[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Weird Tales March 1951.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
on this publication was renewed.]
[Illustration: _Magic--there's no such thing. But the crops were
beginning to grow backwards...._]
Big Joe Merklos was the first of them. He appeared at the Wide Bend
National Bank one day, cash in hand. The charm of him, his flashing
smile, the easy strength in his big body, were persuasive
recommendations. But the bank's appraisal scarcely got that far. Wasn't
he 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, corresponding
to the forks of the Sallinook River. Once, Dark Valley had been the
richest of these. Solid houses and barns stood among orchards laden with
fruit, 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, about
springs undercutting rock formations. But when it was done the fact
remained: Dark Valley's water supply was choked off beyond man's ability
to restore it. In the end the farmers gave up, left their dusty houses
and 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 least
two 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 Bend
Businessmen'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 them
stay on."
"They can move on over the hill."