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this was Samuel and Jeanne St. Vyr, somewhere they had picked up two half-grown kids as camouflage.

Looking the property over as he rode up, he admitted he was impressed. The farm wasn't some hardscrabble affair. From all appearances, this was a growing concern and had been for some time. Where had Samuel found the money to buy it, he wondered? He knew the boy had always squirreled away any money he earned, but he had always thought of it as a piddling amount. It was true he had never paid much attention to what Samuel did other than run the ranch; although come to think of it, ever since he had turned day to day operations over to Samuel, it had always been in the black.

He and Fred passed about twenty workers harvesting nuts from the orchard. "Who are they?" he asked the boy.

"Travelers," Fred told him. "They work here during the harvest, moving from farm to farm. Sometimes they work in the fish sheds. When the harvest is done, they move over to help shear the goats in Bitterstone."

Pulling up in front of the house, Ira saw about ten brightly painted, boxlike caravans parked in a semi circle near the house. A small herd of tricorns and goats grazed nearby. The women and children were busy shelling the nuts into baskets. Fred rode around them and up the main house. Dismounting, he tied his 'corn to the hitching rail, mounted the steps and knocked on the door.

Ira dismounted and followed him. The girl who opened the front door wasn't Jeanne St. Vyr. She was thin and dark, maybe about sixteen. "May I help you?"

"Hi, Chloe," Fred said. "This is Ira Johnson. He's here to speak to Sam Clancy."

Chloe opened the door wider. "Please come in. I'll tell Jeanne you're here."

She led them into the parlor, a large room with a tiled floor, tall bookcases filled with books, and wide windows with a view of the fruit orchard.

Jeanne followed her back into the room a few minutes later, drying her hands on an apron. "Hello, Fred. Welcome to our home, Mr. Johnson," she said, taking her place in one of the comfortable chairs.

Ira gave her a winning smile. "Oh, please call me Ira or even Dad. We are now relatives."

"Ira," she agreed. "I've sent someone to tell Samuel you arrived. He should join us shortly."

Chloe returned with a pitcher of juice and some glasses, which she set on the table in front of Jeanne. "I've got some stuff for your mom in the kitchen, Fred, if you want to collect it now," she said.

"Sure." He followed her out of the room.

"Thank you," Ira told Jeanne, humbly. "I don't know if you've heard from your family lately?"

"Yes, I had a letter last week," she said. She poured her father-in-law a glass of juice with a steady hand and offered it to him.

"So you and Samuel know Emory is dead," he said, nodding his thanks for the drink.

Jeanne nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"But not sorry he's dead," he said.

"No," she replied, "I'm not hypocrite enough to pretend to be sorry he is dead."

Johnson sipped his juice and studied his new daughter-in-law covertly, trying to figure out what it was about her to cause Samuel, the most steadfast and loyal of his sons, to walk away from his family to be with her. Jeanne St. Vyr was pretty in a wholesome, country-fresh way, but she was no great beauty. He looked up and met her gaze and found she was studying him with an ironic half smile on her lips.

Those knowing turquoise eyes saw all the way to his soul. Staring at her he realized what had attracted his son. This was a woman, who despite her youth and relative inexperience, knew everything there was to know about men. His secondary plan for coaxing her to think he was harmless died. He took a sharp breath, and halfway whispered 'witch'.

"That isn't nice, Dad," Samuel had paused in the doorway before crossing the room to kiss his wife's cheek. He accepted the glass she handed him and stood watching his father.

"I didn't mean to be insulting, son. I came to mend fences, not start a war."

Samuel sat down on the arm of his wife's chair, resting his hand on her shoulder. "Meaning?" he asked.

"Meaning I want you to come back, son. You and your wife both."

Samuel shook his head. "No, Dad. I'm sorry, but no. Jeanne and I are building something here. Something we can be proud of because we are doing it without stealing anything from anyone."

Ira winced. "Those are harsh words son."

"I know," Samuel replied. "I'm sorry to need to say them."

Jeanne rose from her chair. "Dinner should be almost ready. We would be glad if you could stay and take the meal with us Ira. We can introduce our children to you."

"Thank you, I'd be pleased to. I heard there were children. I almost didn't come out here when I heard about them because I wasn't sure it was you. When did you become parents?"

Samuel laughed. "We found them, or rather they found us, on the train out here. Their names are Katrina and Kevin. They are good kids."

Ira said no more about Samuel and Jeanne joining him on the J-4. In fact, the more time he spent around his son, the more convinced he became that the less Samuel knew about his doings, the better it would be.

After dinner, he and Fred rode back into town. Dusk had fallen when they reached the hotel and it was late enough for the bars along the wharf to be in full swing. Ira dismounted in front of the Hotel and stretched. "Take the tricorns back will you Fred? Tell the Holster I'll be by in the morning to settle for the rental. I think I'll take a walk along the wharf."

Fred watched him walk down the street, before he turned to lead the two tricorns back to the livery stable. It

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