Lucifer's Hammer - Larry Niven [193]
"I think you're the first chap to fluster Hardy," Jellison said. "Come in. Do you call on all the ranches?"
"Right," Harry said.
"And who do you expect to pay you, now that—"
"People I bring messages to," Harry said. "My customers."
That hint couldn't be ignored. "Mrs. Cox, see what you can find—"
"Coming up," she called from the kitchen. She came in with a cup of coffee. A very nice cup, Jellison saw. One of his best. And some of the last coffee in the world. Mrs. Cox thought well of Harry.
That at least told him one thing. He handed over the pistol. "Sorry. Hardy's got instructions—"
"Sure." The mailman pocketed the weapon. He sipped the coffee and sighed.
"Have a seat," Jellison said. "You've been all over the valley?"
"Most places."
"So tell me what things are like—"
"I thought you'd never ask."
Harry had been nearly everywhere. He told his story simply, no embellishments. He'd decided on that style. Just the facts. Mail truck overturned. Power lines down. Telephone lines gone. Breaks in the road, here, and here, and ways around on driveways through here and across there. Millers okay, Shire still operating. Muchos Nombres deserted when he'd gone back with the truck, and the bodies—oops, getting ahead of himself.
He told of the murder at the Roman place. Jellison frowned, and Harry went to the table to show him on the big county engineer's map.
"No sign of the owners, but somebody shot at you, and killed this other chap?" Jellison asked.
"Right."
Jellison nodded. Have to do something there. But—first tell the Christophers. Let them share the risks of a police action.
"And the people at Muchos Nombres were coming to find you," Harry said. "That was yesterday, before noon."
"Never got here," Jellison said. "Maybe they're in town. Good land there? Anything planted?"
"Not much. Weeds, mostly," Harry said. "But I have chickens. Got any chicken feed?"
"Chickens?" This guy was a gold mine of information!
Harry told him about the Sinanians and the Chicken Ranch. "Lots of chickens left there, and I guess they'll starve or the coyotes will get them, so you might as well help yourself," Harry said. "I want to keep a few. There was one rooster, and I hope he lives. If not, maybe I'll have to borrow one … "
"You're taking up farming?" Jellison asked.
Harry shuddered. "Good God, no! But I thought it'd be nice to have a few chickens running around the place."
"So you'll go back there—"
"When I finish my route," Harry said. "I'll stop at other places on the way back."
"And then what?" Jellison asked, but he already knew.
"I'll start over again, of course. What else?"
That figures. "Mrs. Cox, who's available as a runner?"
"Mark," she said. Her voice was disapproving; she hadn't made up her mind about Mark.
"Send him to town to find out about these tourists from Muchos Nombres. They were supposed to have come looking for me."
"All right," she said. She went off muttering. They needed the telephones working again. Her daughter was talking about a telegraph line last night. There were plans in one of her books, and of course the wires were still around, the old telephone lines.
After she sent Mark off she made lunch. There was plenty of food just now: scraps from what they were canning, gleanings from the garden patches. It wouldn't test long, though …
Harry had even been out of the valley. He traced the road on the map. "Deke Wilson's on my route," Harry said. "He's organized about the way you are. About thirty miles southwest."
"So how did you get back in?" Jellison demanded.
"County road—"
"That's blocked."
"Oh, sure. Mr. Christopher was there."
"So how in hell did you get past him?" Jellison asked. Nothing would surprise him now.
"I waved at him, and he waved at me," Harry said. "Shouldn't he have let me by?"
"Of course he should have." But I didn't think he had that much sense. "Did you tell him all this?"
"Not yet," Harry said. "There were some other people trying to talk to him. And he had his rifle, and four other big guys with him. It