by Jeff Sutton
the stars and wondered.
But finding the boy had been fortunate. Toby was extremely intelligent, far more so than he would have suspected were he to judge solely by the planet's technological development. The boy possessed an extremely perceptive mind; more unusual, he had a well-developed capacity for receiving telepathic communications. He'd been quick to recognize the first communication as telepathic and equally quick to accept it; that alone was amazing. Strange, but he had complete confidence in the boy. He couldn't recall another being on another planet, other than his own, where his confidence had been given so easily. If Toby were representative of the youth of this race, the world was in good hands. But that was too much to hope for.
Weighing the evidence of what he'd gleaned from Toby's mind, he decided that the race probably had reached a point in its cerebral development where it was preparing for the next step; the forerunners were probably already walking the Earth.
The boy perhaps was one of them.
THREE
TOBY CAME AROUND from the rear of the house, halting abruptly as he saw Grandpa Jed picking his way along the road from Murdock's General Store. Tall and rail-thin, the old man wore a long black alpaca coat which, shiny from wear and age, made him somewhat resemble a television version of an old riverboat gambler.
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Toby's eyes softened as he went to meet him. His own father had died so many years before that he scarcely remembered him. But Gramp, as everyone called him, was just like a real father.
They talked about almost everything.
At times he'd wondered how Gramp had learned so much, when he'd spent most of his life in San Diego's backcountry. Toby debated whether to tell him about Barlo but decided against it. He'd have to ask Barlo first.
"Hi, Gramp." He pretended nonchalance as the old man drew closer.
Grandpa Jed hurried his pace.
"You missed all the excitement," he called.
"What happened?"
"Some durned fools saw a flying saucer." Gramp flipped his cane toward the sky. "Right up there, over the highway."
"Must have been some kind of experimental plane," suggested Toby. He felt a stab of guilt.
"That's what I told 'em. Murdock says it was some kind of Commie spacecraft that came down from orbit. Says he was just unlocking the store when he heard it and looked up, saw the Russian flag big as life painted on its side."
"That's crazy," exclaimed Toby.
"Sure it's crazy, but you ought to hear some of the other stories. A dozen people claimed to have seen it."
"The same thing?"
"Every version different. Most of 'em think it was some kind of flying saucer. They're all het up."
The old man chuckled again as he picked his way to the porch and lowered his long body into his favorite rocker. "Find any chrysoprase?"
Toby sat on the rail opposite him. "Just plain old prase," he admitted.
"Green quartz, eh?"
Toby eyed the general store uneasily. "Why is everybody waiting around?"
Gramp snorted derisively. "Murdock called the paper. They're sending a fellow out. They all want to get their names in print."
"Gosh, no one would believe that." He felt the guilt again and added,
"About it being a Russian spacecraft, I mean."
"They wouldn't, eh?" The old man's blue eyes fixed him keenly. "You'd be surprised at what people will believe. Do you ever read the letters column in the paper? Bunch of danged crackpots."
"Why would a Russian spacecraft come down from orbit in a place like this?" demanded Toby.
"To land spies or saboteurs." Gramp smirked. "That's what Murdock claims."
"Spies or saboteurs," Toby groaned. He wondered what they'd think if they could see Barlo. The wail of a distant siren sounded, and they fell silent, watching the highway. A dark car with a flashing red beacon on the roof sped down the grade from the east.
"Sheriff Washburn," Toby ventured.
"Dan, eh?" Gramp chuckled. "Never misses an opportunity."
Toby didn't answer. The sheriff, as everyone around knew, had been courting "the Adam widow," as Toby's mother was known, for more than a year.
Toby was glad. He liked the sheriff. So did Gramp.
The sheriff's car crossed the valley flats, its siren giving a final wail as it turned in at the general store and parked. Several figures detached themselves from the crowd and went to meet him.
Toby's mother came out on the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. Tall, she verged on the buxom side, and her widely spaced hazel eyes gave her face a calm expression. "What's happening?" she asked.
Gramp chuckled again. "Dan's gettin' himself a piece of the action."
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"Now, Dad," she chided warmly.
"Everyone wants publicity," the old man insisted.
She looked at Toby. "You left awfully early." The statement held a question.
"Before dawn," he admitted.
"Did you have breakfast?"
"Not yet." He followed her back into the kitchen. While she busied herself over a griddle, he surreptitiously filled a canteen and carried it to the barn. Climbing the ladder to the loft, he whispered hoarsely, "I've brought water."
"Thank you," replied Barlo. He rose from the hay to take the canteen from the boy's hand.
Glowing in the gloom, the violet eyes appeared more enormous than ever. Toby had the swift impression that they weren't reflecting light so much as radiating it from some deep inner source.
"Keep hidden," he cautioned. "A lot of people are gathering down at the store. Some of them saw your ship."
"I was afraid of that," acknowledged Barlo.
"Some of them think you're a Russian spy."
"Oh?" The alien eyed him intently, drawing the meaning from his mind.
"Perhaps that's not as dangerous as coming from the stars," he observed.
"It is in San Diego," asserted Toby. "I'll let you know what happens."
Scrambling back down the ladder, he threw some hay to the horse and returned to the kitchen.
His mother served him pancakes and a glass of milk.
"What do you think of all the excitement?" she asked.
"Ah, it's crazy." He flushed, his eyes on the plate.
"It was on the eight thirty news."
"It was?" He was startled.
"A flying saucer, they said. The station was swamped with calls.
Apparently a lot of other people saw it farther north."
"Gramp says Murdock claims to have seen a Russian flag on it. He thinks they're spies or saboteurs." He watched for her reaction.
"In Eklund Valley?" She laughed. "I'm afraid poor George is slipping."
"A lot of people will believe that," he stated darkly.
"The flying saucer bit is bad enough."
"Yeah." He lifted his head as another siren sounded, followed by the wail of a second one at a still greater distance. Hurriedly gulping his food, he returned to the porch in time to see a state highway patrol cruiser pull up in front of the general store. A second one was racing down the twisted highway from the west. He was shocked to see how many cars had arrived in the brief time that he'd been in the kitchen. Cars and people -- the area around the store was jammed.
"Goin' to be quite a day," Gramp chuckled. He was enjoying the activity.
"It'll die down," asserted Toby. The words sounded hollow in his ears.
"Not till they milk it dry."
"Why all the cops?"
"Publicity," retorted Gramp.
After a while the sheriff's car backed away from the store, rolled a short distance down the highway, and turned in along the road that led to
Toby's house. The sheriff -- who was really a deputy but was accorded the higher title by the people in the area where he served -- drew up in the driveway and clambered from the car.
Stocky and robust, he had short black hair, a square face weathered by the elements, dark eyes that could be deceptively
mild.
"Jed...Toby." He gestured casually as he approached the porch. "See yuh got a ringside seat."
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"Dull show," replied Gramp, "no action. Got time for a few hands of pinochle?"
"Not today, Jed." The sheriff eased himself onto the porch rail. "See anything?"
"No, but I heard plenty." Gramp chuckled again.
"A jillion rumors," asserted the sheriff, "but I got to check 'em out.
Two hunters reported that a critter from the ship had attacked them."
"A Commie?" asked Gramp innocently.
"You know better than that, Jed. Murdock's been seein' Commies under rocks for years. No, this was really weird." He shook his head.
"What?" blurted Toby. He felt a sudden fear.
"A gorilla, I guess that's what you'd call it. Bigger than King Kong, they claimed. It came at 'em with a roar. They opened up on it point-blank with shot-guns, didn't even faze it. The critter yanked out a ray gun and set the brush afire."
"That's crazy," protested Toby. "I didn't see any smoke." He had visions of a gigantic search that would uncover Barlo's ship.
"It happened back in the hills." The sheriff gestured toward the east.
"They stamped the fire out after the critter left."
"If it was that dangerous, how'd they escape?" he demanded. Stretching Barlo into King Kong was utterly ridiculous.
"They jumped into a gully that was too narrow for it to follow,"
explained the sheriff. "When its roars died away, they went back and fought the fire. Least-ways, that's what they claimed."
"You believe that hogwash?" demanded Gramp. His blue eyes sparkled.
"Of course not, but I've got to check it out. One of the boys is meeting the hunters. They're going to take him back to the spot, see if they can find anything."
"They won't," asserted Gramp.
The sheriff looked uncomfortable. "It's not that clear-cut," he countered. "We've had reports of some screwy-looking ship from way up the line. Half the people in the county must have seen it, to judge from the calls."
"Maybe something from Edwards Air Force Base over on the desert,"
suggested Toby. "They do lots of experimenting there."
"Could be." The sheriff was noncommittal. The radio in the prowl car crackled to life, and he walked over to tune it lower. He listened for a while before returning to the porch. He said,
"The reports are still coming in. An avocado rancher over in Escondido just reported seem' a saucer zooming over the hills toward Julian. Another saucer -- or maybe it was the same one --
was spotted over Fallbrook."
"We're being invaded," crackled Gramp. He rubbed his hands gleefully.
Toby's mother came to the door. "Care for some coffee, Dan?"
"Well now, I could use some, Mary."
"We could play a hand of pinochle while you wait for news about the ape," suggested Gramp.
"Ape?" She arched her eyes.
"Dan's chasing an ape," he explained.
"What kind of joke is that?"
"A couple of hunters claimed they were attacked by a critter that looked like King Kong," the sheriff answered reluctantly.
"Got after 'em with a ray gun," Gramp put in.
"Hmph, they were probably doing more drinking than hunting," she observed.
"I suspect they were," the sheriff agreed.
"I'll get some coffee."
"Bring the cards," shouted Gramp as she turned away.
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"Don't do it," yelled the sheriff. "I can't play during working hours."
"'Fraid of gettin' beat, eh?"
"I usually do," he admitted. While enjoying the coffee, they watched the activity. More and more cars came into view from the west, most of them pulling up into the empty fields which flanked the general store. A rotund figure carrying a placard pushed through the crowd. He nailed it to a telephone pole so that it faced the highway.
"Poor George, trying to stop the crowd," Toby's mother observed.
"Naw, it's for parking." The sheriff shook his head. "He's charging four bits. He was making the sign while I was there."
"That's George Murdock," commented Gramp.
"You have to scrounge for a livin' these days," asserted the sheriff.
A line of horsemen burst into view around the end of a eucalyptus grove at the rear of Linda Jansen's house. The sheriff tilted back his head, studying them from under the brim of his hat.
One rider, obviously the leader, gestured, and the eight mounted men accompanying him fanned out on either flank to sweep the fields. "Carl Cleator and his vigilantes," he remarked drily.
A quick apprehension gripped Toby. "What are they doing?"
"Looking for Commies," growled Gramp.
"Now, Dad, watch your blood pressure," Mrs. Adam counseled.
"Danged idiots."
"Good for the horse business," said the sheriff. He'd bought land and was planning to raise saddle horses after his retirement. The leader of the troop spotted the sheriff's car and gestured, galloping toward them as the other riders swung into file behind him. "Nothing but trouble," the sheriff sighed.
They fell silent as the horsemen approached. Toby tried to stifle his nervousness. Carl Cleator's Vigilantes Against Communist Infiltration, usually known as the VACI, reportedly had guns and ammunition stashed away against the day when Communist infiltrators would rise in an attempt to seize the nation.
Cleator enjoyed considerable support in the surrounding area. Now and then, when out rock hunting, Toby had seen the VACI galloping across the hills with the tall, thin Cleator in the lead.
"Whoa!" yelled Cleator. Signaling his men, he drew up a few paces from the porch. His horse pranced nervously before quieting down. Cleator had a narrow face, dark eyes all but hidden under a jutting brow, a chin that came to a point beneath very thin, tight lips.
Toby thought it a cruel face. Armed with rifles and holstered pistols, the horsemen wore black shirts, black trousers tucked into black riding boots, and flat-brimmed black hats. All except Cleator wore a white VACI shoulder patch. His was golden.
Cleator's eyes fastened on the sheriff. "Hear anything about those Russians?" he asked abruptly.
"Russians?" The sheriff's voice was flat, unemotional.
"A hundred people saw their ship, sheriff."
"Yeah, I know."
The vigilante leader leaned forward in his stirrups and said nastily, "You might not be concerned, sheriff, but we are, and we mean to find them."
"Let me know if you do, Cleator."
"Is the law really interested?"
"When someone breaks it, yes."
Cleator smiled frostily. "We're going to sweep these hills with bloodhounds. Colonel Jackman of Troop Two is bringing them up now."
"Colonel?" asked Gramp.
"Commanding officer of Troop Two of the VACI," the sheriff explained evenly. "His territory's Page 19
farther up the line. Colonel Cleator and Colonel
Jackman commissioned each other."
"At least we're not content to sit by and watch our country overrun with Commies," snapped Cleator.
"Haven't seen any around," the sheriff confessed.
"Oh, they're here. It's just a matter of looking."
"Catch many lately?" asked Gramp.
"Dad," Mrs. Adam exclaimed worriedly. Cleator gave the old man a venomous look.
"Let's go, Colonel," one of the riders called. "No use wasting time here."
"Forward!" yelled Cleator. He gestured with an outflung arm as he kicked back with his spurs.
The animal under him wheeled, its nostrils flaring, before leaping ahead. The other riders followed in single file.
"Durn fools," snorted Gramp.
"They're not breaking any laws," the sheriff commented.
Toby's mother asked primly, "Isn't there a law against having an armed troop like that? I read there was."
"Right, Mary." The sheriff gazed a
t the black-clad figures. "But they're set up as a private hunting club. That makes it legal."
"That's an evasion of the law," she protested.
"Sure 'nuff." The sheriff scrunched forward and looked up past the eaves as a faint roaring came from the sky. Two helicopters appeared above the hills to the southwest. "Choppers from the naval air station," he said.
Toby felt a quick trepidation. The chopper pilots could snake along the gullies, look right down into them. Even if the brush had all but closed over the pod, as Barlo had said, it wouldn't take long to find it. He had a feeling of imminent disaster.
"Gotta be goin'." The sheriff drained his cup and slid off the railing, patting his holster. "Keep your eyes open, let me know if you hear anything."
"The gorilla?" asked Gramp slyly.
"Could be." The sheriff was unruffled.
"Dad's having fun," Mrs. Adam apologized.
"Can't say that I blame him." The sheriff looked back from the bottom of the stairs, waved, and clambered into his car. He drove back toward the general store.
"Shame on you, Dad," she chided. "Dan's just doing his job."
"Funny thing if there was an ape," Gramp chortled.
"Not for the ape, if Cleator's gang ever saw it," she replied. "That bunch could stir up a lot of trouble."
Toby watched the helicopters nervously. Looking like two gigantic dragonflies against the blue, their big blades whipped the air. They circled the valley several times before heading toward the eastern slopes. He was relieved when they remained at a rather high altitude.
He slipped from the porch and went around to the barn. Ruff greeted him with joyful barks.
Admonishing the dog to silence, he went inside. Barlo rose to meet him as he clambered up into the loft. "The choppers are out," Toby said worriedly.
"Choppers?"
"Helicopters." He drew a mental picture of the craft hovering above a gully, at the same time struck by how much more quickly and vividly information could be transmitted by such means.
