With a catch in his voice, Jerry said, "Maybe now's the time to try it." Carver's head jerked around. "I mean smash Merklos and his tribe for good." "How?" "With fire, and the silver crosses." After a long pause, Carver said, "What about Ed?" "We'll get to your cabin. We're not far from the first farm. We can go
right up the valley. If it works." "And if it don't?" "We might end up like Ed." Carver turned and spat out the window. "I don't want to, but I will." They got out of the car, into the humming darkness. They took gunny
sacks and rags from the trunk compartment and soaked them in oil from
the crankcase. They wired a bundle on the extension handle of the jack,
and another on the radio aerial rod which Jerry unscrewed. They tried to start the car once more, without success. So they turned
off the lights and left it. With one torch burning, they started up the
road for the first gate. Dark Valley's shadowy legions closed in. There was a rustling and a
whispering all around them. There were shiny glints where none ought to
be. There was an overwhelming feeling that something frightful
waited--just beyond the edge of darkness. "The gate," Carver said hoarsely. Jerry unclenched his jaws and lit the second torch. The flare-up
reflected from the blank windows ahead. "What about the wimmen? What about the kids?" Jerry spoke jerkily, his eyes on the house. "There aren't any kids. What
we saw was something else. The women are the same as the men, the same
as the thing that killed Ed. Don't worry about them. Hold the cross in
front of you, and for God's sake hang onto it!" The darkness swelled like a living thing. It swayed and clutched at the
torches. Somewhere a high whining began, like a keening wind. There were sudden sounds from the house--bangings and scramblings. Carver faltered. "On!" Jerry said savagely, and began to run. He touched his home-made
crucifix to the wood of the porch, and with the other hand brought the
torch down. Blue sparks jumped out at him. The dry wood hissed and
blazed up furiously. A frightful scream rang out. There was the tinkle of breaking glass. Formless figures thudded to the ground and scuttled away on all fours,
headed up the valley. Within minutes the farmhouse was a mass of roaring flame. Jerry backed
away from it. He saw Carver outlined against the glowing barn, which he
had fired. They came together and hurried back to the road. There they
stopped to watch the pillar of flame and smoke, boiling upward. "It worked," Carver said. Jerry nodded. "We can't kill them. But we can drive them out." "Wimmen and kids," Carver said bitterly. "Did you see them things that
came out?" "Yes." Jerry was drenched in sweat and the torch trembled in his hand. "Let's get on to the next one, Mike." They went on to the neighboring farm, and to the one after that, while
the shadows pulsed in an unholy turmoil. The night swarmed with
malignant invisible forces, that tried to blow the flame from their
torches, that flayed them with the naked sword of fear. There were
hideous shapes, half-seen. There were waves of terror like a physical
shock. There were puffs of ordure, so rank they gagged. But they plodded through it, faces set, sweating and agonized. Till,
halfway up the valley _it_ came.... Carver knew it first. His leathery face paled; his hands fumbled
instinctively for the gun he was not carrying. Then Jerry said hoarsely, "Mike, did you hear that?" Carver nodded dumbly. Clearly, now, came the sound of those huge paws, padding first on one
side of them, then the other. Jerry clutched his cross till the rough
edges bit deep into his hand. It seemed that his very life was bound up with the torch that now smoked
and struggled to burn. If its feeble flame went out, that meant
extinction, black and final. Then he became aware that Carver was no longer beside him. He whirled. Ten yards behind, the other was bending down, scrabbling frantically in
the dust. "I dropped it!" he shouted. "I can't find it!" Jerry tried to reach him, but the other thing was quicker. A whirlpool
of blackness engulfed Carver, blotted him out. Then Jerry was confronted
by an unbelievable sight--a great, savage head, towering over him, its
eyes glowing redly and foam creaming over gigantic, open jaws. *       *       *       *       *

Desperately, he shoved his cross straight at it. The thing spat and
roared deafeningly. The thud of its paws shook the ground. It lashed out
with monstrous claws that sliced his skin. Half-stunned, Jerry kept
lunging toward it, till finally his cross touched its coarse hide. There
was a crackle of blue flame, a shriek that split the night, and the
thing disintegrated in roiling clouds of bitter smoke. Jerry swayed. The hand that held the cross was numb and tingling. Like
an automaton, he turned, went back, and knelt beside the crumpled shape
that had been Mike Carver. Then he rose, still carrying the feebly
flickering torch, and plodded on.... They met him as he was coming back--Watson, Henderson, Caruso, Miller,
Hammond and the rest. They had flashlights and guns and tear gas, and
their faces were grim and desperate. "We found your car," they said. "We could see the flames from Wide Bend. What in hell has been going on?" Jerry stared at them. He dropped the dead torch. One hand tried to put
the cross back into his pocket. His face was black, his hair singed, his
side wet with blood. "It's all over," he croaked. "They're gone. Dark Valley is free again." _Big Joe Merklos was the first of them. He appeared at the Rocky
Mountain Trust Company one day, cash in hand. The charm of him, his
flashing smile, the easy strength in his big body, were persuasive
recommendations. But the Company's appraisal scarcely got that far. Wasn't he the first buyer they had ever had for that suburban