DarkValley. Bit by bit the reports filtered back to Jerry, and they alladded up about the same.
Joe Merklos and his people were incredibly industrious. Already they hadcleaned up the yards, repaired sagging barns and roofless sheds.Curtains fluttered at the windows. Cows had appeared, and sheep, even afew horses. Somehow, perhaps from accumulated seepage, they were stillbringing water from the rusty pumps. And--though it was surely anillusion--Dark Valley seemed to have taken on a tinge of green again.
Wide Bend's womenfolk brought gifts of home-made preserves, jelly,canned vegetables ... and came away puzzled. No, they hadn't been badlyreceived. All was politeness and smiles. But there was--well, a sort ofremoteness about these people. The kids went out of sight the minute youturned into a place. And you just couldn't get close to the grown-ups.Dark, they were, and heavy-looking. They smiled a lot, jabbering in anunknown language. They had beautiful white teeth, but no jewelry orornaments, such as gypsies might wear. They always appeared pleased thatyou brought them something. But on the way home you discovered you stillhad your presents, after all.
The best guess as to the number in the tribe (somehow, that seemed thebest way to describe them) was sixty, give or take a few.
The general verdict was expressed by Henderson at the next clubluncheon. "They're odd, but they're hard workers. Darned good thing forthe community."
Miller, the jeweler, agreed vigorously.
"Self-interest," Jerry murmured, "is a wonderful thing."
They turned on him. "They haven't bought a thing from us! And what ifthey did?"
"Kidding, boys. I've got something to sell, too." Then Jerry frowned."They haven't bought _anything_?"
Around the table, heads shook.
"Probably," Caruso growled, "they wear their hair long, too."
In the laughter, the matter was forgotten.
But Jerry remembered it that night, sitting on the porch of his house.There must be hundreds of items--tools and nails and hinges and glassand wire and sandpaper and oil and rope and seed and salt andsugar--that the tribe needed. How could they--?
There was a step on the path. "You there?" Caruso called.
"Yep."
The barber sat in the other chair, hoisted his feet to the railing. "Youknow how kids are."
"Um."
"That boy of mine, he couldn't stand it about Dark Valley. He was outthere with a couple of pals, poking around."
"Yes?" Jerry didn't realize his voice was sharp.
"Oh, no trouble. But the middle fork of the river's started to runagain!"
* * * * *
For a long time after Caruso had gone, Jerry sat with his cold pipe inhis mouth. There were reasonable explanations for every one of the smalloddities that had cropped up with Joe Merklos and his people. But hecouldn't shake a growing feeling of uneasiness.
Jerry went to bed muttering, for he was a man trained to keep emotionand fact well separate. But the feeling was still with him when heawoke, and he recognized it later on Henderson's face.
"We got to get the boys together and talk this thing over," the feed andfuel owner said.
"What's up?"
"This stuff that's missin'."
Jerry gave a start. He had just spent at least half an hour looking forthis garage lock.
"Every day of this week," Henderson went on heavily, "I've had people into replace some little thing that was lost. Hatchets and feeding troughsand spare parts and panes of glass and things like that. A couple of oldchicken brooders that was stored. Ten salt blocks Anderson had in hisbarn."
Just then MacAllister stepped over from his drugstore to join them."Dammit," he said plaintively, dusting off his store jacket, "I been inthe basement the last hour looking for an old pipe wrench. I swear Ileft it there!"
Jerry met Henderson's glance. "All right," he said. "Let's get the gangtogether for lunch today."
Sheriff Watson joined them in the back room of the restaurant. When thecoffee came Jerry rose to explain the purpose of the meeting. "Ourproblem," he began, "may amount to nothing at all. Or it could turn outto be mighty nasty. Hen and I thought it was time to talk it over."
Briefly he recapitulated Dark Valley's reawakening. He described JoeMerklos and his people--their odd clothing, their independence, theiralien language.
"Point one," he said, "most people don't like strangers."
He described the tribe's arrival without cars or wagons, without even amark on the abandoned road. He spoke of the pumps that came to life, theriver that now ran again. The progress the tribe had made seemed almostbeyond human capacity.
"Point two," Jerry said, "most people don't like mysteries." He turned."Okay, Hen."
First Henderson explained that none of the tribe had bought supplies ofany kind in Wide Bend. He got corroboration from other businessmenpresent. Then, as he summarized the missing articles, heads began tonod. Faces got red and lists were clenched. Jerry got to his feet again."Point three, I don't need to spell out. Much more of this and carloadsof men with guns will be heading for the ridge. There'll be the kind oftrouble we don't want on Wide Bend's conscience."
"Should we let 'em rob us blind?" shouted Tipton.
"No wonder they do so good!" Caruso cried.
"How about the water?" Hammond asked sarcastically. "You think theystole that, too?"
Someone shouted back, and a heated discussion raged. Jerry finallybanged on the table with a sugar bowl. "Let's hear from the sheriff."
Watson hoisted his big frame, and sighed. "Jerry's right, boys. We got anasty situation building up. Right now, my old woman's so mad at theDark Valley people she could spit. And why? Only because she can'tfigger 'em out."
He brushed his mustache and looked at Tipton. "Them people are humanbein's, ain't they?"
Tipton scowled, but nodded.
"Anything they done that couldn't be explained by natural causes, nomatter how silly or complicated?"
Tipton thought about it, and had to shake his head.
"Believe me, boys, the only thing to get excited about is the stuffthat's missin'. If they're pinchin' it, we can catch 'em, and punish'em. They may be foreigners but they sure as hell have to obey the lawof the land!"
"Now," Hammond said, "we're talking sense."
"Give me a list of what's missin'," Watson added, "an' I'll go to DarkValley this afternoon and take a look around the place."
"Everybody satisfied?" Jerry asked.
Everybody was.
* * * * *
Sheriff Watson frowned at the list as Jerry drove into the firstbarnyard. They scattered chickens, ducks, and children--seen blurrily asthey scrambled to hide. They remained a few minutes, ostensiblyvisiting, then went on to the next farm, and the next....
Beyond the last one, on the rise that led to the Carver cabin, Jerrystopped the car. They looked at one another. Watson rubbed his faceirritably. "I'm beat, Jerry. There's somethin' here I can't get my handsnor my head onto."
"I know."
The sheriff banged one big hand against the crumpled list. "That butterchurn of Mulford's. By God, I saw it! Same brand, same color. Even hadscratches around the base where that old cat of his sharpened herclaws."
"I know," Jerry said again. "But it had a letter 'Z' cut into it. Wornand weathered, so you'd swear it had been there for years and years."
"That spring-toothed harrow of Zimmerman's."
"Except the one we saw had twelve teeth instead of fifteen. And even theman who made it couldn't find where it had been altered or tamperedwith."
It had been the same with a score of other things. Each one slightlychanged, just different enough to make identification impossible toprove.
Slowly, Jerry said, "Wood gets weathered, metal oxidizes, honest wear isunmistakable. And these all take time, which can't be faked."
His implication hung in the air. If the things had been stolen, thenaltered to avoid identification, whoever did it had more than humanability.
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"Magic," Watson muttered.
"There's ... no ... such ... thing!"
"No, there absolutely ain't."
They sat looking with troubled eyes out over Dark Valley, till Jerrysaid abruptly, "I'm going on up to see the Carvers."
Watson reached for the door handle. "They don't have no use for me. I'llwait here. I got plenty to think about."
Jerry nodded. The sheriff would be remembering the