The Carver brothers glanced at one another, then the shotguns lowered. "Come along," they said gruffly. In the littered yard by their cabin,
they pointed to a bench and squatted down before it on their thin old
shanks. "New people in Dark Valley." They nodded. "They've bought it from the bank. They own it clear to the ridge line,
including your place, here." "We been here forty years," said Ed. "If I owned it you could stay forty more." "They send you?" the voice was sharp, suspicious. Jerry shook his head. "I just thought you'd like to know about it." For a couple of minutes the Carver brothers chewed tobacco in unison. They stood up, reached for their guns. "We'll see," they said. Jerry nodded. They walked beside him, kicking thoughtfully at the
leaves. The brother named Mike rubbed his whiskers. "Get much of a look
at 'em when ye passed through?" "Some." "They furriners?" Jerry sighed inwardly. "Maybe. They look like hard workers." The Carver brothers cackled suddenly. "They better be! To farm that
land." Jerry passed back through the valley. A man knocking out stumps waved to
him. A woman in a barnyard swished out her big skirts, shooing chickens. At that first farm, a trickle of water still ran from the pump....

       *       *       *       *       *

Wide Bend was a normal community. Along with its natural curiosity there
was a genuine feeling of neighborliness--heightened by the conviction
that these hardworking strangers had thrown their money away on a
hopeless venture. So, one way and another, a fair percentage of the
town's population found excuses in the next few days to get out to Dark
Valley. Bit by bit the reports filtered back to Jerry, and they all
added up about the same. Joe Merklos and his people were incredibly industrious. Already they had
cleaned up the yards, repaired sagging barns and roofless sheds. Curtains fluttered at the windows. Cows had appeared, and sheep, even a
few horses. Somehow, perhaps from accumulated seepage, they were still
bringing water from the rusty pumps. And--though it was surely an
illusion--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 badly
received. All was politeness and smiles. But there was--well, a sort of
remoteness about these people. The kids went out of sight the minute you
turned 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 an
unknown language. They had beautiful white teeth, but no jewelry or
ornaments, such as gypsies might wear. They always appeared pleased that
you brought them something. But on the way home you discovered you still
had your presents, after all. The best guess as to the number in the tribe (somehow, that seemed the
best way to describe them) was sixty, give or take a few. The general verdict was expressed by Henderson at the next club
luncheon. "They're odd, but they're hard workers. Darned good thing for
the 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 if
they 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 glass
and wire and sandpaper and oil and rope and seed and salt and
sugar--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. "You
know how kids are." "Um." "That boy of mine, he couldn't stand it about Dark Valley. He was out
there 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 run
again!" *       *       *       *       *

For a long time after Caruso had gone, Jerry sat with his cold pipe in
his mouth. There were reasonable explanations for every one of the small
oddities that had cropped up with Joe Merklos and his people. But he
couldn't shake a growing feeling of uneasiness. Jerry went to bed muttering, for he was a man trained to keep emotion
and fact well separate. But the feeling was still with him when he
awoke, and he recognized it later on Henderson's face. "We got to get the boys together and talk this thing over," the feed and
fuel owner said. "What's up?" "This stuff that's missin'." Jerry gave a start. He had just spent at least half an hour looking for
this garage lock. "Every day of this week," Henderson went on heavily, "I've had people in
to replace some little thing that was lost. Hatchets and feeding troughs
and spare parts and panes of glass and things like that. A couple of old
chicken brooders that was stored. Ten salt blocks Anderson had in his
barn." Just then MacAllister stepped over from his drugstore to join them. "Dammit," he said plaintively, dusting off his store jacket, "I been in
the basement the last hour looking for an old pipe wrench. I swear I
left it there!" Jerry met Henderson's glance. "All right," he said. "Let's get the gang
together for lunch today." Sheriff Watson joined them in the back room of the restaurant. When the
coffee came Jerry rose to explain the purpose of the meeting. "Our
problem," he began, "may amount to nothing at all. Or it could turn out
to be mighty nasty. Hen and I thought it was time to talk it over." Briefly he recapitulated Dark Valley's reawakening. He described Joe
Merklos and his people--their odd clothing, their independence, their
alien language. "Point one," he said, "most people don't like strangers." He described the tribe's arrival without cars or wagons, without even a
mark on the abandoned road. He spoke of the pumps that came to life, the
river that now ran again. The progress the tribe had made seemed almost
beyond 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 of
any kind in Wide Bend. He got corroboration from other businessmen
present. Then, as he summarized the missing articles, heads began to
nod. 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 carloads
of men with guns will be heading for the ridge. There'll be the kind of
trouble 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 they
stole that, too?"