The old man gave up figuring what I owed him and went out to fill the tank. I tried to strike up a conversation. "Beautiful country around here." "Sure is. I like it best in the summertime." "Do much fishing?" He shrugged. "Some. I'm generally pretty busy." I looked out through the window at the bus where the old man was cranking the gas pump counting the profits on ten gallons of gas. The bus itself was battered and scarred, the red and yellow paint flaking off the sides. It was filled with adults--most of them young--and a sprinkling of kids. "Some kind of outing?" He laughed. "That's right. The Young People's League from the Methodist Church in Winook." "Hard group to keep entertained, huh?" He made a face and said, "You know how it goes." The old man came back from the pump. "That's two seventy-six, son. Took a little over ten." The driver paid and started for the door. "See you around," I said. "Yeah, sure thing." I turned back to the old man and asked, "What do I owe you for the groceries?" "Call it three and a quarter," he said slowly, not taking his eyes off the window where the bus still sat while the driver worked the gas pedal. The aimless whirring finally caught and the bus lumbered off. "Something funny there. Real funny." "What do you mean?" He came out of it, took my money, and leaned closer so even Fred, who was still fingering plugs at the far counter, couldn't hear. "You know, that young feller came by last night and that bus of his was empty. There's a fork in the road up ahead and he went to the right. Nothing up that away at all. The road just deadheads into the brush for about three miles and that's it. And I would've sworn that's where he came from just now. Didn't hear him go back last night and ain't seen him all morning. Don't know where all those people come from." "He said they were from some young people's group in Winook." The old man looked surprised. "Winook? No town around here by that name that I heard of--and I been here a mighty long time." I picked up my load of groceries and started for the door. "Maybe I misunderstood him," I mumbled. "He must've meant some other town." Out in the car, I let the motor idle for a minute. Up the road for about three miles, the old man had said. My stomach felt funny and the palms of my hands were oozing dampness. But I had to take a look, I had to go. "What's the matter?" Fred asked. "Nothing," I said. I put the car in gear and went straight ahead. I took the right fork. "Where you going?" "Just up the road a bit. I want to check on something." He looked sour. "It's after six now. We don't have much time." "It'll only take a couple of minutes." He turned indifferent. "Suit yourself. I was thinking we might get some fishing in." He let it hang there and I almost changed my mind. You know how it is with fishing. If there's any daylight at all, you want to at least trail a hook in the water before hitting the sack.