"Good show, Jacob," said Farmer James.

Mr. Boggledin nodded. "Well...the people deserved to know what was going on."

The two men exited Parish Hall. They nodded to the two guards, John and Dutch, then descended the steps. They took Backbone Trail, which ran east to west, splitting Lush Acres straight down the middle. Striding side by side, the farmer a whole head taller, they passed dark cottages and cabins. Bright moon beams shone through silhouetted maple leaves, dappling the trail with a ghostly glow. Both men were silent, their thoughts stirring. They came to a fork and took the left, onto Fern Trail and finally they came to a wooden fence, which marked the northern perimeter of town. They followed this for a short stretch until they reached another, intersecting fence, Mr. Dowery's dairy farm.

"I wonder how much longer we'll be able to see the moon before the smog covers it," said Farmer James.

"Isn't long now, I assume," replied Mr. Boggledin. "Not unless something, and you know what I mean, is done. And soon, now."

They stood beneath a tall poplar tree which stood just inside the Dowery fence line. A gentle breeze rustled the large, crusty leaves overhead and a few broke free and drifted toward the ground. The two men checked their surroundings to be sure no prying ears were near. The closest dwelling was a good distance behind them and the pasture before them was free of both man and cattle.

Easing the tip of his straw hat back, the farmer released a sigh. "Nice and peaceful here, Jacob."

The hermit nodded and the farmer continued.

"Good people." Farmer James looked up through the intersecting branches of the huge poplar at the star-speckled sky. "I always thought I could keep it that way...."

"The responsibility has not been yours alone. Nor is it now."

The farmer cast his eyes toward the old hermit. "I did not mean it that way, Jacob. I only meant that it has been a source of concern. For the longest time there hasn't been even a hint of a threat."

"Until now...."

"Until now," concurred the farmer, staring off.

Mr. Boggledin cupped his hands behind his back and began to pace. "Damn, James...you know well as I do that that's no storm headed this way, now."

Farmer James raised his eyebrows. "To be certain, the river must be crossed. The Mayor's at least willing to do that. But I do agree with you at the moment, Jacob...it doesn't seem to me to be anything natural." He set the tip of his rake on the ground and leaned on the steel end. "But tell me now old friend, why do you suppose Belmeade would send a messenger all the way down here?"

"It wasn't to say hello."

"Hmm." Farmer James nodded. "I would guess he has information that might be beneficial to us."

"And the Mayor's trying to keep it secret...but for what purpose?"

"Been wondering that myself. Never known the mayor to be deceitful before."

Mr. Boggledin stroked his wiry beard. "It's evil at work, James. I can feel it in my bones."

"I wish you were wrong...but I suspect your intuition is correct." Farmer James flipped the rake on its steel and turned to his old friend. "Jacob, I think I'll go pay him a visit."

"The mayor?"

"No...the prisoner."

"Hmph!" cried the hermit, apparently surprised. "Don't get caught."

The farmer pulled the brim of his hat down and smiled. "I may be old, but I can still sneak about good enough."