Filthy fucking chimbly! Dirty old cunttunnel! You badass, sonofabitching She turned and saw Jake staring at her, openmouthed and wideeyed. Beyond him, on the stairs, Oy was doing the same thing. Sorry, honey, Susannah said. I got a little carried away. Mostly Im mad at myself. I grew up with stoves n fireplaces, and should have known better. In a tone of deepest respect, Jake said, You know better swears than my father. I didnt think anyone knew better swears than my father. Eddie went to Susannah and started wiping at her face and neck. She brushed his hands away. Youre just spreadin it around. Lets go see if we can find that gook, or whatever it is. Maybe theres still water. There will be if God wills it, Roland said. She swiveled to regard him with narrowed eyes. You being smart, Roland? You dont want to be smart while Im sittin here like Missus Tarbaby. No, sai, never think it, Roland said, but there was the tiniest twitch at the left corner of his mouth. Eddie, see if you can find gookwater so Susannah can clean herself. Jake and I will begin gathering wood. Well need you to help us as soon as you can. I hope our friend Bix has made it to his side of the river, because I think time is shorter than he guessed. 12 The town well was on the other side of the meeting hall, in what Eddie thought might once have been the town common. The rope hanging from the crankoperated drum beneath the wells rotting cap was long gone, but that was no problem; they had a coil of good rope in their gunna. The problem, Eddie said, is what were going to tie to the end of the rope. I suppose one of Rolands old saddlebags might Whats that, honeybee? Susannah was pointing at a patch of high grass and brambles on the left side of the well. I dont see . . . But then he did. A gleam of rusty metal. Taking care to be scratched by the thorns as little as possible, Eddie reached into the tangle and, with a grunt of effort, pulled out a rusty bucket with a coil of dead ivy inside. There was even a handle. Let me see that, Susannah said. He dumped out the ivy and handed it over. She tested the handle and it broke immediately, not with a snap but a soft, punky sigh. Susannah looked at him apologetically and shrugged. S okay, Eddie said. Better to know now than when its down in the well. He tossed the handle aside, cut off a chunk of their rope, untwisted the outer strands to thin it, and threaded what was left through the holes that had held the old handle. Not bad, Susannah said. You mighty handy for a white boy. She peered over the lip of the well. I can see the water. Not even ten feet down. Ooo, it looks cold. Chimney sweeps cant be choosers, Eddie said. The bucket splashed down, tilted, and began to fill. When it sank below the surface of the water, Eddie hauled it back up. It had sprung several leaks at spots where the rust had eaten through, but they were small ones. He took off his shirt, dipped it in the water, and began to wash her face. Oh my goodness! he said. I see a girl! She took the balledup shirt, rinsed it, wrung it out, and began to do her arms. At least I got the dang flue open. You can draw some more water once I get the worst of this mess cleaned off me, and when we get a fire going, I can wash in warm Far to the northwest, they heard a low, thudding crump. There was a pause, then a second one. It was followed by several more, then a perfect fusillade. Coming in their direction like marching feet. Their startled eyes met. Eddie, bare to the waist, went to the back of her wheelchair. I think we better speed this up. In the distancebut definitely moving closercame sounds that could have been armies at war. I think youre right, Susannah said. 13 When they got back, they saw Roland and Jake running toward the meeting hall with armloads of decaying lumber and splintered chunks of wood. Still well across the river but definitely closer, came those low, crumping explosions as trees in the path of the starkblast yanked themselves inward toward their tender cores. Oy was in the middle of the overgrown high street, turning and turning. Susannah tipped herself out of her wheelchair, landed neatly on her hands, and began crawling toward the meetinghouse. What the hell are you doing? Eddie asked. You can carry more wood in the chair. Pile it high. Ill get Roland to give me his flint and steel, get a fire going. But Mind me, Eddie. Let me do what I can. And put your shirt back on. I know its wet, but itll keep you from getting scratched up. He did so, then turned the chair, tilted it on its big back wheels, and pushed it toward the nearest likely source of fuel. As he passed Roland, he gave the gunslinger Susannahs message. Roland nodded and kept running, peering over his armload of wood. The three of them went back and forth without speaking, gathering wood against the cold on this weirdly warm afternoon. The Path of the Beam in the sky was temporarily gone, because all the clouds were in motion, roiling away to the southeast. Susannah had gotten a fire going, and it roared beastily up the chimney. The big downstairs room had a huge jumble of wood in the center, some with rusty nails poking out. So far none of them had been cut or punctured, but Eddie thought it was just a matter of time. He tried to remember when hed last had a tetanus shot and couldnt. As for Roland, he thought, his blood would probably kill any germ the second it dared show its head inside of that leather bag he calls skin. What are you smiling about? Jake asked. The words came out in little outofbreath gasps. The arms of his shirt were filthy and covered with splinters; there was a long smutch of dirt on his forehead. Nothing much, little hero. Watch out for rusty nails. One more load each and wed better call it good. Its close. Okay. The thuds were on their side of the river now, and the air, although still warm, had taken on a queer thick quality. Eddie loaded up Susannahs wheelchair a final time and trundled it back toward the meetinghouse. Jake and Roland were ahead of him. He could feel heat baking out of the open door. It better get cold, he thought, or were going to fucking roast in there. Then, as he waited for the two ahead of him to turn sideways so they could get their loads of lumber inside, a thin and pervasive screaming joined the pops and thuds of contracting wood. It made the hair bristle on the nape of Eddies neck. The wind coming toward them sounded alive, and in agony. The air began to move again. First it was warm, then cool enough to dry the sweat on his face, then cold. This happened in a matter of seconds. The creepy screech of the wind was joined by a fluttering sound that made Eddie think of the plastic pennants you sometimes saw strung around usedcar lots. It ramped up to a whir, and leaves began to blow off the trees, first in bundles and then in sheets. The branches thrashed against clouds that were lensing darker even as he looked at them, mouth agape. Oh, shit, he said, and ran the wheelchair straight at the door. For the first time in ten trips, it stuck. The planks hed stacked across the chairs arms were too wide. With any other load, the ends would have snapped off with the same soft, almost apologetic sound the bucket handle had made, but not this time. Oh no, not now that the storm was almost here. Was nothing in MidWorld ever easy? He reached over the back of the chair to shove the longest boards aside, and that was when Jake shouted. Oy! Oys still out there! Oy! To me! Oy took no notice. He had stopped his turning. Now he only sat with his snout raised toward the coming storm, his goldringed eyes fixed and dreamy. 14 Jake didnt think, and he didnt look for the nails that were protruding from Eddies last load of lumber. He simply scrambled up the splintery pile and jumped. He struck Eddie, sending him staggering back. Eddie tried to keep his balance but tripped on his own feet and fell on his butt. Jake went to one knee, then scrambled up, eyes wide, long hair blowing back from his head in a tangle of licks and ringlets. Jake, no! Eddie grabbed for him and got nothing but the cuff of the kids shirt. It had been thinned by many washings in many streams, and tore away. Roland was in the doorway. He batted the toolong boards to the right and left, as heedless of the protruding nails as Jake had been. The gunslinger yanked the wheelchair through the doorway and grunted, Get in here. Jake Jake will either be all right or he wont. Roland seized Eddie by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Their old bluejeans were making machinegun noises around their legs as the wind whipped them. Hes on his own. Get in here. No! Fuck you! Roland didnt argue, simply yanked Eddie through the door. Eddie went sprawling. Susannah knelt in front of the fire, staring at him. Her face was streaming with sweat, and the front of her deerskin shirt was soaked. Roland stood in the doorway, face grim, watching Jake run to his friend. 15 Jake felt the temperature of the air around him plummet. A branch broke off with a dry snap and he ducked as it whistled over his head. Oy never stirred until Jake snatched him up. Then the bumbler looked around wildly, baring his teeth. Bite if you have to, Jake said, but I wont put you down. Oy didnt bite and Jake might not have felt it if he had. His face was numb. He turned back toward the meetinghouse and the wind became a huge cold hand planted in the middle of his back. He began running again, aware that now he was doing so in absurd leaps, like an astronaut running on the surface of the moon in a science fiction movie. One leap . . . two . . . three . . . But on the third one he didnt come down. He was blown straight forward with Oy cradled in his arms. There was a gutteral, garumphing explosion as one of the old houses gave in to the wind and went flying southeast in a hail of shrapnel. He saw a flight of stairs, the crude plank banister still attached, spinning up toward the racing clouds. Well be next, he thought, and then a hand, minus two fingers but still strong, gripped him above the elbow. Roland turned him toward the door. For a moment the issue was in doubt as the wind bullied them away from safety. Then Roland lunged forward into the doorway with his remaining fingers sinking deep into Jakes flesh. The pressure of the wind abruptly left them, and they both landed on their backs. Thank God! Susannah cried. Thank him later! Roland was shouting to be heard over the pervasive bellow of the gale. Push! All of you push on this damned door! Susannah, you at the bottom! All your strength! You bar it, Jake! Do you understand me? Drop the bar into the clamps! Dont hesitate! Dont worry about me, Jake snapped. Something had gashed him at one temple and a thin ribbon of blood ran down the side of his face, but his eyes were clear and sure. Now! Push! Push for your lives! The door swung slowly shut. They could not have held it for longmere secondsbut they didnt have to. Jake dropped the thick wooden bar, and when they moved cautiously back, the rusty clamps held. They looked at each other, gasping for breath, then down at Oy. Who gave a single cheerful yap, and went to toast himself by the fire. The spell that the oncoming storm had cast on him seemed to be broken. Away from the hearth, the big room was already growing cold. You should have let me grab the kid, Roland, Eddie said. He could have been killed out there. Oy was Jakes responsibility. He should have gotten him inside sooner. Tied him to something, if he had to. Or dont you think so, Jake? Yeah, I do. Jake sat down beside Oy, stroking the bumblers thick fur with one hand and rubbing blood from his face with the other. Roland, Susannah said, hes just a boy. No more, Roland said. Cry your pardon, but . . . no more. 16 For the first two hours of the starkblast, they were in some doubt if even the stone meetinghouse would hold. The wind screamed and trees snapped. One slammed down on the roof and smashed it. Cold air jetted through the boards above them. Susannah and Eddie put their arms around each other. Jake shielded Oynow lying placidly on his back with his stubby legs splayed to all points of the compassand looked up at the swirling cloud of birdshit that had sifted through the cracks in the ceiling. Roland went on calmly laying out their little supper. What do you think, Roland? Eddie asked. I think that if this building stands one more hour, well be fine. The cold will intensify, but the wind will drop a little when dark comes. It will drop still more come tomorrowlight, and by the day after tomorrow, the air will be still and much warmer. Not like it was before the coming of the storm, but that warmth was unnatural and we all knew it. He regarded them with a halfsmile. It looked strange on his face, which was usually so still and grave. In the meantime, we have a good firenot enough to heat the whole room, but fine enough if we stay close to it. And a little time to rest. Weve been through much, have we not? Yeah, Jake said. Too much. And more ahead, I have no doubt. Danger, hard work, sorrow. Death, mayhap. So now we sit by the fire, as in the old days, and take what comfort we can. He surveyed them, still with that little smile. The firelight cast him in strange profile, making him young on one side of his face and ancient on the other. We are katet. We are one from many. Be grateful for warmth, shelter, and companionship against the storm. Others may not be so lucky. Well hope they are, Susannah said. She was thinking of Bix. Come, Roland said. Eat. They came, and settled themselves around their dinh, and ate what he had set out for them. 17 Susannah slept for an hour or two early that night, but her dreamsof nasty, maggoty foods she was somehow compelled to eatwoke her. Outside, the wind continued to howl, although its sound was not quite so steady now. Sometimes it seemed to drop away entirely, then rose again, uttering long, icy shrieks as it ran under the eaves in cold currents and made the stone building tremble in its old bones. The door thudded rhythmically against the bar holding it shut, but like the ceiling above them, both the bar and the rusty clamps seemed to be holding. She wondered what would have become of them if the wooden bar had been as punky and rotted as the handle of the bucket theyd found near the gook. Roland was awake and sitting by the fire. Jake was with him. Between them, Oy was asleep with one paw over his snout. Susannah joined them. The fire had burned down a little, but this close it threw a comforting heat on her face and arms. She took a board, thought about snapping it in two, decided it might wake Eddie, and tossed it onto the fire as it was. Sparks gushed up the chimney, swirling as the draft caught them. She could have spared the consideration, because while the sparks were still swirling, a hand caressed the back of her neck just below the hairline. She didnt have to look; she would have known that touch anywhere. Without turning, she took the hand, brought it to her mouth, and kissed the cup of the palm. The white palm. Even after all this time together and all the lovemaking, she could sometimes hardly believe that. Yet there it was. At least I wont have to bring him home to meet my parents, she thought. Cant sleep, sugar? A little. Not much. I had funny dreams. The wind brings them, Roland said. Anyone in Gilead would tell you the same. But I love the sound of the wind. I always have. It soothes my heart and makes me think of old times. He looked away, as if embarrassed to have said so much. None of us can sleep, Jake said. So tell us a story. Roland looked into the fire for a while, then at Jake. The gunslinger was once more smiling, but his eyes were distant. A knot popped in the fireplace. Outside the stone walls, the wind screamed as if furious at its inability to get in. Eddie put an arm around Susannahs waist and she laid her head on his shoulder. What story would you hear, Jake, son of Elmer? Any. He paused. About the old days. Roland looked at Eddie and Susannah. And you? Would you hear? Yes, please, Susannah said. Eddie nodded. Yeah. If you want to, that is. Roland considered. Mayhap Ill tell you two, since its long until dawn and we can sleep tomorrow away, if we like. These tales nest inside each other. Yet the wind blows through both, which is a good thing. Theres nothing like stories on a windy night when folks have found a warm place in a cold world. He took a broken piece of wood paneling, poked the glowing embers with it, then fed it to the flames. One I know is a true story, for I lived it along with my old kamate, Jamie DeCurry. The other, The Wind Through the Keyhole, is one my mother read to me when I was still sma. Old stories can be useful, you know, and I should have thought of this one as soon as I saw Oy scenting the air as he did, but that was long ago. He sighed. Gone days. In the dark beyond the firelight, the wind rose to a howl. Roland waited for it to die a little, then began. Eddie, Susannah, and Jake listened, rapt, all through that long and contentious night. Lud, the TickTock Man, Blaine the Mono, the Green Palaceall were forgotten. Even the Dark Tower itself was forgotten for a bit. There was only Rolands voice, rising and falling. Rising and falling like the wind. Not long after the death of my mother, which as you know came by my own hand . . . STARKBLAST Not long after the death of my mother, which as you know came by my own hand, my fatherSteven, son of Henry the Tallsummoned me to his study in the north wing of the palace. It was a small, cold room. I remember the wind whining around the slit windows. I remember the high, frowning shelves of booksworth a fortune, they were, but never read. Not by him, anyway. And I remember the black collar of mourning he wore. It was the same as my own. Every man in Gilead wore the same collar, or a band around his shirtsleeve. The women wore black nets on their hair. This would go on until Gabrielle Deschain was six months in her tomb. I saluted him, fist to forehead. He didnt look up from the papers on his desk, but I knew he saw it. My father saw everything, and very well. I waited. He signed his name several times while the wind whistled and the rooks cawed in the courtyard. The fireplace was a dead socket. He rarely called for it to be lit, even on the coldest days. At last he looked up. How is Cort, Roland? How goes it with your teacher that was? You must know, because Ive been given to understand that you spend most of your time in his hut, feeding him and such. He has days when he knows me, I said. Many days he doesnt. He still sees a little from one eye. The other . . . I didnt need to finish. The other was gone. My hawk, David, had taken it from him in my test of manhood. Cort, in turn, had taken Davids life, but that was to be his last kill. I know what happened to his other peep. Do you truly feed him? Aye, Father, I do. Do you clean him when he messes? I stood there before his desk like a chastened schoolboy called before the master, and that is how I felt. Only how many chastened schoolboys have killed their own mothers? Answer me, Roland. I am your dinh as well as your father and Id have you answer. Sometimes. Which was not really a lie. Sometimes I changed his dirty clouts three and four times a day, sometimes, on the good days, only once or not at all. He could get to the jakes if I helped him. And if he remembered he had to go. Does he not have the white ammies who come in? I sent them away, I said. He looked at me with real curiosity. I searched for contempt in his facepart of me wanted to see itbut there was none that I could tell. Did I raise you to the gun so you could become an ammie and nurse a broken old man? I felt my anger flash at that. Cort had raised a moit of boys to the tradition of the Eld and the way of the gun. Those who were unworthy he had bested in combat and sent west with no weapons other than what remained of their wits. There, in Cressia and places even deeper in those anarchic kingdoms, many of those broken boys had joined with Farson, the Good Man. Who would in time overthrow everything my fathers line had stood for. Farson had armed them, sure. He had guns, and he had plans. Would you throw him on the dungheap, Father? Is that to be his reward for all his years of service? Who next, then? Vannay? Never in this life, as you know. But done is done, Roland, as thee also knows. And thee doesnt nurse him out of love. Thee knows that, too. I nurse him out of respect! If twas only respect, I think youd visit him, and read to himfor you read well, your mother always said so, and about that she spoke truebut youd not clean his shit and change his bed. You are scourging yourself for the death of your mother, which was not your fault. Part of me knew this was true. Part of me refused to believe it. The publishment of her death was simple Gabrielle Deschain, she of Arten, died while possessed of a demon which troubled her spirit. It was always put so when someone of high blood committed suicide, and so the story of her death was given. It was accepted without question, even by those who had, either secretly or not so secretly, cast their lot with Farson. Because it became knowngods know how, not from me or my friendsthat she had become the consort of Marten Broadcloak, the court magis and my fathers chief advisor, and that Marten had fled west. Alone. Roland, hear me very well. I know you felt betrayed by your lady mother. So did I. I know that part of you hated her. Part of me hated her, too. But we both also loved her, and love her still. You were poisoned by the toy you brought back from Mejis, and you were tricked by the witch. One of those things alone might not have caused what happened, but the pink ball and the witch together . . . aye. Rhea. I could feel tears stinging my eyes, and I willed them back. I would not weep before my father. Never again. Rhea of the Cos. Aye, she, the blackhearted cunt. It was she who killed your mother, Roland. She turned you into a gun . . . and then pulled the trigger. I said nothing. He must have seen my distress, because he resumed shuffling his papers, signing his name here and there. Finally he raised his head again. The ammies will have to see to Cort for a while. Im sending you and one of your kamates to Debaria. What? To Serenity? He laughed. The retreat where your mother stayed? Yes. Not there, not at all. Serenity, what a joke. Those women are the black ammies. Theyd flay you alive if you so much as trespassed their holy doors. Most of the sisters who bide there prefer the longstick to a man. I had no idea what he meantremember I was still very young, and very innocent about many things, in spite of all Id been through. Im not sure Im ready for another mission, Father. Let alone a quest. He looked at me coldly. Ill be the judge of what youre ready for. Besides, this is nothing like the mess you walked into in Mejis. There may be danger, it may even come to shooting, but at bottom its just a job that needs to be done. Partly so that people whove come to doubt can see that the White is still strong and true, but mostly because whats wrong cannot be allowed to stand. Besides, as Ive said, I wont be sending you alone. Wholl go with me? Cuthbert or Alain? Neither. I have work for Laughing Boy and Thudfoot right here. You go with Jamie DeCurry. I considered this and thought I would be glad to ride with Jamie RedHand. Although I would have preferred either Cuthbert or Alain. As my father surely knew. Will you go without argument, or will you annoy me further on a day when I have much to do? Ill go, I said. In truth, it would be good to escape the palaceits shadowy rooms, its whispers of intrigue, its pervasive sense that darkness and anarchy were coming and nothing could stop them. The world would move on, but Gilead would not move on with it. That glittering, beautiful bubble would soon burst. Good. Youre a fine son, Roland. I may never have told you that, but its true. I hold nothing against you. Nothing. I lowered my head. When this meeting was finally over, I would go somewhere and let my heart free, but not just then. Not as I stood before him. Ten or twelve wheels beyond the hall of the womenSerenity, or whatever they call itis the town of Debaria itself, on the edge of the alkali flats. Nothing serene about Debaria. Its a dusty, hidesmelling railhead town where cattle and block salt are shipped south, east, and northin every direction except the one where that bastard Farsons laying his plans. There are fewer traildrive herds these days, and I expect Debaria will dry up and blow away like so many other places in MidWorld before long, but now its still a busy place, full of saloons, whoredens, gamblers, and confidence men. Hard as it might be to believe, there are even a few good people there. One is the High Sheriff, Hugh Peavy. Its him that you and DeCurry will report to. Let him see your guns and a sigul which I will give to you. Do you ken everything Ive told you so far? Yes, Father, I said. Whats so bad there that it warrants the attention of gunslingers? I smiled a little, a thing I had done seldom in the wake of my mothers death. Even baby gunslingers such as us? According to the reports I havehe lifted some of the papers and shook them at metheres a skinman at work. I have my doubts about that, but theres no doubt the folk are terrified. I dont know what that is, I said. Some sort of shapechanger, or so the old tales say. Go to Vannay when you leave me. Hes been collecting reports. All right. Do the job, find this lunatic who goes around wearing animal skinsthats probably what it amounts tobut be not long about it. Matters far graver than this have begun to teeter. Id have you backyou and all your kamatesbefore they fall.    Two days later, Jamie and I led our horses onto the stablecar of a special twocar train that had been laid on for us. Once the Western Line ran a thousand wheels or more, all the way to the Mohaine Desert, but in the years before Gilead fell, it went to Debaria and no farther. Beyond there, many tracklines had been destroyed by washouts and groundshakers. Others had been taken up by harriers and roving bands of outlaws who called themselves landpirates, for that part of the world had fallen into bloody confusion. We called those far western lands OutWorld, and they served John Farsons purposes well. He was, after all, just a landpirate himself. One with pretensions. The train was little more than a steamdriven toy; Gilead folk called it Sma Toot and laughed to see it puffing over the bridge to the west of the palace. We could have ridden faster ahorseback, but the train saved the mounts. And the dusty velveteen seats of our car folded out into beds, which we felt was a fine thing. Until we tried to sleep in them, that was. At one particularly hard jounce, Jamie was thrown right off his makeshift bed and onto the floor. Cuthbert would have laughed and Alain would have cursed, but Jamie RedHand only picked himself up, stretched out again, and went back to sleep. We spoke little that first day, only looked out the wavery isinglass windows, watching as Gileads green and forested land gave way to dirty scrub, a few struggling ranches, and herders huts. There were a few towns where folkmany of them mutiesgaped at us as Sma Toot wheezed slowly past. A few pointed at the centers of their foreheads, as if at an invisible eye. It meant they stood for Farson, the Good Man. In Gilead, such folk would have been imprisoned for their disloyalty, but Gilead was now behind us. I was dismayed by how quickly the allegiance of these people, once taken for granted, had thinned. On the first day of our journey, outside BeesfordonArten, where a few of my mothers people still lived, a fat man threw a rock at the train. It bounced off the closed stablecar door, and I heard our horses whinny in surprise. The fat man saw us looking at him. He grinned, grabbed his crotch with both hands, and waddled away. Someone has eaten well in a poor land, Jamie remarked as we watched his butters jounce in the seat of his old patched pants. The following morning, after the servant had put a cold breakfast of porridge and milk before us, Jamie said, I suppose youd better tell me what its about. Will you tell me something, first? If you know, that is? Of course. My father said that the women at the retreat in Debaria prefer the longstick to a man. Do you know what he meant? Jamie regarded me in silence for a bitas if to make sure I wasnt shaking his kneeand then his lips twitched at the corners. For Jamie this was the equivalent of holding his belly, rolling around the floor, and howling with glee. Which Cuthbert Allgood certainly would have done. It must be what the whores in the low town call a diddlestick. Does that help? Truly? And they . . . what? Use it on each other? So tis said, but much talk is just lalala. You know more of women than I do, Roland; Ive never lain with one. But never mind. Given time, I suppose I will. Tell me what were about in Debaria. A skinman is supposedly terrorizing the good folk. Probably the bad folk, as well. A man who becomes some sort of animal? It was actually a little more complicated in this case, but he had the nub of it. The wind was blowing hard, flinging handfuls of alkali at the side of the car. After one particularly vicious gust, the little train lurched. Our empty porridge bowls slid. We caught them before they could fall. If we hadnt been able to do such things, and without even thinking of them, we would not have been fit to carry the guns we wore. Not that Jamie preferred the gun. Given a choice (and the time to make it), he would reach for either his bow or his bah. My father doesnt believe it, I said. But Vannay does. He At that moment, we were thrown forward into the seats ahead of us. The old servant, who was coming down the center aisle to retrieve our bowls and cups, was flung all the way back to the door between the car and his little kitchen. His front teeth flew out of his mouth and into his lap, which gave me a start. Jamie ran up the aisle, which was now severely tilted, and knelt by him. As I joined him, Jamie plucked up the teeth and I saw they were made of painted wood and held together by a cunning clip almost too small to see. Are you all right, sai? Jamie asked. The old fellow got slowly to his feet, took his teeth, and filled the hole behind his upper lip with them. Im fine, but this dirty bitch has derailed again. No more Debaria runs for me, I have a wife. Shes an old nag, and Im determined to outlive her. You young men had better check your horses. With luck, neither of them will have broken a leg.    Neither had, but they were nervous and stamping, anxious to get out of confinement. We lowered the ramp and tethered them to the connecting bar between the two cars, where they stood with their heads lowered and their ears flattened against the hot and gritty wind blowing out of the west. Then we clambered back inside the passenger car and collected our gunna. The engineer, a broadshouldered, bowlegged plug of a man, came down the side of his listing train with the old servant in tow. When he reached us, he pointed to what we could see very well. Yonder on that ridge be Debaria high roadsee the markingposts? You can be at the place o the females in less than an hour, but dont bother asking nothing o those bitches, because you wont get it. He lowered his voice. They eat men, is what Ive heard. Not just a way o speakin, boys they . . . eat . . . the mens. I found it easier to believe in the reality of the skinman than in this, but I said nothing. It was clear that the enjie was shaken up, and one of his hands was as red as Jamies. But the enjies was only a little burn, and would go away. Jamies would still be red when he was sent down in his grave.


It looked as if it had been dipped in blood. They may call to you, or make promises. They may even show you their titties, as they know a young man cant take his eyes off such. But never mind. Turn yer ears from their promises and yer eyes from their titties. You just go on into the town. Itll be less than another hour by horse. Well need a work crew to put this poxy whore upright. The rails are fine; I checked. Just covered with that damned alkali dust, is all. I suppose ye cant pay men to come out, but if ye can writeas I suppose such gentle fellows as yerselves surely canyou can give em a premissary note or whatever its called We have specie, I said. Enough to hire a small crew. The enjies eyes widened at this. I supposed they would widen even more if I told him my father had given me twenty gold knuckles to carry in a special pocket sewn inside my vest. And oxes? Because well need oxes if theyve got em. Hosses if they dont. Well go to the livery and see what they have, I said, mounting up. Jamie tied his bow on one side of his saddle and then moved to the other, where he slid his bah into the leather boot his father had made special for it. Dont leave us stuck out here, young sai, the enjie said. Weve no horses, and no weapons. We wont forget you, I said. Just stay inside. If we cant get a crew out today, well send a bucka to take you into town. Thankee. And stay away from those women! They . . . eat . . . the mens!    The day was hot. We ran the horses for a bit because they wanted to stretch after being pent up, then pulled them down to a walk. Vannay, Jamie said. Pardon? Before the train derailed, you said your father didnt believe there was a skinman, but Vannay does. He said that after reading the reports High Sheriff Peavy sent along, it was hard not to believe. You know what he says at least once in every class When facts speak, the wise man listens. Twentythree dead makes a moit of facts. Not shot or stabbed, mind you, but torn to pieces. Jamie grunted. Whole families, in two cases. Large ones, almost clans. The houses turned all upsyturvy and splashed with blood. Limbs ripped off the bodies and carried away, some foundpartly eatensome not. At one of those farms, Sheriff Peavy and his deputy found the youngest boys head stuck on a fencepole with his skull smashed in and his brains scooped out. Witnesses? A few. A sheepherder coming back with strays saw his partner attacked. The one who survived was on a nearby hill. The two dogs with him ran down to try and protect their other master, and were torn apart too. The thing came up the hill after the herder, but got distracted by the sheep instead, so the fellow struck lucky and got away. He said it was a wolf that ran upright, like a man. Then there was a woman with a gambler. He was caught cheating at Watch Me in one of the local pits. The two of them were given a bill of circulation and told to leave town by nightfall or be whipped. They were headed for the little town near the saltmines when they were beset. The man fought. It gave the woman just enough time to get clear. She hid up in some rocks until the thing was gone. Shes said twas a lion. On its back legs? If so, she didnt wait to see. Last, two cowpunchers. They were camped on Debaria Stream near a young Manni couple on marriage retreat, although the punchers didnt know it until they heard the couples screams. As they rode toward the sound, they saw the killer go loping off with the womans lower leg in its jaws. It wasnt a man, but they swore on watch and warrant that it ran upright like a man. Jamie leaned over the neck of his horse and spat. Cant be so. Vannay says it can. He says there have been such before, although not for years. He believes they may be some sort of mutation thats pretty much worked its way out of the true thread. All these witnesses saw different animals? Aye. The cowpokes described it as a tyger. It had stripes. Lions and tygers running around like trained beasts in a traveling show. And out here in the dust. Are you sure we arent being tickled? I wasnt old enough to be sure of much, but I did know the times were too desperate to be sending young guns even so far west as Debaria for a prank. Not that Steven Deschain could have been described as a prankster even in the best of times. Im only telling what Vannay told me. The ropeswingers who came into town with the remains of those two Manni behind them on a travois had never even heard of such a thing as a tyger. Yet that is what they described. The testimonys in here, green eyes and all. I took the two creased sheets of paper I had from Vannay out of my inner vest pocket. Care to look? Im not much of a reader, Jamie said. As thee knows. Aye, fine. But take my word. Their description is just like the picture in the old story of the boy caught in the starkblast. What old story is that? The one about Tim StoutheartThe Wind Through the Keyhole. Never mind. Its not important. I know the punchers may have been drunk, they usually are if theyre near a town that has liquor, but if its true testimony, Vannay says the creature is a shapeshifter as well as a shapechanger. Twentythree dead, you say. Ayyi. The wind gusted, driving the alkali before it. The horses shied, and we raised our neckerchiefs over our mouths and noses. Boogery hot, Jamie said. And this damned dust. Then, as if realizing he had been excessively chatty, he fell silent. That was fine with me, as I had much to think about. A little less than an hour later, we breasted a hill and saw a sparkling white haci below us. It was the size of a barony estate. Behind it, tending down toward a narrow creek, was a large greengarden and what looked like a grape arbor. My mouth watered at the sight of it. The last time Id had grapes, my armpits had still been smooth and hairless. The walls of the haci were tall and topped with forbidding sparkles of broken glass, but the wooden gates stood open, as if in invitation. In front of them, seated on a kind of throne, was a woman in a dress of white muslin and a hood of white silk that flared around her head like gullwings. As we drew closer, I saw the throne was ironwood. Surely no other chair not made of metal could have borne her weight, for she was the biggest woman I had ever seen, a giantess who could have mated with the legendary outlaw prince David Quick. Her lap was full of needlework. She might have been knitting a blanket, but held before that barrel of a body and breasts so big each of them could have fully shaded a baby from the sun, whatever it was looked no bigger than a handkerchief. She caught sight of us, laid her work aside, and stood up. There was six and a half feet of her, maybe a bit more. The wind was less in this dip, but there was enough to flutter her dress against her long thighs. The cloth made a sound like a sail in a runningbreeze. I remembered the enjie saying they eat the mens, but when she put one large fist to the broad plain of her forehead and lifted the side of her dress to dip a curtsey with her free hand, I nonetheless reined up. Hile, gunslingers, she called. She had a rolling voice, not quite a mans baritone. In the name of Serenity and the women who bide here, I salute thee. May your days be long upon the earth. We raised our own fists to our brows, and wished her twice the number. Have you come from InWorld? I think so, for your duds arent filthy enough for these parts. Although they will be, if you bide longer than a day. And she laughed. The sound was moderate thunder. We do, I said. It was clear Jamie would say nothing. Ordinarily closemouthed, he was now stunned to silence. Her shadow rose on the whitewashed wall behind her, as tall as Lord Perth. And have you come for the skinman? Yes, I said. Have you seen him, or do you only know of him from the talk? If thats the case, well move on and say thankee. Not a him, lad. Never think it. I only looked at her. Standing, she was almost tall enough to look into my eyes, although I sat on Young Joe, a fine big horse. An it, she said. A monster from the Deep Cracks, as sure as you two serve the Eld and the White. It may have been a man once, but no more. Yes, Ive seen it, and seen its work. Sit where you are, never move, and you shall see its work, too. Without waiting for any reply, she went through the open gate. In her white muslin she was like a sloop running before the wind. I looked at Jamie. He shrugged and nodded. This was what we had come for, after all, and if the enjie had to wait a bit longer for help putting Sma Toot back on the rails, so be it. ELLEN! she bawled. Raised to full volume, it was like listening to a woman shouting into an electric megaphone. CLEMMIE! BRIANNA! BRING FOOD! BRING MEAT AND BREAD AND ALETHE LIGHT, NOT THE DARK! BRING A TABLE, AND MIND YOU DONT FORGET THE CLOTH! SEND FORTUNA TO ME NOW! HIE TO IT! DOUBLEQUICK! With these orders delivered she returned to us, delicately lifting her hem to keep it out of the alkali that puffed around the black boats she wore on her enormous feet. Ladysai, we thank you for your offer of hospitality, but we really must You must eat is what you must do, she said. Well have it out here aroadside, so your digestion will not be discomposed. For I know what stories they tell about us in Gilead, aye, so do we all. Men tell the same about any women who dare to live on their own, I wot. It makes em doubt the worth of their hammers. We heard no stories about She laughed and her bosom heaved like the sea. Polite of you, young gunnie, aye, and very snick, but its long since I was weaned. Well not eat ye. Her eyes, as black as her shoes, twinkled. Although yed make a tasty snack, I thinkone or both. I am Everlynne of Serenity. The prioress, by the grace of God and the Man Jesus. Roland of Gilead, I said. And this is Jamie of same. Jamie bowed from his saddle. She curtsied to us again, this time dropping her head so that the wings of her silken hood closed briefly around her face like curtains. As she rose, a tiny woman glided through the open gate. Or perhaps she was of normal size, after all. Perhaps she only looked tiny next to Everlynne. Her robe was rough gray cotton instead of white muslin; her arms were crossed over her scant bosom, and her hands were buried deep in her sleeves. She wore no hood, but we could still see only half of her face. The other half was hidden beneath a thick swath of bandagement. She curtsied to us, then huddled in the considerable shade of her prioress. Raise your head, Fortuna, and make your manners to these young gentlemen. When at last she looked up, I saw why she had kept her head lowered. The bandages could not fully conceal the damage to her nose; on the right side, a good part of it was gone. Where it had been was only a raw red channel. Hile, she whispered. May your days be long upon the earth. May you have twice the number, Jamie said, and I saw from the woeful glance she gave him with her one visible eye that she hoped this was not true. Tell them what happened, Everlynne said. What you remember, anyro. I know t isnt much. Must I, Mother? Yes, she said, for theyve come to end it. Fortuna peered doubtfully at us, just a quick snatch of a glance, and then back at Everlynne. Can they? They look so young. She realized what she had said must sound impolite, and a flush colored the cheek we could see. She staggered a little on her feet, and Everlynne put an arm around her. It was clear that she had been badly hurt, and her body was still far from complete recovery. The blood that had run to her face had more important work to do in other parts of her body. Chiefly beneath the bandage, I supposed, but given the voluminous robe she wore, it was impossible to tell where else she might have been wounded. They may still be a year or more from having to shave but once a week, but theyre gunslingers, Fortie. If they cant set this cursed town right, then no one can. Besides, it will do you good. Horrors a worm that needs to be coughed out before it breeds. Now tell them. She told. As she did, other Sisters of Serenity came out, two carrying a table, the others carrying food and drink to fill it. Better viands than any wed had on Sma Toot, by the look and the smell, yet by the time Fortuna had finished her short, terrible story, I was no longer hungry. Nor, by the look of him, was Jamie.    It was dusk, a fortnight and a day gone. She and another, Dolores, had come out to close the gate and draw water for the evening chores. Fortuna was the one with the bucket, and so she was the one who lived. As Dolores began to swing the gate closed, a creature knocked it wide, grabbed her, and bit her head from her shoulders with its long jaws. Fortuna said that she saw it well, for the Peddlers Moon had just risen full in the sky. Taller than a man it was, with scales instead of skin and a long tail that dragged behind it on the ground. Yellow eyes with slitted dark pupils glowed in its flat head. Its mouth was a trap filled with teeth, each as long as a mans hand. They dripped with Doloress blood as it dropped her stilltwitching body on the cobbles of the courtyard and ran on its stubby legs toward the well where Fortuna stood. I turned to flee . . . it caught me . . . and I remember no more. I do, Everlynne said grimly. I heard the screams and came running out with our gun. Its a great long thing with a bell at the end of the barrel. Its been loaded since time out of mind, but none of us has ever fired it. For all I knew, it could have blown up in my hands. But I saw it tearing at poor Forties face, and then something else, too. When I did, I never thought of the risk. I never even thought that I might kill her, poor thing, as well as it, should the gun fire. I wish you had killed me, Fortuna said. Oh, I wish you had. She sat in one of the chairs that had been brought to the table, put her face in her hands, and began to weep. Her one remaining eye did, at least. Never say so, Everlynne told her, and stroked her hair on the side of her head not covered by the bandagement. For tis blasphemy. Did you hit it? I asked. A little. Our old gun fires shot, and one of the pelletsor praps more than onetore away some of the knobs and scales on its head. Black tarry stuff flew up. We saw it later on the cobbles, and sanded it over without touching it, for fear it might poison us right through our skin. The chary thing dropped her, and I think it had almost made up its mind to come for me. So I pointed the gun at it, though a gun like that can only be fired once, then must be recharged down its throat with powder and shot. I told it to come on. Told it Id wait until it was good and close, so the shot wouldnt spread. She hawked back and spat into the dust. It must have a brain of some sort even when its out of its human shape, because it heard me and ran. But before I lost sight of it round the wall, it turned and looked back at me. As if marking me. Well, let it. I have no more shot for the gun, and wont unless a trader happens to have some, but I have this. She lifted her skirts to her knee, and we saw a butchers knife in a rawhide scabbard strapped to the outside of her calf. So let it come for Everlynne, daughter of Roseanna. You said you saw something else, I said. She considered me with her bright black eyes, then turned to the women. Clemmie, Brianna, serve out. Fortuna, you will say grace, and be sure to ask God forgiveness for your blasphemy and thank Him that your heart still beats. Everlynne grasped me above the elbow, drew me through the gate, and walked me to the well where the unfortunate Fortuna had been attacked. There we were alone. I saw its prick, she said in a low voice. Long and curved like a scimitar, twitching and full of the black stuff that serves it for blood . . . serves it for blood in that shape, anyro. It meant to kill her as it had Dolores, aye, right enough, but it meant to fuck her, too. It meant to fuck her as she died.    Jamie and I ate with themFortuna even ate a littleand then we mounted up for town. But before we left, Everlynne stood by my horse and spoke to me again. When your business here is done, come and see me again. I have something for you. What might that be, sai? She shook her head. Now is not the time. But when the filthy thing is dead, come here. She took my hand, raised it to her lips, and kissed it. I know who you are, for does your mother not live in your face? Come to me, Roland, son of Gabrielle. Fail not. Then she stepped away before I could say another word, and glided in through the gate.    The Debaria high street was wide and paved, although the pavement was crumbling away to the hardpan beneath in many places and would be entirely gone before too many years passed. There was a good deal of commerce, and judging from the sound coming from the saloons, they were doing a fine business. We only saw a few horses and mules tied to the hitchingposts, though; in that part of the world, livestock was for trading and eating, not for riding. A woman coming out of the mercantile with a basket over her arm saw us and stared. She ran back in, and several more people came out. By the time we reached the High Sheriffs officea little wooden building attached to the much larger stonebuilt town jailthe streets were lined with spectators on both sides. Have ye come to kill the skinman? the lady with the basket called. Those two dont look old enough to kill a bottle of rye, a man standing in front of the Cheery Fellows Saloon  Caf called back. There was general laughter and murmurs of agreement at this sally. Town looks busy enough now, Jamie said, dismounting and looking back at the forty or fifty men and women whod come away from their business (and their pleasure) to have a gleep at us. Itll be different after sundown, I said. Thats when such creatures as this skinman do their marauding. Or so Vannay says. We went into the office. Hugh Peavy was a bigbellied man with long white hair and a droopy mustache. His face was deeply lined and careworn. He saw our guns and looked relieved. He noted our beardless faces and looked less so. He wiped off the nib of the pen he had been writing with, stood up, and held out his hand. No foreheadknocking for this fellow. After wed shaken with him and introduced ourselves, he said I dont mean to belittle you, young fellows, but I was hoping to see Steven Deschain himself. And perhaps Peter McVries. McVries died three years ago, I said. Peavy looked shocked. Do you say so? For he was a trig hand with a gun. Very trig. He died of a fever. Very likely induced by poison, but this was nothing the High Sheriff of the Debaria Outers needed to know. As for Steven, hes otherwise occupied, and so he sent me. I am his son. Yar, yar, Ive heard your name and a bit of your exploits in Mejis, for we get some news even out here. Theres the ditdah wire, and even a jingjang. He pointed to a contraption on the wall. Written on the brick beneath it was a sign reading DO NOT TOUCH WITHOUT PERMIZION. It used to go all the way to Gilead, but these days only to Sallywood in the south, the Jefferson spread to the north, and the village in the foothillsLittle Debaria, its called. We even have a few streetlamps that still worknot gas or kerosene but real sparklights, dontcha see. Townfolk think suchll keep the creature away. He sighed. I am less confident. This is a bad business, young fellows. Sometimes I feel the world has come loose of its moorings. It has, I said. But what comes loose can be tied tight again, Sheriff. If you say so. He cleared his throat. Now, dont take this as disrespect, I know ye are who ye say ye are, but I was promised a sigul. If youve brought it, Id have it, for it means special to me. I opened my swagbag and brought out what Id been given a small wooden box with my fathers markthe D with the S inside of itstamped on the hinged lid. Peavy took it with the smallest of smiles dimpling the corners of his mouth beneath his mustache. To me it looked like a remembering smile, and it took years off his face. Doee know whats inside? No. I had not been asked to look. Peavy opened the box, looked within, then returned his gaze to Jamie and me. Once, when I was still only a deputy, Steven Deschain led me, and the High Sheriff that was, and a posse of seven against the Crow Gang. Has your father ever spoken to you of the Crows? I shook my head. Not skinmen, no, but a nasty lot of work, all the same. They robbed what there was to rob, not just in Debaria but all along the ranchlands out this way. Trains, too, if they got word one was worth stopping. But their main business was kidnapping for ransom. A cowards crime, sureIm told Farson favors itbut it paid well. Your da showed up in town only a day after they stole a ranchers wifeBelinda Doolin. Her husband called on the jingjang as soon as they left and he was able to get himself untied. The Crows didnt know about the jingjang, and that was their undoing. Accourse it helped that there was a gunslinger doing his rounds in this part of the world; in those days, they had a knack of turning up when and where they were needed. He eyed us. Praps they still do. Anyro, we got out tranch while the crime was still fresh. There were places where any of us would have lost the trailits mostly hardpan out north of here, dontcha seebut your father had eyes like you wouldnt believe. Hawks aint even in it, dear, or eagles, either. I knew of my fathers sharp eyes and gift for trailing. I also knew that this story probably had nothing to do with our business, and I should have told him to move along. But my father never talked about his younger days, and I wanted to hear this tale. I was hungry to hear it. And it turned out to have a little more to do with our business in Debaria than I at first thought. The trail led in the direction of the mineswhat Debaria folk call the salthouses. The workings had been abandoned in those days; it was before the new plug was found twenty year ago. Plug? Jamie asked. Deposit, I said. He means a fresh deposit. Aye, as you say. But all that were abandoned then, and made a fine hideout for such as those beastly Crows. Once the trail left the flats, it went through a place of high rocks before coming out on the Low Pure, which is to say the foothill meadows below the salthouses. The Low is where a sheepherder was killed just recent, by something that looked like a Like a wolf, I said. This we know. Go on. Wellinformed, are ye? Well, thats all to the good. Where was I, now? Ah, I knowthose rocks that are now known in these parts as Ambush Arroyo. Its not an arroyo, but I suppose people like the sound. Thats where the tracks went, but Deschain wanted to go around and come in from the east. From the High Pure. The sheriff, Pea Anderson it was back then, didnt want none o that. Eager as a bird with its eye on a worm he was, mad to press on. Said it would take em three days, and by then the woman might be dead and the Crows anywhere. He said he was going the straight way, and hed go alone if no one wanted to go with him. Or unless you order me in the name of Gilead to do different, he says to your da. Never think it, Deschain says, for Debaria is your fill; I have my own. The posse went. I stayed with your da, lad. Sheriff Anderson turned to me in the saddle and said, I hope theyre hiring at one of the ranches, Hughie, because your days of wearing tin on your vest are over. Im done withee. Those were the last words he ever said to me. They rode off. Steven of Gilead squatted on his hunkers and I hunkered with him. After half an hour of quietmight have been longerI says to him, I thought we were going to hook around . . . unless youre done with me, too. No, he says. Your hire is not my business, Deputy. Then what are we waitin for? Gunfire, says he, and not five minutes later we heard it. Gunfire and screams. It didnt last long. The Crows had seen us comingprobably nummoren a glint of sun on a bootcap or bit o saddle brightwork was enough to attract their attention, for Pa Crow was powerful trigand doubled back. They got up in those high rocks and poured down lead on Anderson and his possemen. There were more guns in those days, and the Crows had a good share. Even a speedshooter or two. So we went around, all right? Took us only two days, because Steven Deschain pushed hard. On the third day, we camped downslope and rose before dawn. Now, if ye dont know, and no reason ye should, salthouses are just caverns in the cliff faces up there. Whole families lived in em, not just the miners themselves. The tunnels go down into the earth from the backs of em. But as I say, in those days all were deserted. Yet we saw smoke coming from the vent on top of one, and that was as good as a kinkman standing out in front of a carnival tent and pointing at the show inside, dontcha see it. This is the time, Steven says, because they will have spent the last nights, once they were sure they were safe, deep in drink. Theyll still be sleeping it off. Will you stand with me? Aye, gunslinger, that I will, I tells him. When Peavy said this, he unconsciously straightened his back. He looked younger. We snuck the last fifty or sixty yards, yer da with his gun drawn in case theyd posted a guard. They had, but he was only a lad, and fast asleep. The Deschain holstered his gun, swotted him with a rock, and laid him out. I later saw that young fellow standing on a trapdoor with tears running out of his eyes, a mess in his pants, and a rope around his neck. He wasnt but fourteen, yet hed taken his turn at sai Doolinthe kidnapped woman, dontcha know, and old enough to be his grandmotherjust like the rest of them, and I shed no tears when the rope shut off his cries for mercy. The salt ye take is the salt ye must pay for, as anyone from these parts will tell you. The gunslinger crep inside, and I right after him. They was all lying around, snoring like dogs. Hell, boys, they were dogs. Belinda Doolin was tied to a post. She saw us, and her eyes widened. Steven Deschain pointed to her, then to himself, then cupped his hands together, then pointed to her again. Youre safe, he meant. I never forgot the look of gratitude in her face as she nodded to him that she understood. Youre safethats the world we grew up in, young men, the one thats almost gone now. Then the Deschain says, Wake up, Allan Crow, unless youd go into the clearing at the end of the path with your eyes shut. Wake up, all. They did. He never meant to try and bring them all in alivetwould have been madness, that Im sure you must seebut he wouldnt shoot them as they slept, either. They woke up to varying degrees, but not for long. Steven drew his guns so fast I never saw his hands move. Lightning aint in it, dear. At one moment those revolvers with their big sandalwood grips were by his sides; at the next he was blazing away, the noise like thunder in that closedin space. But that didnt keep me from drawing my own gun. It was just an old barrelshooter I had from my granda, but I put two of them down with it. The first two men I ever killed. There have been plenty since, sad to say. The only one who survived that first fusillade was Pa Crow himselfAllan Crow. He was an old man, all snarled up and frozen on one side of his face from a stroke or summat, but he moved fast as the devil just the same. He was in his longjohns, and his gun was stuck in the top of one of his boots there at the end of his bedroll. He grabbed it up and turned toward us. Steven shot him, but the old bastard got off a single round. It went wild, but . . . Peavy, who could have been no older in those days than we two young men standing before him, opened the box on its cunning hinges, mused a moment at what he saw inside, then looked up at me. That little remembering smile still touched the corners of his mouth. Have you ever seen a scar on your fathers arm, Roland? Right here? He touched the place just above the crook of his elbow, where a mans yanks begin. My fathers body was a map of scars, but it was a map I knew well. The scar above his inner elbow was a deep dimple, almost like the ones not quite hidden by Sheriff Peavys mustache when he smiled. Pa Crows last shot hit the wall above the post where the woman was tied, and richocheted. He turned the box and held it out to me. Inside was a smashed slug, a big one, a hard caliber. I dug this out of your das arm with my skinning knife, and gave it to him. He thanked me, and said someday I should have it back. And here it is. Ka is a wheel, sai Deschain. Have you ever told this story? I asked. For I have never heard it. That I dug a bullet from the flesh of Arthurs true descendant? Eld of the Eld? No, never until now. For who would believe it? I do, I said, and I thank you. It could have poisoned him. Nar, nar, Peavy said with a chuckle. Not him. The blood of Elds too strong. And if Id been laid low . . . or too squeamy . . . he would have done it himself. As it was, he let me take most of the credit for the Crow Gang, and Ive been sheriff ever since. But not much longer. This skinman business has done for me. Ive seen enough blood, and have no taste for mysteries. Wholl take your place? I asked. He seemed surprised by the question. Probably nobody. The mines will play out again in a few years, this time for good, and such rail lines as there are wont last much longer. The two things together will finish Debaria, which was once a fine little city in the time of yer grandfathers. That holy hencoop Im sure ye passed on the way in may go on; nothing else. Jamie looked troubled. But in the meantime? Let the ranchers, drifters, whoremasters, and gamblers all go to hell in their own way. Its none o mine, at least for much longer. But Ill not leave until this business is settled, one way or another. I said, The skinman was at one of the women at Serenity. Shes badly disfigured. Been there, have ye? The women are terrified. I thought this over, and remembered a knife strapped to a calf as thick as the trunk of a young birch. Except for the prioress, that is. He chuckled. Everlynne. That oned spit in the devils face. And if he took her down to Nis, shed be running the place in a month. I said, Do you have any idea who this skinman might be when hes in his human shape? If you do, tell us, I beg. For, as my father told your Sheriff Anderson that was, this is not our fill. I cant give ye a name, if thats what you mean, but I might be able to give ye something. Follow me.    He led us through the archway behind his desk and into the jail, which was in the shape of a T. I counted eight big cells down the central aisle and a dozen small ones on the crosscorridor. All were empty except for one of the smaller ones, where a drunk was snoozing away the late afternoon on a straw pallet. The door to his cell stood open. Once all of these cells would have been filled on Efday and Ethday, Peavy said. Loaded up with drunk cowpunchers and farmhands, dontcha see it. Now most people stay in at night. Even on Efday and Ethday. Cowpokes in their bunkhouses, farmhands in theirs. No one wants to be staggering home drunk and meet the skinman. The saltminers? Jamie asked. Do you pen them, too? Not often, for they have their own saloons up in Little Debaria. Two of em. Nasty places. When the whores down here at the Cheery Fellows or the Busted Luck or the BiderWee get too old or too diseased to attract custom, they end up in Little Debaria. Once theyre drunk on White Blind, the salties dont much care if a whore has a nose as long as she still has her sugarpurse. Nice, Jamie muttered. Peavy opened one of the large cells. Come on in here, boys. I havent any paper, but I do have some chalk, and heres a nice smooth wall. Its private, too, as long as old Salty Sam down there doesnt wake up. And he rarely does until sundown.


From the pocket of his twill pants the sheriff took a goodish stick of chalk, and on the wall he drew a kind of long box with jags all across the top. They looked like a row of upsidedown V s. Heres the whole of Debaria, Peavy said. Over heres the rail line you came in on. He drew a series of hashmarks, and as he did so I remembered the enjie and the old fellow whod served as our butler. Sma Toot is off the rails, I said. Can you put together a party of men to set it right? We have money to pay for their labor, and Jamie and I would be happy to work with them. Not today, Peavy said absently. He was studying his map. Enjie still out there, is he? Yes. Him and another. Ill send Kellin and Vikka Frye out in a bucka. Kellins my best deputythe other two aint worth muchand Vikkas his son. Theyll pick em up and bring em back in before dark. Theres time, because the days is long this time o year. For now, just pay attention, boys. Heres the tracks and heres Serenity, where that poor girl you spoke to was mauled. On the High Road, dontcha see it. He drew a little box for Serenity, and put an X in it. North of the womens retreat, up toward the jags at the top of his map, he put another X. This is where Yon Curry, the sheepherder, was killed. To the left of this X, but pretty much on the same levelwhich is to say, below the jagshe put another. The Alora farm. Seven killed. Farther yet to the left and little higher, he chalked another X. Heres the Timbersmith farm on the High Pure. Nine killed. Its where we found the little boys head on a pole. Tracks all around it. Wolf? I asked. He shook his head. Nar, some kind o big cat. At first. Before we lost the trail, they changed into what looked like hooves. Then . . . He looked at us grimly. Footprints. First biglike a giants, almostbut then smaller and smaller until they were the size of any mans tracks. Anyro, we lost em in the hardpan. Mayhap your father wouldntve, sai. He went on marking the map, and when he was done, stepped away so we could see it clearly. Such as you are supposed to have good brains as well as fast hands, I was always told. So what do you make of this? Jamie stepped forward between the rows of pallets (for this cell must have been for many guests, probably brought in on drunkanddisorderly), and traced the tip of his finger over the jags at the top of the map, blurring them a little. Do the salthouses run all along here? In all the foothills? Yar. The Salt Rocks, those hillsre called. Little Debaria is where? Peavy made another box for the saltminers town. It was close to the X hed made to mark the place where the woman and the gambler had been killed . . . for it was Little Debaria theyd been headed for. Jamie studied the map a bit more, then nodded. Looks to me like the skinman could be one of the miners. Is that what you think? Aye, a saltie, even though a couple of them has been torn up, too. It makes senseas much as anything in a crazy business like this can make sense. The new plugs a lot deeper than the old ones, and everyone knows there are demons in the earth. Mayhap one of the miners struck on one, wakened it, and was done a mischief by it. There are also leftovers from the Great Old Ones in the ground, I said. Not all are dangerous, but some are. Perhaps one of those old things . . . those whatdoyoucallums, Jamie? Artyfax, he said. Yes, those. Perhaps one of those is responsible. Mayhap the fellow will be able to tell us, if we take him alive. Sma chance of that, Peavy growled. I thought there was a good chance. If we could identify him and close on him in the daytime, that was. How many of these salties are there? I asked. Not smany as in the old days, because now its just the one plug, dontcha see it. I shd say no moren . . . two hundred. I met Jamies eyes, and saw a glint of humor in them. No fret, Roland, said he. Im sure we can interview em all by Reaptide. If we hurry. He was exaggerating, but I still saw several weeks ahead of us in Debaria. We might interview the skinman and still not be able to pick him out, either because he was a masterful liar or because he had no guilt to cover up; his dayself might truly not know what his nightself was doing. I wished for Cuthbert, who could look at things that seemed unrelated and spot the connections, and I wished for Alain, with his power to touch minds. But Jamie wasnt so bad, either. He had, after all, seen what I should have seen myself, what was right in front of my nose. On one matter I was in complete accord with Sheriff Hugh Peavy I hated mysteries. Its a thing that has never changed in this long life of mine. Im not good at solving them; my mind has never run that way. When we trooped back into the office, I said, I have some questions I must ask you, Sheriff. The first is, will you open to us, if we open to you? The second The second is do I see you for what you are and accept what you do. The third is do I seek aid and succor. Sheriff Peavy says yar, yar, and yar. Now for gods sake set your brains to working, fellows, for its over two weeks since this thing showed up at Serenity, and that time it didnt get a full meal. Soon enough itll be out there again. It only prowls at night, Jamie said. Youre sure of that much? I am. Does the moon have any effect on it? I asked. Because my fathers advisorand our teacher that wassays that in some of the old legends . . . Ive heard the legends, sai, but in that theyre wrong. At least for this particular creatur they are. Sometimes the moons been full when it strikesit was Full Peddler when it showed up at Serenity, all covered with scales and knobs like an alligator from the Long Salt Swampsbut it did its work at Timbersmith when the moon was dark. Id like to tell you different, but I cant. Id also like to end this without having to pick anyone elses guts out of the bushes or pluck some other kiddies head offn a fencepost. Yeve been sent here to help, and I hope like hell you can . . . although Ive got my doubts.    When I asked Peavy if there was a good hotel or boardinghouse in Debaria, he chuckled. The last boardinghouse was the Widow Brailleys. Two year ago, a drunk saddletramp tried to rape her in her own outhouse, as she sat at business. But she was always a trig one. Shed seen the look in his eye, and went in there with a knife under her apron. Cut his throat for him, she did. Stringy Bodean, who used to be our Justice Man before he decided to try his luck at raising horses in the Crescent, declared her not guilty by reason of selfdefense in about five minutes, but the lady decided shed had enough of Debaria and trained back to Gilead, where she yet bides, Ive no doubt. Two days after she left, some drunken buffoon burned the place to the ground. The hotel still stands. Its called the Delightful View. The view aint delightful, young fellows, and the beds is full of bugs as big as toads eyeballs. I wouldnt sleep in one without putting on a full suit of Arthur Elds armor. And so we ended up spending our first night in Debaria in the large drunkanddisorderly cell, beneath Peavys chalked map. Salty Sam had been set free, and we had the jail to ourselves. Outside, a strong wind had begun to blow off the alkali flats to the west of town. The moaning sound it made around the eaves caused me to think again of the story my mother used to read to me when I was just a sma toot myselfthe story of Tim Stoutheart and the starkblast Tim had to face in the Great Woods north of New Canaan. Thinking of the boy alone in those woods has always chilled my heart, just as Tims bravery has always warmed it. The stories we hear in childhood are the ones we remember all our lives. After one particularly strong gustthe Debaria wind was warm, not cold like the starkblaststruck the side of the jail and puffed alkali grit in through the barred window, Jamie spoke up. It was rare for him to start a conversation. I hate that sound, Roland. Its apt to keep me awake all night. I loved it myself; the sound of the wind has always made me think of good times and far places. Although I confess I could have done without the grit. How are we supposed to find this thing, Jamie? I hope you have some idea, because I dont. Well have to talk to the saltminers. Thats the place to start. Someone may have seen a fellow with blood on him creeping back to where the salties live. Creeping back naked. For he cant come back clothed, unless he takes them off beforehand. That gave me a little hope. Although if the one we were looking for knew what he was, he might take his clothes off when he felt an attack coming on, hide them, then come back to them later. But if he didnt know . . . It was a small thread, but sometimesif youre careful not to break ityou can pull on a small thread and unravel a whole garment. Goodnight, Roland. Goodnight, Jamie. I closed my eyes and thought of my mother. I often did that year, but for once they werent thoughts of how she had looked dead, but of how beautiful she had been in my early childhood, as she sat beside me on my bed in the room with the colored glass windows, reading to me. Look you, Roland, shed say, here are the billybumblers sitting all arow and scenting the air. They know, dont they? Yes, I would say, the bumblers know. And what is it they know? the woman I would kill asked me. What is it they know, dear heart? They know the starkblast is coming, I said. My eyes would be growing heavy by then, and minutes later I would drift off to the music of her voice. As I drifted off now, with the wind outside blowing up a strong gale.    I woke in the first thin light of morning to a harsh sound BRUNG! BRUNG! BRUNNNNG! Jamie was still flat on his back, legs splayed, snoring. I took one of my revolvers from its holster, went out through the open cell door, and shambled toward that imperious sound. It was the jingjang Sheriff Peavy had taken so much pride in. He wasnt there to answer it; hed gone home to bed, and the office was empty. Standing there barechested, with a gun in my hand and wearing nothing but the swabbies and slinkum Id slept infor it was hot in the cellI took the listening cone off the wall, put the narrow end in my ear, and leaned close to the speaking tube. Yes? Hello? Who the hells this? a voice screamed, so loud that it sent a nail of pain into the side of my head. There were jingjangs in Gilead, perhaps as many as a hundred that still worked, but none spoke so clear as this. I pulled the cone away, wincing, and could still hear the voice coming out of it. Hello? Hello? Gods curse this fucking thing! HELLO? I hear you, I said. Lower thy voice, for your fathers sake. Who is this? There was just enough drop in volume for me to put the listening cone a little closer to my ear. But not in it; I would not make that mistake twice. A deputy. Jamie DeCurry and I were the farthest things in the world from that, but simplest is usually best. Always best, I wot, when speaking with a panicky man on a jingjang. Wheres Sheriff Peavy? At home with his wife. It isnt yet five o the clock, I reckon. Now tell me who you are, where youre speaking from, and whats happened. Its Canfield of the Jefferson. I Of the Jefferson what? I heard footsteps behind me and turned, halfraising my revolver. But it was only Jamie, with his hair standing up in sleepspikes all over his head. He was holding his own gun, and had gotten into his jeans, although his feet were yet bare. The Jefferson Ranch, ye great grotting idiot! You need to get the sheriff out here, and jinjin. Everyones dead. Jefferson, his fambly, the cookie, all the proddies. Blood from one end tother. How many? I asked. Maybe fifteen. Maybe twenty. Who can tell? Canfield of the Jefferson began to sob. Theyre all in pieces. Whatever it was did for em left the two dogs, Rosie and Mozie. They was in there. We had to shoot em. They was lapping up the blood and eating the brains.    It was a tenwheel ride, straight north toward the Salt Hills. We went with Sheriff Peavy, Kellin Fryethe good deputyand Fryes son, Vikka. The enjie, whose name turned out to be Travis, also came along, for hed spent the night at the Fryes place. We pushed our mounts hard, but it was still full daylight by the time we got to the Jefferson spread. At least the wind, which was still strengthening, was at our backs. Peavy thought Canfield was a pokiewhich is to say a wandering cowboy not signed to any particular ranch. Some such turned outlaw, but most were honest enough, just men who couldnt settle down in one place. When we rode through the wide stock gate with JEFFERSON posted over it in white birch letters, two other cowboyshis mateswere with him. The three of them were bunched together by the shakepole fence of the horse corral, which stood near to the big house. A half a mile or so north, standing atop a little hill, was the bunkhouse. From this distance, only two things looked out of place the door at the south end of the bunkie was unlatched, swinging back and forth in the alkaliwind, and the bodies of two large black dogs lay stretched on the dirt. We dismounted and Sheriff Peavy shook with the men, who looked mightily glad to see us. Aye, Bill Canfield, see you very well, pokiefella. The tallest of them took off his hat and held it against his shirt. I aint no pokie nummore. Or maybe I am, I dunno. For a while here I was Canfield of the Jefferson, like I told whoever answered the goddam speakie, because I signed on just last month. Old man Jefferson himself oversaw my mark on the wall, but now hes dead like the rest of em. He swallowed hard. His Adams apple bobbed up and down. The stubble on his face looked very black, because his skin was very white. There was drying vomit on the front of his shirt. His wife and daughtersve gone into the clearing, too. You can tell em by their long hair and their . . . their . . . ay, ay, Man Jesus, you see a thing like that and it makes you wish you were born blind. He raised his hat to his face to hide it and began to weep. One of Canfields mates said, Is those gunslingers, Sheriff? Mighty young to be hauling iron, aint they? Never mind them, said Peavy. Tell me what brought you here. Canfield lowered his hat. His eyes were red and streaming. The three of us was camped out on the Pure. Roundin strays, we were, and camped for the night. Then we heard screamin start from the east. Woke us from a sound sleep, because we was that tired. Then gunshots, two or three of em. They quit and there was more screamin. And somethinsomethin bigroarin and snarlin. One of the others said, It sounded like a bear. No, it didnt, said the third. Never at all. Canfield said, Knew it was comin from the ranch, whatever it was. Had tove been four wheels from where we were, maybe six, but sound carries on the Pure, as ye know. We mounted up, but I got here way ahead of these two, because I was signed and theyre yet pokies. I dont understand, I said. Canfield turned to me. I had a ranch horse, didnt I? A good un. Snip and Arn there had nothing but mules. Put em in there, with the others. He pointed into the corral. A big gust of wind blew through just then, driving dust before it, and all the livestock galloped away like a wave. Theyre still spooked, Kellin Frye said. Looking toward the bunkhouse, the enjieTravissaid, They ent the only ones.    By the time Canfield, the Jefferson Ranchs newest proddiewhich is to say hired handreached the home place, the screaming had stopped. So had the roaring of the beast, although there was still a good deal of snarling going on. That was the two dogs, fighting over the leavings. Knowing which side of the biscuit his honey went on, Canfield bypassed the bunkhouseand the dogs snarling withinfor the big house. The front door was wide open and there were lit seners in both the hall and the kitchen, but no one answered his hail. He found Jeffersons ladysai in the kitchen with her body under the table and her halfeaten head rolled up against the pantry door. There were tracks going out the stoop door, which was banging in the wind. Some were human; some were the tracks of a monstrous great bear. The bear tracks were bloody. I took the sener off o sinkside where itd been left and followed the tracks outside. The two girls was alayin in the dirt between the house and the barn. One had gotten three or four dozen running steps ahead of her sissa, but they were both just as dead, with their nightdresses tore off em and their backs carved open right down to the spines. Canfield shook his head slowly from side to side, his large eyesswimming with tears, they werenever leaving High Sheriff Peavys face. I never want to see the claws that could do a thing like that. Never, never, never in my life. I seen what they done, and thats enough. The bunkhouse? Peavy asked. Aye, there I went next. You can see whats inside for yourself. The womenfolk too, for theyre still where I found em. I wont take ye. Snip and Arn might Not me, said Snip. Me, neither, said Arn. Ill see un all in my dreams, and thatll do me fine. I dont think we need a guide, Peavy said. You three boys stay right here. Sheriff Peavy, closely followed by the Fryes and Travis the enjie, started toward the big house. Jamie put a hand on Peavys shoulder, and spoke almost apologetically when the High Sheriff turned to look at him. Mind the tracks. Theyll be important. Peavy nodded. Yar. Well mind em very well. Especially those headed off to wherever the thing went.    The women were as sai Canfield had told us. I had seen bloodshed beforeaye, plenty of it, both in Mejis and in Gileadbut I had never seen anything like this, and neither had Jamie. He was as pale as Canfield, and I could only hope he would not discredit his father by passing out. I neednt have worried; soon he was down on his knees in the kitchen, examining several enormous bloodrimmed animal tracks. These really are bear tracks, he said, but there was never one so big, Roland. Not even in the Endless Forest. There was one here last night, cully, Travis said. He looked toward the body of the ranchers wife and shivered, even though she, like her unfortunate daughters, had been covered with blankets from upstairs. Ill be glad to get back to Gilead, where such things are just legends. What do the tracks tell otherwise? I asked Jamie. Anything? Yes. It went to the bunkhouse first, where the most . . . the most food was. The rumpus would have wakened the four of them here in the house . . . were there only four, Sheriff? Aye, Peavy said. There are two sons, but Jefferson would have sent em to the auctions in Gilead, I expect. Theyll find a sack of woe when they return. The rancher left his womenfolk and went running for the bunkhouse. The gun Canfield and his mates heard must have been his. Much good it did him, Vikka Frye said. His father hit him on the shoulder and told him to hush. Then the thing came up here, Jamie went on. The ladysai Jefferson and the two girls were in the kitchen by then, I think. And I think the sai must have told her daughters to run. Aye, Peavy said. And shed try to keep it from coming after them long enough for them to get away. Thats how it reads. Only it didnt work. If theyd been at the front of the houseif theyd seen how big it wasshed have known better, and we would have found all three of em out there in the dirt. He fetched a deep sigh. Come on, boys, lets see whats in the bunkhouse. Waiting wont make it any prettier. I think I might just stay out by the corral with those saddletramps, Travis said. Ive seen enough. Vikka Frye blurted Can I do that too, Pa? Kellin looked at his sons haunted face and said he could. Before he let the boy go, he put a kiss on his cheek.    Ten feet or so in front of the bunkhouse, the bare earth had been scuffed into a bloody churn of bootprints and clawed animal tracks. Nearby, in a clump of jugweed, was an old shortarm fourshot with its barrel bent to one side. Jamie pointed from the confusion of tracks, to the gun, to the open bunkhouse door. Then he raised his eyebrows, silently asking me if I saw it. I saw it very well. This is where the thingthe skinman wearing the shape of a bearmet the rancher, I said. He got off a few rounds, then dropped the gun No, Jamie said. The thing took it from him. Thats why the barrels bent. Maybe Jefferson turned to run. Maybe he stood his ground. Either way, it did no good. His tracks stop here, so the thing picked him up and threw him through that door and into the bunkhouse. It went to the big house next. So were backtracking it, Peavy said. Jamie nodded. Well fronttrack it soon enough, he said.    The thing had turned the bunkhouse into an abattoir. In the end, the butchers bill came to eighteen sixteen proddies, the cookwho had died beside his stove with his rent and bloodstained apron thrown over his face like a shroudand Jefferson himself, who had been torn limbless. His severed head stared up at the rafters with a fearful grin that showed only his top teeth. The skinman had ripped the ranchers lower jaw right out of his mouth. Kellin Frye found it under a bunk. One of the men had tried to defend himself with a saddle, using it as a shield, but it had done him no good; the thing had torn it in half with its claws. The unfortunate cowboy was still holding onto the pommel with one hand. He had no face; the thing had eaten it off his skull. Roland, Jamie said. His voice was strangled, as if his throat had closed up to no more than a straw. We have to find this thing. We have to. Lets see what the outward tracks say before the wind wipes them out, I replied. We left Peavy and the others outside the bunkhouse and circled the big house to where the covered bodies of the two girls lay. The tracks beyond them had begun to blur at the edges and around the clawpoints, but they would have been hard to miss even for someone not fortunate enough to have had Cort of Gilead as a teacher. The thing that made them must have weighed upwards of eight hundred pounds. Look here, Jamie said, kneeling beside one. See how its deeper at the front? It was running. And on its hind legs, I said. Like a man. The tracks went past the pump house, which was in shambles, as if the thing had given it a swipe out of pure malice as it went by. They led us onto an uphill lane that headed north, toward a long unpainted outbuilding that was either a tack shed or a smithy. Beyond this, perhaps twenty wheels farther north, were the rocky badlands below the salt hills. We could see the holes that led to the workedout mines; they gaped like empty eyesockets. We may as well give this up, I said. We know where the tracks goup to where the salties live. Not yet, Jamie said. Look here, Roland. Youve never seen anything like this. The tracks began to change, the claws merging into the curved shapes of large unshod hooves. It lost its bearshape, I said, and became . . . what? A bull? I think so, Jamie said. Lets go a little further. I have an idea. As we approached the long outbuilding, the hoofprints became pawprints. The bull had become some kind of monstrous cat. These tracks were large at first, then started to grow smaller, as if the thing were shrinking from the size of a lion to that of a cougar even as it ran. When they veered off the lane and onto the dirt path leading to the tack shed, we found a large patch of jugweed grass that had been beaten down. The broken stalks were bloody. It fell, Jamie said. I think it fell . . . and then thrashed. He looked up from the bed of matted weed. His face was thoughtful. I think it was in pain. Good, I said. Now look there. I pointed to the path, which was imprinted with the hooves of many horses. And other signs, as well. Bare feet, going to the doors of the building, which were run back on rusty metal tracks. Jamie turned to me, wideeyed. I put my finger to my lips, and drew one of my revolvers. Jamie did likewise, and we moved toward the shed. I waved him around to the far side. He nodded and split off to the left. I stood outside the open doors, gun held up, giving Jamie time to get to the other end of the building. I heard nothing. When I judged my pard must be in place, I bent down, picked up a goodsize stone with my free hand, and tossed it inside. It thumped, then rolled across wood. There was still nothing else to hear. I swung inside, crouched low, gun at the ready. The place seemed empty, but there were so many shadows it was at first hard to tell for sure. It was already warm, and by noonday would be an oven. I saw a pair of empty stalls on either side, a little smithystove next to drawers full of rusty shoes and equally rusty shoenails, dustcovered jugs of liniment and stinkum, branding irons in a tin sleeve, and a large pile of old tack that needed either to be mended or thrown out. Above a couple of benches hung a fair assortment of tools on pegs. Most were as rusty as the shoes and nails. There were a few wooden hitching hooks and a pedestal pump over a cement trough. The water in the trough hadnt been changed for a while; as my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I could see bits of straw floating on the surface. I kenned that this had once been more than a tack shed. It had also been a kind of hostelry where the ranchs working stock was seen to. Likely a jackleg veterinary, as well. Horses could be led in at one end, dealt with, and led out the other. But it looked in disrepair, abandoned. The tracks of the thing that had by then been human led up the center aisle to other doors, also open, at the far end. I followed them. Jamie? Its me. Dont shoot me, for your fathers sake. I stepped outside. Jamie had holstered his gun, and now pointed at a large heap of horseapples. He knows what he is, Roland. You know this from a pile of horseshit? As happens, I do. He didnt tell me how, but after a few seconds I saw it for myself. The hostelry had been abandoned, probably in favor of one built closer in to the main house, but the horseapples were fresh. If he came ahorseback, he came as a man. Aye. And left as one. I squatted on my hunkers and thought about this. Jamie rolled a smoke and let me. When I looked up, he was smiling a little. Do you see what it means, Roland? Two hundred salties, give or take, I said. Ive ever been slow, but in the end I usually get there. Aye. Salties, mind, not pokies or proddies. Diggers, not riders. As a rule. As you say. How many of em up there have horses, do you suppose? How many even know how to ride? His smile broadened. There might be twenty or thirty, I suppose. Its better than two hundred, I said. Better by a long stride. Well go up as soon as I never finished what I was going to say, because thats when the moaning started. It was coming from the tack shed Id dismissed as empty. How glad I was at that moment Cort wasnt there. He would have cuffed my ear and sent me sprawling. At least in his prime, he would have. Jamie and I looked into each others startled eyes, then ran back inside. The moaning continued, but the place looked as empty as before. Then that big heap of old tackbusted hames, bridles, cinch straps and reinsstarted to heave up and down, as if it were breathing. The tangled bunches of leather began to tumble away to either side and from them a boy was born. His whiteblond hair was sticking up in all directions. He wore jeans and an old shirt that hung open and unbuttoned. He didnt look hurt, but in the shadows it was hard to tell. Is it gone? he asked in a trembling voice. Please, sais, say it is. Say its gone. It is, I said. He started to wade his way out of the pile, but a strip of leather had gotten wound around one of his legs and he fell forward. I caught him and saw a pair of eyes, bright blue and utterly terrified, looking up into my face. Then he passed out.    I carried him to the trough. Jamie pulled off his bandanna, dipped it in the water, and began to wipe the boys dirtstreaked face with it. He might have been eleven; he might have been a year or two younger. He was so thin it was hard to tell. After a bit his eyes fluttered open. He looked from me to Jamie and then back to me again. Who are you? he asked. You dont blong to the ranch. Were friends of the ranch, I said. Who are you? Bill Streeter, he said. The proddies call me Young Bill. Aye, do they? And is your father Old Bill? He sat up, took Jamies bandanna, dipped it in the trough, and squeezed it out so the water ran down his thin chest. No, Old Bills my granther, went into the clearing two years ago. My da, hes just plain Bill. Something about speaking his fathers name made his eyes widen. He grasped my arm. He aint dead, is he? Say he aint, sai! Jamie and I exchanged another look, and that scared him worse than ever. Say he aint! Please say my daddy aint dead! He started to cry. Hush and go easy now, I said. What is he, your da? A proddie? Nay, no, hes the cook. Say he aint dead! But the boy knew he was. I saw it in his eyes as clearly Id seen the bunkhouse cook with his bloodstained apron thrown over his face.    There was a willatree on one side of the big house, and that was where we questioned Young Bill Streeterjust me, Jamie, and Sheriff Peavy. The others we sent back to wait in the shade of the bunkhouse, thinking that to have too many folks around him would only upset the boy more. As it happened, he could tell us very little of what we needed to know. My da said to me that it was going to be a warm night and I should go up to the graze tother side of the corral and sleep under the stars, Young Bill told us. He said itd be cooler and Id sleep better. But I knew why. Elrodd got a bottle somewhereagainand he was in drink. Thatd be Elrod Nutter? Sheriff Peavy asked. Aye, him. Foreman of the boys, he is. I know him well, Peavy said to us. Aint I had him locked up half a dozen times and more? Jefferson keeps him on because hes a helluva rider and roper, but hes one mean whoredog when hes in drink. Aint he, Young Bill? Young Bill nodded earnestly and brushed his long hair, still all dusty from the tack hed hidden in, out of his eyes. Yessir, and he had a way of takin after me. Which my father knew. Cooks apprentice, were ye? Peavy asked. I knew he was trying to be kind, but I wished hed mind his mouth and stop talking in the way that says once, but no more. But the boy didnt seem to notice. Bunkhouse boy. Not cooks boy. He turned to Jamie and me. I make the bunks, coil the rope, cinch the bedrolls, polish the saddles, set the gates at the end of the day after the horses is turned in. Tiny Braddock taught me how to make a lasso, and I throw it pretty. Roscoes teaching me the bow. Freddy TwoStep says hell show me how to brand, come fall. Do well, I said, and tapped my throat. That made him smile. Theyre good fellas, mostly. The smile went away as fast as it had come, like the sun going behind a cloud. Except for Elrod. Hes just grouchy when hes sober, but when hes in drink, he likes to tease. Mean teasing, if you do ken it. Ken it well, I said. Aye, and if you dont laugh and act like its all a jokeeven if its twisting on your hand or yanking you around on the bunkhouse floor by your hairhe gets uglier still. So when my da told me to sleep out, I took my blanket and my shaddie and I went. A word to the wise is sufficient, my da says. Whats a shaddie? Jamie asked the sheriff. Bit o canvas, Peavy said. Wont keep off rain, but itll keep you from getting damp after dewfall. Where did you roll in? I asked the boy. He pointed beyond the corral, where the horses were still skitty from the rising wind. Above us and around us, the willa sighed and danced. Pretty to hear, prettier still to look at. I guess my blanket n shaddie must still be there. I looked from where he had pointed, to the tackshed hostelry where wed found him, then to the bunkhouse. The three places made the corners of a triangle probably a quartermile on each side, with the corral in the middle.