The younger son was not fully grown; his beard was sparse and scraggly. Nevertheless, he was taller and heavier than I was, and he was the smallest of the three. His father and brother were mounted; he was driving-actually driving; they were not using a mule boss. No livestock other than mules that I could see, although I did not attempt to look into their wagon.

I did not like their looks and reversed my idea about neighbors. I hoped they would move on down the valley, at least fifty kilometers.

The mounted two were carrying guns at their belts-reasonable in loper country. I had a needle gun in sight myself, as well as a belt knife-and maybe other things not in sight, as I don't consider it diplomatic to show much hardware in meeting strangers.

As I approached, they stopped, the driver reining up his mules. I had Beulah stop about ten paces short of the lead pair. "Howdy," I said. "Welcome to Happy Valley. I'm Bill Smith."

The oldest of the three looked me up and down. It is hard to tell a man's expression when he wears a full beard, but what little I could see was no expression at all-wariness, perhaps. My own face was smooth-freshly shaved and clean overalls, in honor of visitors. I was keeping my face smooth both because Dora preferred it so and because I was staying "young" to match Dora. I was wearing my best friendly look-but was saying to myself, "You've got ten seconds to answer my greeting and say who you are-or you're going to miss some of the best cooking on New Beginnings."

He just slid under the deadline; I had silently counted seven chimpanzees when he suddenly grinned through that face moss. "Why, that's mighty friendly of you, young man."

"Bill Smith," I repeated, "and I didn't catch your name."

"Probably because I didn't say," he answered. "Name's Montgomery. 'Monty' to my friends, and I don't have any enemies, at least not for long. Right, Darby?"

"Right Pop," agreed the other mounted one.

"And this is my son Darby and that's Dan driving the jugheads. Say 'Howdy,' boys."

"Howdy," they each answered.

"Howdy, Darby. Howdy, Dan. Monty, is Mrs. Montgomery with you?" I nodded at the wagon, still did not attempt to see into it-a man's wagon is as private as his house.

"Now why would you be asking that?"

"Because," I said, still holding onto my friendly-idiot look, "I want to trot back to the house and tell Mrs. Smith how many there'll be for supper."

"Well! Did you hear that, boys? We've been invited to supper. That's mighty friendly, too, isn't it, Dan?"

"Right, Pop."

"And we most kindly accept. Don't we, Darby?"

"Right, Pop."

I was getting tired of the echo, but I kept my sweet expression. "Monty, you still haven't told me how many."

"Oh. Just three. But we eat enough for six." He slapped his thigh and laughed at his own joke. "Right, Dan?"

"Right, Pop."

"So you stir up those jugheads, Dan; we've got reason to hurry now."

'I interrupted the echo to say, "Hold it, Monty. No need to overheat your mules."

"What? They're my mules, son."

"So they are and do as you please about them, but I was sent out ahead so that Mrs. Smith would have time to be ready for you. I see you're wearing a watch"-I glanced at my own-"your hostess will expect you in one hour. Unless you need more time to get there and unharness and water your mules?"

"Oh, them jugheads will keep until after supper. If we're early, we'll set awhile."

"No," I said firmly. "One hour, no sooner. You know how a lady feels about guests arriving before she's ready for them. Crowd her, and she might ruin your supper. Do as you please about your mules-but there is an easy place to water them, a little beach, where the river comes closest to the house. Nice place to spruce up a bit yourself, too-before dining with a lady. But don't come up to the house short of one hour."

"Your wife sounds mighty particular...for way out here in the wilds."

"She is," I answered. "Home, Beulah."

I moved from a trot into Beulah's fast lope and did not get over an uneasy feeling between my shoulder blades until I was certain I was too far away to be a target. There is only one dangerous animal, yet at times you're forced to pretend that he's as sweet and innocent as a cobra.

I didn't stop to unsaddle Beulah; I hurried inside. Dora heard my slam-bang arrival, was at the compound's door. "What is it, dear? Trouble?"

"Could be. Three men, I don't like them. Nevertheless, I've promised them supper. Have the kids eaten? Can we put them right to bed and convince them that if they so much as let out a peep, they'll be flayed alive? I didn't mention children, we aren't going to mention them, and I'm going to take a fast look around to make sure there is nothing in sight that says 'kids.'

"I'll try. Yes, I've fed them."

Right on the hour Lazarus Long met his guests at the door of the compound. They drove and rode up from the direction of the beach he had described, so he assumed that they had watered their animals, but he noted with mild scorn that they now did not bother to unharness their team for what was sure to be a long wait. But he was pleased to note that all three Montgomerys had made some effort to spruce up-perhaps they were going to behave; perhaps his sixth sense for trouble was hypersensitive from too long in the wilderness.

Lazarus was dressed in his best-kilt with full kit save that the effect was marred by a faded work shirt of New Pittsburgh origin. But it was indeed his best, worn only for children's birthdays. On other days he wore anything from overalls to skin, depending on work and weather.

After Montgomery dismounted, he paused and looked over his host. "My, aren't we fancy!"

"In your honor, gentlemen. I save it for very special occasions."

"So? It's mighty nice of you to honor us, Red. Isn't it, Dan?'

"Right, Pop."

"My name is Bill, Monty. Not 'Red.' You can leave your. guns in your wagon."

"Well! Now that's not very friendly. We always wear our guns. Don't we, Darby?"

"Right, Pop. And if Pop says your name is 'Red,' that's your name."

"Now, now, Darby, I didn't say that. If Red wants to call himself Tom, Dick, or Harry, that's his choice. But we wouldn't feel dressed without our guns, and that's the truth, uh, Bill. Why, I even wear mine to bed. Out here."

Lazarus was standing in the opened door of the compound. He made no move to step aside and let his visitors in. "That s a reasonable precaution...on the trail. But gentlemen don't wear arms when they dine with a lady. Drop them here or put them in your wagon, whichever you wish."

Lazarus could feel the tension grow, could see the younger two watching their father for instructions. Lazarus ignored them and kept his easy smile on Montgomery, while forcing his muscles to stay loose as cotton. Right now? Would the bear back off? Or treat it as a challenge?

Montgomery split his face in his widest grin. "Why, sure, neighbor-if that's how you want it. Shall I take off my pants, too?"

"Just your guns, sir." (He's right-handed. If I were right-handed and wearing what you are wearing, where would my second gun be? There, I think-but, if so, it must be small either a needle gun or possibly an old-fashioned snub-nosed assassin's gun. Are his sons both right-handed?)

The Montgomerys put their gun belts on the seat of their wagon, came back. Lazarus stood aside and welcomed them in, then slid the bar into place as he closed the door. Dora was waiting, dressed in her "party dress." For the first time since a very hot day on the prairie she did not wear her rubies at the evening meal.

"Dear, this is Mr. Montgomery and his sons, Darby and Dan. My wife, Mrs. Smith."

Dora bobbed a curtsy. "Welcome, Mr. Montgomery, and Darby, and Dan."