"Annuals and perennials both. Don't look for a spot this afternoon; I don't want you girls away from the shelter until we know the hazards. Joe, today we should accomplish two things, a ladder and two privies. Barbara, how are you as a carpenter?"

            "Just middlin'. I can drive a nail."

            "Don't let Joe do what you can do; those ribs have to heal. But we need a ladder. Karen, my little flower, you have the privilege of digging privies."

            "Gosh. Thanks!"

            "Just straddle ditches, one as the powder room, the other for us coarser types. Joe and I will build proper Chic Sales jobs later. Then we'll tackle a log cabin. Or a stone-wall job."

            "I was wondering if you planned to do any work, Daddy."

            "Brainpower, darling. Management. Supervision. Can't you see me sweating?" He yawned. "Well, a pleasant afternoon, all. I'll stroll down to the club, have a Turkish bath, then enjoy a long, tall planter's punch."

            "Daddy, go soak your head. Privies, indeed!"

            "The Kappas would be proud of you, dear."

            Hugh and his son left a half hour later. "Joe," Hugh cautioned, "we plan to be back before dark but if we get caught, we'll keep a fire going all night and come back tomorrow. If you do have to search for us, don't go alone; take one of the girls. No, take Karen; Barbara has no shoes, just some spike heeled sandals. Damn. Moccasins we'll have to make. Got it?"

            "Sure."

            "We'll head for that hill-that one. I want to get high enough to get the lay of the land-and maybe spot signs of civilization." They set out-rifles, canteens, hand ax, machete, matches, iron rations, compasses, binoculars, mountain boots, coveralls. Coveralls and boots fitted Duke as well as Hugh; Duke found that his father had stocked clothes for him.

            They took turns, with the man following blazing trail and counting paces, the leader keeping lookout, compass direction, and record.

            The high hill Hugh had picked was across the stream. They explored its bank and found a place to wade. Everywhere they flushed game. The miniature deer were abundant and apparently had never been hunted. By man, at least- Duke saw a mountain lion and twice they saw bears.

            It seemed to be about three o'clock local time as they approached the summit. The climb was steep, cluttered with undergrowth, and neither man was in training. When they reached the flattish summit Hugh wanted to throw himself on the ground.

            Instead he looked around. To the east the ground dropped off. He stared out over miles of prairie.

            He could see no sign of human life. He adjusted his binoculars and started searching. He saw moving figures, decided that they were antelope-or cattle; he made mental note that these herds must be watched. Later, later- "Hugh?"

            He lowered his binoculars. "Yes, Duke?"

            "See that peak? It's fourteen thousand one hundred and ten feet high."

            "I won't argue."

            "That's Mount James. Dad, we're home!"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Look southwest. Those three gendarmes on that profile. The middle one is where I broke my leg when I was thirteen. That pointed mountain between there and Mount James- Hunter's Horn. Can't you see? The skyline is as distinctive as a fingerprint. This is Mountain Springs!"

            Hugh stared. This skyline he knew. His bedroom window had been planned to let him see it at dawn; many sunsets he had watched it from his roof.

            "Yes."

            "Yes," Duke agreed. "Damned if I know how. But as I figure it"-he stomped the ground-"we're on the high reservoir. Where it ought to be. And-" His brow wrinkled. "As near as I can tell, our shelter is smack on our lot. Dad, we didn't go anywhere!"

            Hugh took out the notebook in which were recorded paces and compasses courses, did some arithmetic. "Yes. Within the limits of error."

            "Well? How do you figure it?"

            Hugh looked at the skyline. "I don't. Duke, how much daylight do we have?"

            "Well. . . three hours. The sun will be behind the mountains in two."

            "It took two hours to get here; we should make it back in less. Do you have any cigarettes?"

            "May I have one? Charged against me of course. I would like to rest about one cigarette, then start back." He looked around. "It's open up here. I don't think a bear would approach us." He placed his rifle and belt on the ground, settled down.

            Duke offered a cigarette to his father, took one himself. "Dad, you're a cold fish. Nothing excites you."

            "So? I'm so excitable that I had to learn never to give into it."

            "Doesn't seem that way to other people." They smoked in silence, Duke seated, Hugh sprawled out. He was close to exhaustion and wished that he did not have to hike back.

            Presently Duke added, "Besides that, you enjoy bullying." His father answered, "I suppose so, if you class what I do as bullying. No one ever does anything but what he wants to do-'enjoys'-within the possibilities open to him. If I change a tire, it's because I enjoy it more than being stranded."

            "Don't get fancy. You enjoy bullying Mother. You enjoyed spanking me as a kid. . . until Mother put her foot down and made you stop."

            His father said, "We had better start back." He reached for his belt and rifle.

            "Just a second. I want to show you something. Never mind your gear, this won't take a moment."

            Hugh stood up. "What is it?"

            "Just this. Your Captain Bligh act is finished." He clouted his father. "That's for bullying Mother!" He clouted him from the other side and harder, knocking his father off his feet. "And that's for having that nigger pull a gun on me!"

            Hugh Farnham lay where he had fallen. "Not 'nigger,' Duke. Negro."

            "He's a Negro as long as he behaves himself. Pulling a gun on me makes him a goddam nigger. You can get up. I won't hit you again."

            Hugh Farnham got to his feet. "Let's start back."

            "Is that all you've got to say? Go ahead. Hit me. I won't hit back."

            "I didn't break my parole. I waited until we left the shelter."

            "Conceded. Shall I lead? Better, perhaps."

            "Do you think I'm afraid you might shoot me in the back? Look, Dad, I had to do it!"

            "Did you?"

            "Hell, yes. For my own self-respect."

            "Very well." Hugh buckled on his belt, picked up his gun, and headed for the last blaze.

            They hiked in silence. At last Duke said, "Dad?"

            "Yes, Duke?"

            "I'm sorry."

            "Forget it."

            They went on, found where they had forded the stream, crossed it. Hugh hurried, as it was growing darker. Duke closed up again. "Just one thing, Dad. Why didn't you assign Barbara as cook? She's the freeloader. Why pick on Mother?"

            Hugh took his time in answering. "Barbara is no more a freeloader than you are, Duke, and cooking is the only thing Grace knows. Or were you suggesting that she loaf while the rest of us work?"

            "No. Oh, we all have to pitch in-granted. But no more bullying, no more bawling Mother out in public. Understand me?"

            "Duke."

            "Yeah?"

            "I've been studying karate three afternoons a week the past year."

            "So?"

            "Don't try it again. Shooting me in the back is safer."

            "I hear you."

            "Until you decide to shoot me, it would be well to accept my leadership. Or do you wish to assume the responsibility?"

            "Are you offering it?"

            "I am not in a position to. Perhaps the group would accept you. Your mother would. Possibly your sister would prefer you. Concerning Barbara and Joe, I offer no opinion."

            "How about you, Dad?"

            "I won't answer that; I owe you nothing. But until you decide to make a bid for leadership, I expect the same willing discipline you showed under parole."

            "'Willing discipline' indeed!"

            "In the long run there is no other sort. I can't quell a mutiny every few hours-and I've had two from you plus an utter lack of discipline from your mother. No leader can function on those terms. So I will assume your willing discipline. That includes no interference should I decide again to use what you call 'bullying.'"

            "Now see here, I told you I would not stand for-"

            "Quiet! Unless you make up your mind to that, your safest choice is to shoot me in the back. Don't come at me with bare hands or risk giving me a chance to shoot first. At the next sign of trouble, Duke, I will kill you. If possible. One of us will surely be killed."

            They trudged along in silence, Mr. Farnham never looking back. At last Duke said, "Dad, for Christ's sake, why can't you run things democratically? I don't want to boss things, I simply want you to be fair about it."

            "Mmm, you don't want to boss. You want to be a backseat driver-with a veto over the driver."

            "Nuts! I simply want things run democratically."

            "You do? Shall we vote on whether Grace is to work like the rest of us? Whether she shall hog the liquor? Shall we use Robert's Rules of Order? Should she withdraw while we debate it? Or should she stay and defend herself against charges of indolence and drunkenness? Do you wish to submit your mother to such ignominy?"

            "Don't be silly!"

            "I am trying to find out what you mean by 'democratically.' If you mean putting every decision to a vote, I am willing-if you will bind yourself to abide by every majority decision. You're welcome to run for chairman. I'm sick of the responsibility and I know that Joe does not like being my deputy."

            "That's another thing. Why should Joe have any voice in these matters?"

            "I thought you wanted to do it 'democratically'?"

            "Yes, but he is-"

            "What, Duke? A 'nigger'? Or a servant?"

            "You've got a nasty way of putting things."

            "You've got nasty ideas. We'll try formal democracy-rules of order, debate, secret ballot, everything-any time you want to try such foolishness. Especially any time you want to move a vote of no confidence and take over the leadership . . . and I'm so bitter as to hope that you succeed. In the meantime we do have democracy."

            "How do you figure?"

            "I'm serving by consent of the majority-four to two, I think. But that doesn't suit me; I want it to be unanimous, I can't put up indefinitely with wrangling from the minority. You and your mother, I mean. I want it to be five to one before we get back, with your assurance that you will not interfere in my efforts to persuade, or cajole, or bully, your mother into accepting her share of the load-until you care to risk a vote of no confidence."

            "You're asking me to agree to that?"

            "No, I'm telling you. Willing discipline on your part . . or at the next clash one of us will be killed. I won't give you the slightest warning. That's why your safest course is to shoot me in the back."

            "Quit talking nonsense! You know I won't shoot you in the back."

            "So? I will shoot you in the back or anywhere at the next hint of trouble. Duke, I can see only one alternative. If you find it impossible to give willing disciplined consent, if you don't think you can displace me, if you can't bring yourself to kill me, if you don't care to risk a clash in which one of us will be killed, then there is still a peaceful solution."

            "What is it?"

            "Any time you wish, you can leave. I'll give you a rifle, ammunition, salt, matches, a knife, whatever you find needful. You don't deserve them but I won't turn you out with nothing."

            Duke gave a bitter laugh. "Sending me out to play Robinson Crusoe.. . and leaving all the women with you!"

            "Oh, no! Any who wish are free to go. With a fair share of anything and some to boot. All three women if you can sell the idea."

            "I'll think about it."

            "Do. And do a little politicking and size up your chances of winning a vote against me 'democratically'-while being extraordinarily careful not to cross wills with me and thereby bring on a showdown sooner than you wish. I warn you, I'm feeling very short-tempered; you loosened one of my teeth."

            "I didn't mean to."

            "That wasn't the way it felt. There's the shelter; you can start that 'willing discipline' by pretending that we've had a lovely afternoon."

            "Look, Dad, if you won't mention-"

            "Shut up. I'm sick of you."

            As they neared the shelter Karen saw them and yoo-hooed; Joe and Barbara came crawling out the tunnel. Karen waved her shovel. "Come see what I've done!"

            She had dug privies on each side of the shelter. Saplings formed frameworks which had been screened by tacking cardboard from liquor cases. Seats had been built of lumber remnants from the tank room. "Well?" demanded Karen. "Aren't they gorgeous?"

            "Yes," agreed Hugh. "Much more lavish than I had expected." He refrained from saying that they had cost most of the lumber.

            "I didn't do it all. Barbara did the carpentry. You should hear her swear when she hits her thumb."

            "You hurt your thumb, Barbara?"

            "It'll get well. Come try the ladder."

            "Sure thing." He started inside; Joe stopped him. "Hugh, while we've still got light, how about seeing something?"

            "All right. What?"

            "The shelter. You've been talking about building a cabin. Suppose we do: what do we have? A mud floor and a roof that leaks, no glass for windows and no doors. Seems to me the shelter is better."

            "Well, perhaps," agreed Hugh. "I had thought we could use it while pioneering, if we had to."

            "I don't think it's too radioactive, Hugh. That dosimeter should have gone sky-high if the roof is really 'hot.' It hasn't."

            "That's good news. But, Joe, look at it. A slant of thirty degrees is uncomfortable. We need a house with a level floor."

            "That's what I mean. Hugh, that hydraulic jack-it's rated at thirty tons. How much does the shelter weigh?"

            "Oh. Let me think how many yards of mix we used and how much steel." Hugh pondered it, got out his notebook. "Call it two hundred fifty tons."

            "Well, it was an idea."

            "Maybe it's a good idea." Hugh prowled around the shelter, a block twenty feet square and twelve high, sizing up angles, estimating yardages.

            "It can be done," Hugh decided. "We dig under on the uphill side, to the center line, cutting out enough to let that side settle down level. Damn, I wish we had power tools."

            "How long will it take?"

            "Two men could do it in a week if they didn't run into boulders. With no dynamite a boulder can be a problem."

            "Too much of a problem?"

            "Always some way to cope. Let's pray we don't run into solid rock. As we get it dug out, we brace it with logs. At the end we snag the logs out with block and tackle. Then we put the jack under the downhill side and tilt it into place, shore it up and fill with what we've removed. Lots of sweat."

            "I'll start bright and early tomorrow."

            "You will like hell. Not until your ribs have healed. I will start tomorrow, with two husky girls. Plus Duke, if his shoulder isn't sore, after he shoots us a deer; we've got to conserve canned goods. Reminds me-what was done with the dirty cans?"

            "Buried 'em."

            "Dig them up and wash them. A tin can is more valuable than gold; we'll use them for all sorts of things. Let's go in. I've still to admire the ladder."

            The ladder was two trimmed saplings, with treads cut from boards and notched and nailed. Hugh reflected again that lumber had been used too lavishly; treads should have been fashioned from limbs. Damn it, there were so many things that could no longer be ordered by picking up a telephone. Those rolls of Scottissue, one at each privy- They shouldn't be left outdoors; what if it rained? All too soon it would be either a handful of leaves, or do without.

            So many, many things they had always taken for granted! Kotex- How long would their supply last? And what did primitive women use? Something, no doubt, but what?

            He must warn them that anything manufactured, a scrap of paper, a dirty rag, a pin, all must be hoarded. Caution them, hound them, nag them endlessly.

            "That's a beautiful ladder, Barbara!"

            She looked very pleased. "Joe did the hard parts."

            "I did not," Joe denied. "I just gave advice and touched up the chisel."

            "Well, whoever did it, it's lovely. Now we'll see if it will take my weight."

            "Oh, it will!" Barbara said proudly.

            The shelter had all lights burning. Have to caution them about batteries, too. Must tell the girls to look up how to make candles. "Where's Grace, Karen?"

            "Mother isn't well. She's lying down."

            "So? You had better start dinner." Hugh went into the women's bay, saw what sort of not-well his wife suffered. She was sleeping heavily, mouth open, snoring, and was fully dressed. He reached down, peeled back an eyelid; she did not stir. "Duke."

            "Yes?"

            "Come here. Everybody else outside."

            Duke joined him. Hugh said, "After lunch, did you give Grace a drink?"

            "Huh? You didn't say not to."

            "I wasn't criticizing. How much?"

            "Just a highball. An ounce and a half of Scotch, with water."

            "Does that look like one highball? Try to rouse her."

            Duke tried, then straightened up. "Dad, I know you think I'm a fool. But I gave her just one drink. Damn it, I'm more opposed to her drinking than you are!"

            "Take it easy, Duke. I assume that she got at the bottle after you left."

            "Well, maybe." Duke frowned. "As soon as I found an unbroken bottle I gave Mother that drink. Then I took inventory. I think I found it all, unless you have some hidden away-"

            "No, the cases were together. Six cases."

            "Right. I found thirteen unbroken bottles, twelve fifths and a quart of bourbon. I remember thinking that was two fifths each and the quart I would keep in reserve. I had opened one bottle of King's Ransom. I made a pencil mark on it. We'll know if she found it."

            "You hid the liquor?"

            "I stashed it in the upper bunk on the other side; I figured it would be hard for her to climb up there- I'm not a complete fool, Dad. She couldn't see me, she was in her bunk. But maybe she guessed."

            "Let's check."

            Thirteen bottles were between springs and mattress; twelve were unopened, the thirteenth was nearly full. Duke held it up. "See? Right to the line. But there was another bottle we had a snort from, after that second bombing. What happened to it?"

            "Barbara and I had some after you went to sleep, Duke. There was some left. I never saw it again. It was in the tank room."

            "Oh! I did, while we were bailing. Busted. I give up-where did she get it?"

            "She didn't, Duke."

            "What do you mean?"

            "It wasn't liquor." Hugh went to the medicines drawer, got a bottle with a broken seal. "Count these Seconal capsules. You had two last night."

            "Yeah."

            "Karen had one at bedtime, one later; Joe had one. Neither Barbara nor I had any, nor Grace. Five."

            "Hold it, I'm counting."

            His father began to count as Duke pushed them aside.

            "Ninety-one," Duke announced.

            "Check." Hugh put the capsules back. "So she took four."

            "What do we do, Dad? Stomach pump? Emetic?"

            "Nothing."

            "Why, you heartless- She tried to kill herself!"

            "Slow down, Duke. She did nothing of the sort. Four capsules, six grains, simply produces stupor in a healthy person- and she's healthy as a horse; she had a physical a month ago. No, she snitched those pills to get drunk on." Hugh scowled. "An alcohol drunk is bad enough. But people kill themselves without meaning to with sleeping pills."

            "Dad, what do you mean, 'she took them to get drunk on'?"

            "You don't use them?"

            "I never had one in my life until those two last night."

            "Do you remember how you felt just before you went to sleep? Warm and happy and woozy?"

            "No. I just lay down and konked out. Next thing I knew I was against the wall on my shoulders."

            "You haven't developed tolerance for them. Grace knows what they can do. Drunk, a very happy drunk. I've never known her to take more than one but she's never been chopped off from liquor before. When a person eats sleeping pills because he can't get liquor, he's in a bad way."

            "Dad, you should have kept liquor away from her long ago!"

            "How, Duke? Tell her she couldn't have a drink? Take them away from her at parties? Quarrel with her in public? Fight with her in front of Joe? Not let her have cash, close out her bank account, see that she had no credit? Would that have stopped her from pawning furs?"

            "Mother would never have done that."

            "It's typical behavior in such cases. Duke, it is impossible to keep liquor away from any adult who is determined to have it. The United States Government wasn't that powerful. I'll go further. It is impossible for anyone to be responsible for another person's behavior. I spoke of myself as 'responsible' for this group; that was verbal shorthand. The most I can door you, or any leader-is to encourage each one to be responsible for himself."

            Hugh chewed his thumb and looked anguished. "Perhaps my mistake was in letting her loaf. But she considered me stingy because I let her have only a houseboy and a cleaning woman. Duke, do you see anything I could have done short of beating her?"

            "Uh. . . that's beside the point. What do we do now?"

            "So it is, counselor. Well, we keep these pills away from her."

            "And I'm damned well going to chop off the liquor completely!"

            "Oh, I wouldn't."

            "You wouldn't, eh? Did I hear correctly when you said I was liquor boss?"

            "The decision is up to you. I simply said that I wouldn't. I think it's a mistake."

            "Well, I don't. Dad, I won't go into the matter of whether you could, or should, have stopped Mother from getting the way she is. But I intend to stop it."

            "Very well, Duke. Mmm, she's going to be cut off anyhow in a matter of days. It might be easier to taper her off. If you decide to, I'll contribute a bottle from my share. Hell, you can have both of mine. I like a snort as well as the next man. But Grace needs it."

            "That won't be necessary," his son said crisply. "I'm not going to let her have any. Get it over with, she'll be well that much sooner."

            "Your decision. May I offer a suggestion?"

            "What?"

            "In the morning, be up before she is. Move the liquor out and bury it, someplace known only to you. Then have open one bottle at a time and dispense it by the ounce. Tell the others to drink where she can't see it. You had better ditch the open bottle outdoors, too."

            "Sounds reasonable."

            "But that makes it all the more urgent to keep sleeping pills away from her."

            "Bury them?"

            "No. We need them inside, and it's not just sleeping pills. Demerol. Hypodermic needles. Several drugs, some poisonous and some addictive and all irreplaceable. If she can't find Seconal-five bottles of a hundred each, it's bulky-there's no telling what she might get into. We'll use the vault."

            "A little safe let into concrete back of that cupboard. Nothing in it but birth certificates and such, and some reserve ammo, and two thousand silver dollars. Toss the money in with the hardware, we'll use it as metal. The combo is 'July 4th, 1776'-'74-17-76.' Better change it, Grace may know it."

            "At once!"

            "No rush, she won't wake up. 'Reserve ammo-' Duke, you were liquor and cigarette boss and now you are drugs boss. I'm going whole hog, you are rationing officer. Responsible for everything that can't be replaced: liquor, tobacco, ammunition, nails, toilet tissue, matches, dry cells, Kleenex, needles-"

            "Good God! Got any more dirty jobs?"

            "Lots of them. Duke, I'm trying to make it each according to his talents. Joe is too diffident-and he missed obvious economies today. Karen doesn't think ahead. Barbara feels like a freeloader even though she's not, she wouldn't crack down. I would, but I'm swamped. You are a natural for it; you don't hesitate to assert yourself. And you have foresight when you take the trouble to use it."

            "Thank you too much. All right."

            "The hardest thing to drill into them will be saving every scrap of metal and paper and cloth and lumber, things Americans have wasted for years. Fishhooks. Groceries aren't as important; we'll replace them, you by hunting, Barbara by gardening. Nevertheless, better note what can't be replaced. Salt. You must ration salt especially."

            "Salt?"

            "Unless you run across a salt lick in hunting. Salt- Damn it, we're going to have to tan leather. All I used to do with a hide was rub it with salt and give it to the taxidermist. Is salt necessary?"

            "I don't know."

            "I'll look it up. Damnation, we're going to find that I failed to stock endless things we'll be miserable without."

            "Dad," Duke admitted, "I think you've done mighty well."

            "So? That's pleasant to hear. We'll manage to-"

            "Daddy!"

            "Yes?" Hugh went to the tank room. Karen's head stuck up out of the manhole.

            "Daddy, can we please come in? It's dark and scary and something big chased Doc in. Joe won't let us until you say."

            "Sorry, Baby. Everybody come in. And we'll put the lid on."

            "Yes, sir. But Daddy, you ought to look outside. Stars. The Milky Way like a neon sign! And the Big Dipper-so maybe this isn't another planet? Or would we still see the Big Dipper?"

            "I'm not certain." He recalled that the discovery that they were still in James County, Mountain Springs area, had not been shared. But Duke must tell it; it was his deduction. "Duke, want to take a look before we close up?"

            "Thanks, I've seen a star."

            "As you wish." Hugh went outside, waited while his eyes adjusted, saw that Karen was right: Never before had he seen the heavens on a clear mountain night with no other light, nor trace of smog, to dim its glory.

            "Beautiful!"

            Karen slipped her hand into his. "Yes," she agreed. "But I could use some streetlights. There are things out there. And we heard coyotes."

            "There are bears and Duke saw a mountain lion. Joe, better keep the cat in at night, and try to keep him close in the daytime."

            "He won't go far, he's timid. And something just taught him a lesson."

            "And me, too!" announced Karen. "Bears! Come, Barbie, let's go in. Daddy, if the Moon comes up, this must be Earth- and I'll never trust a comic book again."

            "Go ask your brother."

            Duke's discovery was the main subject at dinner. Karen's disappointment was offset by her interest in how they had mislaid Mountain Springs. "Duke, are you sure you saw what you thought you saw?"

            "No possible mistake," Hugh answered for him. "If it weren't for the trees, you could have spotted it. We had to climb Reservoir Hill to get a clear view."

            "You were gone all that time just to Reservoir Hill? Why, that's only five minutes away!"

            "Duke, explain to your sister about automobiles."

            "I think the bomb did it," Barbara said suddenly.

            "Why, certainly, Barb. The question is how?"

            "I mean the enormous H-bomb the Russians claimed to have in orbit. The one they called the 'Cosmic Bomb.' I think it hit us."

            "Go on, Barbara."

            "Well, the first bomb was awful and the second one was bad; they almost burned us up. But the third one just hit us whammy! and then no noise, no heat, no rumbling, and the radioactivity got less instead of worse. Here's my notion:

            You've heard of parallel worlds? A million worlds side by side, almost alike but not quite? Worlds where Elizabeth married Essex and Mark Anthony hated redheads? And Ben Franklin got electrocuted with his kite? Well, this is one."

            "First automobiles and now Benjamin Franklin. I'll go watch Ben Casey."

            "Like this, Karen. The Cosmic Bomb hits us, dead on- and kicks us into the next world. One exactly like the one we were in, except that it never had men in it."

            "I'm not sure I like a world with no men. I'd rather have a strange planet, with warlords riding thoats. Or is it zitidars?"

            "What do you think of my theory, Hugh?"

            "I'm keeping an open mind. I'll go this far: We should not count on finding other human beings."

            "I go for your theory, Barbara," Duke offered. "It accounts for the facts. Squeezed out like a melon seed. Pht!"

            "And we landed here."

            Duke shrugged. "Let it be known as the Barbara Wells Theory of Cosmic Transportation and stand adopted. Here we are; we're stuck with it-and I'm going to bed. Who sleeps where, Hugh?"

            "Just a second. Folks, meet the Rationing Officer. Take a bow, Duke." Hugh explained the austerity program. "Duke will work it out but that's the idea. For example, I noticed a bent nail on the ground in the powder room. That calls for being spread-eagled and flogged. For a serious offense, such as wasting a match, it's keelhauling. Second offense-hang him at the yardarm!"

            "Gee! Do we get to watch?"

            "Shut up, Karen. No punishments, just the miserable knowledge that you have deprived the rest of something necessary to life, health, or comfort. So don't give Duke any back talk. I want to make another assignment. Baby, you know shorthand."

            "That's putting it strongly. Mr. Gregg wouldn't think so."

            "Hugh, I take shorthand. What do you want?"

            "Okay, Barbara, you are historian. Today is Day One. Or start with the calendar we are used to, but we may adjust it; those were winter stars. Every night jot down the events and put it in longhand later. Your title is Keeper of the Flame. As soon as possible, you really will be Keeper of the Flame; we will have to light a fire, then bank it every night. Sorry to have held you up, Duke."

            "I'll sleep in the tank room, Hugh. You take a bunk."

            "Wait a minute. Buddy, would you stay up ten minutes longer? Daddy, could Barbara and I use the tank room for a spit bath? May we have that much water? A girl who digs privies needs a bath."

            "Sure, Sis," Duke agreed.

            "Water is no problem," Hugh told her. "But you can bathe in the stream in the morning. Just one thing: Whenever anyone is bathing, someone should stand guard. I wasn't fooling about bears."

            Karen shivered. "I didn't think you were. But that reminds me, Daddy- Do we dash out to the powder room? Or hold it all night? I'm not sure I can. But I'll try-rather than play tag with bears!"

            "I thought the toilet was still set up?"

            "Well.. . I thought, with brand-new outside plumbing-"

            "Of course not."

            "I feel better. Okay, buddy boy, give Barb and me a crack at the john and you can go to bed."

            "No bath?"

            "If we bathe, we can bathe in the girls' dorm after the rest of you go to bed. Thereby sparing your blushes."

            "I don't blush."

            "You should."

            "Hold it," interrupted Hugh. "We need a 'No Blushing' rule. Here we are crowded worse than a Moscow apartment. Do you know the Japanese saying about nakedness?"

            "I know they bathe in company," said Karen, "and I would be happy to join them. Hot water! Oh, boy!"

            "They say, 'Nakedness is often seen but never looked at.' I'm not urging you to parade around in skin. But we should quit being jumpy. If you come in to change clothes and find that there is no privacy-why, just change. Or take bathing in the stream. The person available to guard might not be the sex of the person who wants the bath. So ignore it." He looked at Joseph. "I mean you. I suspect you're sissy about it."

            Joe looked stubborn. "That's the way I was brought up, Hugh."

            "So? I wasn't brought up this way either, but I'm trying to make the best of it. After a sweaty day's work it might be that Barbara is the one available to stand bear watch for you."

            "I'll take my chances. I didn't see any bears."

            "Joe, I don't want any nonsense. You're my deputy."

            "I didn't ask to be."

            "Nor will you be, if you don't change your tune. You'll bathe when you need it and you'll accept guard service from anybody."

            Joe looked stubborn. "No, thank you."

            Hugh Farnham sighed. "I didn't expect dam foolishness from you, Joe. Duke, will you back me? 'Condition seven,' I mean."

            "Deelighted!" Duke grabbed the rifle he had carried earlier, started to load it. Joe's chin dropped but he did not move.

            "Hold it, Duke. Guns won't be necessary. That's all, Joe. Just the clothes you were wearing last night. Not clothes we stored for you, I paid for those. Nothing else, not even matches. You can change in the tank room; it was your modesty you insisted on saving. But your life is your problem. Get moving."

            Joseph said slowly, "Mr. Farnham, do you really mean that?"

            "Were those real bullets in that gun you aimed at Duke? You helped me clamp down on him; you heard me clamp down on my wife. Can I pull on them anything that rough- and let you get away with it? Good God, I'd get it from the girls next. Then the group would fall apart and die. I'd rather it was just you. You have two minutes to say good-bye to Dr. Livingstone. But leave the cat here; I don't want it eaten."

            Dr. Livingstone was in the Negro's lap. Joe got slowly to his feet, still holding it. He seemed dazed.

            Hugh added, "Unless you prefer to stay."

            "I can?"

            "On the same terms as the rest."

            Two tears rolled down Joe's cheeks. He looked down at the cat and stroked it, then answered in a low voice, "I would like to stay. I agree."

            "Good. Confirm it by apologizing to Barbara."

            Barbara looked startled. She appeared to be about to speak, then to think better of it.

            "Uh. . . Barbara. I'm sorry."

            "It's all right, Joe."

            "I'd be. . . happy and proud to have you guard me. While I take a bath, I mean. If you will."

            "Any time, Joe. Glad to."

            "Thank you."

            "And now," said Hugh, "who's for bridge? Karen?"

            "Why not?"

            "Duke?"

            "Bed for me. Anybody wants the pot, step over me."

            "Sleep on the floor by the bunks, Duke, and avoid the traffic. No, take the upper bunk."

            "You take it."

            "I'll be last to bed, I want to look up a subject. Joe? Contract?"

            "I don't believe, sir, that I wish to play cards."

            "Putting me in my place, eh?"

            "I didn't say that, sir."

            "You didn't have to. Joe, I was offering an olive branch. One rubber, only. We've had a hard day."

            "Thank you. I'd rather not."

            "Damn it, Joe, we can't afford to be sulky. Last night Duke had a much rougher time. He was about to be shoved out into a radioactive hell-not just to frolic with some fun-loving bears. Did he sulk?"

            Joe dropped his eyes, scratched Dr. Livingstone's skull- suddenly looked up and grinned. "One rubber. And I'm going to beat you hollow!"

            "In a pig's eye. Barbie? Make a fourth?"

            "Delighted!"

            The cut paired Joe with Karen and gave him the deal. He riffled the cards. "Now to stack a Mississippi Heart Hand!"

            "Watch him, Barbie."

            "Want a side bet, Daddy?"

            "What have you to offer?"

            "Well- My fair young body?"

            "Flabby."

            "Why, you utterly utter! I'm not flabby, I'm just deliciously padded. Well, how about my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor?"

            "Against what?"

            "A diamond bracelet?"

            Barbara was surprised to see how badly Hugh played, miscounting and even revoking. She realized that he was groggy with fatigue-why, the poor darling! Somebody was going to have to clamp down on him, too. Or he would kill himself trying to carry the whole load.

            Forty minutes later Hugh wrote an I.O.U. for one diamond bracelet, then they got ready for bed. Hugh was pleased to see that Joe undressed completely and got into the lower bunk, as he had been told to. Duke stretched out on the floor, bare. The room was hot; the mass cooled slowly and air no longer circulated with the manhole cover in place, despite the vents in the tank room. Hugh made a note that he must devise a bear proof-and cat proof-grille in place of the cover. Later, later- He took the camp lamp into the tank room.

            Someone had put the books back on shelves but some were open to dry; he fluffed these, hoped for the best. The last books in the world- so it seemed.

            He felt sudden grief that abstract knowledge of deaths of millions had not given him. Somehow, the burning of millions of books felt more brutally obscene than the killing of people. All men must die, it was their single common heritage. But a book need never die and should not be killed; books were the immortal part of man. Book burners-to rape a defenseless friendly book.

            Books had always been his best friends. In a hundred public libraries they had taught him. From a thousand newsstands they had warmed his loneliness. He suddenly felt that if he had not been able to save some books, it would hardly be worthwhile to live.

            Most of his collection was functional: The Encyclopaedia Britannica-Grace had thought the space should be used for a television receiver "because they might be hard to buy afterwards." He had grudged its bulkiness, too, but it was the most compact assemblage of knowledge on the market. "Che" Guevera's War of the Guerillas-thank God he wasn't going to need that! Nor those next to it: "Yank" Leivy's manual on resistance fighting, Griffith's Translation of Mao Tse-tung's On Guerilla Warfare, Tom Wintringham's New Ways of War, the new TR on special operations-forget 'em! Ain't a-gonna study war no more!

            The Boy Scout Handbook, Eshbach's Mechanical Engineering, The Radio Repairman's Guide, Outdoor Life's Hunting and Fishing, Edible Fungi and How to Know Them, Home Life in the Colonial Days, Your Log Cabin, Chimneys and Fireplaces, The Hobo's Cook Book, Medicine Without a Doctor, Five Acres and Independence, Russian Self-Taught and English-Russian and Russian-English dictionaries, The Complete Herbalist, the survival manuals of the Navy Bureau of Weapons, The Air Force's Survival Techniques, The Practical Carpenter-all sound books, of the brown and useful sort. The Oxford Book of English Verse, A Treasury of American Poetry, Hoyle's Book of Games, Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, a different Burton's Thousand Nights and a Night, the good old Odyssey with the Wyeth illustrations, Kipling's Collected Verse, and his Just So Stories, a one-volume Shakespeare, the Book of Common Prayer, the Bible, Mathematical Recreations and Essays, Thus Spake Zarathustra, T. S. Eliot's The Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, Robert Frost's Verse, Men Against the Sea- He wished that he had found time to stock the list of fiction he had started. He wished that he had fetched down his works of Mark Twain regardless of space. He wished- Too late, too late. This was it. All that was left of a mighty civilization. "The cloud-capped towers-"

            He jerked awake and found that he had fallen asleep standing up. Why had he come in here? Something important. Oh, yes! Tanning leather- Leather? Barbara was barefooted, Barbara must have moccasins. Better try the Britannica. Or that Colonial Days volume.

            No, thank God, you didn't have to use salt! Find some oak trees. Better yet, have Barbara find them; it would make her feel useful. Find something that only Joe could do, too; make the poor little bastard feel appreciated. Loved. Remember to- He stumbled back into the main room, looked at the upper bunk and knew that he couldn't make it. He lay down on the blanket they had played cards on and fell instantly asleep.

Chapter 5

            Grace did not get up for breakfast. The girls quietly fed them, then stayed in to clean up. Duke went hunting, carrying a forty-five and a hunting bow. It was his choice; arrows could be recovered or replaced, bullets were gone forever. Duke tried a few flights and decided that his shoulder was okay.

            He checked watches and set out, with an understanding that a smoky fire would be built to home on if he was not back by three.

            Hugh told the girls to take outdoors any book not bone-dry, then broke out pick and shovel and started leveling their house. Joe tried to join him; Hugh vetoed it.

            "Look, Joe, there are a thousand things to do. Do them. But no heavy work."

            "Such as what, Hugh?"

            "Uh, correct the inventories. Give Duke a hand by starring everything that can't be replaced. In the course of that you'll think of things; write them down. Look up how to make soap and candles. Check both dosimeters. Strap on a gun and keep your eyes open-and see that those girls don't go outside without guns. Hell, figure out a way to get plumbing and running water, with no pipe and no lead and no water closets and no Portland cement."

            "How in the world could you do that?"

            "Somebody did it the first time. And tell this bushy-tailed sidewalk superintendent that I need no help."

            "Okay. Come here, Doc! Come, come, come!"

            "And Joe. Speaking of bathrooms, you might offer to stand guard for the girls while they bathe. You don't have to look."

            "All right, I'll offer. But I'll tell them you suggested it. I don't want them to think-"

            "Look, Joe. They are a couple of clean, wholesome, evil-minded American girls. Say what you please, they will still believe you are sneaking a peek. It's part of their credo that they are so fatally irresistible that a man just has to. So don't be too convincing; you'll hurt their feelings."

            "I get it. I guess." Joe went away, Hugh started digging, while reflecting that he had never missed a chance, given opportunity without loss of face-but that incorrigible Sunday school lad probably would not sneak a peek at Lady Godiva. A good lad-no imagination but utterly dependable. Shame to have been so rough on him last night- Very quickly Hugh knew what his worst oversight had been: no wheelbarrow.

            He had dug only a little before reaching this new appreciation. Digging by muscle power was bad but carrying it away in buckets was an affront to good sense. So he carried and thought about how to build a wheel- with no metal, no heating tools, no machine shop, no foundry, no- Now wait! He had steel bottles. There was strap iron in the bunks and soft iron in the periscope housing. Charcoal he could make and a bellows was simply an animal skin and some branches. Whittle a nozzle. Any damfool who couldn't own a wheel with all that at his disposal deserved to lift and carry.

            He had ten thousand trees, didn't he? Finland didn't have a damn thing but trees. Yet Finland was the finest little country in the world.

            "Doc, get out from under my feet!" If Finland was still there- Wherever the world was- Maybe the girls would like a Finnish bath. Down where they could plunge in afterwards and squeal and feel good. Poor kids, they would never see a beauty parlor; maybe a sauna would be a "moral equivalent." Grace might like it. Sweat off that blubber, get her slender again. What a beauty she had been!

            Barbara showed up, with a shovel. "Where did you get that? And what do you think you're going to do?"

            "It's the one Duke was using. I'm going to dig."

            "In bare feet? You're era- Hey, you're wearing shoes!"

            "Joe's. The jeans are his, too. The shirt is Karen's. Where shall I dig?"

            "Just beyond me, here. Any boulder over five hundred pounds, ask for help. Where's Karen?"

            "Bathing. I decided to stink worse and bathe later."

            "When you like. Don't try to stick on this job all day. You can't."

            "I like working with you, Hugh. Almost as much as-" She let it hang.

            "As playing bridge?"

            "As playing bridge as your partner. Yes, you could mention that. Too."

            "Barbie girl." -

            He found that just digging was fun. Gave the mind a rest and the muscles a workout. Happy making. Hadn't tried it for much too long.

            Barbara had been digging an hour when Mrs. Farnham came around a corner. Barbara said, "Good morning," added a shovelful to a bucket, picked both up half filled, and disappeared around the other corner.

            Grace Farnham said, "Well! I wondered where you were hiding. I was left quite alone. Do you realize that?" She was in the clothes she had slept in. Her features looked puffy.

            "You were allowed to sleep, dear."

            "It isn't pleasant to wake up in a strange place alone. I'm not accustomed to it."

            "Grace, you weren't being slighted. You were being pampered."

            "Is that what you call it? Then we'll say no more about it, do you mind?"

            "Not at all."

            "Really?" She seemed to brace herself, then said bleakly, "Perhaps you can stop long enough to tell me where you have hidden my liquor. My liquor. My share. I wouldn't think of touching yours-after the way you've treated me! In front of servants and strangers, may I add?"

            "Grace, you must see Duke."

            "What do you mean?"

            "Duke is in charge of liquor. I don't know where he put it."

            "You're lying!"

            "Grace, I haven't lied to you in twenty-seven years."

            "Oh! You brutal, brutal man!"

            "Perhaps. But I'm not lying and the next time you say I am, it will go hard with you."

            "Where's Duke? He won't let you talk to me that way! He told me so, he promised me!"

            "Duke has gone hunting. He hopes to be back by three."

            She stared, then rushed back around the corner. Barbara reappeared, picked up her shovel. They went on working.

            Hugh said, "I'm sorry you were exposed to that."

            "To what?"

            "Unless you were at least a hundred yards away, you know what."

            "Hugh, it's none of my business."

            "Under these conditions, anything is everybody's business. You have formed a bad opinion of Grace."

            "Hugh, I would not dream of being critical of your wife."

            "You have opinions. But I want you to have one in depth. Visualize her as she was, oh, twenty-five years ago. Think of Karen."

            "She would have looked like Karen."

            "Yes. But Karen has never had responsibility. Grace had and took it well. I was an enlisted man; I wasn't commissioned until after Pearl Harbor. Her people were what is known as 'good family.' Not anxious to have their daughter marry a penniless enlisted man."

            "I suppose not."

            "Nevertheless, she did. Barbara, have you any notion what it was to be the wife of a junior enlisted man in those days? With no money? Grace's parents wanted her to come home- but would not send her a cent as long as she stuck with me. She stuck."

            "Good for Grace."

            "Yes. She had no preparation for living in one room and sharing a bath down the hail, nor for waiting in Navy outpatient clinics. For making a dollar go twice as far as it should. For staying alone while I was at sea. Young and pretty and in Norfolk, she could have found excitement. She found a job instead-in a laundry, sorting dirty clothes. And whenever I was home she was bright and cheerful and uncomplaining.

            "Alexander was born the next year-"

            "'Alexander'?"

            "Duke. Named for his maternal grandpappy; I didn't get a vote. Her parents were anxious to make up once they had a grandson; they were even willing to accept me. Grace stayed cool and never accepted a cent-back to work with our landlady minding the baby in weeks.

            "Those years were the roughest. I went up fast and money wasn't such a problem. The War came and I was bucked from chief to j.g. and ended as a lieutenant commander in Seabees. In 1946 I had to choose between going back to chief or becoming a civilian. With Grace's backing, I got out. So I was on the beach with no job, a wife, a son in grammar school, a three-year-old daughter, living in a trailer, prices high and going higher. We had some war bonds.

            "That was the second rough period. I took a stab at contracting, lost our savings, went to work for a water company. We didn't starve, but scraped icebox and dishrag soup were on the menu. Barbara, she stood it like a trouper-a hardworking den mother, a pillar of the PTA, and always cheerful.

            "I was a construction boss before long and presently I tried contracting again. This time it clicked. I built a house on spec and a shoestring, sold it before it was finished and built two more at once. We've never been broke since."

            Hugh Farnham looked puzzled. "That was when she started to slip. When she started having help. When we kept liquor in the house. We didn't quarrel-we never did save over the fact that I tried to raise Duke fairly strictly and Grace couldn't bear to have the boy touched.

            "But that was when it started, when I started making money. She isn't built to stand prosperity. Grace has always stood up to adversity magnificently. This is the first time she hasn't. I still think she will."

            "Of course she will, Hugh."

            "I hope so."

            "I'm glad to know more about her, Hugh. I'll try to be considerate."

            "Damn it, I'm not asking that. I just want you to know that fat and foolish and self-centered isn't all there is to Grace. Nor was her slipping entirely her fault. I'm not easy to live with, Barbara."

            "So?"

            "So! When we were able to slow down, I didn't. I let business keep me away evenings. When a woman is left alone, it's easy to slip out for another beer when the commercial comes on and to nibble all evening along with the beer. If I was home, I was more likely to read than to visit, anyhow. And I didn't just let business keep me away; I joined the local duplicate club. She joined but she dropped out. She plays a good social game-but I like to fight for every point. No criticism of her, there's no virtue in playing as if it were life or death. Grace's way is better- Had I been willing to take it easy, too, well, she wouldn't be the way she is."

            "Nonsense!"

            "Pardon me?"

            "Hugh Farnham, what a person is can never be somebody else's fault, I think. I am what I am because Barbie herself did it. And so did Grace. And so did you." She added in a low voice, "I love you. And that's not your fault, nor is anything we did your fault. I won't listen to you beating your breast and sobbing 'Mea culpa!' You don't take credit for Grace's virtues. Why take blame for her faults?"

            He blinked and smiled. "Seven no trump."

            "That's better."

            "I love you. Consider yourself kissed."

            "Kiss back. Grand slam. But watch it," she said out of the corner of her mouth. "Here come the cops."

            It was Karen, clean, shining, hair brushed, fresh lipstick, and smiling. "What an inspiring sight!" she said. "Would you poor slaves like a crust of bread and a pannikin of water?"

            "Shortly," her father agreed. "In the meantime don't carry these buckets too heavily loaded."

            Karen backed away. "I wasn't volunteering!"

            "That's all right. We aren't formal."

            "But Daddy, I'm clean!"

            "Has the creek gone dry?"

            "Daddy! I've got lunch ready. Out front. You're too filthy to come into my lovely clean house." -

            "Yes, baby. Come along, Barbara." He picked up the buckets.

            Mrs. Farnham did not appear for lunch. Karen stated that Mother had decided to eat inside. Hugh let it go at that; there would be enough hell when Duke got back.

            Joe said, "Hugh? About that notion of plumbing-"

            "Got it figured out?"

            "Maybe I see a way to have running water."

            "If we get running water, I guarantee to provide plumbing fixtures."

            "Really, Daddy? I know what I want. In colored tile. Lavender, I think. And with a dressing table built around-"

            "Shut up, infant. Yes, Joe?"

            "Well, you know those Roman aqueducts. This stream runs uphill that way. I mean it's higher up that way, so someplace it's higher than the shelter. As I understand it, Roman aqueducts weren't pipe, they were open."

            "I see." Farnham considered it. There was a waterfall a hundred yards upstream. Perhaps above it was high enough.

            "But that would mean a lot of masonry, whether dry-stone, or mud mortar. And each arch requires a frame while it's being built."

            "Couldn't we just split logs and hollow them out? And support them on other logs?"

            "We could." Hugh thought about it. "There's an easier way, and one that would kill two birds. Barbara, what sort of country is this?"

            "I beg your pardon?"

            "You said that this area is at least semitropical. Can you tell what season it is? And what the rest of the year is likely to bring? What I'm driving at is this: Are you going to need irrigation?"

            "Good heavens, Hugh, I can't answer that!"

            "You can try."

            "Well-" She looked around. "I doubt if it ever freezes here. If we had water, we might have crops all year. This is not a tropical rain forest, or the undergrowth would be much more dense. It looks like a place with a rainy season and a dry season."

            "Our creek doesn't go dry; it has lots of fish. Where were you thinking of having your garden?"

            "How about this stretch downstream to the south? Several trees should come out, though, and a lot of bushes."

            "Trees and bushes are no problem. Mmm- Joe, let's take a walk. I'll carry a rifle, you strap on your forty-five. Girls, don't dig so much that it topples down on you. We would miss you."

            "Daddy, I was thinking of taking a nap."

            "Good. Think about it while you're digging."

            Hugh and Joe worked their way upstream. "What are you figuring on, Hugh?"

            "A contour-line ditch. We need to lead water to an air vent on the roof. If we can do that, we've got it made. A sanitary toilet. Running water for cooking and washing. And for gardening, coming in high enough to channel it wherever Barbara wants it. But the luxury that will mean most to our womenfolk is a bath and kitchen. We'll clear the tank room and install both."

            "Hugh, I see how you might get water with a ditch. But what about fixtures? You can't just let water splash down through the roof."

            "I don't know yet, but we'll build them. Not a flush toilet, it's too complex. But a constant-flow toilet, a sort that used to be common aboard warships. It's a trough with seats. Water runs in one end, out the other. We'll lead it down the manhole, out the tunnel, and away from the house. Have you seen any clay?"

            "There is a clay bank at the stream below the house. Karen complained about how sticky it was. She went upstream to bathe, a sandy spot." -

            "I'll look at it. If we can bake clay, we can make all sorts of things. A toilet. A sink. Dishes. Tile pipe. Build a kiln out of unbaked clay, use the kiln to bake anything. But clay just makes it easier. Water is the real gold; all civilizations were built on water. Joe, we are about high enough."

            "Maybe a little higher? It would be embarrassing to dig a ditch a couple of hundred yards long-"

            "Longer."

            "-or longer, and find that it's too low and no way to get it up to the roof."

            "Oh, we'll survey it first."

            "Survey it? Hugh, maybe you didn't notice but we don't even have a spirit level. That big smash broke its glasses. And there isn't even a tripod, much less a transit and all those things."

            "The Egyptians invented surveying with less, Joe. Losing the spirit level doesn't matter. We'll build an unsplit level."

            "Are you making fun of me, Hugh?"

            "Not at all. Mechanics were building level and square centuries before you could buy instruments. We'll build a plumbbob level. That's an upside-down T, and a string with a weight to mark the vertical. You can build it about six feet long and six high to give us a long sighting arm-minimize the errors. Have to take apart one of the bunks for boards. It's light, fussy work you can do while your ribs heal. ~While the girls do the heavy, unfussy excavating."

            "You draw it, I'll build it."

            "When we get the building leveled we'll mount it on the roof and sight upstream. Have to cut a tree or two but we won't have any trouble running a base line. Intercepts we run with a smaller level. Duck soup, Joe."

            "No sweat, huh?"

            "Mostly sweat. But twenty feet a day of shallow ditch and we'll have irrigation water when the dry season hits. The bathroom can wait-the gals will be cheered just by the fact that there will be one, someday. Joe, it would suit me if our base line cuts the stream about here. See anything?"

            "What should I see?"

            "We fell those two trees and they dam the creek. Then chuck in branches, mud, and some brush and still more mud and rocks and the stream backs up in a pond." Hugh added, "Have to devise a gate, and that I do not see, with what we have to work with. Every problem leads straight to another. Damn."

            "Hugh, you're counting your chickens before the cows come home."

            "I suppose so. Well, let's go see how much the girls have dug while we loafed."

            The girls had dug little; Duke had returned with a miniature four-point buck. Barbara and Karen had it strung up against a tree and were trying to butcher it. Karen seemed to have as much blood on her as there was on the ground.

            They stopped as the men approached. Barbara wiped her forehead, leaving a red trail. "I hadn't realized they were so complicated inside."

            "Or so messy!" sighed Karen.

            "With that size it's easier on the ground."

            "Now he tells us. Show us, Daddy. We'll watch."

            "Me? I'm a gentleman sportsman; the guide did the dirty work. But- Joe, can you lay hands on that little hatchet?"

            "Sure. It's sharp; I touched it up yesterday."

            Hugh split the breastbone and pelvic girdle and spread the carcass, then peeled out viscera and lungs and spilled them, while silently congratulating the girls on not having pierced the intestines. "All yours, girls. Barbara, if you can get that hide off, you might be wearing it soon. Have you noticed any oaks?"

            "There are scrub forms. And sumach, too. You're thinking of tannin?"

            "Yes."

            "I know how to extract it."

            "Then you know more about tanning than I do. I'll bow out. There are books."

            "I know, I was looking it up. Doe! Don't sniff at that, boy."

            "He won't eat it," Joe assured her, "unless it's good for him. Cats are fussy."

            While butchering was going on, Duke and his mother crawled out and joined them. Mrs. Farnham seemed cheerful but did not greet anyone; she simply looked at Duke's kill. "Oh, the poor little thing! Duke dear, how did you have the heart to kill it?"

            "It sassed me and I got mad."

            "It's a pretty piece of venison, Duke," Hugh said. "Good eating."

            His wife glanced at him. "Perhaps you'll eat it; I couldn't bear to."

            Karen said, "Have you turned vegetarian, Mother?"

            "It's not the same thing. I'm going in, I don't want that on me. Karen, don't you dare come inside until you've washed; I won't have you tracking blood in after I've slaved away getting the place spotless." She headed toward the shelter. "Come inside, Duke."

            "In a moment, Mother."

            Karen gave the carcass an unnecessarily vicious cut.

            "Where did you nail it?" Hugh asked.

            "Other side of the ridge. I should have been back sooner."

            "Why?"

            "Missed an easy shot and splintered an arrow on a boulder. Buck fever. It has been years since I used a-'bow season' license."

            "One lost arrow, one carcass, is good hunting. You saved the arrowhead?"

            "Of course. Do I look foolish?"

            Karen answered, "No, but I do. Buddy, I cleaned house. If Mother did any cleaning, it was a mess she made herself."

            "I realized that."

            "And I'll bet when she smells these steaks, she won't want Spam!"

            "Forget it."

            Hugh moved away, signaling Duke to follow.

            "I'm glad to see Grace looking cheerful. You must have soothed her."

            Duke looked sheepish. "Well- As you pointed out, it's rough, chopping it off completely." He added, "But I rationed her. I gave her one drink and told her she could have one more before dinner."

            "That's doing quite well."

            "I had better go inside. The bottle is there."

            "Perhaps you had."

            "Oh, it's all right. I put her on her honor. You don't know how to handle her, Dad."

            "That's true. I don't."

Chapter 6

 From the Journal of Barbara Wells:

I am hobbled by a twisted ankle, so I am lying down and adding to this. I've taken notes every night-but in shorthand. I haven't transcribed very much.

            The longhand version goes in the fly leaves of the Britannica. There are ten blank pages in each volume, twenty-four volumes, and I'll squeeze a thousand words to a page- 240,000 words-enough to record our doings until we reclaim the art of making paper-especially as the longhand version will be censored.

            Because I can't let my hair down to anyone-and sometimes a gal needs to! This shorthand record is a diary which no one can read but me, as Karen is as poor at Gregg as she claimed.

            Or perhaps Joe knows Gregg. Isn't it required in business colleges? But Joe is a gentleman and would not read this without invitation. I am fond of Joseph; his goodness is not a sham. I am sure he is keeping his lip buttoned on many unhappy thoughts; his position is as anomalous as mine and more difficult.

            Grace has quit ordering him around-save that she orders all of us. Hugh gives orders, but for the welfare of all. Nor does he give many; we are settled in a routine. I'm the farmer, and plan my own work; Duke keeps meat on the table and gives me a hand when he doesn't hunt; Hugh hasn't told either of us what to do for a long time, and Karen has a free hand with the house. Hugh has about two centuries of mechanical work planned out and Joe helps him.

            But Grace's orders are for her own comfort. We usually carry them out; it's easier. She gets her own way and more than her share, simply by being difficult.

            She got the lion's share of liquor. Liquor doesn't matter to me; I rarely "need" a drink. But I enjoy a glow in company and had to remind myself that it was not my liquor, it was Farnham liquor.

            Grace finished her share in three days. Duke's was next to go. And so on. At last all was gone save one quart of bourbon earmarked "medicinal." Grace spotted where Duke had it and dug it up. When Duke came home, she was passed out and the bottle was dead.

            The next three days were horrors. She screamed. She wept. She threatened suicide. Hugh and Duke teamed up and one of them was always with her. Hugh acquired a black eye, Duke got scratches down his handsome face. I understand they put a lot of B1 into her and force-fed her.

            On the fourth day she stayed in her bunk; the next day she got up and seemed almost normal.

            But during lunch she asserted, as something "everybody knows," that the Russians had attacked because Hugh insisted on building a shelter.

            She didn't seem angry-more forgiving. She went on to the happy thought that the war would soon be over and we could all go home.

            Nobody argued. What good? Her delusion seems harmless. She has assumed her job, at last, as chief cook-but if she is a better cook than Karen I have yet to see it. Mostly she talks about dishes she could prepare if only she had this, or that. Karen works as hard as ever and sometimes gets so mad that she comes out to cry on me and then hoes furiously.

            Duke tells Karen that she must be patient.

            I should not criticize Duke; he is probably going to be my husband. I mean, who else is there? I could stand Duke but I'm not sure I could stand Grace as a mother-in-law. Duke is handsome and is considerate of both me and his sister. He did quarrel with his father at first (foolishly it seemed to me) but they get along perfectly now.

            In this vicinity he is quite a catch.

            Myself? I'm not soured on marriage even though I struck out once. Hugh assumes that the human race will go on. I'm willing.

            (Polygamy? Of course I would! Even with Grace as senior wife. But I haven't been asked. Nor, I feel sure, would Grace permit it. Hugh and I don't discuss such things, we avoid touching the other, we avoid being alone together, and I do not make cow's eyes at him. Finished.)

            The trouble is, while I like Duke, no spark jumps. So I am putting it off and avoiding circumstances where he might pat me on the fanny. It would be a hell of a note if I married him and there came a night when I was so irritated at his mother and so vexed with him for indulging her that I would tell him coldly that he is not half the man his father is.

            No, that must not happen. Duke does not deserve it.

            Joe? My admiration for him is unqualified-and he doesn't have a mother problem.

            Joe is the first Negro I've had a chance to know well-and I think most well of him. He plays better contract than I do; I suppose he's smarter than I am. He is fastidious and never comes indoors without bathing. Oh, get downwind after he has spent a day digging and he's pretty whiff. But so is Duke, and Hugh is worse. I don't believe this story about a distinctive "nigger musk."

            Have you ever been in a dirty powder room? Women stink worse than men.

            The trouble with Joe is the same as with Duke: No spark jumps. Since he is so shy that he is most unlikely to court me- Well, it won't happen.

            But I am fond of him-as a younger brother. He is never too busy to be accommodating. He is usually bear guard for Karen and me when we bathe and it's a comfort to know that Joe is alert- Duke has killed five bears and Joe killed one while he was actually guarding us. It took three shots and dropped dead almost in Joe's lap. He stood his ground.

            We adjourned without worrying about modesty, which upset Joe more than bears do.

            Or wolves, or coyotes, or mountain lions, or a cat which Duke says is a mutated leopard and especially dangerous because it attacks by dropping out of a tree. We don't bathe under trees and don't venture out of our clearing without an armed man. It is as dangerous as crossing Wilshire against the lights.

            There are snakes, too. At least one sort is poisonous.

            Joe and Hugh were starting one morning on the house leveling and Joe jumped down into the excavation. Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume jumped down with him-and here was this snake.

            Doc spotted it and hissed; Joe saw it just as it struck, getting him in the calf. Joe killed it with his shovel and dropped to the ground, grabbing at his leg.

            Hugh had the wound slashed and was sucking it in split seconds. He had a tourniquet on quickly and permanganate crystals on the wound soon after as I heard the hooraw and came a-runnin'. He followed that with rattlesnake anti-venom.

            Moving Joe was a problem; he collapsed in the tunnel. Hugh crawled over him and pulled, I pushed, and it took three of us-Karen, too-to lift him up the ladder. We undressed him and put him to bed.

            Around midnight, when his respiration was low and his pulse uncertain, Hugh moved the remaining bottle of oxygen into the room, put over Joe's head a plastic sack in which shirts had been stored and gave him oxygen.

            By morning he was better.

            In three days he was up and well. Duke says it was a pit viper, perhaps a bushmaster, and that a rattlesnake is a pit viper, too, so rattlesnake anti-venom probably saved Joe's life.

            I am not trusting any snakes.

            It took three weeks to excavate under the house. Boulders! This area is a wide, flat, saucer-shaped valley, with boulders most anywhere. Whenever we hit a big one, we dug around it and the men would worry it out with crowbar and block and tackle.

            Mostly the men could get boulders out. But Karen found one that seemed to go down to China. Hugh looked it over and said, "Fine. Now dig a hole just north of it and deeper."

            Karen just looked at him.

            So we dug. And hit another big boulder. "Good," said Hugh. "Dig another hole north of that one."

            We hit a third oversize boulder. But in three days the last one had been tumbled into a hole next to it, the middle one had been worried into a hole where the last one had been, and the one that started the trouble was buried where the middle one had been.

            As fast as any spot had been cut deeply enough Hugh propped it up with pieces of log; he was worried lest the shelter shift and crush someone. So when we finished the shelter had a forest of posts under it.

            Hugh then set two very heavy posts under the uphill corners and started removing the inner ones, using block and tackle. Sometimes they had to be dug under. Hugh was nervous during this and did all the rigging and digging himself.

            At last the uphill half was supported on these two big chunks.

            They would not budge.

            There was so much weight on those timbers that they sneered at our efforts. I said, "What do we do now, Hugh?"

            "Try the next-to-last resort."

            "What's the last resort?"

            "Burn them. But it would take roaring fires and we would have to clear grass and bushes and trees for quite a distance. Karen, you know where the ammonia is. And the iodine. I want both."

            I had wondered why Hugh had stocked so much ammonia. But he had, in used plastic Chlorox bottles; the stuff had ridden through the shocks. I hadn't known that iodine was stocked in quantity, too; I don't handle the drugs.

            Soon he had sort of a chemistry lab. "What are you making, Hugh?" I asked.

            "Ersatz 'dynamite.' And I don't need company," he said. "The stuff is so touchy it explodes at a harsh look."

            "Sorry," I said, backing away.

            He looked up and smiled. "It's safe until it dries. I had it in mind in case I ever found myself in an underground. Occupying troops take a sour view of natives having explosives, but there is nothing suspicious about ammonia or iodine. The stuff is safe until you put it together and does not require a primer. But I never expected to use it for construction; it's too treacherous."

            "Hugh, I just remembered I don't care whether a floor is level or not."

            "If it makes you nervous, take a walk."

            Making it was simple; he combined tincture of iodine and ordinary household ammonia; a precipitate settled out. This he filtered through Kleenex, the result was a paste.

            Joe drilled holes into those stubborn posts; Hugh wrapped this mess in two batches, in paper, and packed a bundle into each hole, tamping with his finger. "Now we wait for it to dry."

            Everything that he used he flushed down with water, then took a bath with his clothes on, removed them in the water and left them, weighted down with rocks. That was all that day.

            Our armament includes two lovely ladies' guns, .22 magnum rimfires with telescopic sights. Hugh had Duke and Joe sight them in. The sighting-in was done with sandbag rest- heaped-up dirt, that is. Hugh had them expend five bullets each, so I knew he was serious. "One bullet, one bear" is his motto.

            When the explosive was dry, everything breakable was removed from the shelter. We women were chased far back, Karen was charged with hanging on to Dr. Livingstone, and I was armed with Duke's bear rifle, just in case.

            Duke and Joe were on their bellies a measured hundred feet from the posts. Hugh stood between them. "Ready for count?"

            "Ready, Hugh."-"Ready, Dad."

            "Deep breath. Let part of it out. Hold it, steady on target, take up the slack. Five. . . four. . . three . . . two. . . one fire!"

            A sound like a giant slammed door and the middle of each post disintegrated. The shelter stuck out like a shelf, then tilted ponderously down, touched, and was level.

            Karen and I cheered; Grace started to clap; Dr. Livingstone jumped down to investigate. Hugh turned his head and grinned.

            And the shelter tilted back the other way as the ridge crumbled; it started to slide. It pivoted on the tunnel protuberance, picked up speed and tobogganed down the slope. I thought it was going to end up in the creek.

            But the slope leveled off; it ground to a stop, with the tunnel choked with dirt and the whole thing farther out of plumb than before!

            Hugh picked up the shovel he had used to heap up shooting supports, walked down to the shelter, began to dig.

            I ran down, tears bursting from my eyes. Joe was there first. Hugh looked up and said, "Joe, dig out the tunnel. I want to know if anything is damaged and the girls will want to get lunch."

            "Boss-" Joe choked out. "Boss! Oh, gosh!"

            Hugh said, in a tone you use to a child, "Why are you upset, Joe? This has saved us work."

            I thought he had flipped. Joe said, "Huh?"

            "Certainly," Hugh assured him. "See how much lower the roof is? Every foot it dropped saves at least a hundred feet of aqueduct. And leveling will be simple here; the ground is loam and boulders are few. A week, with everybody pitching in. Then we bring water to the house and garden two weeks early."

            He was correct. The shelter was level in a week, and this time he triggered the end posts with crosspieces; blasting was not needed. Best of all, the armor door cranked back without a murmur and we had air and sunlight inside- It had been stuffy and candles made it pretty rank. Joe and Hugh started the ditch the same day. In anticipation of the glorious day, Karen sketched on the walls of the tank room life-size pictures of a washstand, a bathtub, a pot.

            Truthfully, we are comfortable. Two mattress covers Karen filled with dried grass; sleeping on the floor is no worse than the bunks. We sit in chairs and play our evening rubber at the table. It is amazing what a difference level floors make and how much better it is to have a door than to climb down a ladder and crawl out a hole.

            We had to cook over a campfire a while as our grill and Dutch oven were smashed. Karen and I have thrown together a make-do because, as soon as water is led to the house, Hugh intends to start on ceramics, not only for a toilet and a sink but also for a stove vented out through the periscope hole. Luxury!

            My corn is coming up beautifully. I wonder what I can use to grind corn? The thought of hot corn bread buttered with deer grease makes me drool.

December 25th-Merry Christmas!

            We think it is. Hugh says we are not more than a day off.

            Shortly after we got here Hugh picked a small tree with a flat boulder due north of it and sawed it off so that it placed a sharp shadow on the boulder at noon. As "Keeper of the Flame" it has been my duty to sit by that boulder from before apparent noon and note the shortest shadow-follow it down, mark the shortest position and date it.

            That shadow had been growing longer and the days shorter. A week ago it began to be hard to see any change and I told Hugh. So we watched together and three days ago was the turning point . . . so that day became December 22nd and we are celebrating Christmas instead of the Fourth of July. But we got our flag up, as Hugh had planned, to the top of the tallest tree in our clearing, with its branches lopped to make it a pole. As Keeper of the Flame I am charged with raising and lowering it but this was a special occasion; we drew lots and Joe won. We lined up and sang "The Star Spangled Banner" while he hauled it to the peak-and everyone was crying so hard he could hardly sing.

            Then we pledged allegiance. Maybe it is sentimental nonsense by ragged castaways but I don't think so. We are still one nation, under God, free and indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

            Hugh held divine services and read the Christmas story from the Gospel According to Luke and called on Karen to pray, then we sang carols. Grace has a strong, sure lead; Joe is a bell-like tenor, and Karen, myself, Hugh, and Duke are soprano, contralto, baritone, and bass. I think we sound good. In any case we enjoyed it, even though Grace got taken by the weeps during "White Christmas" and it was contagious.

            We would have had services anyhow as today would be Sunday by the old calendar; Hugh holds them every Sunday. Everybody attends, even Duke who is an avowed atheist. Hugh reads a Psalm or some other chapter; we sing hymns; he prays or invites someone to pray, and ends it with "Bless This House-" We are back to the days when the Old Man is priest.

            But Hugh never uses the Apostles' Creed and his prayers are so nonsectarian that he does not even end them "In Jesus' Name, Amen."

            On a rare occasion when he and I spoke in private-waiting out a noon sight last week-I asked him where he stood on matters of faith? (It is important to me to know where my man stands even though he is not my man and can't be.)

            "You could call me an Existentialist."

            "You are not a Christian?"

            "I didn't say that. I can't express it in the negative because it's affirmative. I shan't define it; it would only add to the confusion. You are wondering why I hold church since I refuse to assert a creed?"

            "Well. . . yes."

            "It's my duty. Services should be available to those who need them. If there is no good and no God, this ritual is harmless. If God is, it is appropriate-and still harmless. We are bleeding no peasants, offering no bloody sacrifices, raising no vanities to the skies in the name of religion. Or so I see it, Barbara."

            That had better hold me; it's all I'll get out of him. In my past life religion was a nice, warm, comfy thing I did on Sundays; I can't say it agonized me. But Hugh's God-less offering to God has become important.

            Sundays are important other ways. Hugh discourages work other than barbering and primping or hobby work, and encourages games, or any fun thing. Chess, bridge, Scrabble, modeling in clay, group sings, such like- Or just yakking. Games are important; they mark that we are not just animals trying to stay alive but humans enjoying life and savoring it. That nightly rubber of bridge we never skip. It proclaims that our lives are not just hoeing and digging ditches and butchering.

            We keep up our bodies, too. I've become pretty good at cutting hair. Duke grew a beard at first but Hugh shaved every day and presently Duke did, too. I don't know what they will do when blades are no more. I've noticed Joe honing a Gem blade on an oil stone.

            It's still Christmas and I'll cut back in when the rubber in progress is finished. Dinner was lavish; Grace and Karen spent two days on it-brook trout savory aux herbes, steamed freshwater prawns, steaks and broiled mushrooms, smoked tongue, bouillon Ursine, crackers (quite a treat), radishes, lettuce, green onions, baby beets a la Grace, and best of all, a pan of fudge, as condensed milk, chocolate, and sugar are irreplaceable. Nescafé and cigarettes, two cups and two cigarettes each.

            Presents for everybody- All I saved besides clothes I had on was my purse. I was wearing nylons, took them off soon and haven't worn stockings since; I gave them to Karen. I had a lipstick; Grace got that. I had been plaiting a belt; Joe got that. In my purse was a fancy hanky; I washed it, ironed it by pressing it against smooth concrete-Duke got that.

            It was this morning before I figured out anything for Hugh. For years I've carried in my purse a little memo book. It has my maiden name in gold and still has half of a filler. Hugh can use it-but it was my name on it that decided me.

            I must run; Grace and I are due to attempt to clobber Hugh and Joe.

            I've never had a happier Christmas.

Chapter 7

             Karen and Barbara were washing themselves, the day's dishes, and the week's laundry. Above them, Joe kept watch. Bushes and then trees had been cut away around the stretch they used for bathing; a predator could not approach without Joe having a clear shot at it. His eyes swung constantly, checking approaches. He wasted no seconds on the Elysian tableau he guarded.

            Karen said, "Barbie, this sheet won't stand another laundering. It's rags."

            "We need rags."

            "But what will we use for sheets? It's this soap." Karen scooped a handful from a bowl on the bank. It was soft and gray and harsh and looked like oatmeal mush. "The stuff eats holes."

            "I'm not fretted about sheets but I dread the day when we are down to our last towel."

            "Which will belong to Mother," Karen stated. "Our rationing officer will have some excellent reason."

            "Nasty, nasty. Karen, Duke has done a wonderful job."

            "I wasn't bitching. Duke can't help it. It's his friend Eddie."

            "'Eddie?'"

            "Edipus Rex, dear."

            Barbara turned away and began rinsing a pair of ragged blue jeans.

            Karen said, "You dig me?"

            "We all have faults."

            "Sure, everybody but me. Even Daddy has a shortcoming. His neck pains him."

            Barbara looked up. "Is Hugh having trouble with his neck? Perhaps it would help if we massaged it."

            Karen giggled. "Your weakness, sister mine, is that you wouldn't know a joke if it bit you. Daddy is still-necked and nothing will cure it. He doesn't have weaknesses and that's his weakness. Don't frown. I love Daddy. I admire him. But I'm glad I'm not like him. I'll take this load up to the thorn bushes. Damn it, why didn't Daddy stock clothespins? Those thorns are as bad as the soap."

            "Clothespins we can do without. Hugh did an incredible job. Everything from an eight-day clock-"

            "Which got busted, right off."

            "-to tools and seeds and books and I don't know what. Karen! Don't climb out naked!"

            Karen stopped, one foot on the bank. "Nonsense. Old Stone Face won't look. Humiliating, that's what it is. I think I'll yoo-hoo at him."

            "You'll do no such thing. Joe is being a gentleman under trying circumstances. Don't make it harder. Let that load wait and we'll take it all up at once."

            "Okay, okay. I can't help wondering if he's human."

            "He is. I can vouch for it."

            "Hmm- Barbie, don't tell me Saint Joseph made a pass at you?"

            "Heavens, no! But he blushes if I squeeze past him in the house."

            "How can you tell?"

            "Sort of purple. Karen, Joe is sweet. I wish you had heard him explain about Doc."

            "Explain what?"

            "Well, Doc is beginning to accept me. I was holding Doc yesterday and noticed something and said, 'Joe, Doe is getting terribly fat. Or was he always?'

            "That was a time when he blushed. But he answered with sweet seriousness, 'Barbara, Dr. Livingstone isn't as much of a boy cat as he thinks he is. Old Doe is more a girl-type cat. That isn't fat. Uh, you see- Doe is going to have babies.' He blurted it out. Seemed to think it would upset me. Didn't of course, but I was astonished."

            "Barbara, you mean you didn't know that Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume is a female?"

            "How would I know? Everybody calls him 'he' and he-she-has a male name."

            "A doctor can be female. Can't you tell a tomcat?"

            "I never thought about it. Doe is pretty fuzzy."

            "Mmm, yes, with a Persian one might not be certain at first glance. But a tomcat's badges of authority are prominent."

            "Had I noticed, I would have assumed that he had been altered."

            Karen looked shocked. "Don't let Daddy hear that! He never allows a cat to be spayed or cut. Daddy thinks cats are citizens. However, you've surprised me. Kittens, huh?"

            "So Joe says."

            "And I didn't notice." Karen looked puzzled. "Come to think of it, I haven't picked him up lately. Just petted him and tried to keep him out of things. Lately it hasn't been safe to open a drawer; he's into it. Looking for a place to have kittens of course. I should have twigged."

            "Karen, why do you keep saying 'he' and 'him'?"

            "'Why?' Joe told you. Doe thinks he is a boy cat-and who am I to argue? He's always thought so, he was the feistiest kitten we ever had. 11mm- Kittens. Barbie, the first time Doe came into heat we arranged for Doe to meet a gentleman cat of exalted ancestry. But it wasn't Doe's métier and he beat the hell out of the tomcat. So we quit trying. Mmm- Calendar girl, how long have we been here?"

            "Sixty-two days. I've looked it up; it's sixty days with a normal range to seventy."

            "So it's any time now. I'll bet you two back rubs that we are up all night tonight. Cats never have kittens at a convenient hour." Karen abruptly changed the subject. "Barbie, what do you miss most? Cigarettes?"

            "I've quit thinking of them. Eggs, I guess. Eggs for breakfast."

            "Daddy did plan for that. Fertilized eggs and a little incubator. But he hadn't built it and anyhow, eggs would have busted. Yes, I miss eggs. But I wish cows laid eggs and Daddy had figured out how to bring cow eggs along. Ice cream! Cold milk!"

            "Butter," agreed Barbara. "Banana splits with whipped cream. Chocolate malts."

            "Stop it! Barbie, I'm starving in front of your eyes."

            Barbara pinched her. "You aren't fading way. Fact is, you've put on weight."

            "Perhaps." Karen shut up and began on the dishes.

            Presently she said in a low voice, "Barbie, Doe won't hand this household half the surprise I'm going to."

            "How, hon?"

            "I'm pregnant."

            "Huh?"

            "You heard me. Pregnant. Knocked up, if you insist on the technical term!"

            "Are you sure, dear?"

            "Of course I'm sure! I had a test, the froggie winked at me. Hell, I'm four months gone." Karen threw herself into the arms of the older girl. "And I'm scared!"

            Barbara hugged her. "There, there, dear. It's going to be all right."

            "The hell it is," Karen blubbered. "Mother's going to raise hell. . . and there aren't any hospitals. . . nor doctors. Oh, why didn't Duke study medicine? Barbie, I'm going to die. I know I am."

            "Karen, that's silly. More babies have been born without doctors and hospitals than ever were wheeled into a delivery room. You're not scared of dying, you're scared of telling your parents."

            "Well, that, too." Karen wiped at her eyes and sniffed. "Uh- Barbie, don't be mad. . . but that's why I invited you down that weekend."

            "I figured Mother wouldn't raise quite so much hell if you were present. Most girls in our chapter are either squares or sluts, and silly heads besides. But you are neither and I knew you would stand up for me."

            "Thank you, dear."

            "Thank me, hell! I was using you."

            "It's the finest compliment another woman ever paid me." Barbara wiped a tear from Karen's face and tweaked her cheek. "I'm glad I'm here. So you haven't told your parents?"

            "Well, I was going to. But the attack hit . . . and then Mother went to pieces. . . and Daddy has been loaded down with worries and there's never been the right time."

            "Karen, you aren't scared to tell your father, just your mother."

            "Well. . . Mother mostly. But Daddy, too. Besides being shocked and hurt-he'll think it was silly of me to get caught."

            "While he's certain to be surprised, I doubt the other." Barbara hesitated. "Karen, you needn't take this alone. I can share it."

            "That's what I had hoped. That's why I asked you to come home with me. I told you."

            "I mean really share it. I'm pregnant, too."

            "What?"

            "Yes. We can tell them together."

            "Good Lord, Barbara! How did it happen?"

            Barbara shrugged. "Careless. How did it happen to you?" Karen suddenly grinned. "How? A bee sprinkled pollen on me; how else? 'Who' you mean."

            "'Who' I don't care about. Your business. Well, dear? Shall we go tell them? I'll do the talking."

            "Wait a minute. You hadn't planned to tell anybody? Or had you?"

            "Why, no," Barbara answered truthfully, "I was going to wait until it showed."

            Karen looked at Barbara's waistline. "It doesn't show. Are you sure?"

            "I've skipped two periods, I'm pregnant. Or I'm ill, which would be worse. Let's gather up the laundry and tell them.

            "Uh, since you don't look it-and I do; I've been careful not to undress around Mother-since you don't, let's hold that back and use it as a whammy if things get sticky."

            "If you like. Karen, why not tell Hugh first? Then let him tell your mother."

            Karen looked relieved. "You think that's all right?"

            "Hugh would rather hear it with your mother not around. Now go find him and tell him. I'll hang the clothes."

            "All right, I will!"

            "And quit worrying. We'll have our babies and won't have any trouble and we'll raise them together and it'll be fun. We'll be happy."

            Karen's eyes lit up. "And you'll have a girl and I'll have a boy and we'll marry them and be grandmothers together!"

            "That sounds more like Karen." Barbara kissed her. "Run tell Hugh."

            Karen found Hugh bricking up the kiln; she told him that she would like a private talk.

            "All right," he agreed. "Let me tell Joe to get this fired up. I should inspect the ditch. Come along and talk?"

            He gave her a shovel, carried a rifle. "Now what's on your mind, baby girl?"

            "Let's get farther away." They walked a meandering distance. Hugh stopped, exchanged rifle for shovel, and built up a stretch of wall.

            "Daddy? Perhaps you've noticed a shortage of men?"

            "No. Three men and three women. The usual division."

            "Perhaps I should say 'eligible bachelors.'"

            "Then say it."

            "All right, I've said it. I need advice. Which is worse? Incest? Or miscegenation? Or should I be an old maid?"

            He placed another shovelful, tamped it. "I would not urge you to be an old maid."

            "That settles that, I feel the same way. How do you size up those other fates?"

            "Incest," he answered, "is a bad idea, usually."

            "Which leaves just one thing."

            "Wait. I said, 'Usually.'" He stared at the shovel. "This is not a problem I ever expected-but we are facing many new problems. Brother-and-sister marriages are not uncommon in history. They are not necessarily bad." He frowned. "But there is Barbara. You might have to accept a polygamous household."

            "Hold it, Daddy. 'Incest' isn't just brothers."

            He stared at her. "You've managed to startle me, Karen."

            "Shocked you, you mean."

            "No. 'Startled.' Were you seriously suggesting what you implied?"

            "Daddy," she said soberly, "it's one subject I can't joke about. If I had to choose between you and Duke-as a husband, I mean-I'd take you and no two ways about it."

            Hugh mopped his forehead. "Karen, such a statement can be honored only by taking it seriously-"

            "I'm serious!"

            "And I so take it. Do I understand that you have eliminated Joseph? Or have you considered him?"

            "Certainly I have."

            "Well?"

            "How could I avoid it, Daddy? Joe is nice. But he's just a boy, even though he's older than I am. If I said, 'Boo!' he would jump out of his skin. No."

            "Does his skin have something to do with your choice?"

            "Daddy, you tempt me to spit in your face. I'm not Mother!"

            "I wanted to be sure. Karen, you know that color does not matter to me. I want to know other things about a man. Is his word good? Does he meet his obligations? Does he do honest work? Is he brave? Will he stand up and be counted? Joe is very much a man by all standards that interest me. I think you are being hasty."

            He sighed. "If we were in Mountain Springs, I would not urge you to marry any Negro. The pressures are too great; such a marriage is almost always a tragedy. But those barbaric factors do not obtain here. I urge that you give Joe serious thought."

            "Daddy, don't you think I have? I may marry Joe. But I wanted you to know that if I had my choice, out of you three I would pick you."

            "Thank you."

            "Thank me, hell! I'm a woman and you are the man I would most like to. And a fat lot of good it will do me-and you know why. Mother."

            "I know." He suddenly looked weary. "We do not what we wish, but what we can. Karen, I am dreadfully sorry that you do not have a longer list to choose from."

            "Daddy, if I've learned anything from you, it is that it's a waste of tears to cry over anything that can't be helped. That's Mother, not me. And Duke, though not as bad. I'm just like you on this point- You count your points and play accordingly. You don't moan about how the cards aren't fair. Dig me, Daddy?"

            "Yes."

            "I didn't come here to ask you to marry me. Nor even to seduce you though I might as well say, having said so much, that you can have me if you want me. I think you've known that for years. I didn't come here to say that, either. I simply had to get things out of the way before I told you something else. Something where I've counted the points and I'm going set and that's that. Can't be helped."

            "What? Perhaps I can help."

            "Hardly. I'm pregnant, Daddy."

            He dropped the shovel, took her in both arms. "Oh, wonderful!"

            Presently she said, "Daddy - . . I can't shoot a bear with you hugging me."

            He put her down, grabbed the rifle. "Where?"

            "Nowhere. But you're always warning us."

            "Oh. All right, I'll take over guard duty. Who's the father, Karen? Duke? or Joe?"

            "Neither. Earlier, at school."

            "Oh. Still better!"

            "How? Damn it, Daddy, this isn't going the way it's supposed to. A girl comes home ruined, her father is supposed to raise hell. All you say is, 'Just dandy!' You've got me confused."

            "Sorry. Under other circumstances, I might feel that you had been careless-"

            "Oh, I was! I took a chance, like the nigguh mammy who said, 'Oh, hunnuhds of times ain't nuffin happen at all.' You know."

            "I'm afraid I do. Under these circumstances I am delighted. I had assumed that you were inexperienced. To learn that, instead, you have gone ahead and given us a child and one whose father is from outside our group- Don't you see, dear? You have almost doubled the chances of this colony surviving."

            "I have?"

            "Figure it out, you're not stupid. Your child's father- Good stock?"

            "Would I have been doing what I most certainly did if I hadn't thought pretty well of him, Daddy?"

            "Sorry, dear. It was a stupid question." He smiled. "I don't feel like working. Let's go spread the good news."

            "All right. But, Daddy- What do we tell Mother?"

            "The truth, and I'll do the telling. Don't worry, baby girl. You have that baby and I will take care of all else."

            "Yes, sir. Daddy, I feel real good now."

            "That's fine."

            "I feel so good that I almost forgot something. Did you know that Dr.-Livingstone-I-Presume is going to have babies, too?"

            "Yes."

            "Why didn't you tell me?"

            "You had the same chance to notice that I did."

            "Well, yes. But it's pretty frowsy, your noticing that Doe is pregnant-and not noticing that I am."

            "I thought you had simply been overeating again."

            "You did, huh? Daddy, sometimes I like you better than other times. But this time I guess I'm going to have to like you anyhow."

            Hugh decided to eat dinner before stirring up Grace.

            The decision was justified. From her rantings, it appeared that Karen was an ungrateful daughter, a disgrace, a shameless little tramp, and that Hugh was an unnatural father, a failure, and somehow to blame for his daughter's pregnancy.

            Hugh let her rant until she paused for breath. "Grace. Be quiet."

            "What? Hubert Farnham, don't you dare tell me to shut up! How can you sit there, when your own daughter has flagrantly dis-"

            "Shut up or I will shut you up."

            Duke said, "Pipe down, Mother."

            "You, too? Oh, that I should ever see the day when-"

            "Mother, keep still for a while. Let's hear from Dad."

            Grace simmered, then said, "Joseph! Leave the room."

            "Joe, sit down," Hugh ordered.

            "Yes, Joe," agreed Karen. "Please stay."

            "Well! If neither of you has the common decency to-"

            "Grace, I am nearer to striking you than I have ever been in all these years. Will you keep quiet and listen?"

            She looked at her son; Duke was carefully looking elsewhere. "Very well, I will listen. Not that it can possibly do any good."

            "I hope that it will because it is supremely important. Grace, there is no point in heckling Karen. Besides being cruel, it's ridiculous. Her pregnancy is the best thing that has happened to us."

            "Hubert Farnham, are you out of your mind?"

            "Please. You are reacting in terms of conventional morality, which is foolish."

            "Oh? So morals are foolish, are they? You hymn-singing hypocrite!"

            "Morals are not foolish; morals must be our bedrock, always. But whether it was moral for Karen to breed a baby at another time and place, in a society that is no more, is irrelevant; we will not discuss it. The fact is, she did-and it is a blessing to us. Please analyze it. Six of us, four from one family. Genetically that is too small a breeding stock. Yet somehow we must flourish-or saving our own lives is wasted. But now we have a seventh, not here in person. That's better than we had any reason to hope. I pray that the twins that run in my family will show up in her. It would strengthen the stock."

            "How can you talk about your own daughter as if you were breeding a cow!"

            "She is my daughter whom I love. But more important- her supreme importance-is that she is a woman and pregnant. I wish that you and Barbara were pregnant, too-by outsiders. We need variety for the next generation."

            "I will not sit here and be insulted!"

            "I simply said 'wish.' In Karen we do have this miracle; we must cherish it. Grace, Karen must be treated with every consideration during her pregnancy. You must take care of her."

            "Are you insinuating that I wouldn't? You are the one who cares nothing about her welfare. Your own daughter."

            "It doesn't matter that she is my daughter. It would apply if it were Barbara, or you, or another woman. No more heavy work for Karen. That laundry she did today-you'll do that; you've loafed long enough. You'll pamper her. But most urgent, there will be no more scoldings, no harsh words, no recriminations. You will be sweet and kind and gentle with her. Don't fail in this, Grace. Or I will punish you."

            "You wouldn't dare!"

            "I hope I won't be forced to." Hugh faced his son. "Duke. Do I have your backing? Speak up."

            "What do you mean by 'punishment,' Dad?"

            "Whatever we are forced to use. Words. Social sanctions. Physical punishment if we must. Even expulsion from our group if no other choice remained."

            Duke drummed on the table. "That's putting it brutally, Dad."

            "Yes. I want you to think about the extremes."

            Duke glanced at his sister. "I'll back you. Mother, you've got to behave."

            She started to whimper. "My own son has turned against me. Oh, I wish I had never been born!"

            "Barbara?"

            "My opinion? I agree with you, Hugh. Karen needs kindness. She mustn't be scolded."

            "You keep out of this!"

            Barbara looked at Grace without expression. "I'm sorry but Hugh asked me. Karen asked me to be in it, too. I think you have behaved abominably, Grace. A baby isn't a calamity."

            "That's easy for you to say!"

            "Perhaps. But you've been nagging Karen steadily-and really, you mustn't."

            Karen said suddenly, "Tell them, Barbara. About yourself."

            "You want me to?"

            "You'd better. Or now she'll start on you."

            "Very well." Barbara bit her lip. "I said that a baby is not a calamity. I'm pregnant, too-and I'm very happy about it."

            The silence told Barbara that her purpose of taking the heat off Karen had been achieved. As for herself, she was tranquil for the first time since she had begun to suspect that she was pregnant. She had not shed a tear-oh, no!-but she found that a tension she had not been conscious of was gone.

            "Why, you tramp! No wonder my daughter went wrong, exposed to influences like-"

            "Stop it, Grace!"

            "Yes, Mother," agreed Duke. "Better keep quiet."

            "I was just going to say-"

            "You're not going to say anything, Mother. I mean it."

            Mrs. Farnham subsided. Hugh went on: "Barbara, I hope you are not fibbing. Trying to protect Karen."

            Barbara looked at him and could read no expression. "I am not fibbing, Hugh. I am between two and three months pregnant."

            "Well, the rejoicing is now doubled. We will have to relieve you of heavy work, too. Duke, can you take on some farming?"

            "Certainly."

            "Joe can do some, too. Mmm- I must push ahead with the kitchen and bathroom. You'll both need such comforts long before either baby is born. Joe, that bearproof extra room can't be put off now; nursery space will be essential and we men will have to move out. I think-"

            "Hugh-"

            "Yes, Barbara?"

            "Don't worry tonight. I can garden, I'm not as far along as Karen and I've had no morning sickness. I'll let you know when I need help."

            He looked thoughtful. "No."

            "Oh, heaven! I like gardening. Pioneer mothers always worked when pregnant. They stopped when the pains came."

            "And it killed them, too. Barbara, we can't spare either of you. We'll treat you as the precious jewels you are." He looked around. "Right?"

            "Right, Dad."

            "Sure thing, Hugh!"

            Mrs Farnham stood up. "Really, this conversation is making me ill."

            "Good night, Grace. No farming for you, Barbara."

            "But I like my farm. I'll quit in time."

            "You can supervise. Don't let me catch you using a spading fork. Nor weeding. You might shake something loose. You're a gentleman farmer now."

            "Does it say in your books how much work a pregnant woman may do?"

            "I'll read up on it. But we'll err on the conservative side. Some doctors keep patients in bed for months to avoid losing a baby."

            "Daddy, you don't expect us to stay in bed!"

            "Probably not, Karen. But we will be very careful." He added, "Barbara is right; it can't all be settled tonight. Bridge, anyone? Or has there been too much excitement?"

            "Hell, no!" Karen answered. "I can use pampering but bridge is one thing that can't cause a miscarriage. I think."

            "No," agreed her father. "But the way you bid might cause heart failure in someone else."

            "Pooh. Who wants to bid like a computer? Live dangerously, I always say."

            "You do, dear."

            They got no further than dealing. Dr. Livingstone, who had been sleeping in the "bathroom," at that moment came into the main room, walking stiff-legged and almost dragging hindquarters. "Joseph," the cat announced, "I am going to have these babies right now1~'

            The cat's anguished wailing, its hobbled gait, made its meaning clear as words. Joe was out of his chair at once. "Doe! What's the matter, Doe?"

            He started to pick the cat up. That was not what Dr. Livingstone needed; it wailed louder and struggled. Hugh said, "Joe. Let it be."

            "But old Doe hurts."

            "So let's take care of the matter. Duke, we'll use electric lights and the camp lamp. Snuff the candles. Karen, blankets on the table and a clean sheet."

            "Right away."

            Hugh knelt by the cat. "Easy, Doe. It hurts, doesn't it? Never mind, it won't be long. We're here, we're here." He smoothed the fur along the spine, then gently felt the abdomen. "Contraction. Hurry up, Karen."

            "Ready, Daddy!"

            "Lift with me, Joe."

            They placed the cat on the table. Joe said, "What do we do now?"

            "Give you a Miltown."

            "But Doe hurts."

            "Surely she does. We can't do anything about it. She's having a bad time. It's her first litter and she's frightened, and she's older than she should be, for a first. Not good."

            "But we have to do something."

            "You can help by quieting down; you're communicating your fear to her. Joe, if there were anything I could do, I would. But there isn't much we can do but stand by and let her know that she is not alone. Keep her from being frightened. Do you want that tranquilizer?"

            "Uh, I guess so."

            "Get it, Duke. Don't leave, Joe; Doe trusts you."

            "Hubert, if you are going to stay up all night over a cat again, I'll need a sleeping pill. You can't expect a person to sleep with all this fuss."

            "A Seconal for your mother, Duke. Can anybody think of anything we can use as a kitten bed?" Hugh Farnham searched his memory. Every box, every scrap of lumber, had been used and re-used and re-re-used in endless make-do building. Build a nest of bricks? Not sooner than daylight and this poor animal needed a safe and comforting spot tonight. Take apart some shelves?

            "Daddy, how about the bottom wardrobe drawer?"

            "Perfect! Pile everything on a bunk. Pad it. Use my hunting jacket. Duke, rig a frame to support a blanket; she'll want a little cave she'll feel safe in. You know."

            "Of course we know," Karen chided. "Quit jittering, Daddy. This isn't our first litter."

            "Sorry, baby. We are about to have a kitten. See that, Joe?" Fur rippled from the cat's middle down toward the tail, then did so again.

            Karen hurriedly threw everything out of the lowest wardrobe drawer, placed it against the wall and put the hunting jacket in it, rushed back. "Did I miss it?"

            "No," Hugh assured her. "But right now!"

            Doe stopped panting to give one wail and was delivered of a kitten in two quick convulsions.

            "Why, it's wrapped in cellophane," Barbara said wonderingly.

            "Didn't you know?" asked Karen. "Daddy, it's gray! Doe, where have you been? Though maybe I shouldn't bring that up."

            Neither Hugh nor Dr. Livingstone answered. The mother cat started vigorously licking her offspring, broke the covering, and tiny ratlike arms and legs waved helplessly. A squeak so thin and high as to be almost inaudible announced its opinion of the world. Doe bit the cord and went on licking, cleaning off blood and mucus and purring loudly at the same time. The baby didn't like it and again vented almost silent protest.

            "Boss," demanded Joe, "what's wrong with it? It's so skinny and little."

            "Its a fine kitten. It's a pretty baby, Doe. He's a bachelor, he doesn't know." Hugh spoke cooingly and rubbed the eat between her ears. He went on in normal tones, "And the worst ease of bar sinister I ever saw-smooth-haired, tiger-striped, and gray."

            Doe looked up reprovingly, gave a shudder and delivered the afterbirth, began chewing the bloody mass. Barbara gulped and rushed to the door, fumbled at a bolt. Karen went after her, opened it and steadied her while she threw up.

            "Duke!" Hugh snapped. "Bear guard!"

            Duke followed them, stuck his head out. Karen said, "Go 'way! We're safe. Bright moonlight."

            "Well. . . leave the door open." He withdrew.

            Karen said, "I thought you weren't having morning sickness?"

            "I'm not. Oh!" Retching again hit her. "It was what Doe did."

            "Oh, that. Cats always do that. Let me wipe your mouth, dear."

            "It's awful."

            "It's normal. Good for them. Hormones, or something; you can ask Hugh. All right now?"

            "I think so. Karen! We don't have to do that? Do we? I won't, I won't!"

            "Huh? Oh! Never thought of it. Oh, I know we don't-or they would have told us in Smut One."

            "Lots of things they don't mention in Smut One," Barbara said darkly. "When I had to take it, it was taught by an old maid. But I won't. I'll resign first, not have this baby."

            "Comrade," Karen said grimly, "that's something we both should have thought of earlier. Stand aside, it's my turn to heave."

            Presently they went inside, pale but steady. Dr. Livingstone had three more kittens and Barbara managed to watch without further rushes for the door. Of the other birthings only the third was notable: a tiny tomcat but large in its tininess. He was a breech presentation, the skull did not pass easily, and Doe in her pain clamped down.

            Hugh was busy at once, pulling gently on the little body with his whole hand and sweating like a surgeon. Doe wailed and bit his thumb. He did not let it stop him nor hurry him.

            Suddenly the kitten came free; he bent over and blew in its mouth, was rewarded with a thin, indignant squeak. He put the baby down, let Dr. Livingstone clean it. "That was close," he said shakily.

            "Old Doe didn't mean to," Joe said softly.

            "Of course not. Which of you girls feels like fixing this for me?"

            Barbara dressed the wound, while telling herself that she must not, must not, bite when her own time came.

            The kittens were, in order, smooth-haired gray, fluffy white, midnight black with white jabot and mittens, and calico. After much argument between Karen and Joe, they were named: Happy New Year, Snow Princess Magnificent, Dr. Ebony Midnight, and Patchwork Girl of Oz-Happy, Maggie, Midnight, and Patches.

            By midnight mother and children were bedded in the drawer with food, water, and sandbox near, and everyone went to bed. Joe slept on the floor with his head by the kitten nest.

            When everyone was quiet, he raised up, used the flash to look in. Dr. Livingstone had one kitten in her arms, three more at suck; she stopped cleaning Maggie and looked inquiringly at him.

            "They're beautiful kittens, Doe," he told her. "The best babies."

            She spread her royal whiskers and purred agreement.

Chapter 8

             Hugh leaned on his shovel. "That does it, Joe."

            "Let me tidy up around the gate." They were at the upper end of their ditch where the stream had been dammed against the dry season. It had been on them for weeks; the forest was sere, the heat oppressive. They were extremely careful about fire.

            But no longer so careful about bears. It was still standard practice to be armed, but Duke had killed so many carnivores, ursine and feline, they seldom saw one.

            The water spilling over the dam was only a trickle but there was water for irrigation and for household needs. Without the ditch they would have lost their garden.

            It was necessary every day or so to adjust the flow. Hugh had not built a water gate; paucity of tools, scarcity of metal, and a total lack of lumber had baffled him. Instead he had devised an expedient. The point where water was taken from the pond had been faced with brick and a spillway set of half-round tile. To increase the flow this was taken out, the spill cut deeper, bricks adjusted, and tiles replaced. It was clumsy; it worked.

            The bottom of the ditch was tiled all the way to house and garden; a minimum of water was lost. Their kiln had worked day and night; most of their capital gain had come out of the clay bank below the house and it was becoming difficult to dig good clay.

            This did not worry Hugh; they had almost everything they needed.

            Their bathroom was no longer a joke. Water flowed in a two-stall trough toilet partitioned with deerhide; tile drainpipe "leaded" with clay ran down the manhole, out the tunnel, and to a cesspool.

            Forming drainpipe Hugh had found very difficult. After many failures he had whittled a male form in three parts-in parts, because it was necessary to shape the clay over it, let it dry enough to take out the form before it cracked from shrinking over the form.

            With practice he cut his failures to about 25 percent in forming, 25 percent in firing.

            The damaged water tank he had cut painfully, mallet and chisel, lengthwise into tubs, a bathtub indoors and a washtub outdoors. The seams he had calked with shaved hide; the tubs did not leak-much.

            A brick fireplace-oven filled one corner of the bath-kitchen. It was not in use; days were long and hot; they cooked outdoors and ate under an awning of empty bears-but it was ready against the next rainy season.

            Their house now had two stories. Hugh had concluded that an addition strong enough to stop bears and tight enough to discourage snakes would have to be of stone, and solidly roofed. That he could do-but how about windows and doors? Glass he would make someday if he solved the problems of soda and lime. But not soon. A stout door and tight shutters he could manage, but such a cabin would be stuffy.

            So they had built a shed on the roof, a grass shack. With the ladder up, a bear faced a twelve-foot wall. Unsure that a wall would stop all their neighbors, Hugh had arranged trip lines around the edge so that disturbing them would cause an oxygen bottle to fall over. Their alarm was tripped the first week, scaring off the intruder. It had also, Hugh admitted, scared the bejasus out of him.

            Anything that could not be hurt by weather had been moved out and the main room was rearranged into a women's dormitory and nursery. Hugh stared downstream while Joe finished fussing. He could make out the roof of his penthouse. Good enough, he mused. Everything was in fair shape and next year would be better. So much better that they might take time to explore. Even Duke had not been as much as twenty miles away. Nothing but feet for travel and too busy scratching to live- Next year would be soon enough.

            "A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?" They had started with neither pot nor window. This year a pot- Next year a window? No hurry- Things were going well. Even Grace seemed contented. He felt certain that she would settle down and be a happy grandmother. Grace liked babies, Grace did well with babies- How well he remembered.

            Not long now. Baby Karen was fuzzily vague but her guesses seemed to show that D-day was about two weeks off, and her condition matched her guess, as near as he could tell.

            The sooner the better! Hugh had studied everything in his library on pregnancy and childbirth; he had made every preparation he could. His patients seemed to be in perfect health, both had satisfactory pelvic measurements, both seemed unafraid, and they helped each other with friendly nagging, not to gain too much weight. With Barbara to hold Karen's hand, with Karen to hold Barbara's hand, with Grace's motherly experience to bolster them, Hugh could see no trouble ahead.

            It would be wonderful to have babies in the house.

            With a warm wave of euphoria Hugh Farnham realized that he had never been so happy in his life.

            "That's it, Hugh. Let's catch those tiles on the way back."

            "Okay. Take the rifle, I'll carry the tools."

            "I think," Joe said, "we ought to-"

            His words chopped off at a gunshot; they froze. It was followed by two more. They ran.

            Barbara was in the door. She held up a gun and waved, went inside. She came out before they reached the house, stepping carefully down off the stoop and moving slowly; she was very gravid. Her belly bulged huge in shorts made from wornout jeans that had belonged to Duke; she wore a man's shirt altered to support her breasts. She was barefooted and no longer carried the gun.

            Joe outdistanced Hugh, met her near the house. "Karen?" he demanded.

            "Yes. She's started."

            Joe hurried inside. Hugh arrived, stood panting. "Well?"

            "Her bag of waters burst. Then the pains started. That was when I fired."

            "Why didn't you- Never mind. What else?"

            "Grace is with her. But she wants you."

            "Let me catch my breath." Hugh wiped his face, tried to control his trembling. He took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. He went inside, Barbara following.

            The bunks near the door had been taken down. A bed stuck out into the doorway but space cleared by removing shelves left passage. One bunk was now a cot in the living corner. The bed was padded with a grass mattress and a bear rug; a calico cat was on it.

            Hugh squeezed past, felt another eat brush his ankles. He went into the other bay. The bunks there had been rebuilt into a bed across the end; Karen was in bed, Grace was seated, fanning her, and Joe stood by with an air of grave concern.

            Hugh smiled at his daughter. "Hi, Fatty!" He stooped and kissed her. "How are you? Hurting?"

            "Not now. But I'm glad you're here."

            "We hurried."

            A cat jumped up, landing on Karen. "Unh! Damn you, Maggie!"

            "Joe," said Hugh, "round up the cats and put them in Coventry." The tunnel mouth had been bricked up, but with air holes, and a cat door which could be filled with a large brick. The cats had a low opinion of this but it had been built after Happy New Year had become missing and presumed dead.

            Karen said, "Daddy, I want Maggie with me!"

            "Joe, make that all but Maggie. When we get busy, grab Maggie and shut her up, too."

            "Can do, Hugh." Joe left, passing Barbara coming in.

            Hugh felt Karen's cheeks, took her pulse. He said to his wife, "Is she shaved?"

            "There hasn't been time."

            "You and Barbara get her shaved and washed. Punkin', when did your bowels move?"

            "Just did. I was on the pot when it happened. Just sitting there minding my own business-and all of a sudden I'm Niagara Falls!"

            "But your bowels moved?"

            "Oh, yes!"

            "That's one less thing to worry about." He smiled. "Not that there's anything to worry about, you'll play bridge most of the night. Like kittens, babies show up in the wee, sma' hours."

            "All night? I want to have this little bastard and get it over with."

            "I want it over with, too, but babies have minds of their own." He added, "You'll be busy a while and so will I. I'm dirty." He started to leave.

            "Daddy, wait a minute. Do I have to stay back here? It's hot."

            "No. The light is better by the door. Especially if young Tarzan has the decency to arrive during daylight. Barbara, turn that used bear over; it'll be cooler. Put this sheet on it. Or a clean one if there is one."

            "The sterilized one?"

            "No. Don't unpack the boiled sheet until the riot starts." Hugh patted his patient's hand. "Try not to have a pain until I'm clean."

            "Daddy, you should have been a doctor."

            "I am a doctor. The best doctor in the world."

            As he left the house he encountered Duke, soaked from a long run. "I heard three shots. Sis?"

            "Yes. No hurry, labor just started. I'm about to take a bath. Want to join me?"

            "I want to say hello to Sis first."

            "Hurry up; they're about to bathe her. And grab Joe; he's incarcerating cats. They'll want us out of the way."

            "Shouldn't we be boiling water?"

            "Do so, if it will calm you. Duke, my O.B. kit, such as it is, has been ready for a month. There are six jars of boiled water, for this and that. Go kiss your sister and don't let her see that you're worried."

            "You're a cold fish, Dad."

            "Son, I'm scared silly. I can list thirteen major complications-and I'm not prepared to cope with any of them. Mostly I pat her hand and tell her that everything is dandy-and that's what she needs. I examine her, solemn as a judge, and don't know what to look for. It's just to reassure her . . . and I'll thank you to help out."

            Duke said soberly, "I will, sir. I'll kid her along."

            "Don't overdo it. Just let her see that you share her confidence in old Doe Farnham."

            "I will."

            "If Joe gets the jitters, get him out. He's the worst. Grace is doing fine. Hurry up or they won't let you in."

            Later, bathed and calmed down, Hugh climbed out of the stream ahead of Joe and Duke, walked back carrying his clothes and letting the air dry him. He paused outside, put on clean shorts. "Knock, knock!"

            "Stay out," Grace called. "We're busy."

            "Then cover her. I want to scrub."

            "Don't be silly, Mother. Come in, Daddy."

            He went in, squeezing around Barbara and Grace, and on into the bathroom. He trimmed his nails very closely, scrubbed his hands with ditch water-then again with boiled water, and repeated it. He shook them dry and went into the main room, being careful not to touch anything.

            Karen was on the bed at the door, a ragged half sheet over her. Her shoulders were swaddled in a grayish garment that had been the shirt Hugh had worn the night of the attack. Grace and Barbara were seated on the bed, Duke stood outside the door, and Joe sat mournfully on the bunk beyond the bed.

            Hugh smiled at her. "How is it going? Any twinges?"

            "Nary a twinge, damn it. I want to have him before dinner."

            "You will. Because you don't get any dinner."