House of Gold by Bud Macfarlane Page B

the earth in the far-off places where he saw it was not raining.
    "How come you chose this area?" Hugh asked eventually, a cheap cigar perched on his lower lip. The question had been gnawing at him ever since Sam's telephone call a week earlier.
    Buzz caught Sam's gaze inthe rearview mirror. They had agreed to keep mum about the computer bug during the search. They realized that bringing it up would just complicate things, and give the locals a reason to think they were nuts. Time for the cover story.
    "I'm interested in building a corporate retreat–something different," Sam explained. "I've always wanted to have something in Montana, and my best friend here hasalways dreamed of owning his own farm. We are planning on marrying the two ideas. Mr. Woodward will live here all year round on the farm, and I'll come for summer vacation and to hold-seminars during the rest of the year."
    The explanation seemed to satisfy Hugh. Both passengers could feel his urge to ask the logical follow-up question, But why Butte?
    After all, droves of rich folks and beautifulpeople were buying up ranches, farms, and mountainsides in Montana and Wyoming–in places like Walcott, Jackson Hole, and in the western valley surrounding Missoula, which had milder weather. But not near Butte.
    Hugh showed them four properties that day. The first was a "small" ranch–300 acres–and the next two were larger, flat "wheat" farms on the plain whose main crop turned out to be hay, notwheat, which Buzz and Sam discovered after talking with the owners at each property. Apparently the big wheat cooperatives in other parts of the state had made local wheat farming unprofitable.
    "Don't any of these properties have streams or rivers on them?" Sam asked when they were back in the car, frustrated, after checking out the third disappointing property in a row. A river or stream hadbeen a condition he had given Hugh over the phone.
    "Uh, some do, but not these I'm showin' you today," Hugh stumbled for words. "Maybe some properties with uh, rivers, will come on the market in the springtime. It's still early in the season."
    Buzz rolled his eyes. Isn't it spring already?
    He felt a pang of futility in his heart. This is all wrong! What are we doing out here in Montana? We don'tknow a soul.
    "Wait, there is one more place," Hugh suddenly offered. "It's not a proper ranch or a farm. But it does have a...brook on it, and a bit of tillable land. It's on the way back to Butte, not far from town.
    "It's not exactly on the market, but old Harvey Stone has always been considerin' sellin' it. Even had it on the market a couple years back. I went to grade school with 'im."
    So Hughdrove them to the property, which was located about three miles northwest of the city. It was seventy-five acres–seventy-two of which consisted of bare mountainside dotted with a few hardy pines. It featured a small, rickety farmhouse at the base of the mountain, and less than three acres of farmland. A small barn–hardly larger than a two-car garage–stood nearby. There was one cow guarded by fourmangy dogs patrolling the driveway. Two old snowmobiles lingered by the front porch. White smoke drifted out the stone chimney. The house had black-slatted wood siding.
    "Wait here." Hugh jumped out, then fearlessly cut a path through the yapping hounds and knocked on the front door.
    "Is that the river?" Buzz asked, pointing to a slope behind the house. They spied a trickle of water barely a footwide slipping down into a small pool by the barn.
    "I sure hope not," Sam said.
    Hugh returned to the car.
    "Harvey's not home. He's probably out hunting. We could come back later."
    Sam and Buzz shared a dejected look.
    "No, don't bother. We're not interested," Sam told him. "Please take us back to the hotel."
    During the short drive back, Buzz asked from the back seat, "Hugh, what have you got linedup for us tomorrow?"
    "I'm still workin' on that."
    In the rearview, Buzz saw Hugh shift his eyes a bit as he spoke.