slightly cocked. After a moment he turned. "I am happy to see you making a visit. I hope you come again." He nodded and walked swiftly away.

Wordlessly, Jerry and the sheriff got back in the car. "Could you hear what he was listening to?" Jerry muttered.

"I didn't hear a thing."

"Notice anything else about Dark Valley?"

Watson shook his head.

"No flowers. Not one dog." Jerry's hand tightened on the steering-wheel. "And who has ever gotten a single, clear look at one of the kids?"

Jerry spent a restless night. On the way to his office the next morning he met Watson, talking to a farmer on the courthouse steps.

"Listen to Carson, here," the sheriff said grimly.

Carson's straw hat bobbed as he talked. "I'm waitin' to see the farm adviser. Somethin's gone wrong out at my place on the South Fork. I'm on good bottom land—highest yield in the county. But in the last two, three weeks my corn, my wheat, even my berries has stopped growin'!"

Jerry's eyes jumped to Watson.

"Yep," Carson went on, "every single ear o' corn is still a nubbin." He threw out his arms. "And, by God, even my wife's radishes has stood still. Ain't anything on earth that'll slow up a radish."

"How about other stuff? How about eggs?"

"Same thing. Cut right down. Hens lay one in ten now, mebbe. An' my alfalfa has turned a funny gray-green. Even the fruit—"

"What about the river?" Watson broke in. "You still got water in the South Fork?"

"Way down for this time o' year. But we got enough."

Several people had stopped to listen. One of them, a big, tow-headed Swede, burst out excitedly. "Mister, you got the same trouble as my cousin. His crops, they're growin' backwards!"

There was more of the same impossible talk. Jerry made an excuse to get away to his office. He sat at his desk and stared out the window.

There wasn't any problem, he tried to tell himself. 

 Prev. P 11/17 next