Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [59]
Overholser was giving Roland a grin that Susannah found fairly offensive. It said, We know better than that, don’t we, sai? We’re both men of the world, after all. “Where are you from really, sai Roland?”
“My friend, you need to see an audiologist,” Eddie said.
Overholser looked at him, puzzled. “Beg-my-ear?”
Eddie made a there, you see? gesture and nodded. “Exactly what I mean.”
“Be still, Eddie,” Roland said. Still as mild as milk. “Sai Overholser, we may take a moment to exchange names and speak a good wish or two, surely. For that is how civilized, kindly folk behave, is it not?” Roland paused—a brief, underlining pause—and then said, “With harriers it may be different, but there are no harriers here.”
Overholser’s lips pressed together and he looked hard at Roland, ready to take offense. He saw nothing in the gunslinger’s face that offered it, and relaxed again. “Thankee,” he said. “Tian and Zalia Jaffords, as told—”
Zalia curtsied, spreading invisible skirts to either side of her battered corduroy pants.
“—and here are Ben Slightman the Elder and Benny the Younger.”
The father raised his fist to his forehead and nodded. The son, his face a study in awe (it was mostly the guns, Susannah surmised), bowed with his right leg out stiffly in front of him and the heel planted.
“The Old Fella you already know,” Overholser finished, speaking with exactly the sort of offhand contempt at which Overholser himself would have taken deep offense, had it been directed toward his valued self. Susannah supposed that when you were the big farmer, you got used to talking just about any way you wanted. She wondered how far he might push Roland before discovering that he hadn’t been pushing at all. Because some men couldn’t be pushed. They might go along with you for awhile, but then—
“These are my trailmates,” Roland said. “Eddie Dean and Jake Chambers, of New York. And this is Susannah.” He gestured at her without turning in her direction. Overholser’s face took on a knowing, intensely male look Susannah had seen before. Detta Walker had had a way of wiping that look off men’s faces that she didn’t believe sai Overholser would care for at all.
Nonetheless, she gave Overholser and the rest of them a demure little smile and made her own invisible-skirts curtsy. She thought hers as graceful in its way as the one made by Zalia Jaffords, but of course a curtsy didn’t look quite the same when you were missing your lower legs and feet. The newcomers had marked the part of her that was gone, of course, but their feelings on that score didn’t interest her much. She did wonder what they thought of her wheelchair, though, the one Eddie had gotten her in Topeka, where Blaine the Mono had finished up. These folks would never have seen the like of it.
Callahan may have, she thought. Because Callahan’s from our side. He—
The boy said, “Is that a bumbler?”
“Hush, do ya,” Slightman said, sounding almost shocked that his son had spoken.
“That’s okay,” Jake said. “Yeah, he’s a bumbler. Oy, go to him.” He pointed at Ben the Younger. Oy trotted around the campfire to where the newcomer stood and looked up at the boy with his gold-ringed eyes.
“I never saw a tame one before,” Tian said. “Have heard of em, of course, but the world has moved on.”
“Mayhap not all of it has moved on,” Roland said. He looked at Overholser. “Mayhap some of the old ways still hold.”
“Can I pat him?” the boy asked Jake. “Will he bite?”
“You can and he won’t.”
As Slightman the Younger dropped on his hunkers in front of Oy, Susannah certainly hoped Jake was right. Having a billy-bumbler chomp off this kid’s nose would not set them on in any style at all.
But Oy suffered himself to be stroked, even stretching his long neck up so he could sample the odor of Slightman’s face. The boy laughed. “What did you say his name was?”
Before Jake could reply, the bumbler spoke for himself. “Oy!”
They all laughed. And as simply as that they were together, well-met on this road that followed the Path of the Beam. The bond was fragile, but even Overholser