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his uncle.
    Robert touched the orange substance.
    "I've lost my doll," a girl's sad voice echoed inside Robert's head. "I've lost my doll. Will you find it for me?" He leaned closer to the jar, rubbed inside. Nothing.
    He watched as Ramsden searched a clump of half-grown bushes. The sergeant reached for something hanging in the barbed branches, pulled it out like he was performing a magic trick. Robert's dad staggered back.
    It was Matthew's straw hat.

CHAPTER SIX
     
    Four weeks later, Robert was standing on the train tracks next to the Pioneer grain elevator. The tracks stretched in a long line from his feet to forever. They looked like the spine of a dead dinosaur or giant sea snake. What were the back bones called again? Vertebrae. That was the word scientists used. Archaeologists —the guys who dig in dirt, who found Tutankhamen buried in Egypt—they would say these were vertebrae . Snake vertebrae.
    It would have to have been a giant snake, though, like the one that wrapped itself around the world in the Viking legends. But that serpent was under the ocean. Maybe Saskatchewan had been under water once, too. And the sun had shone and shone and dried up everything, including the snake, leaving just its bleached bones.
    "Robert." His dad's voice cut through his thoughts. "Get over here."
    Robert jogged toward the elevator. His father had finished dealing with the agent and now sat on the wagon, his jaw set hard. It had been set hard for quite a while now.
    Robert climbed to his seat. His dad flicked the reins and the horses trotted down the road, iron horseshoes ping ping ing as they crossed the tracks.
    Main Street was almost empty; a truck sat in front of the grocer's and a wagon stood by the hotel. Robert had to count silently to figure what day it was. Saturday. He wanted to buy candy at Mr. Parson's Billiards and Barber Shop, but he had no pennies and didn't feel brave enough to ask for any.
    His father parked near the grocer's and swung to the ground. "I'll be back in twenty minutes," he said, then he plodded across the wooden sidewalk.
    Old Mr. Gundy sat on the bench outside the store, whittling a piece of wood. He glanced away from Robert's dad. Robert had seen that a lot lately. People didn't look at him or his mom or dad. It was like they didn't exist any more. Or maybe no one wanted to see what was in their eyes.
    His dad hadn't told him to stay put, so he climbed down and walked to the pool parlor. His mom had forbidden him to go in there because the men who played pool on the long tables always took the Lord's name in vain. Swearing was a sin, he knew that much. Those ruffians would feel God's wrath, maybe even get hit by lightning while brandishing their pool cues. It'd be quite the sight to see, he decided, so long as God didn't also strike down boys who watched from the sidelines.
    A barber's pole, the colors faded, twirled slowly in the window. He pushed on the door; it had been hung crooked so it slid across a groove in the floor. Cigarette smoke drifted up his nose. The parlor was hazy, giving him the impression the building was quite close to that "hot place" far below. He pictured the Devil, lying under the floorboards, blowing smoke between the cracks.
    Robert stood in the barbershop, which was separated from the pool parlor by a low railing. The barber's chair was a majestic, long-backed metal seat padded with red leather cushions. When Mr. Parsons cut hair he'd swivel it around so his clients could watch the games. Uncle Alden had paid so Robert could have his hair cut in that very throne. It was the grandest haircut he'd ever had. The chair smelled of hair oils and dried shaving foam. A washbasin sat on the counter, surrounded by bottles of blue and red oils.
    He turned to the glass candy counter. An intricate brass cash register sat on top. Lined up behind the smudged glass were all the things he could have bought if only he'd had a few pennies. Chocolate wafers, Red Hand Chewing Gum, licorice,