“Farmers plant crops,” said Jeebee. “One of those crops—one of those most important crops—is wheat. Wheat makes bread, wheat is useful in all sorts of ways. But what if the wheat seeds are attacked by some plant disease and the crops become useless?”
Paul laughed.
“The last supply outfits making chemicals to control plant diseases went out of business over a year ago,” he answered, “far as I can find out.”
“I thought so,” said Jeebee, “so when people plant nowadays, they merely plant their seeds and pray that the crop will come up all right without, say, mildew attacking it?”
“Of course,” said Paul, “but what can they do about it now? There’s no way of controlling those diseases if you can’t get the chemicals.”
“As a matter of fact,” said Jeebee, “maybe there is something—”
Paul looked sharply at him.
“So,” Jeebee went on, “I suppose you could find a good market anywhere for a wheat seed that would resist mildew, the seed of each crop could go on, year after year, resisting mildew? Am I right?”
Paul’s look had become more curious than sharp.
“Of course I could,” he said. “What are you getting at?”
Jeebee went on as if Paul had not spoken.
“And something like that would be worth something to you—enough so that if I could bring you some, or show you where you could get some, maybe not right away but eventually, it would be worth something to you?”
Paul nodded slowly.
“What’s on your mind?” Paul said.
“I just thought of something,” said Jeebee. “I think I know where some might be found. The people there were just in the process of experimenting with genetically altered wheat that would have a natural resistance, particularly to wilt, but also to some of the other diseases that attack wheat. I might be able to locate a source of it. If I could do that, what else would you be able to pay me in the way of an extra horse and supplies?”
Paul kept looking at him for a moment, glanced back to check on the horses, and then returned to rest his eyes on Jeebee’s face. He was plainly thinking.
“If you could really lead me to something like that—it would depend on whether you actually produced some seed, or just were able to tell me where it could be found somewhere along the line—it would be worth quite a bit to me,” he answered at last, thoughtfully. “I couldn’t say exactly until I see what you come up with. But there’s a good chance I could give you that extra horse and some other things you’d find useful. Maybe even some things you wouldn’t think of for yourself. Now, do you actually know where some of this genetically changed wheat is? Or where some can be got?”
“I know where there ought to be some,” Jeebee answered. “I won’t know for sure if it’s there until I actually go look for myself. But I don’t know why it wouldn’t be there. If it is, there might be more than you can carry. If that’s the case, I can bring back as much as I can packload on the horses you let me take. If it turns out it’s just a place where the seed’s going to be available—say later this fall sometime—maybe next year you can arrange to swing around here at a time when you can harvest some for yourself.”
“Whoa,” Paul called, pulling back hard on the reins in his fingers. The wagon rolled to a stop, the horses tossed their heads and looked backward and fidgeted, as if they were annoyed to be interrupted at their work by such a sudden and unexplained halt.
“There,” said Paul, looping the reins around the brake post to the left of the seat to set his hands free, “now I can give my mind to it without worrying about the team or the road. Where is this grain you’re talking about, now?”
“I think I can find it,” said Jeebee. “But it’s the location I’m selling you. Once you know where it is—once anybody knows where it is, they can just help themselves. In fact, people around it may have been helping themselves already; but there ought to be enough of it, if I’m right, so that you could pick what you want.”
“Are we close to it?” Paul asked, gazing steadily at Jeebee.
“We’ve passed it, actually,” said Jeebee. “It’s behind us and to the north a ways; in fact, just at a guess, it’d be about five days back by wagon. Then on foot, maybe a three-day walk to the north. Then a day or two to hunt around and gather the grain, and three days coming back.”
“Well”—Paul sat thinking for a minute—“it’d take a couple of people, with packhorses, to make that trip properly. That means, of course, that whoever goes is going to have to cover those five days it took the wagon to get this far, in about a day or two of reasonable riding with the horses, because of all the stops we’ve made. Leg to the north would probably be… maybe two days by horseback?”
“I don’t know,” said Jeebee. “I’ve done all my traveling by myself on foot, I tend to think that way. I know where it was or is, from being told about it, about three years ago. But I’ve never been there, and finding it now that things have changed may take a little time. Exactly where it is, that is. But I definitely remember it was outside a little town called Wayne, north of here.”
Nick stuck his head curiously out the front entrance to the wagon behind them, just as Merry rode up, looking as annoyed as one of the horses.
“What’s going on?” she demanded. “What are we stopping here for?”
“Jeebee may’ve come up with something very good for us,” Paul said briefly.
The look of annoyance disappeared from Merry’s face. She looked at Jeebee curiously and said nothing.
“Go on,” Paul said to Jeebee. “Tell them.”
He did; and they listened.
CHAPTER 13
It was just a few minutes to noon, four days later. Jeebee and Merry reined their riding horses to a stop on the top of a small, open rise that gave them the advantage of a little altitude from which to survey the countryside. Behind them, the packhorses on the lead rope that connected them, the end of which was tied to Merry’s saddle, stopped patiently where they were, dropped their heads, and started to crop at the sparse ground cover on the sandy soil of the hill.
They got out their binoculars and began to scan the surrounding territory. What Jeebee was now using was a superb pair of Bausch and Lomb Elite, eight-by-forty glasses that had been lent him by Paul for the trip. Merry, with another pair of glasses just like his, scanned the left half of the visible landscape while he scanned the right.
“We’ll stand out like a bright light up here, if anybody’s watching,” Jeebee grumbled. His months of travel before he had met the wagon had trained him to stay undercover, avoiding places where he might be outlined against the sky; and he felt uneasy in any place as open as this.
“Can’t be helped,” Merry replied, without taking the glasses from her eyes. “All I see on this side is clumps of woods and a few fields. No sign of State Highway 37. But it has to be there, somewhere.”
She lowered her glasses.
“We can see for miles,” she said, “and you didn’t argue when I suggested coming up here.”
“No,” said Jeebee.
He lowered his glasses and saw her putting her own down. They both tucked them back into the binocular cases that were strapped to the side of their saddles, and Merry got out a map, which she unfolded against her saddle horn.
She stopped as she saw Jeebee fumbling for something inside his backpack, which was now secured behind his saddle.
“What’s that?” she asked as he brought it out.
“This is one of my maps,” said Jeebee. “It covers this area, too.”
He unfolded the map. It showed slanting, parallel lines drawn clear across the face of it from top to bottom. “Time to get out the compass.”
