As the road topped the ridge, it left green fields and orchards abruptly behind. But Dark Valley had a wild sort of beauty, cupped as it was between two rows of hills which curved together as higher, jumbled foothills to the west.

Jerry's car trailed a plume of dust as it slid down to the dry riverbed. He made a left turn and started up the valley road. At the first farm he saw dark, plump women in billowing dresses, wearing peasant scarves over their heads. They moved about the barnyard, raking dead leaves and scratching busily at the baked earth of the old truck gardens. Chickens and ducks strayed, and Jerry caught a glimpse of children. He waved to the group and was answered by nods and flashing smiles.

Then he had a shock. One of the women was working the handle of a pump that had been bone-dry for fifteen years—and a slender stream of clear water spilled i. . . Read More