Read Ebook: The Invaders by Ferris Benjamin Napoli Vincent Illustrator

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Ebook has 245 lines and 9029 words, and 5 pages

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 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?"

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?"

Someone shouted back, and a heated discussion raged. Jerry finally banged 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 a nasty situation building up. Right now, my old woman's so mad at the Dark Valley people she could spit. And why? Only because she can't figger 'em out."

He brushed his mustache and looked at Tipton. "Them people are human bein's, ain't they?"

Tipton scowled, but nodded.

"Anything they done that couldn't be explained by natural causes, no matter 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 stuff that'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 law of the land!"

"Now," Hammond said, "we're talking sense."

"Give me a list of what's missin'," Watson added, "an' I'll go to Dark Valley 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 first barnyard. They scattered chickens, ducks, and children--seen blurrily as they scrambled to hide. They remained a few minutes, ostensibly visiting, then went on to the next farm, and the next....

Beyond the last one, on the rise that led to the Carver cabin, Jerry stopped the car. They looked at one another. Watson rubbed his face irritably. "I'm beat, Jerry. There's somethin' here I can't get my hands nor my head onto."

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