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."

"I know."

The sheriff banged one big hand against the crumpled list. "That butter
churn of Mulford's. By God, I saw it! Same brand, same color. Even had
scratches around the base where that old cat of his sharpened her
claws."

"I know," Jerry said again. "But it had a letter 'Z' cut into it. Worn
and weathered, so you'd swear it had been there for years and years."

"That spring-toothed harrow of Zimmerman's."

"Except the one we saw had twelve teeth instead of fifteen. And even the
man who made it couldn't find where it had been altered or tampered
with."

It had been the same with a score of other things. Each one slightly
changed, just different enough to make identification impossible to
prove.

Slowly, Jerry said, "Wood gets weathered, metal oxidizes, honest wear is
unmistakable. And these all take time, which can't be faked."

His implication hung in the air. If the