How did you get from where you slept to hiding under that pile of tack, Bill? Sheriff Peavy asked. The boy looked at him for a long time without speaking. Then the tears began to fall again. He covered them with his fingers so we wouldnt see them. I dont remember, he said. I dont remember nuffink. He didnt exactly lower his hands; they seemed to drop into his lap, as if theyd grown too heavy for him to hold up. I want my da. Jamie got up and walked away, with his hands stuffed deep in his back pockets. I tried to say what needed saying, and couldnt. You have to remember that although Jamie and I wore guns, they werent yet the big guns of our fathers. Id never again be so young as before I met Susan Delgado, and loved her, and lost her, but I was still too young to tell this boy that his father had been torn to pieces by a monster. So I looked to Sheriff Peavy. I looked to the grownup. Peavy took off his hat and laid it aside on the grass. Then he took the boys hands. Son, he said, Ive got some very hard news for you. I want you to pull in a deep breath and be a man about it. But Young Bill Streeter had only nine or ten summers behind him, eleven at most, and he couldnt be a man about anything. He began to wail. When he did it, I saw my mothers pale dead face as clear as if she had been lying next to me under that willa, and I couldnt stand it. I felt like a coward, but that didnt stop me from getting up and walking away.    The lad either cried himself to sleep or into unconsciousness. Jamie carried him into the big house and put him in one of the beds upstairs. He was just the son of a bunkhouse cook, but there was no one else to sleep in them, not now. Sheriff Peavy used the jingjang to call his office where one of the notsogood deputies had been ordered to wait for his ring. Soon enough, Debarias undertakerif there was onewould organize a little convoy of wagons to come and pick up the dead. Sheriff Peavy went into sai Jeffersons little office and plunked himself down in a chair on rollers. Whats next, boys? he asked. The salties, I reckon . . . and I suppose youll want to get up there before this wind blows into a simoom. Which it certainly means tdo. He sighed. The boys no good to ye, thats certain. Whatever he saw was evil enough to scrub his mind clean. Jamie began, Roland has a way of Im not sure whats next, I said. Id like to talk it over a little with my pard. We might take a little pasear back up to that tack shed. Tracksll be blown away by now, Peavy said, but have at it and may it do ya well. He shook his head. Telling that boy was hard. Very hard. You did it the right way, I said. Do ya think so? Aye? Well, thankya. Poor little cullie. Reckon he can stay with me n the wife for a while. Until we figure what comes next for him. You boys go on and palaver, if it suits you. I think Ill just sit here and try to get back even wi myself. No hurry about anything now; that damned thing ate well enough last night. Itll be a good while before it needs to go hunting again.    Jamie and I walked two circuits around the shed and corral while we talked, the strengthening wind rippling our pantlegs and blowing back our hair. Is it all truly erased from his mind, Roland? What do you think? I asked. No, he said. Because Is it gone? was the first thing he asked. And he knew his father was dead. Even when he asked us, it was in his eyes. Jamie walked without replying for a while, his head down. Wed tied our bandannas over our mouths and noses because of the blowing grit. Jamies was still wet from the trough. Finally he said, When I started to tell the sheriff you have a way of getting at things that are buriedburied in peoples mindsyou cut me off. He doesnt need to know, because it doesnt always work. It had with Susan Delgado, in Mejis, but part of Susan had wanted badly to tell me what the witch, Rhea, had tried to hide from Susans frontmind, where we hear our own thoughts very clearly. Shed wanted to tell me because we were in love. But will you try? You will, wont you? I didnt answer him until we had started our second circuit of the corral. I was still putting my thoughts in order. As I may have said, that has always been slow work for me. The salties dont live in the mines anymore; they have their own encampment a few wheels west of Little Debaria. Kellin Frye told me about it on the ride out here. I want you to go up there with Peavy and the Fryes. Canfield, too, if hell go. I think he will. Those two pokiesCanfields trailmatescan stay here and wait for the undertaker. You mean to take the boy back to town? Yes. Alone. But Im not sending you up there just to get you and the others away. If you travel fast enough, and they have a remuda, you may still be able to spot a horse thats been rode hard. Under the bandanna, he might have smiled. I doubt it. I did, too. It would have been more likely but for the windwhat Peavy had called the simoom. It would dry the sweat on a horse, even one that had been ridden hard, in short order. Jamie might spot one that was dustier than the rest, one with burdocks and bits of jugweed in its tail, but if we were right about the skinman knowing what he was, he would have given his mount a complete rubdown and curry, from hooves to mane, as soon as he got back. Someone may have seen him ride in. Yes . . . unless he went to Little Debaria first, cleaned up, and came back to the saltie encampment from there. A clever man might do that. Even so, you and the sheriff should be able to find out how many of them own horses. And how many of them can ride, even if they dont own, Jamie said. Aye, we can do that. Round that bunch up, I told him, or as many of them as you can, and bring them back to town. Any who protests, remind them that theyll be helping to catch the monster thats been terrorizing Debaria . . . Little Debaria . . . the whole Barony. You wont have to tell them that any who still refuse will be looked at with extra suspicion; even the dumbest of them will know. Jamie nodded, then grabbed the fencerail as an especially strong gust of wind blasted us. I turned to face him. And one other thing. Youre going to pull a cosy, and Kellins son, Vikka, will be your catspaw. Theyll believe a kid might run off at the mouth, even if hes been told not to. Especially if hes been told not to. Jamie waited, but I felt sure he knew what I was going to say, for his eyes were troubled. It was a thing hed never have done himself, even if he thought of it. Which was why my father had put me in charge. Not because Id done well in MejisI hadnt, not reallyand not because I was his son, either. Although in a way, I suppose that was it. My mind was like his cold. Youll tell the salties who know about horses that there was a witness to the murders at the ranch. Youll say you cant tell them who it wasnaturallybut that he saw the skinman in his human form. You dont know that Young Bill actually saw him, Roland. And even if he did, he might not have seen the face. He was hiding in a pile of tack, for your fathers sake. Thats true, but the skinman wont know its true. All the skinman will know is that it might be true, because he was human when he left the ranch. I began to walk again, and Jamie walked beside me. Now heres where Vikka comes in. Hell get separated from you and the others a bit and whisper to someoneanother kid, one his own age, would be bestthat the survivor was the cooks boy. Bill Streeter by name. The boy just lost his father and you want to use him as bait. It may not come to that. If the story gets to the right ears, the one were looking for may bolt on the way to town. Then youll know. And none of it matters if were wrong about the skinman being a saltie. We could be, you know. What if were right, and the fellow decides to face it out? Bring them all to the jail. Ill have the boy in a cella locked one, you kenand you can walk the horsemen past, one by one. Ill tell Young Bill to say nothing, one way or the other, until theyre gone. Youre right, he may not be able to pick our man out, even if I can help him remember some of what happened last night. But our man wont know that, either. Its risky, said Jamie. Risky for the kid. Small risk, I said. Itll be daylight, with the skinman in his human shape. And Jamie . . . I grasped his arm. Ill be in the cell, too. The bastard will have to go through me if he wants to get to the boy.    Peavy liked my plan better than Jamie had. I wasnt a bit surprised. It was his town, after all. And what was Young Bill to him? Only the son of a dead cook. Not much in the great scheme of things. Once the little expedition to Saltie Town was on its way, I woke the boy and told him we were going to Debaria. He agreed without asking questions. He was distant and dazed. Every now and then he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. As we walked out to the corral, he asked me again if I was sure his da was dead. I told him I was. He fetched a deep sigh, lowered his head, and put his hands on his knees. I gave him time, then asked if hed like me to saddle a horse for him. If its all right to ride Millie, I can saddle her myself. I feed her, and shes my special friend. People say mules aint smart, but Millie is. Lets see if you can do it without getting kicked, I said. It turned out he could, and smartly. He mounted up and said, I guess Im ready. He even tried to give me a smile. It was awful to look at. I was sorry for the plan Id set in motion, but all I had to do was think of the carnage we were leaving behind and Sister Fortunas ruined face to remind myself of what the stakes were. Will she skit in the wind? I asked, nodding at the trim little mule. Sitting on her back, Young Bills feet came almost down to the ground. In another year, hed be too big for her, but of course in another year, hed probably be far from Debaria, just another wanderer on the face of a fading world. Millie would be a memory. Not Millie, he said. Shes as solid as a dromedary. Aye, and whats a dromedary? Dunno, do I? Its just something my da says. One time I asked him, and he didnt know, either. Come on, then, I said. The sooner we get to town, the sooner well get out of this grit. But I intended to make one stop before we got to town. I had something to show the boy while we were still alone.    About halfway between the ranch and Debaria, I spied a deserted sheepherders leanto, and suggested we shelter in there for a bit and have a bite. Bill Streeter agreed willingly enough. He had lost his da and everyone else hed known, but he was still a growing boy and hed had nothing to eat since his dinner the night before. We tethered our mounts away from the wind and sat on the floor inside the leanto with our backs against the wall. I had dried beef wrapped in leaves in my saddlebag. The meat was salty, but my waterskin was full. The boy ate half a dozen chunks of the meat, tearing off big bites and washing them down with water. A strong gust of wind shook the leanto. Millie blatted a protest and fell silent. Itll be a fullgoing simoom by dark, Young Bill said. You watch and see if it aint. I like the sound of the wind, I said. It makes me think of a story my mother read to me when I was a sma one. The Wind Through the Keyhole, it was called. Does thee know it? Young Bill shook his head. Mister, are you really a gunslinger? Say true? I am. Can I hold one of your guns for a minute? Never in life, I said, but you can look at one of these, if youd like. I took a shell from my belt and handed it to him. He examined it closely, from brass base to lead tip. Gods, its heavy! Long, too! I bet if you shot someone with one of these, hed stay down. Yes. A shells a dangerous thing. But it can be pretty, too. Would you like to see a trick I can do with this one? Sure. I took it back and began to dance it from knuckle to knuckle, my fingers rising and falling in waves. Young Bill watched, wideeyed. How does thee do it? The same way anyone does anything, I said. Practice. Will you show me the trick? If you watch close, you may see it for yourself, I said. Here it is . . . and here it isnt. I palmed the shell so fast it disappeared, thinking of Susan Delgado, as I supposed I always would when I did this trick. Now here it is again. The shell danced fast . . . then slow . . . then fast again. Follow it with your eyes, Bill, and see if you can make out how I get it to disappear. Dont take your eyes off it. I dropped my voice to a lulling murmur. Watch . . . and watch . . . and watch. Does it make you sleepy? A little, he said. His eyes slipped slowly closed, then the lids rose again. I didnt sleep much last night. Did you not? Watch it go. Watch it slow. See it disappear and then . . . see it as it speeds up again. Back and forth the shell went. The wind blew, as lulling to me as my voice was to him. Sleep if you want, Bill. Listen to the wind and sleep. But listen to my voice, too. I hear you, gunslinger. His eyes closed again and this time didnt reopen. His hands were clasped limply in his lap. I hear you very well. You can still see the shell, cant you? Even with your eyes closed. Yes . . . but its bigger now. It flashes like gold. Do you say so? Yes . . . Go deeper, Bill, but hear my voice. I hear. I want you to turn your mind back to last night. Your mind and your eyes and your ears. Will you do that? A frown creased his brow. I dont want to. Its safe. All thats happened, and besides, Im with you. Youre with me. And you have guns. So I do. Nothing will happen to you as long as you can hear my voice, because were together. Ill keep thee safe. Do you understand that? Yes. Your da told you to sleep out under the stars, didnt he? Aye. It was to be a warm night. But that wasnt the real reason, was it? No. It was because of Elrod. Once he twirled the bunkhouse cat by her tail, and she never came back. Sometimes he pulls me around by my hair and sings The Boy Who Loved Jenny. My da cant stop him, because Elrods bigger. Also, he has a knife in his boot. He could cut with it. But he couldnt cut the beast, could he? His clasped hands twitched. Elrods dead and Im glad. Im sorry about all the others . . . and my da, I dont know what Ill do wiout my da . . . but Im glad about Elrod. He wont tease me nummore. He wont scare me nummore. I seen it, aye. So he did know more than the top of his mind had let him remember. Now youre out on the graze. On the graze. Wrapped up in your blanket and shinnie. Shaddie. Your blanket and shaddie. Youre awake, maybe looking up at the stars, at Old Star and Old Mother No, no, asleep, Bill said. But the screams wake me up. The screams from the bunkhouse. And the sounds of fighting. Things are breaking. And somethings roaring. What do you do, Bill? I go down. Im afraid to, but my da . . . my das in there. I look in the window at the far end. Its greasepaper, but I can see through it well enough. More than I want to see. Because I see . . . I see . . . mister, can I wake up? Not yet. Remember that Im with you. Have you drawn your guns, mister? He was shivering. I have. To protect you. What do you see? Blood. And a beast. What kind, can you tell? A bear. One so tall its head reaches the ceiling. It goes up the middle of the bunkhouse . . . between the cots, ye ken, and on its back legs . . . and it grabs the men . . . it grabs the men and pulls them to pieces with its great long claws. Tears began to escape his closed lids and roll down his cheeks. The last one was Elrod. He ran for the back door . . . where the woodpile is just outside, ye ken . . . and when he understood it would have him before he could open the door and dash out, he turned around to fight. He had his knife. He went to stab it. . . . Slowly, as if underwater, the boys right hand rose from his lap. It was curled into a fist. He made a stabbing motion with it. The bear grabbed his arm and tore it off his shoulder. Elrod screamed. He sounded like a horse I saw one time, after it stepped in a gompa hole and broke its leg. The thing . . . it hit Elrod in the face with is own arm. The blood flew. There was gristle that flapped and wound around the skin like strings. Elrod fell against the door and started to slide down. The bear grabbed him and lifted him up and bit into his neck and there was a sound . . . mister, it bit Elrods head right off his neck. I want to wake up now. Please. Soon. What did you do then? I ran. I meant to go to the big house, but sai Jefferson . . . he . . . he . . . He what? He shot at me! I dont think he meant to. I think he just saw me out of the corner of his eye and thought . . . I heard the bullet go by me. Wishhh! Thats how close it was. So I ran for the corral instead. I went between the poles. While I was crossing, I heard two more shots. Then there was more screaming. I didnt look to see, but I knew it was sai Jefferson screaming that time. This part we knew from the tracks and leavings how the thing had come charging out of the bunkhouse, how it had grabbed away the fourshot pistol and bent the barrel, how it had unzipped the ranchers guts and thrown him into the bunkhouse with his proddies. The shot Jefferson had thrown at Young Bill had saved the boys life. If not for that, he would have run straight to the big house and been slaughtered with the Jefferson womenfolk. You go into the old hostelry where we found you. Aye, so I do. And hide under the tack. But then I hear it . . . coming. He had gone back to the now way of remembering, and his words came more slowly. They were broken by bursts of weeping. I knew it was hurting him, remembering terrible things always hurts, but I pressed on. I had to, for what happened in that abandoned hostelry was the important part, and Young Bill was the only one who had been there. Twice he tried to come back to the then way of remembering, the ago. This was a sign that he was trying to struggle free of his trance, so I took him deeper. In the end I got it all. The terror hed felt as the grunting, snuffling thing approached. The way the sounds had changed, blurring into the snarls of a cat. Once it had roared, Young Bill said, and when he heard that sound, hed let loose water in his trousers. He hadnt been able to hold it. He waited for the cat to come in, knowing it would scent him where he layfrom the urineonly the cat didnt. There was silence . . . silence . . . and then more screaming. At first its the cat screaming, then it changes into a human screaming. High to begin with, its like a woman, but then it starts to go down until its a man. It screams and screams. It makes me want to scream. I thought Think, I said. You think, Bill, because its happening now. Only Im here to protect you. My guns are drawn. I think my head will split open. Then it stops . . . and it comes in. It walks up the middle to the other door, doesnt it? He shook his head. Not walks. Shuffles. Staggers. Like its hurt. It goes right past me. He. Now its he. He almost falls down, but grabs one of the stall doors and stays up. Then he goes on. He goes on a little better now. Stronger? Aye. Do you see his face? I thought I already knew the answer to that. No, only his feet, through the tack. The moons up, and I see them very well. Perhaps so, but we wouldnt be identifying the skinman from his feet, I felt quite sure. I opened my mouth, ready to start bringing him up from his trance, when he spoke again. Theres a ring around one of his ankles. I leaned forward, as if he could see me . . . and if he was deep enough, mayhap he could, even with his eyes closed. What kind of ring? Was it metal, like a manacle? I dont know what that is. Like a bridlering? You know, a hossclinkum? No, no. Like on Elrods arm, but thats a picture of a nekkid woman, and you can hardly make it out nummore. Bill, are you talking about a tattoo? In his trance, the boy smiled. Aye, thats the word. But this one wasnt a picture, just a blue ring around his ankle. A blue ring in his skin. I thought, We have you. You dont know it yet, sai skinman, but we have you. Mister, can I wake up now? I want to wake up. Is there anything else? The white mark? He seemed to be asking himself. What white mark? He shook his head slowly from side to side, and I decided to let it go. Hed had enough. Come to the sound of my voice. As you come, youll leave everything that happened last night behind, because its over. Come, Bill. Come now. Im coming. His eyes rolled back and forth behind his closed lids. Youre safe. Everything that happened at the ranch is ago. Isnt it? Yes . . . Where are we? On Debaria high road. Were going to town. I aint been there but once. My da bought me candy. Ill buy you some, too, I said, for youve done well, Young Bill of the Jefferson. Now open your eyes. He did, but at first he only looked through me. Then his eyes cleared and he gave an uncertain smile. I fell asleep. You did. And now we should push for town before the wind grows too strong. Can you do that, Bill? Aye, he said, and as he got up he added, I was dreaming of candy.    The two notsogood deputies were in the sheriffs office when we got there, one of thema fat fellow wearing a tall black hat with a gaudy rattlesnake bandtaking his ease behind Peavys desk. He eyed the guns I was wearing and got up in a hurry. Youre the gunslinger, aintcha? he said. Wellmet, wellmet, we both say so. Wheres tother one? I escorted Young Bill through the archway and into the jail without answering. The boy looked at the cells with interest but no fear. The drunk, Salty Sam, was long gone, but his aroma lingered. From behind me, the other deputy asked, What do you think youre doing, young sai? My business, I said. Go back to the office and bring me the keyring to these cells. And be quick about it, if you please. None of the smaller cells had mattresses on their bunks, so I took Young Bill to the drunkanddisorderly cell where Jamie and I had slept the night before. As I put the two straw pallets together to give the boy a little more comfortafter what hed been through, I reckoned he deserved all the comfort he could getBill looked at the chalked map on the wall. What is it, sai? Nothing to concern you, I said. Now listen to me. Im going to lock you in, but youre not to be afraid, for youve done nothing wrong. Tis but for your own safety. I have an errand that needs running, and when its done, Im going to come in there with you. And lock us both in, said he. Youd better lock us both in. In case it comes back. Do you remember it now? A little, said he, looking down. It wasnt a man . . . then it was. It killed my da. He put the heels of his hands against his eyes. Poor Da. The deputy with the black hat returned with the keys. The other was right behind him. Both were gawking at the boy as if he were a twoheaded goat in a roadshow. I took the keys. Good. Now back to the office, both of you. Seems like you might be throwing your weight around a little, youngster, Black Hat said, and the othera little man with an undershot jawnodded vigorously. Go now, I said. This boy needs rest. They looked me up and down, then went. Which was the correct thing. The only thing, really. My mood was not good. The boy kept his eyes covered until their bootheels faded back through the arch, then he lowered his hands. Will you catch him, sai? Yes. And will you kill him? Does thee want me to kill him? He considered this, and nodded. Aye. For what he did to my da, and to sai Jefferson, and all the others. Even Elrod. I closed the door of the cell, found the right key, and turned it. The keyring I hung over my wrist, for it was too big for my pocket. Ill make you a promise, Young Bill, I said. One I swear to on my fathers name. I wont kill him, but you shall be there when he swings, and with my own hand Ill give you the bread to scatter beneath his dead feet.    In the office, the two notsogood deputies eyed me with caution and dislike. That was nothing to me. I hung the keyring on the peg next to the jingjang and said, Ill be back in an hour, maybe a little less. In the meantime, no one goes into the jail. And that includes you two. Highhanded for a shaveling, the one with the undershot jaw remarked. Dont fail me in this, I said. It wouldnt be wise. Do you understand? Black Hat nodded. But the sheriff will hear how you done with us. Then youll want to have a mouth still capable of speech when he gets back, I said, and went out.    The wind had continued to strengthen, blowing clouds of gritty, saltflavored dust between the falsefronted buildings. I had Debaria high street entirely to myself except for a few hitched horses that stood with their hindquarters turned to the wind and their heads unhappily lowered. I would not leave my own sonor Millie, the mule the boy had riddenand led them down to the livery stable at the far end of the street. There the hostler was glad to take them, especially when I split him off half a gold knuck from the bundle I carried in my vest. No, he said in answer to my first question, there was no jeweler in Debaria, nor ever had been in his time. But the answer to my second question was yar, and he pointed across the street to the blacksmiths shop. The smith himself was standing in the doorway, the hem of his toolfilled leather apron flapping in the wind. I walked across and he put his fist to his forehead. Hile. I hiled him in return and told him what I wantedwhat Vannay had said I might need. He listened closely, then took the shell I handed him. It was the very one Id used to entrance Young Bill. The blackie held it up to the light. How many grains of powder does it blow, canee say? Of course I could. Fiftyseven. As many as that? Gods! Its a wonder the barrel of your revolver dont bust whenee pull the trigger! The shells in my fathers gunsthe ones I might someday carryblew seventysix, but I didnt say so. Hed likely not have believed it. Can you do what I ask, sai? I think so. He considered, then nodded. Aye. But not today. I dont like to run my smithhold hot in the wind. One loose ember and the whole town might catch ablaze. Weve had no fire department since my da was a boy. I took out my bag of gold knuckles and shook two into the palm of my hand. I considered, then added a third. The smith stared at them with wonder. He was looking at two years wages. It has to be today, I said. He grinned, showing teeth of amazing whiteness within the forest of his ginger beard. Tempting devil, get not aside! For what youre showin me, Id risk burning Gilead herself to her foundations. Youll have it by sundown. Ill have it by three. Aye, threes what I meant. To the shaved point of the minute. Good. Now tell me, which restaurant cooks the best chow in town? Theres only two, and neither of emll make you remember your mothers bird puddin, but neitherll poisonee. Raceys Caf is probably the better. That was good enough for me; I thought a growing boy like Bill Streeter would take quantity over quality any day. I headed for the caf, now working against the wind. Itll be a fullgoing simoom by dark, the boy had told me, and I thought he was right. He had been through a lot, and needed time to rest. Now that I knew about the ankle tattoo, I might not need him at all . . . but the skinman wouldnt know that. And in the jail, Young Bill was safe. At least I hoped so.    It was stew, and I could have sworn it had been seasoned with alkali grit instead of salt, but the kid ate all of his and finished mine as well when I put it aside. One of the notsogood deputies had made coffee, and we drank that from tin cups. We made our meal right there in the cell, sitting crosslegged on the floor. I listened for the jingjang, but it stayed quiet. I wasnt surprised. Even if Jamie and the High Sheriff came near one at their end, the wind had probably taken the wires down. I guess you know all about these storms you call simooms, I said to Young Bill. Oh, yes, he said. This is the season for em. The proddies hate em and the pokies hate em even more, because if theyre out on the range, they have to sleep rough. And they cant have a fire at night, accourse, because of Because of the embers, I said, remembering the blacksmith. Just as you say. Stew all gone, is it? So it is, but theres one more thing. I handed over a little sack. He looked inside it and lit up. Candy! Rollers and chockertwists! He extended the bag. Here, you have the first. I took one of the little chocolate twists, then pushed the bag back to him. You have the rest. If it wont make your belly sick, that is. It wont! And he dived in. It did me good to see him. After the third roller went into his gob, he cheeked itwhich made him look like a squirrel with a nutand said, Whatll happen to me, sai? Now that my das gone? I dont know, but therell be water if God wills it. I already had an idea where that water might be. If we could put paid to the skinman, a certain large lady named Everlynne would owe us a good turn, and I doubt if Bill Streeter would be the first stray shed taken in. I returned to the subject of the simoom. How much will it strengthen? Itll blow a gale tonight. Probably after midnight. And by noon tomorrow, itll be gone. Does thee know where the salties live? Aye, Ive even been there. Once with my da, to see the races they sometimes have up there, and once with some proddies looking for strays. The salties take em in, and we pay with hard biscuit for the ones that have the Jefferson brand. My trailmates gone there with Sheriff Peavy and a couple of others. Think they have any chance of getting back before nightfall? I felt sure he would say no, but he surprised me. Being as its all downhill from Salt Villagewhich is on this side of Little DebariaId say they could. If they rode hard. That made me glad Id told the blacksmith to hurry, although I knew better than to trust the reckoning of a mere boy. Listen to me, Young Bill. When they come back, I expect theyll have some of the salties with em. Maybe a dozen, maybe as many as twenty. Jamie and I may have to walk em through the jail for you to look at, but you neednt be afraid, because the door of this cell will be locked. And you dont have to say anything, just look. If youre thinking I can tell which one killed my da, I cant. I dont even remember if I saw him. You probably wont have to see them at all, I said. This I truly believed. Wed have them into the sheriffs office by threes, and have them hike their pants. When we found the one with the blue ring tattooed around his ankle, wed have our man. Not that he was a man. Not anymore. Not really. Wouldnt you like another chocker, sai? Theres three left, and I cant eat nummore. Save them for later, I said, and got up. His face clouded. Will you come back? I dont want to be in here on my own. Aye, Ill come back. I stepped out, locked the cell door, then tossed the keys to him through the bars. Let me in when I do.    The fat deputy with the black hat was Strother. The one with the undershot jaw was Pickens. They looked at me with care and mistrust, which I thought a good combination, coming from the likes of them. I could work with care and mistrust. If I asked you fellows about a man with a blue ring tattooed on his ankle, would it mean anything to you? They exchanged a glance and then Black HatStrothersaid, The stockade. What stockade would that be? Already I didnt like the sound of it. Beelie Stockade, Pickens said, looking at me as if I were the utterest of utter idiots. Does thee not know of it? And thee a gunslinger? Beelie Towns west of here, isnt it? I asked. Was, Strother said. Its Beelie Ghost Town now. Harriers tore through it five year ago. Some say John Farsons men, but I dont believe that. Never in life. Twas plain old gardenvariety outlaws. Once there was a militia outpostback in the days when there was a militiaand Beelie Stockade was their place o business. It was where the circuit judge sent thieves and murderers and card cheats. Witches n warlocks, too, Pickens volunteered.


He wore the face of a man remembering the good old days, when the railroad trains ran on time and the jingjang no doubt rang more often, with calls from more places. Practicers of the dark arts. Once they took a cannibal, Strother said. He ate his wife. This caused him to give out with a foolish giggle, although whether it was the eating or the relationship that struck him funny I couldnt say. He was hung, that fellow, Pickens said. He bit off a chunk of chew and worked it with his peculiar jaw. He still looked like a man remembering a better, rosier past. There was lots of hangings at Beelie Stockade in those days. I went several times wi my da and my marmar to see em. Marmar allus packed a lunch. He nodded slowly and thoughtfully. Aye, many and manya. Lots o folks came. There was booths and clever people doing clever things such as juggling. Sometimes there was dogfights in a pit, but accourse it was the hangins that was the real show. He chuckled. I remember this one fella who kicked a regular commala when the drop didnt break is Whats this to do with blue ankle tattoos? Oh, Strother said, recalled to the initial subject. Anyone who ever did time in Beelie had one of those put on, ysee. Although I disremember if it was for punishment or just identification in case they ran off from one o the work gangs. All that stopped ten year ago, when the stockade closed. Thats why the harriers was able to have their way with the town, you knowbecause the militia left and the stockade closed. Now we have to deal with all the bad element and riffraff ourselves. He eyed me up and down in the most insolent way. We dont get much help from Gilead these days. Nawp. Apt to get more from John Farson, and theres some thatd send a parlayparty west to ask him. Perhaps he saw something in my eyes, because he sat up a little straighter in his chair and said, Not me, accourse. Never. I believe in the straight law and the Line of Eld. So do we all, Pickens said, nodding vigorously. Would you want to guess if some of the saltminers did time in Beelie Stockade before it was decommissioned? I asked. Strother appeared to consider, then said Oh, probably a few. Nummoren four in every ten, I should say. In later years I learned to control my face, but those were early times, and he must have seen my dismay. It made him smile. I doubt if he knew how close that smile brought him to suffering. Id had a difficult two days, and the boy weighed heavily on my mind. Who didee think would take a job digging salt blocks out of a miserable hole in the ground for penny wages? Strother asked. Model citizens? It seemed that Young Bill would have to look at a few of the salties, after all. Wed just have to hope the fellow we wanted didnt know the ring tattoo was the only part of him the kid had seen.    When I went back to the cell, Young Bill was lying on the pallets, and I thought hed gone to sleep, but at the sound of my bootheels he sat up. His eyes were red, his cheeks wet. Not sleeping, then, but mourning. I let myself in, sat down beside him, and put an arm around his shoulders. This didnt come naturally to meI know what comfort and sympathy are, but Ive never been much good at giving such. I knew what it was to lose a parent, though. Young Bill and Young Roland had that much in common. Did you finish your candy? I asked. Dont want the rest, he said, and sighed. Outside the wind boomed hard enough to shake the building, then subsided. I hate that sound, he saidjust what Jamie DeCurry had said. It made me smile a little. And I hate being in here. Its like I did something wrong. You didnt, I said. Maybe not, but it already seems like Ive been here forever. Cooped up. And if they dont get back before nightfall, Ill have to stay longer. Wont I? Ill keep you company, I said. If those deputies have a deck of cards, we can play Jacks Pop Up. For babies, said he, morosely. Then Watch Me or poker. Can thee play those? He shook his head, then brushed at his cheeks. The tears were flowing again. Ill teach thee. Well play for matchsticks. Id rather hear the story you talked about when we stopped in the sheppies layby. I dont remember the name. The Wind Through the Keyhole, I said. But its a long one, Bill. We have time, dont we? I couldnt argue that. There are scary bits in it, too. Those things are all right for a boy such as I wassitting up in his bed with his mother beside himbut after what youve been through . . . Dont care, he said. Stories take a person away. If theyre good ones, that is. It is a good one? Yes. I always thought so, anyway. Then tell it. He smiled a little. Ill even let you have two of the last three chockers. Those are yours, but I might roll a smoke. I thought about how to begin. Do you know stories that start, Once upon a bye, before your grandfathers grandfather was born? They all start that way. At least, the ones my da told me. Before he said I was too old for stories. A persons never too old for stories, Bill. Man and boy, girl and woman, never too old. We live for them. Do you say so? I do. I took out my tobacco and papers. I rolled slowly, for in those days it was a skill yet new to me. When I had a smoke just to my likingone with the draw end tapered to a pinholeI struck a match on the wall. Bill sat crosslegged on the straw pallets. He took one of the chockers, rolled it between his fingers much as Id rolled my smoke, then tucked it into his cheek. I started slowly and awkwardly, because storytelling was another thing that didnt come naturally to me in those days . . . although it was a thing I learned to do well in time. I had to. All gunslingers have to. And as I went along, I began to speak more naturally and easily. Because I began hearing my mothers voice. It began to speak through my own mouth every rise, dip, and pause. I could see him fall into the tale, and that pleased meit was like hypnotizing him again, but in a better way. A more honest way. The best part, though, was hearing my mothers voice. It was like having her again, coming out from far inside me. It hurt, of course, but more often than not the best things do, Ive found. You wouldnt think it could be so, butas the oldtimers used to saythe worlds tilted, and theres an end to it. Once upon a bye, before your grandfathers grandfather was born, on the edge of an unexplored wilderness called the Endless Forest, there lived a boy named Tim with his mother, Nell, and his father, Big Ross. For a time, the three of them lived happily enough, although they owned little. . . . THE SKINMAN (Part 1) Once upon a bye, long before your grandfathers grandfather was born, on the edge of an unexplored wilderness called the Endless Forest, there lived a boy named Tim with his mother, Nell, and his father, Big Ross. For a time the three of them lived happily enough, although they owned little. I have only four things to pass on to you, Big Ross told his son, but fours enough. Can you say them to me, young boy? Tim had said them to him many and manya, but never tired of it. Thy ax, thy lucky coin, thy plot, and thy place, which is as good as the place of any king or gunslinger in MidWorld. He would then pause and add, My mama, too. That makes five. Big Ross would laugh and kiss the boys brow as he lay in his bed, for this catechism usually came at the end of the day. Behind them, in the doorway, Nell waited to put her kiss on top of her husbands. Aye, Big Ross would say, we must never forget Mama, for wiout her, alls for naught. So Tim would go off to sleep, knowing he was loved, and knowing he had a place in the world, and listening to the night wind slip its strange breath over the cottage sweet with the scent of the blossiewood at the edge of the Endless Forest, and faintly sourbut still pleasantwith the smell of the ironwood trees deeper in, where only brave men dared go. Those were good years, but as we knowfrom stories and from lifethe good years never last long. One day, when Tim was eleven, Big Ross and his partner, Big Kells, drove their wagons down Main Road to where the Ironwood Trail entered the forest, as they did every morning save the seventh, when all in the village of Tree rested. On this day, however, only Big Kells came back. His skin was sooty and his jerkin charred. There was a hole in the left leg of his homespun pants. Red and blistered flesh peeped through it. He slumped on the seat of his wagon, as if too weary to sit up straight. Nell Ross came to the door of her house and cried, Where is Big Ross? Where is my husband? Big Kells shook his head slowly from side to side. Ash sifted out of his hair and onto his shoulders. He spoke only a single word, but one was enough to turn Tims knees to water. His mother began to shriek. The word was dragon. No one living today has ever seen the like of the Endless Forest, for the world has moved on. It was dark and full of dangers. The woodsmen of Tree Village knew it better than anyone in MidWorld, and even they knew nothing of what might live or grow ten wheels beyond the place where the blossie groves ended and the ironwood treesthose tall, brooding sentinelsbegan. The great depths were a mystery filled with strange plants, stranger animals, stinking weirdmarshes, andso twas saidleavings of the Old People that were often deadly. The folken of Tree feared the Endless Forest, and rightly so; Big Ross wasnt the first woodsman who went down Ironwood Trail and did not come back. Yet they loved it, too, for twas ironwood fed and clothed their families. They understood (though none would have said so aloud) that the forest was alive. And, like all living things, it needed to eat. Imagine that you were a bird flying above that great tract of wildland. From up there it might look like a giant dress of a green so dark it was almost black. Along the bottom of the dress was a hem of lighter green. These were the blossiewood groves. Just below the blossies, at the farthest edge of Northrd Barony, was the village of Tree. It was the last town in what was then a civilized country. Once Tim asked his father what civilized meant. Taxes, Big Ross said, and laughedbut not in a funny way. Most of the woodsmen went no farther than the blossie groves. Even there, sudden dangers could arise. Snakes were the worst, but there were also poisonous rodents called wervels that were the size of dogs. Many men had been lost in the blossies over the years, but on the whole, blossie was worth the risk. It was a lovely finegrained wood, golden in color and almost light enough to float on air. It made fine lake and rivercraft, but was no good for sea travel; even a moderate gale would tear apart a boat made of blossie. For sea travel ironwood was wanted, and ironwood brought a high price from Hodiak, the barony buyer who came twice a year to the Tree sawmill. It was ironwood that gave the Endless Forest its greenblack hue, and only the bravest woodsmen dared go after it, for there were dangers along the Ironwood Trailwhich barely pierced the skin of the Endless Forest, rememberthat made the snakes, wervels, and mutie bees of the blossie groves seem mild by comparison. Dragons, for instance. So it was that in his eleventh year, Tim Ross lost his da. Now there was no ax and no lucky coin hanging around Big Rosss burly neck on its fine silver chain. Soon there might be no plot in the village or place in the world, either. For in those days, when the time of Wide Earth came around, the Barony Covenanter came with it. He carried a scroll of parchment paper, and the name of every family in Tree was writ upon it, along with a number. That number was the amount of tax. If you could pay itfour or six or eight silver knucks, even a gold one for the largest of the freeholdsall was well. If you couldnt, the Barony took your plot and you were turned out on the land. There was no appeal. Tim went halfdays to the cottage of the Widow Smack, who kept school and was paid in foodusually vegetables, sometimes a bit of meat. Long ago, before the bloodsores had come on her and eaten off half her face (so the children whispered, although none had actually seen it), she had been a great lady in the barony estates far away (or so the childrens elders claimed, although none actually knew). Now she wore a veil and taught likely lads, and even a few lassies, how to read and practice the slightly questionable art known as mathmatica. She was a fearsomely smart woman who took no guff, and most days she was tireless. Her pupils usually came to love her in spite of her veil, and the horrors they imagined might lie beneath it. But on occasion she would begin to tremble all over, and cry that her poor head was splitting, and that she must lie down. On these days she would send the children home, sometimes commanding them to tell their parents that she regretted nothing, least of all her beautiful prince. Sai Smack had one of her fugues about a month after the dragon burned Big Ross to ashes, and when Tim came back to his cottage, which was called Goodview, he looked in the kitchen window and saw his mother crying with her head on the table. He dropped the slate with his mathmatica problems on it (long division, which he had feared but turned out to be only backwards multiplication) and rushed to her side. She looked up at him and tried to smile. The contrast between her upturned lips and her streaming eyes made Tim feel like crying himself. It was the look of a woman at the end of her tether. What is it, Mama? Whats wrong? Just thinking of your father. Sometimes I miss him so. Why are you home early? He began to tell her, but stopped when he saw the leather purse with the drawstring top. She had put one of her arms over it, as if to hide it from him, and when she saw him looking, she swept it off the table and into her lap. Now Tim was far from a stupid boy, so he made tea before saying anything else. When she had drunk somewith sugar, which he insisted she take, although there was little enough left in the potand had calmed, he asked her what else was wrong. I dont know what you mean. Why were you counting our money? What little there is to count, said she. Covenant Man will be here once Reaptides goneaye, while the embers of the bonfire are still hot, if I know his waysand what then? Hell want six silver knuckles this year, praps as many as eight, for taxes have gone up, so they do say, probably another of their stupid wars somewhere far from here, soldiers with their banners flying, aye, very fine. How much do we have? Four and a scrap of a fifth. We have no livestock to sell, nor a single round of ironwood since your father died. What shall we do? She began to cry again. What shall we do? Tim was as frightened as she was, but since there was no man to comfort her, he held his own tears back and put his arms around her and soothed her as best he could. If we had his ax and his coin, Id sell them to Destry, she said at last. Tim was horrified even though the ax and lucky coin were gone, burned in the same fiery blast that had taken their cheerful, goodhearted owner. You never would! Aye. To keep his plot and his place, I would. Those were the things he truly cared about, and thee, and me. Could he speak hed say Do it, Nell, and welcome, for Destry has hard coin. She sighed. But then would come old Barony Covenant Man next year . . . and the year after that . . . She put her hands over her face. Oh, Tim, we shall be turned out on the land, and theres not one thing I can think to change it. Can you? Tim would have given everything he owned (which was very little) to be able to give her an answer, but he could not. He could only ask how long it would be before the Covenant Man would appear in Tree on his tall black horse, sitting astride a saddle worth more than Big Ross had made in twentyfive years of risking his life on that narrow track known as the Ironwood Trail. She held up four fingers. This many weeks if the weather is fair. She held up four more. This many if its foul, and hes held up in the farming villages of the Middles. Eight is the most we can hope for, I think. And then . . . Something will happen before he comes, Tim said. Da always said that the forest gives to them that love it. All Ive ever seen it do is take, said Nell, and covered her face again. When he tried to put an arm around her, she shook her head. Tim trudged out to get his slate. He had never felt so sad and frightened. Something will happen to change it, he thought. Please let something happen to change it. The worst thing about wishes is that sometimes they come true. That was a rich Full Earth in Tree; even Nell knew it, although the ripe land was bitter in her eye. The following year she and Tim might be following the crops with burlap rucksacks on their backs, farther and farther from the Endless Forest, and that made summers beauty hard to look at. The forest was a terrible place, and it had taken her man, but it was the only place she had ever known. At night, when the wind blew from the north, it stole to her bed through her open window like a lover, bringing its own special smell, one both bitter and sweet, like blood and strawberries. Sometimes when she slept, she dreamed of its deep tilts and secret corridors, and of sunshine so diffuse that it glowed like old green brass. The smell of the forest when the winds out of the north brings visions, the old folken said. Nell didnt know if this was true or just chimneycorner blather, but she knew the smell of the Endless Forest was the smell of life as well as death. And she knew that Tim loved it as his father had. As she herself had (although often against her will). She had secretly feared the day when the boy would grow tall enough and strong enough to go down that dangerous trail with his da, but now she found herself sorry that day would never come. Sai Smack and her mathmatica were all very well, but Nell knew what her son truly wanted, and she hated the dragon that had stolen it from him. Probably it had been a shedragon, and only protecting her egg, but Nell hated it just the same. She hoped the plated yelloweyed bitch would swallow her own fire, as the old stories said they sometimes did, and explode. One day not so many after Tim had arrived home early and found her in tears, Big Kells came calling on Nell. Tim had gotten two weeks work helping farmer Destry with the haycutting, so she was by her onesome in her garden, weeding on her knees. When she saw her late husbands friend and partner, she got to her feet and wiped her dirty hands on the burlap apron she called her weddiken. A single look at his clean hands and carefully trimmed beard was enough to tell her why hed come. Once upon a bye, Nell Robertson, Jack Ross, and Bern Kells had been children together, and great pals. Littermates from different litters, people of the village sometimes said when they saw the three together; in those days they were inseparable. When they grew to young manhood, both boys fancied her. And while she loved them both, it was Big Ross she burned for, Big Ross shed wed and taken to bed (although whether that was the order of it no one knew, nor really cared). Big Kells had taken it as well as any man can. He stood beside Ross at the wedding, and slipped the silk around them for their walk back down the aisle when the preacher was done. When Kells took it off them at the door (although it never really comes off, so they do say), he kissed them both and wished them a lifetime of long days and pleasant nights. Although the afternoon Kells came to her in the garden was hot, he was wearing a broadcloth jacket. From the pocket he took a loosely knotted length of silk rope, as she knew he would. A woman knows. Even if shes long married, a woman knows, and Kellss heart had never changed. Willee? he asked. Ifee will, Ill sell my place to Old Destryhe wants it, for it sits next to his east fieldand keep thisun. Covenant Mans coming, Nellie, and hell have his hand out. With no man, howllee fill it? I cannot, as thee knows, said she. Then tell meshall we slip the rope? She wiped her hands nervously on her weddiken, although they were already as clean as theyd be without water from the creek. I . . . I need to think about it. Whats to think about? He took his bandannaneatly folded in his pocket instead of tied loosely, woodsmanstyle, around his neckand mopped his forehead with it. Eitheree do and we go on in Tree as we always haveIll find the boy something to work at thatll bring in a little, although hes far too wee for the woodsor ye and hell go on the land. I can share, but I cant give, much as I might like to. I have only one place to sell, kennit. She thought, Hes trying to buy me to fill the empty side of the bed that Millicent left behind. But that seemed an unworthy thought for a man shed known long before he was a man, and one who had worked for years by her beloved husbands side in the dark and dangerous trees near the end of the Ironwood Trail. One to watch and one to work, the oldtimers said. Pull together and never apart. Now that Jack Ross was gone, Bern Kells was asking her to pull with him. It was natural. Yet she hesitated. Come tomorrow at this same time, if you still have a mind, Nell told him. Ill give thee an answer then. He didnt like it; she saw he didnt like it; she saw something in his eyes that she had occasionally glimpsed when she had been a green girl sparked by two likely lads and the envy of all her friends. That look was what caused her to hesitate, even though he had appeared like an angel, offering herand Tim, of coursea way out of the terrible dilemma that had come with Big Rosss death. Perhaps he saw her seeing it, for he dropped his gaze. He studied his feet for a bit, and when he looked up again, he was smiling. It made him almost as handsome as hed been as a youth . . . but never so handsome as Jack Ross. Tomorrow, then. But no longer. They have a saying in the Westrds, my dear. Look not long at whats offered, for every precious thing has wings and may fly away. She washed at the edge of the creek, stood smelling the sweetsour aroma of the forest for a bit, then went inside and lay down upon her bed. It was unheard of for Nell Ross to be horizontal while the sun was still in the sky, but she had much to think of and much to remember from those days when two young woodsmen had vied for her kisses. Even if her blood had called toward Bern Kells (not yet Big Kells in those days, although his father was dead, slain in the woods by a vurt or some such nightmare) instead of Jack Ross, she wasnt sure she would have slipped the rope with him. Kells was goodhumored and laughing when he was sober, and as steady as sand through a glass, but he could be angry and quick with his fists when he was drunk. And he was drunk often in those days. His binges grew longer and more frequent after Ross and Nell were wed, and on many occasions he woke up in jail. Jack had borne it awhile, but after a binge where Kells had destroyed most of the furniture in the saloon before passing out, Nell told her husband something had to be done. Big Ross reluctantly agreed. He got his partner and old friend out of jailas he had many times beforebut this time he spoke to him frankly instead of just telling Kells to go jump in the creek and stay there until his head was clear. Listen to me, Bern, and with both ears. Youve been my friend since I could toddle, and my pard since we were old enough to go past the blossie and into the ironwood on our own. Youve watched my back and Ive watched yours. Theres not a man I trust more, when youre sober. But once you pour the redeye down your throat, youre no more reliable than quickmud. I cant go into the forest alone, and everything I haveeverything we both haveis at risk if I cant depend onee. Id hate to cast about for a new pard, but fair warning I have a wife and a kiddy on the way, and Ill do what I have to do. Kells continued his drinking, brawling, and bawding for a few more months, as if to spite his old friend (and his old friends new wife). Big Ross was on the verge of severing their partnership when the miracle happened. It was a small miracle, hardly more than five feet from toes to crown, and her name was Millicent Redhouse. What Bern Kells would not do for Big Ross, he did for Milly. When she died in childbirth six seasons later (and the babby soon aftereven before the flush of labor had faded from the poor womans dead cheek, the midwife confided to Nell), Ross was gloomy. Hell go back for the drink now, and gods know what will become of him. But Big Kells stayed sober, and when his business happened to bring him into the vicinity of Gittys Saloon, he crossed to the other side of the street. He said it had been Millys dying request, and to do otherwise would be an insult to her memory. Ill die before I take another drink, he said. He had kept this promise . . . but Nell sometimes felt his eyes upon her. Often, even. He had never touched her in a way that could be called intimate, or even forward, had never stolen so much as a Reaptide kiss, but she felt his eyes. Not as a man looks at a friend, or at a friends wife, but as a man looks at a woman. Tim came home an hour before sunset with hay stuck to every visible inch of his sweaty skin, but happy. Farmer Destry had paid him in scrip for the town store, a fairish sum, and his goodwife had added a sack of her sweet peppers and busturd tomatoes. Nell took the scrip and the sack, thanked him, kissed him, gave him a wellstuffed popkin, and sent him down to the spring to bathe. Ahead of him, as he stood in the cold water, ran the dreaming, mistbanded fields toward the Inners and Gilead. To his left bulked the forest, which began less than a wheel away. In there it was twilight even at noonday, his father had said. At the thought of his father, his happiness at being paid a mans wages (or almost) for a days work ran out of him like grain from a sack with a hole in it. This sorrow came often, but it always surprised him. He sat for a while on a big rock with his knees drawn up to his chest and his head cradled in his arms. To be taken by a dragon so close to the edge of the forest was unlikely and terribly unfair, but it had happened before. His father wasnt the first and wouldnt be the last. His mothers voice came floating to him over the fields, calling him to come in and have some real supper. Tim called cheerily back to her, then knelt on the rock to splash cold water on his eyes, which felt swollen, although he had shed no tears. He dressed quickly and trotted up the slope. His mother had lit the lamps, for the gloaming had come, and they cast long rectangles of light across her neat little garden. Tired but happy againfor boys turn like weathercocks, so they doTim hurried into the welcoming glow of home. When the meal was done and the few dishes ridded between them, Nell said Id talk to you mother to son, Tim . . . and a bit more. Youre old enough to work a little now, youll soon be leaving your childhood behindsooner than Id likeand you deserve a say in what happens. Is it about the Covenant Man, Mama? In a way, but I . . . I think more than that. She came close to saying I fear instead of I think, but why would she? There was a hard decision to be made, an important decision, but what was there to fear? She led the way into their sitting roomso cozy Big Ross had almost been able to touch the opposing walls when he stood in the middle with his arms outstretchedand there, as they sat before the cold hearth (for it was a warm Full Earth night), she told him all that had passed between Big Kells and herself. Tim listened with surprise and mounting unease. So, Nell said when she had finished. What does thee think? But before he could answerperhaps she saw in his face the worry she felt in her own heartshe rushed on. Hes a good man, and was more brother than mate to your da. I believe he cares for me, and cares for thee. No, thought Tim, Im just what comes in the same saddlebag. He never even looks at me. Unless I happened to be with Da, that is. Or with you. Mama, I dont know. The thought of Big Kells in the houselying next to Mama in his das placemade him feel light in his stomach, as if his supper had not set well. In truth, it no longer was sitting well. Hes quit the drink, she said. Now she seemed to be talking to herself instead of to him. Years ago. He could be wild as a youth, but your da tamed him. And Millicent, of course. Maybe, but neither of them is here anymore, Tim pointed out. And Ma, he hasnt found anyone yet to partner him on the Ironwood. He goes acutting on his own, and thats dead risky. Its early days yet, she said. Hell find someone to partner up with, for hes strong and he knows where the good stands are. Your father showed him how to find them when they were both fresh to the work, and they have fine stakeouts near the place where the trail ends. Tim knew this was so, but was less sure Kells would find someone to partner with. He thought the other woodcutters kept clear of him. They seemed to do it without knowing they were doing it, the way a seasoned woodsman would detour around a poisonthorn bush, even if he only saw it from the corner of his eye. Maybe Im only making that up, he thought. I dont know, he said again. A rope thats slipped in church cant be unslipped. Nell laughed nervously. Where in Full Earth did thee hear that? From you, Tim said. She smiled. Yar, praps thee did, for my mouths hung in the middle and runs at both ends. Well sleep on it, and see clearer in the morning. But neither of them slept much. Tim lay wondering what it would be like to have Big Kells as a steppa. Would he be good to them? Would he take Tim into the forest with him to begin learning the woodsmans life? That would be fine, he thought, but would his mother want him going into the line of work that had killed her husband? Or would she want him to stay south of the Endless Forest? To be a farmer? I like Destry well enough, he thought, but Id never in life be a farmer. Not with the Endless Forest so close, and so much of the world to see. Nell lay a wall away, with her own uncomfortable thoughts. Mostly she wondered what their lives would be like if she refused Kellss offer and they were turned out on the land, away from the only place theyd ever known. What their lives would be like if the Barony Covenanter rode up on his tall black horse and they had nothing to give him. The next day was even hotter, but Big Kells came wearing the same broadcloth coat. His face was red and shining. Nell told herself she didnt smell graf on his breath, and if she did, what of it? Twas only hard cider, and any man might take a drink or two before going to hear a womans decision. Besides, her mind was made up. Or almost. Before he could ask his question, she spoke boldly. As boldly as she was able, anyhap. My boy reminds me that a rope slipped in church cant be unslipped. Big Kells frowned, although whether it was the mention of the boy or the marriageloop that fashed him, she could not tell. Aye, and what of that? Only will you be good to Tim and me? Aye, good as I can be. His frown deepened. She couldnt tell if it was anger or puzzlement. She hoped for puzzlement. Men who could cut and chop and dare beasts in the deep wood often found themselves lost in affairs like this, she knew, and at the thought of Big Kells lost, her heart opened to him. Set your word on it? she asked. The frown eased. White flashed in his neatly trimmed black beard as he smiled. Aye, by watch and by warrant. Then I say yes. And so they were wed. That is where many stories end; its where this onesad to sayreally begins. There was graf at the wedding reception, and for a man who no longer drank spirits, Big Kells tossed a goodly amount down his gullet. Tim viewed this with unease, but his mother appeared not to notice.


Another thing that made Tim uneasy was how few of the other woodsmen showed up, although it was Ethday. If he had been a girl instead of a boy, he might have noticed something else. Several of the women whom Nell counted among her friends were looking at her with expressions of guarded pity. That night, long after midnight, he was awakened by a thump and a cry that might have been part of a dream, but it seemed to come through the wall from the room his mother now shared (true, but not yet possible to believe) with Big Kells. Tim lay listening, and had almost dropped off to sleep again when he heard quiet weeping. This was followed by the voice of his new steppa, low and gruff Shut it, cant you? You aint a bit hurt, theres no blood, and I have to be up with the birdies. The sounds of crying stopped. Tim listened, but there was no more talk. Shortly after Big Kellss snores began, he fell asleep. The next morning, while she was at the stove frying eggs, Tim saw a bruise on his mothers arm above the inside of her elbow. Its nothing, Nell said when she saw him looking. I had to get up in the night to do the necessary, and bumped it on the bedpost. Ill have to get used to finding my way in the dark again, now that Im not alone. Tim thought, Yarthats what Im afraid of. When the second Ethday of his married life came round, Big Kells took Tim with him to the house that now belonged to Baldy Anderson, Trees other big farmer. They went in Kellss woodwagon. The mules stepped lightly with no rounds or strakes of ironwood to haul; today there were only a few little piles of sawdust in the back of the wagon. And that lingering sweetsour smell, of course, the smell of the deep woods. Kellss old place looked sad and abandoned with its shutters closed and the tall, unscythed grass growing up to the splintery porch slats. Once I get my gunna outn it, let Baldy take it all for kindling, do it please im, Kells grunted. Fine wi me. As it turned out, there were only two things he wanted from the housea dirty old footrest and a large leather trunk with straps and a brass lock. This was in the bedroom, and Kells stroked it as if it were a pet. Cant leave this, he said. Never this. Twas my fathers. Tim helped him get it outside, but Kells had to do most of the work. The trunk was very heavy. When it was in the wagonbed, Big Kells leaned over with his hands on the knees of his newly (and neatly) mended trousers. At last, when the purple patches began to fade from his cheeks, he stroked the trunk again, and with a gentleness Tim had as yet not seen applied to his mother. All I own stowed in one trunk. As for the house, did Baldy pay the price I should have had? He looked at Tim challengingly, as if expecting an argument on this subject. I dont know, Tim said cautiously. Folk say sai Andersons close. Kells laughed harshly. Close? Close? Tight as a virgins cootchie is what he is. Nar, nar, I got crumbs instead of a slice, for he knew I couldnt afford to wait. Help me tie up this tailboard, boy, and be not sluggardly. Tim was not sluggardly. He had his side of the tailboard roped tight before Kells had finished tying his in a sloppy ollieknot that would have made his father laugh. When he was finally done, Big Kells gave his trunk another of those queerly affectionate caresses. All in here now, all I have. Baldy knew I had to have silver before Wide Earth, didnt he? Old You Know Who is coming, and hell have his hand out. He spat between his old scuffed boots. This is all your mas fault. Mas fault? Why? Didnt you want to marry her? Watch your mouth, boy. Kells looked down, seemed surprised to see a fist where his hand had been, and opened his fingers. Youre too young to understand. When youre older, youll find out how women can get the good of a man. Lets go on back. Halfway to the driving seat, he stopped and looked across the stowed trunk at the boy. I love yer ma, and thats enough for you to be going on with. And as the mules trotted up the village high street, Big Kells sighed and added, I loved yer da, too, and how I miss im. Taint the same wiout him beside me in the woods, or seein Misty and Bitsy up the trail ahead of me. At this Tims heart opened a little to the big, slumpshouldered man with the reins in his handsin spite of himself, reallybut before the feeling had any chance to grow, Big Kells spoke again. Yeve had enough of books and numbers and that weirdy Smack woman. She with her veils and shakeshow she manages to wipe her arse after she shits is more than Ill ever know. Tims heart seemed to clap shut in his chest. He loved learning things, and he loved the Widow Smackveil, shakes, and all. It dismayed him to hear her spoken of with such crude cruelty. What would I do, then? Go into the woods with you? He could see himself on Das wagon, behind Misty and Bitsy. That would not be so bad. No, not so bad at all. Kells barked a laugh. You? In the woods? And not yet twelve? Ill be twelve next m You wont be big enough to lumber on the Ironwood Trail at twice that age, foree take after yer mas side of things, and will be Sma Ross all yer life. That bark of laughter again. Tim felt his face grow hot at the sound of it. No, lad, Ive spoke a place foree at the sawmill. You aint too sma to stack boards. Yell start after harvests done, and before first snow. What does Mama say? Tim tried to keep the dismay out of his voice and failed. She dont get aye, no, or maybe in the matter. Im her husband, and that makes me the one to decide. He snapped the reins across the backs of the plodding mules. Hup! Tim went down to Tree Sawmill three days later, with one of the Destry boysStraw Willem, so called for his nearly colorless hair. Both were hired on to stack, but they would not be needed for yet awhile, and only parttime, at least to begin with. Tim had brought his fathers mules, which needed the exercise, and the boys rode back side by side. Thought you said your new steppoppa didnt drink, Willem said, as they passed Gittyswhich at midday was shuttered tight, its barrelhouse piano silent. He doesnt, Tim said, but he remembered the wedding reception. Do you say so? I guess the fella my big brother seed rollin out of yonder redeye last night mustve been some other orphingboys steppa, because Randy said he was as sloshed as a shindybug and heavin up over the hitchinrail. Having said this, Willem snapped his suspenders, as he always did when he felt hed gotten off a good one. Should have let you walk back to town, you stupid git, Tim thought. That night, his mother woke him again. Tim sat bolt upright in bed and swung his feet out onto the floor, then froze. Kellss voice was soft, but the wall between the two rooms was thin. Shut it, woman. If you wake the boy and get him in here, Ill give you double. Her crying ceased. It was a slip, is alla mistake. I went in with Mellon just to have a gingerbeer and hear about his new stake, and someone put a glass of jackaroe in front of me. It was down my throat before I knew what I was drinking, and then I was off. Twont happen again. Ye have my word on it. Tim lay back down again, hoping that was true. He looked up at a ceiling he could not see, and listened to an owl, and waited for either sleep or the first light of morning. It seemed to him that if the wrong man stepped into the marriageloop with a woman, it was a noose instead of a ring. He prayed that wasnt the case here. He already knew he couldnt like his mothers new husband, let alone love him, but perhaps his mother could do both. Women were different. They had larger hearts. Tim was still thinking these long thoughts as dawn tinted the sky and he finally fell asleep. That day there were bruises on both of his mothers arms. The bedpost in the room she now shared with Big Kells had grown very lively, it seemed. Full Earth gave way to Wide Earth, as it always must. Tim and Straw Willem went to work stacking at the sawmill, but only three days a week. The foreman, a decent sai named Rupert Venn, told them they might get more time if that seasons snowfall was light and the winter haul was goodmeaning the ironwood rounds that cutters such as Kells brought back from the forest. Nells bruises faded and her smile came back. Tim thought it a more cautious smile than before, but it was better than no smile at all. Kells hitched his mules and went down the Ironwood Trail, and although the stakes he and Big Ross had claimed were good ones, he still had no one to partner him. He consequently brought back less haul, but ironwood was ironwood, and ironwood always sold for a good price, one paid in shards of silver rather than scrip. Sometimes Tim wonderedusually as he was wheeling boards into one of the sawmills long covered shedsif life might be better were his new steppoppa to fall afoul a snake or a wervel. Perhaps even a vurt, those nasty flying things sometimes known as bulletbirds. One such had done for Bern Kellss father, boring a hole right through him with its stony beak. Tim pushed these thoughts away with horror, amazed to find that some room in his heartsome black roomcould hold such things. His father, Tim was sure, would be ashamed. Perhaps was ashamed, for some said that those in the clearing at the end of the path knew all the secrets the living kept from each other. At least he no longer smelled graf on his stepfathers breath, and there were no more storiesfrom Straw Willem or anyone elseof Big Kells reeling out of the redeye when Old Gitty shut and locked the doors. He promised and hes keeping his promise, Tim thought. And the bedpost has stopped moving around in Mamas room, because she doesnt have those bruises. Lifes begun to come right. Thats the thing to remember. When he got home from the sawmill on the days he had work, his mother would have supper on the stove. Big Kells would come in later, first stopping to wash the sawdust from his hands, arms, and neck at the spring between the house and the barn, then gobbling his own supper. He ate prodigious amounts, calling for seconds and thirds that Nell brought promptly. She didnt speak when she did this; if she did, her new husband would only growl a response. Afterward, he would go into the back hall, sit on his trunk, and smoke. Sometimes Tim would look up from his slate, where he was working the mathmatica problems the Widow Smack still gave him, and see Kells staring at him through his pipesmoke. There was something disconcerting about that gaze, and Tim began to take his slate outside, even though it was growing chilly in Tree, and dark came earlier each day. Once his mother came out, sat beside him on the porch step, and put her arm around his shoulders. Youll be back to school with sai Smack next year, Tim. Its a promise. Ill bring him round. Tim smiled at her and said thankee, but he knew better. Next year hed still be at the sawmill, only by then hed be big enough to carry boards as well as stack them, and there would be less time to do problems, because hed have work five days a week instead of three. Mayhap even six. The year after that, hed be planing as well as carrying, then using the swingsaw like a man. In a few more years hed be a man, coming home too tired to think about reading the Widow Smacks books even if she still wanted to lend them out, the orderly ways of the mathmatica fading in his mind. That grown Tim Ross might want no more than to fall into bed after meat and bread. He would begin to smoke a pipe and perhaps get a taste for graf or beer. He would watch his mothers smile grow pale; he would watch her eyes lose their sparkle. And for these things he would have Bern Kells to thank. Reaping was gone by; Huntress Moon grew pale, waxed again, and pulled her bow; the first gales of Wide Earth came howling in from the west. And just when it seemed he might not come after all, the Barony Covenanter blew into the village of Tree on one of those cold winds, astride his tall black horse and as thin as Tom Scrawny Death. His heavy black cloak flapped around him like a batwing. Beneath his wide hat (as black as his cloak), the pale lamp of his face turned ceaselessly from side to side, marking a new fence here, a cow or three added to a herd there. The villagers would grumble but pay, and if they couldnt pay, their land would be taken in the name of Gilead. Perhaps even then, in those olden days, some were whispering it wasnt fair, the taxes were too much, that Arthur Eld was long dead (if he had ever existed at all), and the Covenant had been paid a dozen times over, in blood as well as silver. Perhaps some of them were already waiting for a Good Man to appear, and make them strong enough to say No more, enoughs enough, the world has moved on. Perhaps, but not that year, and not for many and manya to come. Late in the afternoon, while the swagbellied clouds tumbled across the sky and the yellow cornstalks clattered in Nells gardenlike teeth in a loose jaw, sai Covenanter nudged his tall black horse between gateposts Big Ross had set up himself (with Tim looking on and helping when asked). The horse paced slowly and solemnly up to the front steps. There it halted, nodding and blowing. Big Kells stood on the porch and still had to look up to see the visitors pallid face. Kells held his hat crushed to his breast. His thinning black hair (now showing the first streaks of gray, for he was nearing forty and would soon be old) flew around his head. Behind him in the doorway stood Nell and Tim. She had an arm around her boys shoulders and was clutching him tightly, as if afraid (maybe twas a mothers intuition) that the Covenant Man might steal him away. For a moment there was silence save for the flapping of the unwelcome visitors cloak, and the wind, which sang an eerie tune beneath the eaves. Then the Barony Covenanter bent forward, regarding Kells with wide dark eyes that did not seem to blink. His lips, Tim saw, were as red as a womans when she paints them with fresh madder. From somewhere inside his cloak he produced not a book of slates but a roll of real parchment paper, and pulled it down so twas long. He studied it, made it short again, and replaced it in whatever inner pocket it had come from. Then he returned his gaze to Big Kells, who flinched and looked at his feet. Kells, isnt it? He had a rough, husky voice that made Tims skin pucker into hard points of gooseflesh. He had seen the Covenant Man before, but only from a distance; his da had made shift to keep Tim away from the house when the baronys taxman came calling on his annual rounds. Now Tim understood why. He thought he would have bad dreams tonight. Kells, aye. His steppoppas voice was shakily cheerful. He managed to raise his eyes again. Welcome, sai. Long days and pleasant Yar, all that, all that, the Covenant Man said with a dismissive wave of one hand. His dark eyes were now looking over Kellss shoulder. And . . . Ross, isnt it? Now two instead of three, they tell me, Big Ross having fallen to unfortunate happenstance. His voice was low, little more than a monotone. Like listening to a deaf man try to sing a lullabye, Tim thought. Just so, Big Kells said. He swallowed hard enough for Tim to hear the gulping sound, then began to babble. He n me were in the forest, ye ken, in one of our little stakes off the Ironwood Pathwe have four or five, all marked proper wi our names, so they are, and I havent changed em, because in my mind hes still my partner and always will beand we got separated a bit. Then I heard a hissin. You know that sound when you hear it, theres no sound on earth like the hiss of a bitch dragon drawrin in breath before she Hush, the Covenant Man said. When I want to hear a story, I like it to begin with Once upon a bye. Kells began to say something elseperhaps only to cry pardonand thought better of it. The Covenant Man leaned an arm on the horn of his saddle and stared at him. I understand you sold your house to Rupert Anderson, sai Kells. Yar, and he cozened me, but I The visitor overrode him. The tax is nine knuckles of silver or one of rhodite, which I know you dont have in these parts, but Im bound to tell you, as its in the original Covenant. One knuck for the transaction, and eight for the house where you now sit your ass at sundown and no doubt hide your tallywhacker after moonrise. Nine? Big Kells gasped. Nine? Thats Its what? the Covenant Man said in his rough, crooning voice. Be careful how you answer, Bern Kells, son of Mathias, grandson of Limping Peter. Be ever so careful, because, although your neck is thick, I believe it would stretch thin. Aye, so I do. Big Kells turned pale . . . although not as pale as the Barony Covenanter. Its very fair. Thats all I meant to say. Ill get it. He went into the house and came back with a deerskin purse. It was Big Rosss moneysack, the one over which Tims mother had been crying on a day early on in Full Earth. A day when life had seemed fairer, even though Big Ross was dead. Kells handed the sack to Nell and let her count the precious knuckles of silver into his cupped hands. All during this, the visitor sat silent on his tall black horse, but when Big Kells made to come down the steps and hand him the taxalmost all they had, even with Tims little bit of wages added into the common potthe Covenant Man shook his head. Keep your place. Id have the boy bring it to me, for hes fair, and in his countenance I see his fathers face. Aye, I see it very well. Tim took the double handful of knucksso heavy!from Big Kells, barely hearing the whisper in his ear Have a care and dont drop em, ye gormless boy. Tim walked down the porch steps like a boy in a dream. He held up his cupped hands, and before he knew what was happening, the Covenant Man had seized him by the wrists and hauled him up onto his horse. Tim saw that bow and pommel were decorated with a cascade of silver runes moons and stars and comets and cups pouring cold fire. At the same time, he realized his double handful of knucks was gone. The Covenant Man had taken them, although Tim couldnt remember exactly when it had happened. Nell screamed and ran forward. Catch her and hold her! the Covenant Man thundered, so close by Tims ear that he was near deafened on that side. Kells grabbed his wife by the shoulders and jerked her roughly backwards. She tripped and tumbled to the porch boards, long skirts flying up around her ankles. Mama! Tim shouted. He tried to jump from the saddle, but the Covenant Man restrained him easily. He smelled of campfire meat and old cold sweat. Sit easy, young Tim Ross, shes not hurt a mite. See how spry she rises. Then, to Nellwho had indeed regained her feet Be not fashed, sai, Id only have a word with him. Would I harm a future taxpayer of the realm? If you harm him, Ill kill you, you devil, said she. Kells raised a fist to her. Shut yer stupid mouth, woman! Nell did not shrink from the fist. She had eyes only for Tim, sitting on the high black horse in front of the Covenant Man, whose arms were banded across her sons chest. The Covenant Man smiled down at the two on the porch, one with his fist still upraised to strike, the other with tears coursing down her cheeks. Nell and Kells! he proclaimed. The happy couple! He kneed his mount in a circle and slowwalked it as far as the gate, his arms still firmly around Tims chest, his rank breath puffing against Tims cheek. At the gate he squeezed his knees again and the horse halted. In Tims earwhich was still ringinghe whispered How does thee like thy new steppa, young Tim? Speak the truth, but speak it low. This is our palaver, and they have no part in it. Tim didnt want to turn, didnt want the Covenant Mans pallid face any closer than it already was, but he had a secret that had been poisoning him. So he did turn, and in the taxmans ear he whispered, When hes in drink, he beats my ma. Does he, now? Ah, well, does that surprise me? For did not his da beat his own ma? And what we learn as children sets as a habit, so it does. A gloved hand threw one wing of the heavy black cloak over them like a blanket, and Tim felt the other gloved hand slither something small and hard into his pants pocket. A gift for you, young Tim. Its a key. Does thee know what makes it special? Tim shook his head. Tis a magic key. It will open anything, but only a single time. After that, tis as useless as dirt, so be careful how you use it! He laughed as if this were the funniest joke hed ever heard. His breath made Tims stomach churn. I . . . He swallowed. I have nothing to open. Theres no locks in Tree, cept at the redeye and the jail. Oh, I think thee knows of another. Does thee not? Tim looked into the Covenant Mans blackly merry eyes and said nothing. That worthy nodded, however, as if he had. What are you telling my son? Nell screamed from the porch. Pour not poison in his ears, devil! Pay her no mind, young Tim, shell know soon enough. Shell know much but see little. He snickered. His teeth were very large and very white. A riddle for you! Can you solve it? No? Never mind, the answer will come in time. Sometimes he opens it, Tim said, speaking in the slow voice of one who talks in his sleep. He takes out his honing bar. For the blade of his ax. But then he locks it again. At night he sits on it to smoke, like it was a chair. The Covenant Man didnt ask what it was. And does he touch it each time he passes by, young Tim? As a man would touch a favorite old dog? He did, of course, but Tim didnt say so. He didnt need to say so. He felt there wasnt a secret he could keep from the mind ticking away behind that long white face. Not one. Hes playing with me, Tim thought. Im just a bit of amusement on a dreary day in a dreary town hell soon leave behind. But he breaks his toys. You only have to look at his smile to know that. Ill camp a wheel or two down the Ironwood Trail the next night or two, the Covenant Man said in his rusty, tuneless voice. Its been a long ride, and Im weary of all the quack I have to listen to. There are vurts and wervels and snakes in the forest, but they dont quack. Youre never weary, Tim thought. Not you. Come and see me if you care to. No snicker this time; this time he tittered like a naughty girl. And if you dare to, of course. But come at night, for this jillys son likes to sleep in the day when he gets the chance. Or stay here if youre timid. Its naught to me. Hup! This was to the horse, which paced slowly back to the porch steps, where Nell stood wringing her hands and Big Kells stood glowering beside her. The Covenant Mans thin strong fingers closed over Tims wrists againlike handcuffsand lifted him. A moment later he was on the ground, staring up at the white face and smiling red lips. The key burned in the depths of his pocket. From above the house came a peal of thunder, and it began to rain. The Barony thanks you, the Covenant Man said, touching one gloved finger to the side of his widebrimmed hat. Then he wheeled his black horse around and was gone into the rain. The last thing Tim saw was passing odd when the heavy black cloak belled out, he spied a large metal object tied to the top of the Covenant Mans gunna. It looked like a washbasin. Big Kells came striding down the steps, seized Tim by the shoulders, and commenced shaking him. Rain matted Kellss thinning hair to the sides of his face and streamed from his beard. Black when he had slipped into the silk rope with Nell, that beard was now heavily streaked with gray. What did he tellee? Was it about me? What lies didee speak? Tell! Tim could tell him nothing. His head snapped back and forth hard enough to make his teeth clack together. Nell rushed down the steps. Stop it! Let him alone! You promised youd never Get out of what dont concern you, woman, he said, and struck her with the side of his fist. Tims mama fell into the mud, where the teeming rain was now filling the tracks left by the Covenant Mans horse. You bastard! Tim screamed. You cant hit my mama, you cant ever! He felt no immediate pain when Kells dealt him a similar sidehand blow, but white light sheared across his vision. When it lifted, he found himself lying in the mud next to his mother. He was dazed, his ears were ringing, and still the key burned in his pocket like a live coal. Nis take both of you, Kells said, and strode away into the rain. Beyond the gate he turned right, in the direction of Trees little length of high street. Headed for Gittys, Tim had no doubt. He had stayed away from drink all of that Wide Earthas far as Tim knew, anywaybut he would not stay away from it this night. Tim saw from his mothers sorrowful facewet with rain, her hair hanging limp against her reddening mucksplattered cheekthat she knew it, too. Tim put his arm around her waist, she put hers about his shoulders. They made their way slowly up the steps and into the house. She didnt so much sit in her chair at the kitchen table as collapse into it. Tim poured water from the jug into the basin, wetted a cloth, and put it gently on the side of her face, which had begun to swell. She held it there for a bit, then extended it wordlessly to him. To please her, he took it and put it on his own face. It was cool and good against the throbbing heat. This is a pretty business, wouldnt you say? she asked, with an attempt at brightness. Woman beaten, boy slugged, new husband off tboozer. Tim had no idea what to say to this, so said nothing. Nell lowered her head to the heel of her hand and stared at the table. Ive made such a mess of things. I was frightened and at my wits end, but thats no excuse. We would have been better on the land, I think. Turned off the place? Away from the plot? Wasnt it enough that his das ax and lucky coin were gone? She was right about one thing, though; it was a mess. But I have a key, Tim thought, and his fingers stole down to his pants to feel the shape of it. Where has he gone? Nell asked, and Tim knew it wasnt Bern Kells she was speaking of. A wheel or two down the Ironwood. Where hell wait for me. I dont know, Mama. So far as he could remember, it was the first time he had ever lied to her. But we know where Berns gone, dont we? She laughed, then winced because it hurt her face. He promised Milly Redhouse he was done with the drink, and he promised me, but hes weak. Or . . . is it me? Did I drive him to it, do you think? No, Mama. But Tim wondered if it might not be true. Not in the way she meantby being a nag, or keeping a dirty house, or refusing him what men and women did in bed after darkbut in some other way. There was a mystery here, and he wondered if the key in his pocket might solve it. To keep from touching it again, he got up and went to the pantry. What would you like to eat? Eggs? Ill scramble them, if you do. She smiled wanly. Thankee, son, but Im not hungry. I think Ill lie down. She rose a bit shakily. Tim helped her into the bedroom. There he pretended to look at interesting things out the window while she took off her mudstained day dress and put on her nightgown. When Tim turned around again, she was under the covers. She patted the place beside her, as she had sometimes done when he was sma. In those days his da might have been in bed beside her, wearing his long woodsmans underwear and smoking one of his rollups. I cant turn him out, she said. I would if I could, but now that the ropes slipped, the place is more his than mine. The law can be cruel to a woman. I never had cause to think about that before, but now . . . now . . . Her eyes had gone glassy and distant. She would sleep soon, and that was probably a good thing. He kissed her unbruised cheek and made to get up, but she stayed him. What did the Covenant Man say to thee? Asked me how I liked my new stepda. I cant remember how I answered him. I was scared. When he covered thee with his cloak, I was, too. I thought he meant to ride away with thee, like the Red King in the old story. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, very slowly. There was something in them now that could have been horror. I remember him coming to my das when I was but a wee girl not long out of cloutsthe black horse, the black gloves and cape, the saddle with the silver siguls on it. His white face gave me nightmaresits so long. And do you know what, Tim? He shook his head slowly from side to side. He even carries the same silver basin roped on behind, for I saw it then, too. Thats twenty years agoneaye, twenty and a doubletondeucy morebut he looks the same. He hasnt aged a day. Her eyes closed again. This time they didnt reopen, and Tim stole from the room. When he was sure his mother was asleep, Tim went down the little bit of back hall to where Big Kellss trunk, a squarish shape under an old remnant of blanket, stood just outside the mudroom. When hed told the Covenant Man he knew of only two locks in Tree, the Covenant Man had replied, Oh, I think thee knows of another. He stripped off the blanket and looked at his stepdas trunk. The trunk he sometimes caressed like a wellloved pet and often sat upon at night, puffing at his pipe with the back door cracked open to let out the smoke. Tim hurried back to the front of the housein his stocking feet, so as not to risk waking his motherand peered out the front window. The yard was empty, and there was no sign of Big Kells on the rainy road. Tim had expected nothing else. Kells would be at Gittys by now, getting through as much of what he had left as he could before falling down unconscious. I hope somebody beats him up and gives him a taste of his own medicine. Id do it myself, were I big enough. He went back to the trunk, padding noiselessly in his stockings, knelt in front of it, and took the key from his pocket. It was a tiny silver thing the size of half a knuck, and strangely warm in his fingers, as if it were alive. The keyhole in the brass facing on the front of the trunk was much bigger. The key he gave me will never work in that, Tim thought. Then he remembered the Covenant Man saying Tis a magic key. It will open anything, but only a single time. Tim put the key in the lock, where it clicked smoothly home, as if it had been meant for just that place all along. When he applied pressure, it turned smoothly, but the warmth left it as soon as it did. Now there was nothing between his fingers but cold dead metal. After that, tis as useless as dirt, Tim whispered, then looked around, half convinced hed see Big Kells standing there with a scowl on his face and his hands rolled into fists. There was no one, so he unbuckled the straps and raised the lid. He cringed at the screak of the hinges and looked over his shoulder again. His heart was beating hard, and although that rainy evening was chilly, he could feel a dew of sweat on his forehead. There were shirts and pants on top, stuffed in any whichway, most of them ragged. Tim thought (with a bitter resentment that was entirely new to him), Its my Mama wholl wash them and mend them and fold them neat when he tells her to. And will he thank her with a blow to the arm or a punch to her neck or face? He pulled the clothes out, and beneath them found what made the trunk heavy. Kellss father had been a carpenter, and here were his tools. Tim didnt need a grownup to tell him they were valuable, for they were of made metal. He could have sold these to pay the tax, he never uses them nor even knows how, I warrant. He could have sold them to someone who doesHaggerty the Nail, for instanceand paid the tax with a good sum left over. There was a word for that sort of behavior, and thanks to the Widow Smacks teaching, Tim knew it. The word was miser. He tried to lift the toolbox out, and at first couldnt. It was too heavy for him. Tim laid the hammers and screwdrivers and honing bar aside on the clothes. Then he could manage. Beneath were five axheads that would have made Big Ross slap his forehead in disgusted amazement.