FINN PUTTERED ALONG on his motorcycle, one eye on the cattle walking along beside him, the other on the ground in front, looking for potholes or logs, anything that might unseat him. The cattle were compliant now, after gathering the feisty mob this morning, the long walk back to the yards had cured most of them of the notion of escape. Another long day in the desert heat was nearly over. Things had pretty much gone back to normal now, three days after he and Indy had discovered the dead body in the bush.
Finn found himself slotting back into his undercover role easily once more. Almost as if he were made for working the country. Sometimes he had to remind himself he was actually here to bring down an illegal drug gang, not to get sucked in by the camaraderie and friendship built around a
