rthouse 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?"

* * * *