The branches were outlined with fresh white snow, which proved to be a distraction in my headlights. I nearly slipped off the lane and into a small ditch on the right. As I concentrated on the lane, though, I noticed that there were absolutely no indications of any tracks. None. Given the faint tracks where Fred had told me he let them off, I thought there surely would have been some indication if his cousins had left by this, the easiest route.

Fred was becoming more and more frightened and nervous the closer we got to the Borglan house. He was tapping the heel of his left foot on the floorboard so vigorously his left knee was jumping in and out of my peripheral vision.

"Fred! Knock off that foot-stompin' shit! It's bothering me."

He stopped abruptly. "I don't like this. I sh, sh, shouldn't be here…"

"Why not?" I asked, distractedly.

"I don't know. I just sh, sh, shouldn't be…"

"Don't worry," I said, as we pulled into the Borglan farmyard. I stopped, and rolled down my window to obtain a totally unfogged view. No tracks here, either. Not even faint.

It was a nice place. Nice house and large garage. Fresh paint on the outbuildings. Bright orangish light provided by a sodium vapor streetlamp on a high pole. Really looked homey.

There were no lights on inside, except the faint glow of what I assumed was a night-light in the kitchen.

I walked back to Mike, who was rolling his window down at my approach.

"You want to get Fred back here to your car? I'll have a look around, but I don't want to leave him alone in my car too long."

"In the cage?" asked Mike.

"Naw. He isn't in custody. If we need to secure him, though, I'll let you know."

"How we gonna know that?" asked Mike.

"If I have signs here of forcible entry, we just pop him for suspicion of burglary. He drove 'em in, according to him."

"Suits me," said Mike, with a wide grin. "From those tracks, you mean?"