Reynolds looked up. "Third floor. With some little serving maid."
"Kick him out," Jonas said. "It's his job to get the old bitch ready to ride."
"We're going?"
"Soon as we can. You and me first, with Renfrew's boys, and Lengyll behind, with the rest of the men. You just make sure Hash Renfrew's with us, Clay; that man's got sand in his craw."
"What about the horses out on the Drop?"
"Never mind the everfucking horses." There was another explosion at Citgo; another fireball floated into the sky. Jonas couldn't see the dark clouds of smoke which must be rushing up, or smell the oil; the wind, out of the east and into the west, would be carrying both away from town.
"But - "
"Just do as I say." Jonas now saw his priorities in clear, ascending order. The horses were on the bottom - Farson could find horses damned near anywhere. Above them were the tankers gathered at Hanging Rock. They were more important than ever now, because the source was gone. Lose the tankers, and the Big Coffin Hunters could forget going home.
Yet most important of all was Parson's little piece of the Wizard's Rainbow. It was the one truly irreplaceable item. If it was broken, let it be broken in the care of George Latigo, not that of Eldred Jonas.
"Get moving," he told Reynolds. "Depape rides after, with Lengyll's men. You with me. Go on. Make it happen."
"And me?" Coral asked.
He reached out and tugged her toward him. "I ain't forgot you, darlin," he said.
Coral nodded and reached between his legs, oblivious of the staring Clay Reynolds. "Aye," she said. "And I ain't forgot you."
4
They escaped Citgo with ringing ears and slightly singed around the edges but not really hurt, Sheemie riding double behind Cuthbert and Caprichoso clattering after, at the end of his long lead.
It was Susan who came up with the place they should go, and like most solutions, it seemed completely obvious . . . once someone had thought of it. And so, not long after Reaping Eve had become Reaping Mom, the five of them came to the hut in the Bad Grass where Susan and Roland had on several occasions met to make love.
Cuthbert and Alain unrolled blankets, then sat on them to examine the guns they had liberated from the Sheriff's office. They had also found Bert's slingshot.
"These're hard calibers," Alain said, holding one up with the cylinder sprung and peering one-eyed down the barrel. "If they don't throw too high or wide, Roland, I think we can do some business with them."
"I wish we had that rancher's machine-gun," Cuthbert said wistfully.
"You know what Cort would say about a gun like that?" Roland asked, and Cuthbert burst out laughing. So did Alain.
"Who's Cort?" Susan asked.
"The tough man Eldred Jonas only thinks he is," Alain said. "He was our teacher."
Roland suggested that they catch an hour or two of sleep - the next day was apt to be difficult. That it might also be their last was something he didn't feel he had to say.
"Alain, are you listening?"
Alain, who knew perfectly well that Roland wasn't speaking of his ears or his attention-span, nodded.
"Do you hear anything?"
"Not yet."
"Keep at it."
"I will . . . but I can't promise anything. The touch is flukey. You know that as well as I do."
"Just keep trying."
Sheemie had carefully spread two blankets in the comer next to his proclaimed best friend. "He's Roland . . . and he's Alain . . . who are you, good old Arthur Heath? Who are you really?"
"Cuthbert's my name." He stuck out his hand. "Cuthbert Allgood. How do y'do, and how do y'do, and how do y'do again?"
Sheemie shook the offered hand, then began giggling. It was a cheerful, unexpected sound, and made them all smile. Smiling hurt Roland a little, and he guessed that if he could see his own face, he'd observe a pretty good bum from being so close to the exploding derricks.
"Key-youth-bert," Sheemie said, giggling. "Oh my! Key-youth-bert, that's a funny name, no wonder you're such a funny fellow. Key-youth-bert, oh-aha-ha-ha, that's a pip, a real pip!"
Cuthbert smiled and nodded. "Can I kill him now, Roland, if we don't need him any longer?"
"Save him a bit, why don't you?" Roland said, then turned to Susan, his own smile fading. "Will thee walk out with me a bit, Sue? I'd talk to thee."
She looked up at him, trying to read his face. "All right." She held out her hand. Roland took it, they walked into the moonlight together, and beneath its light, Susan felt dread take hold of her heart.
5
They walked out in silence, through sweet-smelling grass that tasted good to cows and horses even as it was expanding in their bellies, first bloating and then killing them. It was high - at least a foot taller than Roland's head - and still green as summer. Children sometimes got lost in the Bad Grass and died there, but Susan had never feared to be here with Roland, even when there were no sky-markers to steer by; his sense of direction was uncannily perfect.