It was the sun finding a slit in the trees and through the back window of the Model A that woke them. That, and the muzzle of a twelve-gauge shotgun leveled at the top of Beckman’s head. Beckman looked down the barrel in horror, at the face of a wrinkled, whiskered old man peering back at him along the barrel with one good eye, the other white and dead as a stone.
“Jonny, look at this, would you?”
Beckman looked over at the face of a mongrel dog leaning, paws up, on the front seat.
“Jonny, what do you suppose they been up to?”
Honey now realized their situation and screamed. Instantly the man c****d the hammer on the gun.
“Wait!” Beckman yelled, “Wait! Take it easy. We’re not after anything. We got lost, and we’re engaged to be married.” Beckman could not keep the tremor out of his vo
