"You ought to know," Tipton, the grocer, laughed. Caruso got fined for his reply, and with the tinkle of coins in the luncheon club kitty the men dispersed. * * * * * Joe Merklos' relatives arrived that night. Henderson, who told Jerry Bronson about it, had made an early morning delivery of feed nearby, and driven on to take a look at Merklos' purchase. From the ridge, he viewed Dark Valley's three miles of width and six or so of length. Figures were moving about the gaunt and windowless farm buildings. At least one plow was in operation, and the good blue friendliness of smoke arose here and there. "Looked like a lot of people, Jerry. But you know--I didn't see any cars or trucks around." Jerry's blue eyes crinkled. Human nature didn't like puzzles any more than it liked strangers. He returned to the tedious civil case he was working on. About three o'clock, he decided he was tired and bored enough to call it a day. He got into his car and headed for Dark Valley. Aside from his curiosity, he thought he might talk to the two old squatters at the far end. The Carvers were independent and truculent. Now that Joe Merklos' relatives had arrived in full force, there was danger of a clash. As the road topped the ridge, it left green fields and orchards abruptly behind. But Dark Valley had a wild sort of beauty, cupped as it was between two rows of hills which curved together as higher, jumbled foothills to the west. Jerry's car trailed a plume of dust as it slid down to the dry riverbed. He made a left turn and started up the valley road. At the first farm he saw dark, plump women in billowing dresses, wearing peasant scarves over their heads. They moved about the barnyard, raking dead leaves and scratching busily at the baked earth of the old truck gardens. Chickens and ducks strayed, and Jerry caught a glimpse of children. He waved to the group and was answered by nods and flashing smiles. Then he had a shock. One of the women was working the handle of a pump that had been bone-dry for fifteen years--and a slender stream of clear water spilled into her wooden tub! Somewhat dazedly, Jerry drove on. He saw more of the Merklos people at other farms. Men were working in the withered orchards. New fence posts and rails were going up; bright axes flashed in the dry and scraggly wood lots. Jerry's thoughts kept returning to the water in that first pump. Could it be that they had learned the valley had a supply again? That would be a mighty joke on Hammond and the First National Bank. The road, badly rutted by erosion and drifted over with sand and dry leaves, began to rise. Jerry shifted into low gear. Then, suddenly, he stopped. He'd had another shock. He had just realized this road was _unused_. He recalled the twin ruts, patterned with rabbit and bird tracks, clear back to the turn-off. Without question, his car had been the first to mark the road since winter.