The Kiwi Target

gravity feed, so we aren’t dependent on pumps, though there’s a good one on the line if we need a faster flow. There’s a large- size tap in front of the house and two in back. Tomorrow I’ll show you how the whole system operates. I put a good extinguisher in the kitchen and one on the first floor—that’s the second floor to you. Do you smoke, Peter?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “That’s a blessing, because lots of fires start that way.”
    “What other protective systems do we have?”
    “That’s about it—fire is our main concern. We don’t have any trouble with thieves, not in these parts.”
    Peter excused himself and went to his room. He stretched himself across the big bed with the intention of taking just a few minutes rest. He awoke when he discovered that Louise was shaking his shoulder. “Dinner’s ready,” she said.
    He went to the kitchen to discover that the meal was being served in the formal dining room. “Do you always go to this much bother?” he asked as he took his place.
    “Not usually,” Jack answered. “But Louise thought it would be nice tonight—your homecoming and all. After we eat and talk awhile, we’ll go to the pub if you’d like.”
    In four days’ time Peter was living in a new world. His station had become the focus of most of his waking hours.
    The evening at the pub had been thoroughly enjoyable. He had met a number of other station men and had liked them all. Despite the fact that he was a foreigner, he had been accepted, largely because he had come with Jack McHugh. Many glasses had been raised and he had drunk a little too much, but for once he did not need to care.
    The next morning he had met two more of the hands, Tom and Derek, both sturdy outdoorsmen. They called him Mr. Ferguson, and when he suggested the use of his first name, they declined. “They’re good men,” Jack explained to him, “well suited to what they’re doing. Don’t be afraid to be the owner when you’re with them, because you are.”
    On the third day he had taken the Jeep and explored his property on his own. At the top of a considerable hill he discovered another spectacular view of Lake Wakatipu and miles of the surrounding area.
    Jack was gone that evening. Since the hands got their own food and preferred it that way, Peter ate in the kitchen with Louise. “Dad is over at our place,” she said as a sizable steak was put in front of each of them. “He’ll be back in the morning.”
    “Are you going to stay here tonight?” he asked.
    “If you don’t mind.”
    “Don’t be absurd,” he told her. “This place is yours and Jack’s as much as it’s mine. You belong here.”

    In the morning Jack came back in time for breakfast. “I think today, Peter, if you don’t have other plans, we ought to go over the station books together,” he said. “You should know just where you stand and how well the place is doing.”
    “Fine,” Peter agreed. Seated at the large kitchen table, they were well started when Louise left in the light truck. A few seconds later, a bell rang when she passed over the treadle wire in the road w ay that gave advance notice of arriving visitors. The weather warmed rapidly, and the feel of the sun coming through the windows was a touch of unadulterated luxury.
    When the time came for lunch, they took it out of doors and ate at a picnic table that stood on the front lawn.
    “Now that you’ve been here a bit, how do you like it?” Jack asked.
    Peter looked about him before he answered. He felt the gentle stirring of the air against the side of his face, listened to the bird songs that he had heard so seldom before, and enjoyed the richness of the sun on his back. “It’s too good to be true,” he answered.
    Jack leaned his huge frame forward and put his work-hardened hands together. “It’s a pretty good life, Peter. There are many things we don’t have, of course, but we live in peace, and that’s a lot.”
    A loud bell rang under the eaves of the ranch house. “That’s the phone,” Jack said. Peter ran into the kitchen, picked up the instrument there, and said, “Oldshire Station.”
    “Ray O’Malley, Peter, calling from Wellington. I had a session this morning with the immigration people. The paperwork for your permanent residency is approved and filed. Also, Superintendent Winston sends his regards.”
    “Was he in on this, too?”
    “He did speak a word on your behalf. And don’t be worried about your new job. At the