Joe swung the mule back down the road and out of Hammerstown. A man with a yoke of oxen looked curiously at him as he passed and two children stopped to stare. Joe resented no part of it. People who lived in such places, and who seldom saw anyone except their near neighbors, were always frankly curious about anyone whom they did not know. The mule walked up the first hill and Joe guided her into the farmyard on top of it. It was more substantial than most farms, with a good, solid log house covered by a shingled roof. Obviously John Seeley enjoyed more than average prosperity, for there were glass windows on all sides of the house. Behind the house were a barn and sheds, and fields and forest beyond them. A man with two teams of oxen was skidding a heavy drag of logs across a field toward the barn, and a boy about fifteen years old accompanied him. A bevy of small children crowded into the house's open door, and a shaggy dog that barked desultorily as it came, wagged toward Joe. The mule backed warily, and Joe kept a sharp eye on her. He had come to seek something from the people who lived here, and letting his mule kick their dog around was not the way to cement friendly relations. A woman who, Joe thought, looked somewhat like Emma, came to stand in the doorway behind the children and at once Joe felt a little easier. Though he was usually ill at ease with strange women, he felt that he could talk to this one. He slid from the mule, holding the reins, and Joe said politely, "I'm looking for John Seeley's place, ma'am. My name's Joe Tower. I come from over Tenney's Crossing way." She smiled a warm welcome. "This is the Seeley place, Mr. Tower. My man's in the wood lot right now." "There's a man and boy coming in. They have a drag of logs." "That's my man and boy. Have you had breakfast, Mr. Tower?" "No, ma'am." "And you rode from Tenney's! I'll get you something right away! Just put your mule in back." She hurried into the house and Joe led the mule toward the outbuildings. He'd brought a tie rope because, no matter how hospitable a host might be, one didn't just ask for corn to help catch his mule. Joe looped the rope around the mule's neck and tied her to a fence post before he slipped the bridle off. He turned to meet the man and boy who, by this time, were very near the barn. John Seeley was a stocky, square-built man, and apparently he never made a fast move if a slow one would serve. But there was about him that which was as solid and dependable as the land he worked, and Joe warmed to him. He had an approving glance for the youngster who, Joe suspected, was a mirror of what the father had been twenty years ago. "Are you John Seeley?" Joe asked. "That's me," the other's voice was as deep as he was stocky. "What can I do for you?" "My name's Tower," Joe introduced himself. "Joe Tower. I didn't exactly come to talk with you, but with your father. Les Tenney told me he's been west." "And you," the other guessed, "aim to go?"