The Invaders Read online

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  The Invaders

  _BY BENJAMIN FERRIS_

  Heading by Vincent Napoli

  [Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales March 1951.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyrighton this publication was renewed.]

  _Magic--there's no such thing. But the crops werebeginning to grow backwards...._]

  Big Joe Merklos was the first of them. He appeared at the Wide BendNational Bank one day, cash in hand. The charm of him, his flashingsmile, the easy strength in his big body, were persuasiverecommendations. But the bank's appraisal scarcely got that far. Wasn'the the first buyer in fifteen years for that bone-yard of lonely dreams,Dark Valley?

  The county seat of Wide Bend presided over three valleys, correspondingto the forks of the Sallinook River. Once, Dark Valley had been therichest of these. Solid houses and barns stood among orchards laden withfruit, fields chock-full of heavy-bearded grain ... till, one Spring,the middle fork of the river had dried up.

  The farmers called in specialists who sank wells and pilot holes,measured the slopes. They heard much talk about water tables, aboutsprings undercutting rock formations. But when it was done the factremained: Dark Valley's water supply was choked off beyond man's abilityto restore it. In the end the farmers gave up, left their dusty housesand shriveled orchards, and Dark Valley died.

  Boys hiked over there occasionally. Men scouted for fence posts or pipe.Young couples passed quickly through on moonlight nights. And at leasttwo stubborn old-timers still squatted at the upper end.

  Now that Joe Merklos had bought it, of course, they would have to move.

  "Well, won't they?" Henderson asked.

  Jerry Bronson looked around at the other members of the Wide BendBusinessmen's Club. "Doesn't take a lawyer to answer that, Hen."

  "Dam' shame," said Caruso, the barber, who always championed underdogs.

  "They've had no equity in that land for years. The bank just let themstay on."

  "They can move on over the hill."

  Jerry nodded. "Maybe somebody ought to suggest that to them."

  "Don't look at me," Caruso said. "Those old coots ain't been near myshop for years."

  When the chuckles died, MacAllister, the druggist, voiced the thoughtthat rested unspoken on all their minds. "I wonder if that fellowrealizes what a worthless piece of land he's bought."

  "He looked it over." This was Hammond, of the bank.

  "'Course, you didn't try to talk him out of it!"

  "Would you have?" Hammond retorted indignantly.

  Henderson jabbed the air with his cigar. "I think he was a coal miner,back East. Saved up his money to get on the land."

  "_I_ think he's a gypsy," Caruso said.

  "You ought to know," Tipton, the grocer, laughed. Caruso got fined forhis reply, and with the tinkle of coins in the luncheon club kitty themen dispersed.

  * * * * *

  Joe Merklos' relatives arrived that night. Henderson, who told JerryBronson about it, had made an early morning delivery of feed nearby, anddriven on to take a look at Merklos' purchase. From the ridge, he viewedDark Valley's three miles of width and six or so of length. Figures weremoving about the gaunt and windowless farm buildings. At least one plowwas in operation, and the good blue friendliness of smoke arose here andthere.

  "Looked like a lot of people, Jerry. But you know--I didn't see any carsor trucks around."

  Jerry's blue eyes crinkled. Human nature didn't like puzzles any morethan it liked strangers. He returned to the tedious civil case he wasworking on. About three o'clock, he decided he was tired and boredenough 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 oldsquatters at the far end. The Carvers were independent and truculent.Now that Joe Merklos' relatives had arrived in full force, there wasdanger of a clash.

  As the road topped the ridge, it left green fields and orchards abruptlybehind. But Dark Valley had a wild sort of beauty, cupped as it wasbetween two rows of hills which curved together as higher, jumbledfoothills 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 hesaw dark, plump women in billowing dresses, wearing peasant scarves overtheir heads. They moved about the barnyard, raking dead leaves andscratching busily at the baked earth of the old truck gardens. Chickensand ducks strayed, and Jerry caught a glimpse of children. He waved tothe group and was answered by nods and flashing smiles.

  Then he had a shock. One of the women was working the handle of a pumpthat had been bone-dry for fifteen years--and a slender stream of clearwater spilled into her wooden tub!

  Somewhat dazedly, Jerry drove on. He saw more of the Merklos people atother farms. Men were working in the withered orchards. New fence postsand rails were going up; bright axes flashed in the dry and scragglywood lots.

  Jerry's thoughts kept returning to the water in that first pump. Couldit be that they had learned the valley had a supply again? That would bea mighty joke on Hammond and the First National Bank.

  The road, badly rutted by erosion and drifted over with sand and dryleaves, began to rise. Jerry shifted into low gear. Then, suddenly, hestopped. He'd had another shock. He had just realized this road was_unused_. He recalled the twin ruts, patterned with rabbit and birdtracks, clear back to the turn-off. Without question, his car had beenthe first to mark the road since winter.

  Then how had these dozens of people come, with their chickens and ducksand children and tools? He had seen no cars, no wagons, no carts. _Howhad these people come?_

  Jerry sat back in the seat and grinned. He fished out his tobacco pouchand filled his pipe. There were times when he considered himself fairlymature, fairly well balanced. Yet he was as ready as the next to build ahouse of mystery out of the insubstantial timber of ignorance.

  Of course there was a reasonable explanation. They must have walked fromthe railroad. It was a good many miles, but it was perfectly possible.

  Feeling better, Jerry followed the tortuous road to the western crest.His long legs hadn't taken him far from the car when he heard a harsh,"Hold up!"

  First one, then the other Carver brother stepped out from a scrub oakthicket--short, leathery old men, with ragged whiskers and dirt seamedinto their faces and wrists. They eyed him malevolently over raisedshotguns.

  "Came to talk to you," Jerry said mildly.

  One of them--he thought it was Ed--spat.

  "Ah, now," Jerry went on in an aggrieved tone, "that's a fine way totreat a son of Jack Bronson."

  The Carver brothers glanced at one another, then the shotguns lowered."Come along," they said gruffly. In the littered yard by their cabin,they pointed to a bench and squatted down before it on their thin oldshanks.

  "New people in Dark Valley."

  They nodded.

  "They've bought it from the bank. They own it clear to the ridge line,including your place, here."

  "We been here forty years," said Ed.

  "If I owned it you could stay forty more."

  "They send you?" the voice was sharp, suspicious.

  Jerry shook his head. "I just thought you'd like to know about it."

  For a couple of minutes the Carver brothers chewed tobacco in unison.They stood up, reached for their guns. "We'll see," they said.

  Jerry nodded. They walked beside him, kicking thoughtfully at theleaves. The brother named Mike rubbed his whiskers. "Get much of a lookat 'em when ye passed through?"

/>   "Some."

  "They furriners?"

  Jerry sighed inwardly. "Maybe. They look like hard workers."

  The Carver brothers cackled suddenly. "They better be! To farm thatland."

  Jerry passed back through the valley. A man knocking out stumps waved tohim. A woman in a barnyard swished out her big skirts, shooing chickens.At that first farm, a trickle of water still ran from the pump....

  * * * * *

  Wide Bend was a normal community. Along with its natural curiosity therewas a genuine feeling of neighborliness--heightened by the convictionthat these hardworking strangers had thrown their money away on ahopeless venture. So, one way and another, a fair percentage of thetown's population found excuses in the next few days to get out to