As Sunday broke, two bodies remained under the silo, as still as statuary, one beside a galvanized trough, the other toppled a few feet farther, facedown in the bluegrass. A pair of charred fenceposts were crossed in a ring of ashes near them, from which a slow line of smoke was crawling toward the signboards a half mile out--mainsails and topgallants placarding gas and food and lodging--and beneath which the endless semis charged, one upon one upon another.