"These look familiar to you?" asked Remo.
"Sure. Looks like your friend here was walkin' about."
"What about these?" Remo said, pointing to another scatter of imprints.
Melvis rubbed his blunt jaw thoughtfully. "Hmm."
"Big Sandy, remember?"
"That's your friend's footprints. You can't fool me."
"They are the same size, true, but not the same," said Chiun. And placing one sandaled foot beside a print, he pressed down. When his foot came away, it was obvious they were not the same. Just similar.
"You sayin' the fella what jumped the track at Big Sandy was here, too?"
"Definitely," said Remo.
Melvis Cupper contorted his face in thought. He chewed his lower lip. He squinted one eye shut, then the other. "If that don't beat all," he muttered.
"He was at Oklahoma City too."
"That's conjecture. Pure, unabashed conjecture. I don't hold with conjecture. No, sir. Don't hold with it a-tall. "
"Tough," said Remo. "You're stuck with it."
"Yes," says Chiun. "Put that in your report and smoke it."
They walked away.
Melvis hurried after them. "Now, wait a goldang minute."
They kept walking.
Puffing, Melvis drew abreast. He walked in front of them, stepping backward and trying not to trip over ground roots.
"You fellas came along the other way, am I right?"
"Right," said Remo.
"So how y'all know those tracks were there?"
"That is for us to know and you to find out," said Chiun.
Melvis eyed them pointedly. "You were here before."
"Possibly," said Chiun.
"You were here before NTSB! How is that possible? There wasn't time for you to get on-site before me."
"You ask too many questions," said Remo.
"Yes. Of the wrong person. Better you learn to ask the correct questions at the proper times," Chiun warned.
Melvis was trying to think of a good comeback for that when his beeper went off. "Oh, hell. I hope this ain't another one."
It was. Melvis ran to his rental car and dialed a number on his cell phone.
"Da-yam."
"What is it?" asked Remo.
"You boys might want to check in with your supervisors, too. There's big doin's out Nebraska way."
"Derailment?"
"Worse. Looks like they got what they used to call in the old-timey days a cornfield meet."
Remo said, "A what?"
Chiun gasped. "No!"
Remo did a double take. "You know what that is?" he asked Chiun.
"Of course he does," spit Melvis. "Any man who rode steam locomotives before they turned antique knows what a cornfield meet is."
"Well, I don't."
"I rest my case," Melvis Cupper said. Turning his attention back to the cell phone, he barked, "I'm on my way. This one was only a crossing derailment anyway. Happens every dang day."
When he hung up, Remo and Chiun were looking at him like a pair of unhappy Sunday-school teachers.
"Nobody has yet proved different," Melvis retorted defensively.
Chapter 15
Over Nebraska, Remo began to suspect why a cornfield meet might be called that. Rows of waving corn marched in all directions like a green-clad army on parade drill.
The waiting NTSB helicopter had taken off from Lincoln, Nebraska, and picking up a double ribbon of tracks running due west through flatland country, followed them. After a while a parallel set of tracks appeared.
Over the rotor whine, Melvis Cupper was peppering the Master of Sinanju with questions. "Tell me more about that steam loco you used to ride when you were a young 'un. Narrow gauge or standard?"
"Narrow," said Chiun.
"No foolin'. Elephant ears?"
"Elephant ears are African."