LaConnerseemed to pull back. "He didn't mean it," he said, but his voice was defensive. "He was upset that night. It was the night he and Linda broke up-"

"He hurt me that night, too."

Though she'd uttered the words softly, almost apologetically, Linda Harris, who had been sitting quietly between her father and her brother, suddenly had the attention of everyone in the room.

"Hehurtyou?"Jerry Harris asked. "Honey, you never said anything."

"I-I guess I just didn't think it was very important," Linda replied, her voice trembling. "I mean, he didn't really hurt me. He was just real mad, and he started shaking me. But… well, when I yelled at him, he stopped."

"And you never told us?" Elaine asked. "Darling, it must have been awful for you!"

"I guess I just didn't want to get him in trouble. He got sick that night, and afterward he seemed… well, he seemed okay, I guess."

"Well, he's in trouble now," Sharon Tanner stated. "I don't suppose I'm going to make myself very popular in Silverdale, what with Jeff's being a big football hero and all that," she said, making no attempt to mask the sarcasm in her voice. "But even if none of the rest of you will do anything about it, I intend to make as much trouble for JeffLaConner as I can." She turned to Blake. "We're going to press charges against him," she said. "It sounds to me like Jeff thinks he can do anything he wants as long as he's the star of the team. Charlotte as much as told me so herself, the day after he slammed her against a wall." She turned back to Chuck now, her eyes challenging. "Thatiswhat happened, isn't it, Mr.LaConner?"

LaConnerhesitated, then nodded.

"Then that's it," Sharon said quietly. "It sounds to me like Jeff needs to be locked up for a while, and allowed to think things over."

"And that's what's going to happen to him, honey," Blake reminded her. "As soon as the cops find him."

"Will it?" Sharon asked. "Or will he just be given a little slap on the wrist and sent out on the football field to try to kill someone else?"

Her words silenced everyone in the waiting room. When Karen Akers appeared a few moments later to tellMacCallum that the X rays were finished and Mark was back in his room, no one had yet spoken another word. But as Blake rose to follow Sharon down the hall to their son's room, Jerry Harris put a hand on his arm and Blake paused for a moment. His eyes met Jerry's, and he could almost read his boss's mind.

"I know," he said, his voice tired. "If Mark were in any kind of shape, this wouldn't have happened. He might not have been able to beat Jeff, but he at least could have defended himself." He'd been thinking about his conversation with Jerry almost from the moment he'd seen Mark lying helpless on the lawn an hour ago. Now his mind was all but made up.

JeffLaConner crouched behind a large boulder. He had run blindly at first, racing from the darkness of one backyard to the next, pausing only briefly to cast a wary glance into the streets before dashing across to take shelter once again in the comforting shadows of the darkened houses.

He'd come to the edge of the town, then moved along the riverbank until he reached the footbridge. It was the wailing of the ambulance siren that finally made up his mind, and he'd hurried across the bridge and started up the path into the hills.

He was having no trouble seeing, even though the moon was no more than a quarter full, and he moved easily, fatigue from the fight he only dimly remembered dissipating as he loped along the trail. At last he'd come to the boulder, and with an almost animal instinct, crouched low against it, his back pressed close to the stone. There he'd waited, and watched.

For a long time nothing happened, and then he'd seen a police car moving through the streets, disappearing toward the county hospital a half mile out of town. After a while the patrol car had come back, stopping briefly in a darkened parking lot. Then it began moving again, and a moment later another car joined it.

He was certain he knew where they were going, and was not surprised when they came to a stop on the now nearly deserted block where the fight had occurred.

They were hunting for him.

He shrank closer to the boulder.

Wes Jenkins arrived at the scene of the fight only a few minutes after DickKennally. With him in the car were Joe Rankin, and in the screened-off back section of the black and white station wagon, Mitzi, the large police dog whose primary function had turned out to be keeping the night sergeant company during his normally boring shift. Tonight, though, Mitzi seemed to sense that something was happening, and as she leaped from the back of the station wagon, she barked eagerly.

Frank Kramer, Roy's father, was already there, having walked the three blocks from his house after Wes Jenkins had called him.

"Roy says he took off that way," Kramer said as the men gathered around him. He pointed across the street, and Wes Jenkins squatted down to snap a heavy leather lead to the collar around Mitzi's neck.

"Come on," he said. "Let's see what she can find."

As Kramer and Jenkins led the dog across the street, the other two men got into the black and white station wagon. Joe Rankin took the wheel and DickKennally switched on the radio, tuning it to the frequency of the portable unit Kramer was carrying with him.

"She's already got a scent," Kramer's voice crackled from a speaker a moment later. "She's heading east."

Joe Rankin put the car into gear, turned it around, and started slowly down the street, keeping abreast of the unseen men who were following the dog through the backyards.

"Turning north," Kramer said a few seconds later. "We're cutting across Pecos Drive."

The pursuit went on, Kramer keeping the men in the car posted as to his position, Rankin doing his best to anticipate their moves. At last the cruiser was parked on the street a few yards from the footbridge, where Frank Kramer and Wes Jenkins were waiting for them. Mitzi, straining at the end of her leash, was struggling to reach the bridge itself.

Kennallyand Rankin left the car and joined the two men already at the bridge.

"I don't know," Kramer said doubtfully, gazing up into the darkness on the other side of the bridge. "Why would he go up there? All that could happen to him is that he'd get lost."

"Maybe Mitzi's following a 'coon or something," Jenkins suggested.

ButKennally shook his head. "I don't think so. I think he's up there, and I don't think he's thinking straight. Come on."

Taking the leash from Jenkins,Kennally started across the bridge. The dog, her nose close to the ground, whined eagerly.

Mitzi didn't so much as hesitate at the fork in the path on the other end of the bridge. Instead, she started up the center trail, andKennally heard a groan from Frank Kramer.

"Told youyou were letting yourself go," he said over his shoulder. "Maybe you'll get lucky tonight and we can do five miles."

As the streetlamps of the village faded away behind them, the men switched on flashlights and started up the trail, soon disappearing into the deep darkness of the woods.

Jeff's eyes flickered as he watched the flashlights approach. He could barely make out the shapes of the men hunting him, but he had seen the dog clearly when one of the lights briefly flashed across its lithe form.

He stayed by the rock for a moment, trying to decide what to do. But his mind was fuzzy and he couldn't think clearly. Finally, following his instincts, he started uphill once again. Almost immediately the path grew sharply steeper, and within a few minutes his breath began to come in gasping pants. Still, he forced himself onward.

A few minutes later he missed his step and felt a sharp pain as he twisted his ankle. Stifling the yelp that rose in his throat, he lowered himself to the ground and rubbed at the injured joint. He rested there a moment, then heaved himself back up, resting all his weight on his good leg.