Henry Barbour, in his hammock between the two madrone trees, always manages to keep abreast of the flow of activity at the Sky Ranch. He can hear voices from the swimming pool, catch a glimpse of riders on the bridle path, see the pickup truck as it moves along the winding, gravel driveway on the almost daily trips in town. He also has informative visitors, but for an hour now, he has heard only the pulsing quiet of the pleasant afternoon, so he goes to see where everyone is.