"George Telford," he said. "May you do well, Eddie of New York." He gave his forehead a perfunctory tap
with the side of his fist, then opened the hand and held it out. He wore rancher's headgear—a cowboy hat
instead of a farmer's sombrero—but his palm felt remarkably soft, except for a line of callus running along
the base of his fingers. That's where he holds the reins, Eddie thought, and when it comes to work, that's
probably it.
Eddie gave a little bow. "Long days and pleasant nights, sai Telford." It crossed his mind to ask if Adam,
Hoss, and Little Joe were back at the Ponderosa, but he decided again to keep his wiseacre mouth shut.
"May'ee have twice the number, son, twice the number." He looked at the gun on Eddie's hip, then up at
Eddie's face. His eyes were shrewd and not particularly friendly. "Your dinh wears the mate of that, I ken."
Eddie smiled, said nothing.
"Wayne Overholser says yer ka-babby put on quite a shooting exhibition with another 'un. I believe yer wife's
wearing it tonight?"
"I believe she is," Eddie said, not much caring for that ka-babby thing. He knew very well that Susannah had
the Ruger. Roland had decided it would be better if Jake didn't go armed out to Eisenhart's Rocking B.
"Four against forty'd be quite a pull, wouldn't you say?" Telford asked. "Yar, a hard pull that'd be. Or mayhap
there might be sixty come in from the east; no one seems to remember for sure, and why would they?
Twenty-three years is a long time of peace, tell God aye and Man Jesus thankya."
Eddie smiled and said a little more nothing, hoping Telford would move along to another subject. Hoping
Telford would go away, actually.
No such luck. Pissheads always hung around: it was almost a law of nature. "Of course four armed against
forty… or sixty… would be a sight better than three armed and one standing by to raise a cheer. Especially
four armed with hard calibers, may you hear me."
"Hear you just fine," Eddie said. Over by the platform where they had been introduced, Zalia Jaffords was
telling Susannah something. Eddie thought Suze also looked interested. She gets the farmer's wife, Roland
gets the Lord of the fuckin Rings, Jake gets to make a friend, and what do I get? A guy who looks like Pa
Cartwright and cross-examines like Perry Mason.
"Do you have more guns?" Telford asked. "Surely you must have more, if you think to make a stand against
the Wolves. Myself, I think the idea's madness; I've made no secret of it. Vaughn Eisenhart feels the same—"
"Overholser felt that way and changed his mind," Eddie said in a just-passing-the-time kind of way. He
sipped tea and looked at Telford over the rim of his cup, hoping for a frown. Maybe even a brief look of
exasperation. He got neither.
"Wayne the Weathervane," Telford said, and chuckled. "Yar, yar, swings this way and that. Wouldn't be too
sure of him yet, young sai."
Eddie thought of saying, If you think this is an election you better think again, and then didn't. Mouth shut,
see much, say little.
"Do'ee have speed-shooters, p'raps?" Telford asked. "Or grenados?"
"Oh well," Eddie said, "that's as may be."
" "I never heard of a woman gunslinger."
"No?"
"Or a boy, for that matter. Even a 'prentice. How are we to know you are who you say you are? Tell me, I
beg."
"Well, that's a hard one to answer," Eddie said. He had taken a strong dislike to Telford, who looked too old
to have children at risk.
"Yet people will want to know," Telford said. "Certainly before they bring the storm."
Eddie remembered Roland's saying We may be cast on but no man may cast us back. It was clear they didn't
understand that yet. Certainly Telford didn't. Of course there were questions that had to be answered, and
answered yes; Callahan had mentioned that and Roland had confirmed it. Three of them. The first was
something about aid and succor. Eddie didn't think those questions had been asked yet, didn't see how they
could have been, but he didn't think they would be asked in the Gathering Hall when the time came. The
answers might be given by little people like Posella and Rosario, who didn't even know what they were
saying. People who did have children at risk.
"Who are you really?" Telford asked. "Tell me, I beg."
"Eddie Dean, of New York. I hope you're not questioning my honesty. I hope to Christ you're not doing that."
Telford took a step back, suddenly wary. Eddie was grimly glad to see it. Fear wasn't better than respect, but
by God it was better than nothing. "Nay, not at all, my friend! Please! But tell me this—have you ever used
the gun you carry? Tell me, I beg."
Eddie saw that Telford, although nervous of him, didn't really believe it. Perhaps there was still too much of
the old Eddie Dean, the one who really had been of New York, in his face and manner for this rancher-sai to
believe it, but Eddie didn't think that was it. Not the bottom of it, anyway. Here was a fellow who'd made up
his mind to stand by and watch creatures from Thunderclap take the children of his neighbors, and perhaps a
man like that simply couldn't believe in the simple, final answers a gun allowed. Eddie had come to know
those answers, however. Even to love them. He remembered their single terrible day in Lud, racing Susannah
in her wheelchair under a gray sky while the god-drums pounded. He remembered Frank and Luster and
Topsy the Sailor; thought of a woman named Maud kneeling to kiss one of the lunatics Eddie had shot to
death. What had she said? You shouldn't've shot Winston, for 'twas his birthday. Something like that.
"I've used this one and the other one and the Ruger as well," he said. "And don't you ever speak to me that
way again, my friend, as if the two of us were on the inside of some funny joke."
"If I offended in any way, gunslinger, I cry your pardon."
Eddie relaxed a little. Gunslinger. At least the silver-haired son of a bitch had the wit to say so even if he
might not believe so.
The band produced another flourish. The leader slipped his guitar-strap over his head and called, "Come on
now, you all! That's enough food! Time to dance it off and sweat it out, so it is!"
Cheers and yipping cries. There was also a rattle of explosions that caused Eddie to drop his hand, as he had
seen Roland drop his on a good many occasions.
"Easy, my friend," Telford said. "Only little bangers. Children setting off Reap-crackers, you ken."
"So it is," Eddie said. "Cry your pardon."
"No need." Telford smiled. It was a handsome Pa Cartwright smile, and in it Eddie saw one thing clear: this
man would never come over to their side. Not that was, until and unless every Wolf out of Thunderclap lay
dead for the town's inspection in this very Pavilion. And if that happened, he would claim to have been with
them from the very first.
EIGHT
The dancing went on until moonrise, and that night the moon showed clear. Eddie took his turn with several
ladies of the town. Twice he waltzed with Susannah in his arms, and when they danced the squares, she
turned and crossed—allamand left, allamand right—in her wheelchair with pretty precision. By the ever-
changing light of the torches, her face was damp and delighted. Roland also danced, gracefully but (Eddie
thought) with no real enjoyment or flair for it. Certainly there was nothing in it to prepare them for what
ended the evening. Jake and Benny Slightman had wandered off on their own, but once Eddie saw them
kneeling beneath a tree and playing a game that looked suspiciously like mumblety-peg.
When the dancing was done, there was singing. This began with the band itself—a mournful love-ballad and
then an uptempo number so deep in the Calla's patois that Eddie couldn't follow the lyric. He didn't have to in
order to know it was at least mildly ribald; there were shouts and laughter from the men and screams of glee
from the ladies. Some of the older ones covered their ears.
After these first two tunes, several people from the Calla mounted the bandstand to sing. Eddie didn't think
any of them would have gotten very far on Star Search, but each was greeted warmly as they stepped to the
front of the band and were cheered lustily (and in the case of one pretty young matron, lustfully) as they
stepped down. Two girls of about nine, obviously identical twins, sang a ballad called "Streets of Campara"
in perfect, aching harmony, accompanied by just a single guitar which one of them played. Eddie was struck
by the rapt silence in which the folken listened. Although most of the men were now deep in drink, not a
single one of these broke the attentive quiet. No baby-bangers went off. A good many (the one named
Haycox among them) listened with tears streaming down their faces. If asked earlier, Eddie would have said
of course he understood the emotional weight beneath which this town was laboring. He hadn't. He knew that
now.
When the song about the kidnapped woman and the dying cowboy ended, there was a moment of utter
silence—not even the nightbirds cried. It was followed by wild applause. Eddie thought, If they showed
hands on what to do about the Wolves right now, not even Pa Cartwright would dare vote to stand aside.
The girls curtsied and leaped nimbly down to the grass. Eddie thought that would be it for the night, but then,
to his surprise, Callahan climbed on stage.
He said, "Here's an even sadder song my mother taught me" and then launched into a cheerful Irish ditty
called "Buy Me Another Round You Booger You." It was at least as dirty as the one the band had played
earlier, but this time Eddie could understand most of the words. He and the rest of the town gleefully joined
in on the last line of every verse: Before yez put me in the ground, buy me another round, you booger you!
Susannah rolled her wheelchair over to the gazebo and was helped up during the round of applause that
followed the Old Fella's song. She spoke briefly to the three guitarists and showed them something on the
neck of one of the instruments. They all nodded. Eddie guessed they either knew the song or a version of it.
The crowd waited expectantly, none more so than the lady's husband. He was delighted but not entirely
surprised when she voyaged upon "Maid of Constant Sorrow," which she had sometimes sung on the trail.
Susannah was no Joan Baez, but her voice was true, full of emotion. And why not? It was the song of a
woman who has left her home for a strange place. When she finished, there was no silence, as after the little
girls' duet, but a round of honest, enthusiastic applause. There were cries of Yar! and Again! and More staves!
Susannah offered no more staves (for she'd sung all the ones she knew) but gave them a deep curtsy, instead.
Eddie clapped until his hands hurt, then stuck his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled.
And then—the wonders of this evening would never end, it seemed—Roland himself was climbing up as
Susannah was handed carefully down.
Jake and his new pal were at Eddie's side. Benny Slightman was carrying Oy. Until tonight Eddie would have
said the bumbler would have bitten anyone not of Jake's ka-tet who tried that.
"Can he sing?" Jake asked.
"News to me if he can, kiddo," Eddie said. "Let's see." He had no idea what to expect, and was a little
amused at how hard his heart was thumping.
NINE
Roland removed his holstered gun and cartridge belt. He handed them down to Susannah, who took them and
strapped on the belt high at the waist. The cloth of her shirt pulled tight when she did it, and for a moment
Eddie thought her breasts looked bigger. Then he dismissed it as a trick of the light
The torches were orange. Roland stood in their light, gunless and as slim-hipped as a boy. For a moment he
only looked out over the silent, watching faces, and Eddie felt Jake's hand, cold and small, creep into his
own. There was no need for the boy to say what he was thinking, because Eddie was thinking it himself.
Never had he seen a man who looked so lonely, so far from the run of human life with its fellowship and
warmth. To see him here, in this place of fiesta (for it was a fiesta, no matter how desperate the business that
lay behind it might be), only underlined the truth of him: he was the last. There was no other. If Eddie,
Susannah, Jake, and Oy were of his line, they were only a distant shoot, far from the trunk. Afterthoughts,
almost. Roland, however… Roland…
Hush, Eddie thought. You don't want to think about such things. Not tonight.
Slowly, Roland crossed his arms over his chest, narrow and tight, so he could lay the palm of his right hand
on his left cheek and the palm of his left hand on his right cheek. This meant zilch to Eddie, but the reaction
from the seven hundred or so Calla-folk was immediate: a jubilant, approving roar that went far beyond mere
applause. Eddie remembered a Rolling Stones concert he'd been to. The crowd had made that same sound
when the Stones' drummer, Charlie Watts, began to tap his cowbell in a syncopated rhythm that could only
mean "Honky Tonk Woman."
Roland stood as he was, arms crossed, palms on cheeks, until they quieted. "We are well-met in the Calla," he
said. "Hear me, I beg."
"We say thankee!" they roared. And "Hear you very well!"
Roland nodded and smiled. "But I and my friends have been far and we have much yet to do and see. Now
while we bide, will you open to us if we open to you?"
Eddie felt a chill. He felt Jake's hand tighten on his own. It's the first of the questions, he thought.
