Wolves of the Calla - Stephen King [60]
Susannah didn’t know whether to be glad or afraid.
Four
“I’d have a word alone with’ee, if it does ya,” Overholser said. The two boys had walked off a little distance with Oy between them, Slightman the Younger asking Jake if the bumbler could count, as he’d heard some of them could.
“I think not, Wayne,” Jaffords said at once. “It was agreed we’d go back to our camp, break bread, and explain our need to these folk. And then, if they agreed to come further—”
“I have no objection to passing a word with sai Overholser,” Roland said, “nor will you, sai Jaffords, I think. For is he not your dinh?” And then, before Tian could object further (or deny it): “Give these folks tea, Susannah. Eddie, step over here with us a bit, if it do ya fine.”
This phrase, new to all their ears, came out of Roland’s mouth sounding perfectly natural. Susannah marveled at it. If she had tried saying that, she would have sounded as if she were sucking up.
“We have food south aways,” Zalia said timidly. “Food and graf and coffee. Andy—”
“We’ll eat with pleasure, and drink your coffee with joy,” Roland said. “But have tea first, I beg. We’ll only be a moment or two, won’t we, sai?”
Overholser nodded. His look of stern unease had departed. So had his stiffness of body. From the far side of the road (close to where a woman named Mia had slipped into the woods only the night before), the boys laughed as Oy did something clever—Benny with surprise, Jake with obvious pride.
Roland took Overholser’s arm and led him a little piece up the road. Eddie strolled with them. Jaffords, frowning, made as if to go with them anyway. Susannah touched his shoulder. “Don’t,” she said in a low voice. “He knows what he’s doing.”
Jaffords looked at her doubtfully for a moment, then came with her. “P’raps I could build that fire up for you a bit, sai,” Slightman the Elder said with a kindly look at her diminished legs. “For I see a few sparks yet, so I do.”
“If you please,” Susannah said, thinking how wonderful all this was. How wonderful, how strange. Potentially deadly as well, of course, but she had come to learn that also had its charms. It was the possibility of darkness that made the day seem so bright.
Five
Up the road about forty feet from the others, the three men stood together. Overholser appeared to be doing all the talking, sometimes gesturing violently to punctuate a point. He spoke as if Roland were no more than some gunbunny hobo who happened to come drifting down the road with a few no-account friends riding drogue behind him. He explained to Roland that Tian Jaffords was a fool (albeit a well-meaning one) who did not understand the facts of life. He told Roland that Jaffords had to be restrained, cooled off, not only in his best interests but in those of the entire Calla. He insisted to Roland that if anything could be done, Wayne Overholser, son of Alan, would be first in line to do it; he’d never shirked a chore in his life, but to go against the Wolves was madness. And, he added, lowering his voice, speaking of madness, there was the Old Fella. When he kept to his church and his rituals, he was fine. In such things, a little madness made a fine sauce. This, however, was summat different. Aye, and by a long hike.
Roland listened to it all, nodding occasionally. He said almost nothing. And when Overholser was finally finished, Calla Bryn Sturgis’s big farmer simply looked with a kind of fixed fascination at the gunman who stood before him. Mostly at those faded blue eyes.
“Are ye what ye say?” he asked finally. “Tell me true, sai.”
“I’m Roland of Gilead,” the gunslinger said.
“From the line of Eld? Ye do say it?”
“By watch and by warrant,” Roland said.
“But Gilead…” Overholser paused. “Gilead’s long gone.”
“I,” Roland said, “am not.”
“Would ye kill us all, or cause us to be killed? Tell me, I beg.”
“What would you, sai Overholser? Not later; not a day