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him.
    "Are you sure?" his dad repeated, quietly.
    Robert nodded.
    His mother stepped back so she could look down at him. "Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you tell us?"
    Robert blinked. "It was just a truck going by. That's all."
    Sergeant Ramsden cleared his throat. "Look, there might have been a truck, there might not. The point is, your boy's probably wandering around somewhere daydreaming."
    "It's not in Matthew to daydream," Robert's mom said, defensively.
    The sergeant frowned. He moved toward the sidewalk and spoke to the crowd, who were waiting a respectful distance from the family.
    "Listen up. Anyone who's got a truck or a wagon, I need help finding this boy, Matthew. You all know what he looks like. He may have been picked up by someone, so if you see anything odd, then wait for us. Don't go getting into any hysterics or heroics—I don't want neither. If you find the boy, bring him right back here."
    The crowd slowly dispersed, except for Mrs. Juskin and Mrs. Torence, the two plump war widows who lived in the house next to the school. They had wormed into place beside Robert's mother, intoning quietly that "everything—every single thing" would be all right. The shape of their bodies reminded Robert of a spider's abdomen. Mrs. Torence set her hand on his head. It felt heavy and hot and sweaty like an African toad.
    The sergeant asked Robert's uncle, "Do you mind if Officer Davies rides in your truck?"
    "I'll go get it," Uncle Alden replied. "Anything to help." He squeezed Robert's arm again, then jogged to his truck. Robert's mom and dad stared silently. They'd become statues again.
    The Mounties stepped away to talk privately. Robert watched Sergeant Ramsden's lips move. Officer Davies stood straight, leaning slightly ahead. Occasionally he nodded or said something that could have been Yes, sir. The words of his superior officer flowed out and the younger Mountie received them as though he were a receptacle—there was another good word—to be filled with orders. Maybe the sergeant had given a special command. A royal one.
    Uncle Alden's old Ford truck rattled and hummed up the street and stopped near the sidewalk. Then Davies got in and spoke a few words. Robert wanted to slip in the open door and go with them, but the moment he had the thought, the door closed and the truck sped off.
    Sergeant Ramsden returned. "You three will ride with me."
    "You're not taking the boy, are you?" Mrs. Torence asked. "We'll watch over him until you get back." Her hand squirmed on his head and pushed him down as if he were a potato she was trying to plant. "The sandhills and the sage are no place for him."
    "The boy comes." Sergeant Ramsden didn't even look at them. "He's got good eyes and ears. And intuition."
    Mrs. Torence reluctantly removed her hand, and Robert felt lighter.
    "You take care, now, Robbie," one whispered.
    Robert followed his mother, climbing into the backseat of the Mounties' car. His father and the sergeant sat in the front.
    He tried hard to remember exactly what intuition meant.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    They drove down Main Street. Three Chinese women stood outside the laundry wiping their hands on aprons, staring into the Mounties' car. Their long black hair was braided and tied back. A wisp of steam drifted out the door behind them. Somewhere inside the men were boiling water, turning handles on the pressing machine, squeezing the stains from clothes. The women seemed sad, Robert thought. They came from an old country, didn't they? A land of emperors and dragons. People disappeared there all the time, stolen by sinister men like Dr. Fu Manchu. These women would know what it was like to lose someone dear.
    "Did your son have any special hiding places?" the sergeant asked as they stopped at the edge of the grid road. "The kind of place he might run to if he was afraid?"
    Robert thought the question wasn't very useful. If Matthew had a hiding place, he wouldn't have told anyone; hiding places were