Winter Moon

take on a mob of machine wranglers, the attorney was soft-spoken and so

polite that Jack was aware of how badly his own manners had

deteriorated under the constant abrasion of daily life in the city.

Youngblood won Toby's heart by calling him

"Scout" and offering to

teach him horseback riding "come spring, starting with a pony, of

course . . . and assuming that's okay with your folks."

When the lawyer put on a suede jacket and a cowboy hat before leading

them out to Quartermass Ranch, Toby regarded him with wide-eyed awe.

They followed Youngblood's white Bronco across sixteen miles of country

more beautiful than it had appeared to be in photographs. Two stone

columns, surmounted by a weathered wooden arch, marked the entrance to

their property. Burned into the arch, rustic lettering spelled

QUARTERMASS RANCH. They turned off the county route, under the sign,

and headed uphill.

Wow! This all belongs to us?" Toby asked from the back seat,

enraptured by the sprawl of fields and forests. Before either Jack or

Heather could answer him, he posed the question that he no doubt had

been wanting to ask for weeks: "Can I have a dog?"

"Just a dog?" Jack asked. "Huh?"

"With this much land, you could have a pet cow." Toby laughed. "Cows

aren't pets."

"You're wrong," Jack said, striving for a serious tone. "They're

darned good pets."

"Cows!" Toby said incredulously. "No, really. You can teach a cow to

fetch, roll over, beg for its dinner, shake hands, all the usual dog

stuff-- plus they make milk for your breakfast cereal."

"You're putting me on. Mom, is he serious?"

"The only problem is," Heather said, "you might get a cow that likes to

chase cars--in which case it can do a lot more damage than a dog."

"That's silly," the boy said, and giggled. "Not if you're in the car

being chased," Heather assured him. "Then it's terrifying," Jack

agreed. "I'll stick with a dog."

"Well, if that's what you want," Jack said. "You mean it? I can have

a dog?" Heather said, "I don't see why not." Toby whooped with

delight.

The private lane led to the main residence, which overlooked a meadow

of golden-brown grass. In the last hour of its journey toward the

western mountains, the sun backlit the property, and the house cast a

long purple shadow. They parked in that shade behind Paul Youngblood's

Bronco.

They began their tour in the basement. Although windowless and

entirely beneath ground level, it was cold. The first room contained a

washer, a dryer, a double sink, and a set of pine cabinets. The

corners of the ceiling were enlivened by the architecture of spiders

and a few cocooning moths. In the second room stood an electric

forced-air furnace and a water heater. A Japanese-made electric

generator, as large as a washing machine, was also provided. It looked

capable of producing enough power to light a small town.

"Why do we need this?" Jack wondered, indicating the generator. Paul

Youngblood said, "Bad storm can knock out the public power supply for a

couple of days in some of these rural areas. Since we don't have

natural-gas service, and the price of being supplied by a fuel-oil

company in this territory can be high, we have to rely on electricity

for heating, cooking, everything. It goes out, we have fireplaces, but

that's not ideal. And Stan Quartermass was a man who never wanted to

be without the comforts of civilization."

"But this is a monster," Jack said, patting the dustsheathed

generator.

"Supplies the main house, caretaker's house, and the stables. Doesn't

just provide backup power to run a few lights, either. As long as

you've got gasoline, you can go on living with all the amenities, just

as if you were still on public power."

"Might be fun to rough it a couple of days now and then," Jack

suggested. The attorney frowned and shook his head. "Not when the

real temperature is below zero and the windchill factor pushes it down

to minus thirty or forty degrees."

"Ouch," Heather said. She hugged herself at the very thought of such

arctic cold. "I'd call that more than roughing it,"

" Youngblood Jack

agreed. "I'd call it suicide." I'll make sure we have a good gasoline

supply.

The thermostat had been set low in the two main floors of the

untenanted house.

A stubborn chill pooled everywhere, like the icy remnant of a flood

tide. It surrendered gradually to the electric heat, which Paul

switched on after they ascended from the basement and inspected half

the ground floor. In spite of her insulated ski jacket, Heather

shivered through the entire tour. The house had both character and

every convenience, and would be even easier to settle into than they'd

expected. Eduardo Fernandez's personal effects and clothing had not

been disposed of, so they would need to empty closets to make room for

their own things. In the four months since the old man's sudden death,

the place had been closed and unattended, a thin layer of dust coated

every surface. However, Eduardo had led a neat and orderly life, there

was no great mess with which to deal.

In the final bedroom on the second floor, at the back of the house,