Highway of Eternity by Clifford D. Simak Page B

who found this place, Hopkins Acre.”
    That is right. There were other locations that might have done as well or better, places that I liked much better. But this one was made to order for our taking over. The owner and all his family were absent on a tour of the Continent. Even before I went hunting for the others, I tracked down technicians in my own time who could secure this tract for us. So there it was, as you see it now, waiting for my family once I had found them in that noisome fen that was Dark Age Europe.
    â€œI can’t help but wonder about the Hopkins family,” said Corcoran. “They came back from vacation and their home was gone as if it had never been here. And the rest of the neighborhood—a house, a farm, an estate with all the people who lived on it, wiped out overnight—what was the neighborhood reaction?”
    I do not know, said Henry. None of us ever knew or thought of it. It was no concern of ours. All we took was property that we needed. Property is not sacred.
    David’s voice came from behind them. “I saw you sitting here,” he said, “and I came down to tell you the funeral is at sundown.”
    â€œIs there anything we can do?” asked Boone. “Help with the grave, perhaps?”
    David shook his head. “No need of help. Horace is a husky man and can move a lot of dirt. A little labor will do no harm to Timothy, much as he may loathe it. A few blisters on his soft and uncalloused hands would be a great education for our brother Timothy. Emma’s helping, too.”
    David climbed the wall and sat down with them.
    â€œHenry is here with us,” said Corcoran. “We’ve been talking with him. An enjoyable and instructive conversation.”
    â€œI thought he was,” said David. “I caught the sense of him. Henry, I am glad you’re here. All the family should be on hand for the burial. All of us now will be there, barring Spike. Do you have an idea where he is? Could you go and find him?”
    I have no idea, David. No one can keep track of him. He could be anywhere. After all, it matters little. He is not exactly family.
    â€œBy now he is,” said David.
    â€œOne thing I am curious about,” said Corcoran. “Was any determination made of how Gahan died?”
    â€œHorace had a look at him. His chest was torn open, as if a great taloned claw had struck him and torn it all away. How he lived long enough to warn us, I do not comprehend. He was close to death when the traveler crashed.”
    â€œHow long would it have taken? I mean the trip from Athens to here.”
    â€œIt would have been almost instantaneous.”
    â€œThat sounds right. On our trip from New York, there was a momentary darkness, then almost immediately the bump of landing.”
    â€œHorace, I suppose,” said David, “is the only one of us who would have thought to examine Gahan. Horace beats out his brains getting to the bottom of things, planning ahead. But he has no capacity for the long range. Right now he has all three travelers lined up on the lawn. Gahan’s traveler is operative. The landing in the flower bed damaged it not at all. So Horace has them all stocked with food and some of Timothy’s weapons.”
    â€œI take it, then, that you have decided to leave.”
    â€œWell, yes, I would suppose so, although not exactly when or where to. Horace has each of us assigned to specific travelers.”
    â€œAnd when you leave, are we going with you?”
    â€œWhy, most assuredly. Our numbers are not large. Quite possibly, we will have need of you.”
    â€œI suppose we should be grateful.”
    â€œGrateful or not, you are going with us. The both of you.”
    â€œI don’t think I would enjoy staying here,” said Corcoran, “trapped on a few acres inside a displaced segment of time.”
    â€œIt is strange how it has all worked out,” said David musingly, as if he might