"Must've been mistaken," he muttered. There was no proof that Bryant Cavendish did not like his relatives. On the other hand, he never had shown affection for them. That wasn't unusual, because he never had cared particularly about anyone. His bitter outlook on life made him feel that affection and softness went hand in hand. He had lost all respect for his two brothers when they married. The fact that Bryant had outlived them both proved to his own satisfaction, which was all that mattered, that marriage and the problems of the benedict make men die young. One brother had left four sons, the other a daughter. Bryant, the last of his generation, had raised the brood. His domination cowed the boys, but Penelope escaped. An inherent sense of humor saved the girl. When Penny left for an Eastern school, in accordance with the written will of her foresighted father, she was without a trace of the sullen, subservient manner that marked her cousins. Bryant frowned on the idea of sending the girl to school. To him it seemed a waste of time and money, but he followed the terms of his brother's will with meticulous care. Superlatives cannot be used in connection with the boys of the second generation of Cavendishes. So instead of stating that Mort was the most courageous, it is more accurate to record that Jeb, Vince, and Wallie were even less courageous than Mort. It was Mort who, as a pimpled adolescent, suggested meekly that he and his brothers leave the Basin. It took three days for the flames of rage that exploded from Bryant Cavendish to die down, and their embers smoldered for weeks thereafter. It took several years for Mort to build up the spunk to assert himself again. He married Rebecca and brought her to the Basin. The hurricane blasts from Uncle Bryant made all previous Cavendish tirades seem like the babblings of brooks that inspire poets. Bryant was an old man, and even his iron will could no longer ignore the rheumatism that made his legs almost useless. As it became increasingly necessary for the nephews to assume responsibility, his resentment toward them grew proportionately. Cool water, piped from a mountain spring, gurgling and splashing into a trough ... a sheltered basin, blanketed with grass ... sturdy, comfortable houses ... contented cattle, growing fat ... the song of a girl ... the laughter of a child ... clumping hoofs ... lazy smoke from cowboy cigarettes.... "Yew got the makin's?"... "Ain't Mort's wife startin' t'git big again?"... "I heered a doggoned funny story las' week, it'll bust yer sides."... "Gimme the lend of a chaw, will yuh?"... "My feet're killin' me."... "I gotta git me some boots next payday."... "Thunderstorm due about t'morra." In the Basin, normalcy. But in Bryant's Gap, majestic in height, gorgeous in color like the rattlesnake, six men sprawled on rockstrewn ground, and buzzards circled overhead. Chapter II THE GAP