“Good. Say thankya. Tell him Margaret of the Redpath Clan does fine with her heathen man, aye, fine still.” Her grip tightened. “Tell him she regrets nothing ! Will’ee do that for me?”

“Aye, lady, if you like.”

She snatched the plate from him, fearless of its lethal edge. Having it seemed to steady her. She looked at him from eyes in which tears swam, unshed. “Is it the cave ye spoke of with my Da’? The Doorway Cave?”

Roland nodded.

“What would ye visit on us, ye chary gunstruck man?”

Eisenhart joined them. He looked uncertainly at his wife, who had endured exile from her people for his sake. For a moment she looked at him as though she didn’t know him.

“I only do as ka wills,” Roland said.

“Ka!” she cried, and her lip lifted. A sneer transformed her good looks to an ugliness that was almost startling. It would have frightened the boys. “Every troublemaker’s excuse! Put it up your bum with the rest of the dirt!”

“I do as ka wills and so will you,” Roland said.

She looked at him, seeming not to comprehend. Roland took the hot hand that had gripped him and squeezed it, not quite to the point of pain.

“And so will you.”

She met his gaze for a moment, then dropped her eyes. “Aye,” she muttered. “Oh aye, so do we all.” She ventured to look at him again. “Will ye give Henchick my message?”

“Aye, lady, as I said.”

The darkening dooryard was silent except for the distant call of a rustie. The cowpokes still leaned at the remuda fence. Roland ambled over to them.

“Evening, gents.”

“Hope ya do well,” one said, and touched his forehead.

“May you do better,” Roland said. “Missus threw the plate, and she threw it well, say aye?”

“Say thankya,” another of them agreed. “No rust on the missus.”

“No rust,” Roland agreed. “And will I tell you something now, gents? A word to tuck beneath your hats, as we do say?”

They looked at him warily.

Roland looked up, smiled at the sky. Then looked back at them. “Set my watch and warrant on’t. You might want to speak of it. Tell what you saw.”

They watched him cautiously, not liking to admit to this.

“Speak of it and I’ll kill every one of you,” Roland said. “Do you understand me?”

Eisenhart touched his shoulder. “Roland, surely—”

The gunslinger shrugged his hand off without looking at him. “Do you understand me?”

They nodded.

“And believe me?”

They nodded again. They looked frightened. Roland was glad to see it. They were right to be afraid. “Say thankya.”

“Say thanks,” one of them repeated. He had broken a sweat.

“Aye,” said the second.

“Thankya big-big,” said the third, and shot a nervous stream of tobacco to one side.

Eisenhart tried again. “Roland, hear me, I beg—”