7th Sigma by Steven Gould Read Free Book Online

little.” Kimble was burning mesquite roots and dried cow manure. When he wasn’t building the fire, he was digging a nearby pit to safely dispose of the hot coals.
    At the end of the day, Rosemary went home with two loaves of bread and some badly needed cash and Kimble proudly shelved five more loaves in insect-proof bags.
    They only baked once a week, but this let them take a few loaves in on market day to offset the cost of the imported flour.
    Sandy Williams did not see this as a sign of virtuous industry. He only saw it as proof of Ruth’s additional prosperity . It galled him.
    *   *   *
    SCHOOL closed for three months in the summer. The cycle had turned. Long ago, children were not taught in the summer because their labor was critical to keep the farm going. That tradition survived into industrialization, but now, in the territory, tradition became necessity again.
    They were gardening seriously, both near the stream and down on the bosque. In addition, Ruth was using their red clay deposits to make storage crocks. As productive as the gardens were, the resulting food needed to be preserved. Now, every time they heated the horno for baking, there were pots in the back, being fired. The beans could be dried, of course, as were half of the tomatoes, but much of the food was canned in the crocks and sealed with wax.
    Ruth now had ten students for the afternoon class, mostly classmates of Kimble’s, but also a few adults who’d been there the day Ruth had put Sandy Williams in the dirt. They still practiced on the grass near the spring, but there were the beginnings of a structure. The boundaries of the practice area were now delimited by a rising course of adobe bricks and, in the wash below the dam, fiber-reinforced concrete roof beams were being cast in plastic-lined trenches in the sand.
    One market day afternoon they returned to the cottage to find the door open and most of their belongings scattered about. A smoked chicken, recently purchased, was gone from the rafters, and the last two loaves from the previous week’s baking were gone from the counter. But whoever had been there hadn’t found the hidden wall hollow where Ruth kept her cash, or messed with the growing collection of crocks in the new root cellar.
    There were tracks in the dust, a man’s booted feet, larger than either of theirs.
    â€œWilliams,” said Kimble.
    â€œMaybe,” said Ruth. “Whoever it was, I think we surprised him. He didn’t go through all the baskets yet.” She had Kimble stay home to pick up and trudged back into town to report it to Martha Mendez, the storekeeper who doubled as the county clerk, postmaster, and recorder.
    The local law enforcement was volunteer and aimed more at transients and professional bandits. Disputes between locals were heard by the village council, which mostly depended on local quarrels working themselves out. For the worst things, messengers went twenty miles to the nearest Ranger barracks or one waited for the bimonthly visit of the territorial circuit judge.
    â€œDid you see anyone?” asked Martha after hearing the details.
    â€œSandy Williams has been hanging around the edges of our property.”
    Martha made a face. Williams was the community’s invisible elephant, the problem no one liked to talk about.
    â€œTwo loaves of bread and a chicken. Nothing else? No cash?”
    â€œThey didn’t find where I keep it.”
    â€œI’ll tell the boys.” The boys were the council, grown men all. “Could be they’ll go talk to Williams. Not promising anything.”
    Ruth snorted. “Well, I really just wanted it on the record and for you to spread the word. I’ll be watching my place more carefully and I’ll take care of it if I catch someone. Just suggesting others might want to keep an eye out, as well. You have any locks?”
    She returned home with a Kevlar composite reproduction of an