Wolves of the Calla

Roland nodded. 'Be here half an hour before dawn.'

A look of intense, almost painful gratitude filled Overholser's face and made him look weirdly young. 'Thankee, Roland! Say thankee! Big-big!'

'Glad to have you. Now listen to me a minute.'

'Aye?'

'Things won't be just the way I told them at the big meeting.'

'Because of Andy, y'mean.'

'Yes, partly that.'

'What else? You don't mean to say there's another traitor, do'ee? You don't mean to say that?'

'All I mean to say is that if you want to come with us, you have to roll with us. Do you ken?'

'Yes, Roland, Very well.'

Overholser thanked him again for the chance to die north of town and then hurried off with his hat still in his hands. Before Roland could change his mind, perhaps.

Eddie came over. 'Overholser's coming to the dance?'

'Looks like it. How much trouble did you have with Andy?'

'It went all right,' Eddie said, not wanting to admit that he, Tian, and Rosalita had probably all come within a second of being toast. In the distance, they could still hear him bellowing. But probably not for much longer; the amplified voice was claiming shutdown was seventy-nine per cent complete.

'I think you did very well.'

A compliment from Roland always made Eddie feel like king of the world, but he tried not to show it. 'As long as we do well tomorrow.'

'Susannah?'

'Seems fine.'

'No… ?' Roland rubbed above his left eyebrow.

'No, not that I've seen.'

'And no talking short and sharp?'

'No, she's good for it. Practiced with her plates all the time you guys were digging.' Eddie tipped his chin toward Jake, who was sitting by himself on a swing with Oy at his feet. 'That's the one I'm worried about. I'll be glad to get him out of here. This has been hard for him.'

'It'll be harder on the other boy,' Roland said, and stood up. 'I'm going back to Pere's. Going to get some sleep.'

'Can you sleep?'

'Oh, yes,' Roland said. 'With the help of Rosa's cat-oil, I'll sleep like a rock. You and Susannah and Jake should also try.'

'Okay.'

Roland nodded somberly. 'I'll wake you tomorrow morning. We'll ride down here together.'

'And we'll fight.'

'Yes,' Roland said. He looked at Eddie. His blue eyes gleamed in the glow of the torches. 'We'll fight. Until they're dead, or we are.'

Chapter VII: The Wolves

ONE

See this now, see it very well:

Here is a road as wide and as well-maintained as any secondary road in America, but of the smooth packed dirt the Calla-folk call oggan. Ditches for runoff border both sides; here and there neat and well-maintained wooden culverts run beneath the oggan. In the faint, unearthly light that comes before dawn, a dozen bucka waggons—they are the kind driven by the Manni, with rounded canvas tops—roll along the road. The canvas is bright clean white, to reflect the sun and keep the interiors cool on hot summer days, and they look like strange, low-floating clouds. The cumulus kind, may it do ya. Each waggon is drawn by a team of six mules or four horses. On the seat of each, driving, are either a pair of fighters or of designated child-minders. Overholser is driving the lead waggon, with Margaret Eisenhart beside him. Next in line comes Roland of Gilead, mated with Ben Slightman. Fifth is Tian and Zalia Jaffords. Seventh is Eddie and Susannah Dean. Susannah's wheelchair is folded up in the waggon behind her. Bucky and Annabelle Javier are in charge of the tenth. On the peak-seat of the last waggon are Father Donald Callahan and Rosalita Munoz.

Inside the buckas are ninety-nine children. The left-over twin—the one that makes for an odd number—is Benny Slightman, of course. He is riding in the last waggon. (He felt uncomfortable about going with his father.) The children don't speak. Some of the younger ones have gone back to sleep; they will have to be awakened shortly, when the waggons reach their destination. Ahead, now less than a mile, is the place where the path into the arroyo country splits off to the left. On the right, the land runs down a mild slope to the river. All the drivers keep looking to the east, toward the constant darkness that is Thunderclap. They are watching for an approaching dust-cloud. There is none. Not yet. Even the seminon winds have fallen still. Callahan's prayers seem to have been answered, at least in that regard.

TWO

Ben Slightman, sitting next to Roland on the bucka's peak-seat, spoke in a voice so low the gunslinger could barely hear him. 'What will'ee do to me, then?'

If asked, when the waggons set out from Calla Bryn Sturgis, to give odds on Slightman's surviving this day, Roland might have put them at five in a hundred. Surely no better. There were two crucial questions that needed to be asked and then answered correctly. The first had to come from Slightman himself. Roland hadn't really expected the man to ask it, but here it was, out of his mouth. Roland turned his head and looked at him.

Vaughn Eisenhart's foreman was very pale, but he took off his spectacles and met Roland's gaze. The gunslinger ascribed no special courage to this. Surely Slightman the Elder had had time to take Roland's measure and knew that he must look the gunslinger in the eye if he was to have any hope at all, little as he might like to do it.

'Yar, I know,' Slightman said. His voice was steady, at least so far. 'Know what? That you know.'

'Have since we took your pard, I suppose,' Roland said. The word was deliberately sarcastic (sarcasm was the only form of humor Roland truly understood), and Slightman winced at it: pard. Your pard. But he nodded, eyes still steady on Roland's.

'I had to figure that if you knew about Andy, you knew about me. Although he'd never have peached on me. Such wasn't in his programming.' At last it was too much and he could bear the eye-contact no longer. He looked down, biting his lip. 'Mostly I knew because of Jake.'

Roland wasn't able to keep the surprise out of his face.

'He changed. He didn't mean to, not as trig as he is—and as brave—but he did. Not toward me, toward my boy. Over the last week, week and a half. Benny was only… well, puzzled, I guess you'd say. He felt something but didn't know what it was. I did. It was like your boy didn't want to be around him anymore. I asked myself what could do that. The answer seemed pretty clear. Clear as short beer, do ya.'

Roland was falling behind Overholser's waggon. He flicked the reins over the backs of his own team. They moved a little faster. From behind them came the quiet sound of the children, some talking now but most snoring, and the muted jingle of trace. He'd asked Jake to collect up a small box of children's possessions, and had seen the boy doing it. He was a good boy who never put off a chore. This morning he wore a dayrider hat to keep