I ran with Noonan. We hid in the ditch on the Inn side of the road. It was deep enough, and banked high enough, to let us stand almost erect without being targets.

The chief was excited.

“What luck!” he said happily. “He’s here, by God, he’s here!”

“That shot came from under the sill,” I said. “Not a bad trick.”

“We’ll spoil it, though,” he said cheerfully. “We’ll sieve the dump. Duffy ought to be pulling up on the other road by now, and Terry Shane won’t be many minutes behind him. Hey, Donner!” he called to a man who was peeping around a boulder. “Swing around back and tell Duffy and Shane to start closing in as soon as they come, letting fly with all they got. Where’s Kimble?”

The peeper jerked a thumb toward a tree beyond him. We could see only the upper part of it from our ditch.