"Maybe he sought her out for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps the meeting wasn't serendipitous at all."

"Possible, I suppose," Dean said. "But it begs a reason. Besides, if you buy her story of years of happy marriage, it doesn't point to any untoward reason for Dawkins to seek her out before meeting her. After they married, they never visited Ouray, only fantasized about it."

"All that supposition is based on her telling you the truth," Cynthia pointed out.

"Hold judgment until you meet her this afternoon," he answered. "I'll be surprised if you don't believe her, too. She certainly shares our opinion that the current day Dawkins are a sorry lot. That alone is a point in her favor. I'm still convinced that the identity of the bones somehow rests with that group."

The afternoon sun was high in the sky, baking the revelers in summer warmth as they clustered around the intersection of Sixth and Main Street, the site of the infamous water fight. By the time the Deans arrived, the crowd was already several deep, the hoses drawn, and the early participants chatting nervously.

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Cynthia had missed the prior year's duel, and Dean explained the procedure. "Stay away from the southeast and northwest street corners. That's where the stream is directed, although there's a fair chance of getting soaked anywhere. Those hoses pack a whale of a wallop."

"What will they be trying to do?" she asked.

"Knock each other down, mainly. When the hoses are filled with water, they're might heavy. Each team has three members, a lead person and two back-ups." Just then, one of the attending firemen tested the hose with a tentative burst, scattering a curbside group that screamed in delight.

"Martha would have loved this," Cynthia said. "Randy, too. He'd be at the head of the hose, like Pumpkin and Billy Langstrom over there." She pointed to the two young men, almost unrecognizable in their ponderous gear of boots, rubber coat, and visored helmet. She added, "Now that he'll be married with responsibilities, this sort of activity is all behind him."

Dean didn't want to go there. The wedding aisle remained slippery ground. He changed the subject by pointing out Brandon Westlake standing near the boys, his arm about Billy, as with animated motions he seemed to be giving last-minute instructions. Besides, Dean thought, Randy-single or married-probably has more sense than to get knocked on his ass by a zillion pounds of water pressure aimed at his body. While Dean enjoyed the spectacle of the exciting contest, he harbored no envy toward its participants. It was a young man's-or woman's-game, although Dean doubted he'd have joined the contest, at least not willingly, even in his careless years.




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