash he had left, Garreth bypassed the single motel
to check into the Driscoll Hotel downtown. Fortunately, while old, it was
clean, but even at its low prices, he could not afford to stay there long . .
. not unless he found a job soon.
He swore unhappily, resenting the time that working would steal from his
hunt. Still, what else could he do? He had to have money for gas and his room.
He would check the local high school, he decided. Maybe that would end his
hunt for Lane here and he would not have to stay any longer.
13
For a change, the records for the Baumen High School were stored in an
attic instead of a basement. Like the basements, the attic was dusty, but
unlike a basement, it was also hot and stuffy. The school principal, a man
named Schaeffer, had not been able to find the graduation pictures for the
years 1930 to 1936 and Lane had not been in the '37 to '40 pictures, so he
took Garreth up to the files. "There's a picture in their school records. That
cabinet should hold all the Biebers."
Garreth stood at the cabinet, bending down to go through its second drawer
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