Jake thought it was a good story. He was sure Susannah would have believed it (assuming the singularity of Slightman’s spectacles had occurred to her in the first place). He had an idea Roland would have believed it, too. Slightman told it in just the right way: a man who still appreciated his good fortune and didn’t mind letting folks know that he’d been right about something while quite a number of other people, his boss among them, had been wide of the mark. Even Eddie might have swallowed it. The only thing wrong with Slightman’s story was that it wasn’t true. Jake didn’t know what the real deal was, his touch didn’t go that deep, but he knew that much. And it worried him.

Probably nothing, you know. Probably he just got them in some way that wouldn’t sound so good. For all you know, one of the Manni brought them back from some other world, and Benny’s Da’ stole them.

That was one possibility; if pressed, Jake could have come up with half a dozen more. He was an imaginative boy.

Still, when added to what he’d seen by the river, it worried him. What kind of business could Eisenhart’s foreman have on the far side of the Whye? Jake didn’t know. And still, each time he thought to raise this subject with Roland, something kept him quiet.

And after givinghim a hard time about keeping secrets!

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But—

But what, little trailhand?

But Benny, that was what. Benny was the problem. Or maybe it was Jake himself who was actually the problem. He’d never been much good at making friends, and now he had a good one. A real one. The thought of getting Benny’s Da’ in trouble made him feel sick to his stomach.

Seven

Two days later, at five o’ the clock, Rosalita, Zalia, Margaret Eisenhart, Sarey Adams, and Susannah Dean gathered in the field just west of Rosa’s neat privy. There were a lot of giggles and not a few bursts of nervous, shrieky laughter. Roland kept his distance, and instructed Eddie and Jake to do the same. Best to let them get it out of their systems.

Set against the rail fence, ten feet apart from each other, were stuffies with plump sharproot heads. Each head was wrapped in a gunnysack which had been tied to make it look like the hood of a cloak. At the foot of each guy were three baskets. One was filled with more sharproot. Another was filled with potatoes. The contents of the third had elicited groans and cries of protest. These three were filled with radishes. Roland told them to quit their mewling; he’d considered peas, he said. None of them (even Susannah) was entirely sure he was joking.

Callahan, today dressed in jeans and a stockman’s vest of many pockets, ambled out onto the porch, where Roland sat smoking and waiting for the ladies to settle down. Jake and Eddie were playing draughts close by.