stranger stood with arms folded.

"Let's go inside," he suggested. "We can talk better in there."

Kesley remained rooted, unable to think, unable to move. "This is my farm," he said out loud, after a moment. "Isn't it?" It was nearly a whimper.

The harshness vanished abruptly from the stranger's face. Kesley watched uncomprehendingly as hard lines melted, sharp cheekbones no longer seemed so austere. It was the eyes, he thought curiously. They controlled the expression of the face. And now the cold eyes seemed to radiate warmth.

"Of course this is your farm," the stranger said. He gripped Kesley's arm. "They really did a job on you, didn't they?"

"They?"

"Never mind. I don't want to hurt you any more than I have already. Let's go inside, and we can talk about it in there."

Word had somehow travelled rapidly around the farm, and within minutes the farmhouse living room was crowded with curious people. Kesley looked around. He saw Loren, and toothless old Lester, who had owned the farm once and sold it to Loren and Kesley. There were Lester's three daughters, brawny, tanned girls who did the women's work on the farm. There was Tim, the slow-witted hired hand.

And there was the stranger in the gilt-bordered red cloak.

The stranger glanced from one face to another, then at Kesley. "Can we talk in privacy?"

"You heard what he said," Kesley snapped to the others. "Get about your jobs."

"You sure you want us to leave you alone?" Loren asked. "You looked pretty wobbly a minute ago out there, and—"

"Don't cross me, Loren!"

The older man shrugged. "You're the boss, Dale. Come on, Tim, let's leave them alone."

"Pretty nice city clothes he's got," old Lester cackled.

Tina, Lester's oldest daughter, nudged him scornfully. "Let's get moving, Lester. The men want to talk." She indicated with a smirk her disapproval of the exclusion order.

When the others were gone, Kesley turned to the stranger. "We're alone. Now tell me who you are and what you want with me."

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