The Invaders | Page 5

wave of his hand. "They made it up, probably. Forget it till you see the animal itself. You'll have time to believe it then. We got enough to worry about already."
Jerry couldn't forget it. But there was a kind of reassurance in such hearty skepticism. With each passing minute, that huge print seemed more unreal.
* * * * *
Halfway through the valley they stopped to look at the river. The bed was half full--muddy, debris-laden, with a sheen of dust on the surface. But it was water--wet, tangible, undeniable.
Watson took off his hat and rubbed his head and swore.
"Good afternoon."
They turned. Joe Merklos was smiling at them.
"Hello," Jerry said. Watson just glowered.
Merklos moved beside them and looked down. His brilliant teeth flashed. "Good, is it not?" The guttural words came out flat, one at a time, as though shaped carefully.
"Better than money, in this part of the world." Jerry's eyes narrowed. "Did you know about the water when you bought the valley?"
Merklos smiled again. He was bare-headed, dressed in dark trousers and a loose, short-sleeved blouse. His neck and muscular forearms gleamed bronze in the sunlight. "You like what we do here?" he asked in his deep, hesitant manner.
"You've done wonders," Watson said shortly.
Merklos' smoky eyes held Jerry's. "My people are used to work."
Slowly, significantly, Watson said, "The thing we don't understand is how you managed to bring so much equipment. The exact things you needed--right down to the last nail."
Merklos' inscrutable gaze swung around. The smile lingered on his face. "We are a careful people. We plan a long way ahead."
Watson opened his mouth for another question--and shut it. Merklos' attention had left them. The man was listening, his head 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. Anything he could not measure by experience and logic was out. And that had to include giant paw-prints and mysteriously missing objects as well as radishes that wouldn't grow.
Dark Valley was taking on life and freshness. Fact. The South Fork, and portions of the North Fork, seemed to be losing fertility. Fact. But to conclude from this that Dark Valley was gaining at the expense of the others--that was the road no reasonable man could allow himself to take.
From his window, he saw the huge old trees that shaded Wide Bend. They looked suddenly wrong. Weren't they less green, less thick than before? The buildings and streets looked dingier, too. And when did all those broken fences, cracked windows, missing shingles show up...?
Jerry lunged from his chair and strode up and down the room. Then the telephone bell tore through his nerves. He grabbed the instrument.
"Watson. I just wanted to tell you, two boys have been reported missin'."
"No!"
"The Simmons kids. But they've run away before. They'll be back."
Jerry's hand went slowly down. The sheriff's voice echoed hollowly from the lowered receiver. "Well, won't they?"
* * * * *
It was after midnight when the doorbell rang. It