Eddie Dean’s eyes widened. His first thought was that he now understood about the horses—all the gray horses. His second was Of course. It makes perfect sense. We should have known.

The nineteenth word was spoken and Gran-pere’s whisper ceased. The hand gripping Eddie’s neck dropped back into Gran-pere’s lap. Eddie turned to face him. “Say true?”

“Aye, gunslinger,” said the old man. “True as ever was. Ah canna’ say for all of em, for many sim’lar masks may cover many dif’runt faces, but—”

“No,” Eddie said, thinking of gray horses. Not to mention all those sets of gray pants. All those green cloaks. It made perfect sense. What was that old song his mother used to sing? You’re in the army now, you’re not behind the plow. You’ll never get rich, you son of a bitch, you’re in the army now.

“I’ll have to tell this story to my dinh,” Eddie said.

Gran-pere nodded slowly. “Aye,” he said, “as ye will. Ah dun’t git along well witta boy, ye kennit. Lukey tried to put t’well where Tian pointed wit’ t’ drotta stick, y’ken.”

Eddie nodded as if he understood this. Later, Susannah translated it for him: I don’t get along well with the boy, you understand. Lukey tried to put the well where Tian pointed with the dowsing stick, you see.

“A dowser?” Susannah asked from out of the darkness. She had returned quietly and now gestured with her hands, as if holding a wishbone.

The old man looked at her, surprised, then nodded. “The drotta, yar. Any ro’, I argued agin’ it, but after the Wolves came and tuk his sister, Tia, Lukey done whatever the boy wanted. Can’ee imagine, lettin a boy nummore’n seventeen site the well, drotta or no? But Lukey put it there and there were water, Ah’ll give’ee that, we all seen it gleam and smelt it before the clay sides give down and buried my boy alive. We dug him out but he were gone to the clearing, thrut and lungs all full of clay and muck.”

Slowly, slowly, the old man took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes with it.

“The boy and I en’t had a civil word between us since; that well’s dug between us, do ya not see it. But he’s right about wantin t’stand agin the Wolves, and if you tell him anything for me, tell him his Gran-pere salutes him damn proud, salutes him big-big, yer-bugger! He got the sand o’ Jaffords in his craw, aye! We stood our stand all those years agone, and now the blood shows true.” He nodded, this time even more slowly. “Garn and tell yer dinh, aye! Every word! And if it seeps out…if the Wolves were to come out of Thunderclap early fer one dried-up old turd like me…”