"Does my heart proud to see a foreigner who comprehends high iron. Way the Asiatics are floodin' in, you'd think the old ways are not long for this sorry world."
Remo said nothing.
Having satisfied himself that no train was coming, Chiun stood up and began walking the track.
"I guess we walk," said Remo.
They walked. The hot Texas sun beat down, and Melvis Cupper adjusted his Stetson, saying, "You boys really ought to get yourselves hatted up Texas style. Do you a world of good."
"Pass," said Remo,
"What about you, old fella?"
"I have known many summers. I do not fear the sun." His eyes were fixed on the ties.
"Suit yourself. But sunstroke ain't nothin' to wish away."
When they came to the section of track where the wood ties were scorched from the sport-vehicle gas tank going up, Chiun abruptly left the rail bed.
"Where we goin' now?" Melvis asked Remo.
"Where he goes."
"That don't answer my interrogative, as we say in east Texas."
"Learn to go with the flow," suggested Remo.
Chiun came to a flurry of footprints. He stooped, examining these. Remo watched him.
Melvis spoke up. "Those tracks won't tell you a damn thing. That's where we all stood the other day, pokin' about."
Chiun stood up.
"Where are the tracks of the escaping driver?" he asked.
"Search me. Figure he hightailed it for Mexico by now."
"Has it rained of late?" asked Chiun.
"Naw. Dry as a bleached cow skull."
"There should be tracks of the fleeing one."
"Well, if you can find 'em, you're more than welcome to 'em."
Abruptly Chiun walked into the underbrush.
Remo soon saw why. A crushed sprig of mimosa showed that a man had walked here in the recent past.
Carefully Chiun placed his feet on the bare spot. His gait became deliberate, cautious.
Remo watched the ground as he followed.
"Who we followin'?" Melvis asked.
"Search me," Remo admitted.
"Hush!" said Chiun. His tone was very serious.
They walked into trackside woods. This was east Texas. Pine and sweet gum predominated. Without warning, Chiun stopped.
"What's wrong?" Remo asked.
"They stop," he said.
"What stops?"
"The tracks."
"Whose tracks? I see only yours."
"Come around. Carefully."
Remo did. Melvis hovered close.
The Master of Sinanju was pointing at the sandy yellow soil. Ahead of him stretched a short set of footprints. They looked like Chiun's. But Chiun hadn't walked this far yet. And Chiun left prints only when he wanted to. Remo followed them back and saw that Chiun was standing in a lone set. Only then did Remo realize that the tracks he'd thought were Chiun's were really older tracks Chiun's feet perfectly fit into.
"Wait a minute..." Remo said.
"Hush."
"What's goin' on?" Melvis muttered.
Chiun's eyes squeezed into slits of deep thought. "These tracks are two days old. Perhaps older. But no more recent."
"Yeah. You're right," said Remo.
Their eyes met. Chiun's chin lifted. A dusty breeze toyed with his wispy beard. He took it between two fingers, the short-nailed index finger and the second one.
"Two days," he repeated. "No sooner."
"No argument there..." said Remo.
Chiun turned on Melvis. "What manner of vehicle was destroyed here?"
"Lemme think now. It was a funny one. Oh, yeah. A Nishitsu Ninja."