he August sky hung cloudless, and the sun blazed high above the cliffs and wooded hills. The day would turn into a rip-snorting scorcher, I could tell. Apparently so could my Appaloosa. Stamping at flies,Thistle stood grazing in the shade of a cottonwood tree at the far end of the pasture. The arrival of noonday had stopped the cool, pine-scented breeze dead in its tracks. Not a blade of grass stirred, and the sunflowers growing among the boulders in the meadow beyond the pasture sat rigid, as if drawn there with crayons.

"Well, Kate," I said to myself, "enough lallygagging." I blew a straggle of damp hair from my eyes and chomped down on what was left of my apple. Wiping my chin on my shirt sleeve, I tossed the core and jumped off the log fence, where I’d been lazing for the past twenty minutes.

As I ambled toward my two-storied white clapboard, something on the nearest hill caught my eye - a billow of reddish dust, and ahead of the dust, a blue pickup truck barreling like hell’s afire down the corkscrew road.

"Moron." I shook my head and kept walking. When I reached the front porch, I plopped down on a step and pulled off one of my boots to shake out the dirt. As I pulled off the other, the blue truck, enveloped in dust, roared up and screeched to a halt in the driveway.

A lanky cowboy climbed out of the truck and strode toward me. "Beg pardon, ma’am," he drawled, removing his hat. His silver-blond hair glistened with sweat. "Is the mister to home?"

I stood up. "There’s no mister."

"Oh, I see. Uh, nice place you got here. Seen your Appaloosy while driving in. Fine piece of horse flesh." He extended his hand. "Name’s Eugene Cain. I got a spread over yonder, at the base of them cliffs."

"Kate Terrell," I said, clasping his palm. "Good to meet you."

"Ma’am, I stopped by to see if whoever lived here owned one of them computer contraptions, and if so, could they do me a favor and look something up." He frowned. "Thing is, miz Terrell, I got a situation on my hands."

"Situation?"

"Ever hear of time hoppers?"

"You mean people who travel through time? Time travelers?"

"Time hoppers, I call ‘em."

"They’re causing a problem. Is that what you’re saying?"

"Yep. I got me a tree chock full of ‘em."

I stifled a chuckle. "Why don’t you just tell them to scram?"

"They can’t scram. They’re goners. All except Pishna, who hopped in this morning. I tried to fish her out. I couldn’t."

I studied his eyes. "You’re serious."

"Fed up is what I am. Why, every time I turn around these days, there’s another one of them hoppers jammed in that tree. Yep, every time I pass by the danged thing, there’s less treeness to it. There’s arms, livers, eyeballs, and God knows what else, sticking out all over the place. It don’t smell too pure neither."

He heaved a sigh. "You’d think they’d figure it out and move their time hoppin’ startin’ contraption to a patch of land where a tree wasn’t now."

He dug in his shirt pocket, pulled out a folded paper, and gave it to me.

"What’s this?" I opened it. Inside was scribbled a web site address:

"Pishna told me what to write. She said it’s how to get a hold of the feller who invented the granddaddy of all time hoppin’ startin’ contraptions. She wants me to get one."

"Do you think it will work? Will it clear out the tree and send the folks back?" What am I saying? I thought. This is nuts.

"Won’t hurt to try it." .

I nodded toward the door. "Come on inside. The ‘puter’s in the kitchen. Oh, and call me Kate." I gave him a smile.

"Okey dokey, Kate, and thanks," he said, smiling back. "By the way, folks call me Eugene."

He followed me to the kitchen, and I flipped on the PC. "Go ahead and take a seat by the desk, uh, Eugene. I’ll fix us some lunch."

We were soon involved in leftover goulash, ginger ale, and Steven L. Gibbs’s Hyper Dimensional Resonator startin’ contraption.

An hour passed. I looked at Eugene. "What do you think?"

He leaned back and raked his hands through his hair. "This Gibbs feller lives way out in eastern Nebraska. It would take a month of Sundays to get the fool thing. Heck, you know what, Kate? I’ll bet I can build one."

"Build one?"

"Yep," said Eugene. He pushed back his chair. "And I’d better get to it."

I walked him to the door. "Much obliged," he said, and gave my hand a good, hefty squeeze. "So long, gal."

"So long, and good luck." I stood in the doorway and watched him make his way down the walk. Then, slamming the screen door behind me, I ran across the porch and snatched up my boots. "Hey, Eugene! Wait for me!"

Donning his cowboy hat, he flashed me a smile and opened the door of his pickup truck. "Well, jump in and let’s get."

"I’ll follow you in my Jeep," I said, as I bent over and pulled on my boots. "It’ll save you having to take me home."

"Truth is, Kate, I’d just as soon you rode with me. There are things I ought to tell you so when you get to my place, you’ll know what’s what and won’t keel over from shock."

I threw back my head and laughed. "Well, okay, but nothing could shock me now."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You might change your tune when you meet my Aunt Aggie. She’s down for a visit from the city."

I scooted under the steering wheel and slid across the seat. Eugene climbed in and started the engine. "She means no harm. Aunt Aggie’s just a mite different."

Dust puffed out behind us as we rattled down the bumpy road. "Different?" I said.

"Fancies herself a conjurer." He tipped back his hat. "Matter of fact, she is one. Always hocus-pocusing. Trouble is, she don’t do it right." The truck lurched as he shifted gears. "As soon as we clear this hill, you’ll see what I mean."

I left my stomach at the top. When we reached the bottom, he pulled off on the shoulder. "See them cows in the pasture yonder?" He squealed the truck to a halt.

I rolled down my window and peered out. "What cows?"

Eugene jumped from the truck and walked to the fence. "Well, if that don’t beat all."

"Maybe they’re down in a draw."

"There ain’t no draw," said Eugene. He walked back and climbed in the truck. "Dadburn it! What did she go and do now?"

"You think your aunt moved the cows?"

He pulled the truck off the shoulder, and we continued down the road. "Them cows weren’t cows," he said. "They were people. At least they were till Aunt Aggie changed them."

"I beg your pardon?"

"She didn’t mean to." He glanced at me, then looked back at the road. "She likes to chant out nature spells. When folks get in the way, sometimes they get whammied."

"She turns people into cows?"

"Yep, if they’re wearing leather. Sheep, if they’re wearing wool. When it happens, I fetch the critters and haul them to the ranch. Don’t know what else to do. Can’t seem to make her stop."

Tell me I’m not hearing this, I thought, and stared at the dashboard.

Minutes later, we pulled up in front of a sprawling log house encircled by pines, at the foot of a cliff. "This here’s my place," said Eugene.

I caught in my breath. "Oh, wow!"

Near the lawn stood a barn, and beyond the barn, lay corrals. A herd of palominos and a handful of sheep grazed in a pasture close by. "The horses are real," said Eugene, setting the hand brake. "The sheep ain’t."

My toes curled in my boots. I averted my eyes and looked at the house. "Is that your aunt in the doorway?"

"Yep." Eugene climbed from the truck and waited for me to slide out. He chuckled. "Some folks say she’s a dead ringer for Andy’s Aunt Bea."

"Sure is. She looks very sweet." I jumped down from the truck. "Um, is that a chicken she’s holding?"

"Nope." He peered up at the cliff. "Up yonder’s the time-hopper tree."

Shielding my eyes, I followed his gaze. "Where? I don’t see -"

"It’s back there a ways. In a bit, we’ll head up there."

"Hello!" trilled Aunt Aggie, bustling down the walk. Under her arm jiggled a squawking white rooster.

When the rooster calmed down, Eugene introduced Aunt Aggie and me, and let her know we’d found the startin’ contraption he’d told her about.

Smiling, she squeezed my hand and looked at Eugene. "What fun! Did you bring it?"

"Nope, but I’m aiming to build one." He tipped his hat. "Now, ladies, excuse me."

"Can I help?" I asked.

"You bet. But first let me round up the parts." He shifted his gaze to his aunt, who, still toting the rooster, was heading back toward the house. "Aunt Aggie! I danged near forgot. Where’s all them cows?"

She whirled around. "You noticed!" She scurried toward us, laughing.

Merrily she plopped the rooster on the ground in front of Eugene. "I know you don’t like magic, but there’s something I’m itching to show you."

"Hold on," he said. "What are you fixing to do?"

"Change back the rooster, like I changed back the cows."

"Well, I’ll be. You changed back the cows? While I was to Kate’s?"

"Yes," she said with a giggle, "and it was so easy! All I did was chant the spell backwards."

I looked at the rooster, who was pecking a beetle. "That’s not a chicken?"

"No indeedy." She leaned over and tickled its comb. "It’s a young man."

"Poor feller got whammied," said Eugene. "Seems he had on a feather."

She rubbed her hands. "Well, shall we get started?"

Eugene chewed his lip. "Okey dokey. I guess."

She cleared her throat, then thrust her arms toward the rooster and wiggled her fingers. "Mrofecneh htrof tsac eb secneulfni evitagen lla tel!"

The air churned and darkened.

Eugene and I backed up a few steps.

"Ria eht fo shplys dercas O!" she continued, her voice growing louder. "Htrae eht fo semong..."

We backed up some more.

"...dersac O!"

Sprays of light burst from the rooster and shot up to the magic-darkened sky and exploded in a purple dazzle, and as the dazzle showered down, the air throbbed and crackled, and the rooster crowed and glittered and flapped its wings, which turned into arms, and back into wings, and back into arms, and back into wings, and then the rooster vanished in a kaleidoscope of squirming shapes and colors, which turned into a man.

The air stilled, and the sky returned to blue.

"There," said Aunt Aggie.

"Holy smokes," said Eugene.

I couldn’t say a word.

The young man sat up, grinned, and spat out a beetle, which staggered away. "Whoa," he said, and looked around. Then he grinned again and fainted.

We carried him into the house and laid him on the couch. "He’ll be as good as new in no time," said Aunt Aggie, plucking at his green, spiked hair with a feather in it. She tapped him lightly on the chin. "Won’t you, dearie?"

"Well," said Eugene, "time’s wasting. I need to build that startin’ contraption so I can get them time hoppers out of that tree." He walked toward the door.

"Wait," said Aunt Aggie. "I can get them out."

He turned and stared at her with a befuddled look on his face.

"Dearie," she said quietly, "the tree’s not a tree. It’s dust motes dancing in the air on a summer’s day long ago, and a little girl’s dreams - and a poem. The tree isn’t real. It’s magic. My magic. My very first magic."

I glanced at Eugene. His mouth was agape.

"I remember the poem," she said. "I know it by heart. I think that I shall never see..." She smiled. "Why, I could even say it backwards if I wanted to."

Eugene walked over and hugged her. He hugged me too. There were tears in his eyes.