THEY’D COME TO A low place. It seemed like the floor of a valley. They could see hills rising all about them and the sun glancing off the tops of them. But they themselves appeared to be at the bottom of a crater. Very little sunlight strayed there. It was moldy and dank. Thick sulfurous odors rose all about them. The trunks of trees were scored with great patches of moss and lichen. The rocks were covered with a slippery green slime and the mud floor of the place sucked and gurgled at the soles of their shoes. Except for dragonflies dreaming on the tall mullein stalks and the occasional thrumming of bullfrogs, there appeared to be no other living thing there.
“Now over there’s your highest elevation.” Rogers was addressing Gage. He thrust his arm upward in the direction of a squat, craggy cliff topped with scrub pines that lay perhaps five hundred yards ahead of them. “Nearly 1100 feet above sea level,” the surveyor added significantly.
Gage made a mental note of the steep rise of it and the great slabs of brown granite revetment, ugly and oddly foreboding, that slumbered there above them.
“This must be Stuart’s Mountain,” Gage said, consulting his charts.
“The Witch’s Tit we used to call it.” Garvix laughed.
Sybil Jamison made a face of mild disgust.
“Have you ever owned a mountain before, Doctor?” Ollie beamed.
He shrugged and gave a helpless little laugh. “No,” he said, trying not to appear too impressed. But all the same, he was. “1089 feet—it’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?”
“1084 feet,” Sybil said, quite matter-of-factly. She enjoyed whittling the doctor’s acquisitions down a bit.
“It says 1089 quite clearly on the charts,” Gage persisted in a quiet but emphatic voice.
“There was an error in that survey,” Sybil said. Her eyes had begun to twinkle mischievously.
“But here it says—”
“Oh, come,” said Bayles, nearly out of patience. “We’re not going to quibble over five fool of mountain, are we? You own the bloody thing. No one contests that.”
“I’m not quibbling at all,” Gage stared hard at him. “But I am interested in the accuracy of this thing. That’s why we’re out here.” He had a copy of the deed in his list and he waved it slowly in front of Bayles. “Now the deed happens to say 1089.”
“And that was an error,” Sybil hastened to repeat. “Your father had the mountain surveyed for an aerial map about four years ago, and found out at that time that it was 1084 feet above sea level. The figure of 1089 comes from an earlier survey done with less sophisticated equipment. The new information has simply never been incorporated into the old deed, which is what you have there.” She smiled tauntingly at him.
Gage turned to the surveyor. “Is this true?”
“Might be,” said Rogers laconically. “Your dad ever mention it to you?”
“I’m afraid we hadn’t spoken much these past few years.” Gage looked away self-consciously.
“Never argue flowers or figures with Sybil, Doctor,” Freddy Jamison said. “Or money. It’s a losing game.”
“Never play poker with her, either,” Garvix chuckled. “You’ll wake up in the morning a poor man.”
Sybil enjoyed being the object of all this harmless little banter. The smile she beamed at Gage was more taunting now than ever. “Tell the doctor how bright I was, Albert,” she said suddenly.
For a moment Rogers appeared to be at a loss. But in the next moment he was once again composed. “That’s true. Sybil was a very bright child.”
“I was brighter,” said Garvix.
“No. Sybil was the brighter child.” Rogers spoke with gentle persuasiveness. “But Leo was born to be a rich man. Give Leo a dime and next day he’d be back with thirty-five cents.”
Garvix flushed with pleasure. “That’s true. I’m a Midas. Always have been.”
“What about me, Albert?” Ollie Gelston appealed to the surveyor. “Tell them about me.”
“Oh, shit.” Gladys stood up and wandered off in disgust.
“You, Ollie,” said Rogers, patting her affectionately. “You were always my favorite.”
She gazed up at the surveyor worshipfully. She had the look of a puppy that had just been petted by its master.
“Really, Albert.” Sybil Jamison was crestfallen. “I always thought I was.”
Garvix, too, appeared suddenly miffed. “I always liked to believe I had a special place in your heart, Albert.”
“You do, Leo,” said Rogers gently. “So do Sibby and the others. All for different reasons.”
Bayles, standing off by himself, turned a scornful smile on the surveyor. “What about me, Albert?”
“You too, John!” said Rogers gently. “You were all my kids.”
Freddy Jamison started to snicker. “What about poor Gladdy and me? Where does that leave us?”
“We’re some kind of bastards, Freddy,” said Gladys. She was laughing too. “The illegitimate ones.”
“Some kind of bloody stepchildren,” Freddy agreed. They both laughed heartily.
Gage stared a little incredulously at the scene.
“Tell us about John,” Ollie rattled on with childish delight.
“Oh, do,” said Gladys, spitefully. “We’re terribly anxious to hear.”
“We’d best be going,” Rogers said warily.
“Tell them,” Bayles said, his eyes hard and flinty.
There was more laughter. Rogers gazed fixedly at Bayles. He was suddenly quite solemn. “John was a moody child.”
There was a moment of silence, while they studied each other.
“With good cause Mr. Surveyor,” Bayles snapped back. “As you very well know.”
A pensive expression fell across Rogers’ face. “I don’t dispute that, John.” Then he glanced up at the sun. “Best we get started.”
Once again they gathered themselves together. The water canteens were put in their carriers, the charts were rolled up, and Tom Putney, eager and self-important with his tapes and ribbons, went thrashing off into the woods ahead of all the rest.
They started to move out behind the surveyor in sullen and begrudging little knots. Sybil Jamison continued to sulk. “I really don’t see how you can say Ollie was your favorite,” she called up ahead to Rogers as they stumbled forward.
“Oh, come now, Sybil,” Gladys said. “Get off it. It’s really not that important. And besides, even if you’re not Albert’s favorite, you are mine.”
Freddy Jamison unleashed a shrill, nasty giggle.
“Not important?” said Sybil bitterly. “Not important? What would you know of it anyway? You weren’t one of the originals!”
“Thank God for that!” Gladys plunged ahead, starting to put a little space between herself and the others. She drew abreast of Rogers and strode manfully along beside him.
“Don’t carry on with her, Gladdy,” he murmured to her out of the corner of his mouth. His voice was a mixture of both plea and warning. “I don’t need the two of you at each other’s throats just now.”
“I can always depend on her to remind me I’m an outsider,” she said to the surveyor, but loud enough for Sybil to hear.
“Well, you are,” piped the other from behind.
Walking along beside his wife, Freddy Jamison said, “Don’t be such a bitch, will you Syb?”
“No one asked you, Freddy. She is an outsider.” Sybil glanced at him sharply. “And what the devil is it to you anyway?”
“Go to hell!” Gladys called over her shoulder.
“All right!” Rogers boomed suddenly, losing all patience. “Shut up—the two of you—and let’s get on with it!”
Freddy gazed a little queasily up at the dark, unfriendly ledges jutting protrusively out before them. “We’re not going up that bloody cliff I hope.”
“Nope,” Rogers said. “Around it.” He cupped his hands and shouted ahead at the receding figure of Tom Putney. “44 south-southwest—38 chains—42 links—”