Whitney Newton swears she's seen the silhouette of two men just past the railroad crossing. Her friends shine their flashlights. Nothing.

The four samaritans are out on the riverfront in search of the forgotten - homeless people, but specifically the phantom poor who are too proud or lack the mental wherewithal to ask for help. They carry two bagfuls of coats, gloves, hats and a sleeping bag.

Just after 11 p.m. Tuesday, the group decides to act on Ms. Newton's sighting. Jeff Harper, a long-haired band manager, saw someone too.

Nearing the spot, there are suddenly signs of life. Miller Lite bottles are stacked up.

Kari Harper, a stylist at a Downtown salon, makes a whispered order: "Guys, they don't have a doorbell. Knock. We're entering their house."

Quentin Ames shines his flashlight under an entrance ramp to Interstate 229. Someone is sleeping on a mattress. The group approaches.

"Hello," his voice booms. No answer or movement. Mr. Ames assures the person. "We're not the police. We just want to give you some blankets."

Mr. Harper shines his flashlight.

"He's not moving," Mr. Ames, 28, a window washer and professional drummer, says. "Dude, I don't like this."

The fear is potent: on their first night out on a mission of mercy, they wonder if they will find a body.

Each has laser-like stares on the person. After several minutes, they are reassured. They can move on.

Blankets and pillows were bunched together to look like a human. Perhaps the handiwork of the silhouette men.

On the Riverwalk, the search for life continues. The breeze is slight and the temperature drops below 40 degrees as it hits midnight.

Like searchlights, flashlights dart from here to there: down ravines, under bridges, in the tall grass off the Missouri River where homeless men are known to pitch tents. Ms. Newton, a manager at a retail shop, is refreshed by the quest. She's never experienced anything like this.

"This is when they are suffering the most, at night. During the day, they have the sun to keep them warm," Ms. Newton, 23, said.

Suddenly, there is whistling. Flashlights pan the forest. Nothing.

Mr. Harper blames his wife, who is wheeling a bag of winter clothes behind her. It's not her.

"Someone is playing with us," Ms. Harper says.

The search for the homeless continues. The whistling continues. They decide to give up. They can't make the homeless show themselves.

Ms. Harper said next time, they will start at 1 or 2 a.m., after the Downtown bars close. They pack into a sports-utility vehicle.

After more than an hour on foot, by vehicle they quickly locate a fire burning near a railroad bridge off the Missouri River.

Fred Schad, 46, has been living in a tent by the river for more than a year. Stumbling, he comes into the open.

The group surrounds him, and begin asking about his health, his life. They hug him.

Mr. Schad says he can't get a job because his degenerative arthritis makes him a "liability" to any company that hires him. His only income is from collecting aluminum cans. He occasionally visits the Veteran Affairs hospital in Kansas.

They hand him gloves, flashlight, and a red sleeping bag. He offers them prayer.

Mr. Harper asks him to start spreading the word - that there is a new group in St. Joseph that will be visiting the homeless from now on.

"Just let them know that if they see some people walking around, that they're there to help, not to harass them ... ," Mr. Harper said. He is interrupted mid-sentence, "Please come by more often," Mr. Schad said. "We will," they say in unison.

Ahmad Safi can be reached at ahmadsafi@npgco.com.