They found the gear with little trouble where Gibbons had directed. There was a large backpack, a smaller one, a bagged tent and a rolled-up sleeping bag. Fred and Dean didn't stop to examine them but continued to casually stroll by. At a glance it appeared the gear was newer than usual and Dean could read the
L. L. Bean label on the backpack. There were numerous other tents in the area, many occupied and others with campers sitting outside enjoying the setting sun.
"How do you see this coming off?" Fred asked in almost a whisper. "We can't just sit down and pull the stuff apart. Someone may know the owner."
"I've got an idea," Dean said. "Come on back to my campsite."
When they had crossed the field to the spot where Dean's tent was pitched, he began to dismantle it. "I figure we just set up this tent right on the other site and pull his stuff inside. That way, we can poke through everything in privacy. When we're finished we take the tent down and bring it back here. People will figure they reassigned the site."
"I gotta hand it to you. That's like something they'd do in a book!" Dean wasn't sure he appreciated the compliment but the pair made fast work of folding up his tent and moving the small enclosure to the new site. The two re-pitched the shelter in minutes. As Dean had predicted, no one paid them any heed. They both crawled into the tent and pulled in the gear behind them just as the last of the day was fading.
"You know," said Fred, "I suspect this business is illegal as all get out, don't you think?"
"Of course it is-I should know, I'm a cop, aren't I? But I did-n't come halfway across the United States to pass up a chance like this." He fumbled with the backpack, dumping out the contents.
"I didn't say we shouldn't do it-I was just making an observation." Fred turned over a wrinkled nametag. "J. Graham, number 888, Dallas, Texas. This guy does move around. If he's still in this here tour, at least now we got a number."
"Texas is a long way from Kansas," Dean said. "I just hope we're not busting into some innocent guy's belongings."
"I'll bet Dallas is a fake address," Fred said. "He probably booked a bunch of reservations, all in different aliases, all over the country."
Dean smiled as he continued to search. It took less than ten minutes. The knapsack contained nearly all new clothes, both dirty and clean. There were no toilet articles; presumably the owner took them with him for his alleged overnight trip. The second, smaller knapsack contained a bulky sweater, rain gear, three sweatbands and a rolled up cap. That was it. Another brick wall.