act I hoped so hard
that I was almost willing to forget the other bits of evidence. But then
I had to face the truth because we passed another Highway Sign and, of
course, its directional information pointed to that farm. The signs on
our side of the highway were upside down; indicating that we were
leaving the way station. The ones that were posted on the left hand side
were rightside up, indicating that the drive was approaching a way
station. That cinched it.

#Well,# as I told both Farrow and me, #one error doesn't create a trend.
Let's take another look!#

One thing and another, we would either hit another way station before we
got to Homestead, or we wouldn't. Either one could put us wise. So we
took off again with determination and finally left that side of
erroneous Highway Signs when we turned onto Route 66. We weren't on
Route 66 very long because the famous U.S. Highway sort of trends to the
Northeast and Homestead was in a Southern portion of Texas. We left
Route 66 at Amarillo and picked up U.S. 87, which leads due South.

Not many miles out of Amarillo we came up another set of Highway Signs
that pointed us on to the South. I tried to remember whether this
section led to Homestead by a long route, but I hadn't paid too much
attention to the maps when I'd had the chance and therefore the facts
eluded me.

We'd find out, Farrow and I agreed, and then before we could think much
more about it, we came upon a way station sign that pointed in to
another farmhouse.

"Easy," I said.

"You bet," she replied, pointing to the rural-type mailbox alongside the
road.

I nodded. The box was not new but the lettering on the side was. "Still
wet," I said with a grunt.

Farrow slowed her car as we approached the house and I leaned out and
gave a cheerful hail. A woman came out of the front door and waved at
us.

"I'm trying to locate a family named Harrison," I called. "Lived around
here somewhere."

The woman looked thoughtful. She was maybe thirty-five or so, clean but
not company-dressed. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek and a
smile on her face and she looked wholesome and honest.

"Why, I don't really know," she said. "That name sounds familiar, but it
is not an uncommon name."

"I know," I said uselessly. Farrow nudged me on the ankle with her toe
and then made a swift sign for "P" in the hand-sign code.

"Why don't you come on in?" invited the woman. "We've got an area
telephone directory he