To the right of the hurrying car, beyond the shoulder of the highway,
stood a gathering of cows. Not far beyond rested more brown shapes,
half-hidden by the shadow of a barn. On the side of the barn an old
Coca-Cola sign was vaguely visible.
Joseph Schilling, seated in the back of the car, reached into his
watch pocket and brought out his gold watch. With an expert dig of his
nail he lifted the lid and read the time. It was two-forty in the
afternoon, the hot, midsummer California afternoon.