The boy grinned despite himself. Nalin. Wade. We know, said Guan. Wade stopped chewing nothing.
Excuse me. We know who you are. Is that so? Yes. And how exactly is that?
She did not answer. The dia laid a hand on her arm gently, the way a man does when he is stopping a storm before it gets a name. Wade filed it away. He was good at filing. It was the only thing he did with other people's secrets because he had enough of his own.
Where did you come from? The cedar wash, said Dakaya. Our camp 61 of us stopped. The spring stopped 4 days ago. The words landed like stones.
Wade looked at the dry creek bed again at the neat line of broken rock across the upper channel. "Too neat. " "Nature does not stack stone. " "Somebody damned it," Wade said slowly. "Yes, who?
" Decay's eyes slid toward the hills, but toward the long green valley that began exactly where the creek stopped. "A valley with a name painted on every fence post. Voss. " Wade swallowed. His mouth was very dry.
And it was not only the thirst. "Can you ride?" he asked. "We can walk," said Guan. Good, because I've got one horse and he's old. I resent that, said Guan.
I was talking about the horse and that was the first time. She nearly smiled. Nearly. She caught it, strangled it, hid the evidence. Wade pretended not to notice.
He was good at that, too. They had gone maybe 2 miles when a rifle cracked. One shot, flat, far away, and Deacon screamed. The old gray horse went down like a dropped sack. Wade hit the dirt rolling.
Dust in his teeth, dust in his eyes, rifle in his hands. And for one long terrible second, he lay there listening to his oldest friend breathe. Deacon, he said. Deacon, hey, easy. The horse tried to rise.
Failed. Looked at Wade. Wade did what had to be done. Quick, clean, because that was the last kindness left. And he did it with his hand shaking so hard he almost almost missed.
Nobody spoke. Guan looked at the hills. Tea looked at Wade and Nalin looked at the ground like he wanted to dig a hole and climb in. Wade stood up slowly, wiped his face, picked up his saddle bags. "Walk," he said.
Now they walked. They reached the cabin at dusk. Wade's legs felt like wet rope. His tongue felt like a boot, and his temper had stopped being a temper hours ago. It was a fire now.
Inside, he said, "All of you get down on the floor. " "Why? " Guan asked. "Because somebody just shot my horse from half a mile away. " And I don't believe he missed on purpose.
She looked at him. A long look. Then she moved. Wade went straight to the well, hauled up the bucket, and thank God it came up full. Cold, clear, the old stone well his father had dug before Wade could walk.
The well he had been told all his life to leave be. He carried it inside two bucket, handed out cups, and watched the three of them drink like it was a church. Slowly, he said, "Or you'll be sick. We are not children," said Guan. Then act like it.
She drank slower, glared the whole time. Wade almost laughed. Almost. It had been years since anyone looked at him that way, like he was a problem worth having instead of a problem worth avoiding. Then Nalin did something strange. while the others drank.
While the lamp through shadows on the log walls, the boy pulled out the little leather pouch, opened it, took out something wrapped in cloth, and Wade caught a glimpse of metal, scratched, dull, half of a round bronze disc cut clean down the middle with a symbol on it, a circle, a line through it, three short marks beneath. Wade felt the floor tilt. He had seen that symbol before. Every day of his life, carved into the wooden stock of his father's old rifle. The rifle that hung above the fireplace, the rifle weighed never fired, never cleaned, never questioned.
He said nothing. And that was his first mistake because Nalin had seen him look. And the boy tucked the metal away again. Fast. Guilty.
Where did you get that? Wade asked. Get what? Don't. It's nothing.
It's not nothing. It's mine. I didn't say it wasn't. Then why are you looking at me like that? Because you are lying badly.
I'm 14 and I'm 38. I have lied better than you in my sleep. Nalin's mouth twitched. Guan made a small sound that might have been a cough. Dakaya closed his eyes slowly like a man counting the days he had left.
Wade should have pushed. He knew that. But the lamp flickered and outside in the darkness something moved. A horse. A soft step.
A creek of leather. Wade set down his cup. Lights out, he said quietly. Everybody down now. The room went black.
Wade crept to the window, rifle against his shoulder. Heart going like a trapped bird. Out there beyond the fence. The world was moonlight and shadow and stillness. Two still.
Then a boot scraped dry ground behind the cabin. And another off to the left. How many? Guan whispered. Too many.
You have one rifle. Thank you. I had noticed. Then give me something. What?
A weapon? You want a weapon? I would like not to die. Wade paused, considered, then reached beneath the table, pulled out his father's old shotgun, handed it over. Two shells.
Make them count. I always do. Of course you do. A voice rolled out of the dark, smooth, unhurried. A voice with no fear in it at all.
Haron, you in there? Wade did not answer. Come on out. Nobody needs to get hurt. Funny, Wade called back.
Somebody just shot my horse. Terrible thing. Terrible. Hand over the strangers and we'll call it even. No, you don't even know what they've got.