In a barely audible voice that held both shock and wonder, Deelie Estrada said: “But if that’d been a man, hear me, he’d be cutlets.”

It was Gran-pere who had the final word, as perhaps gran-peres should: “Yer- bugger!”

Six

On their way back out to the main road (Andy walked at a distance ahead of them, carrying the folded wheelchair and playing something bagpipey through his sound system), Susannah said musingly: “I may give up the gun altogether, Roland, and just concentrate on the dish. There’s an elemental satisfaction to giving that scream and then throwing.”

“You reminded me of my hawk,” Roland admitted.

Susannah’s teeth flashed white in a grin. “I felt like a hawk. Riza! O- Riza! Just saying the word puts me in a throwing mood.”

Seven

To Jake’s mind this brought some obscure memory of Gasher (“Yer old pal, Gasher,” as the gentleman himself had been wont to say), and he shivered.

“Would you really give up the gun?” Roland asked. He didn’t know if he was amused or aghast.

“Would you roll your own smokes if you could get tailor-mades?” she asked, and then, before he could answer: “No, not really. Yet the dish is a lovely weapon. When they come, I hope to throw two dozen. And bag my limit.”

“Will there be a shortage of plates?” Eddie asked.

“Nope,” she said. “There aren’t very many fancy ones—like the one sai Eisenhart threw for you, Roland—but they’ve hundreds of practice-plates. Rosalita and Sarey Adams are sorting through them, culling out any that might fly crooked.” She hesitated, lowered her voice. “They’ve all been out here, Roland, and although Sarey’s brave as a lion and would stand fast against a tornado…”

“Hasn’t got it, huh?” Eddie asked sympathetically.

“Not quite,” Susannah agreed. “She’s good, but not like the others. Nor does she have quite the same ferocity.”

“I may have something else for her,” Roland said.

“What would that be, sugar?”

“Escort duty, mayhap. We’ll see how they shoot, day after tomorrow. A little competition always livens things up. Five o’ the clock, Susannah, do they know?”

“Yes. Most of the Calla would turn up, if you allowed them.”

This was discouraging…but he should have expected it. I’ve been too long out of the world of people, he thought. So I have.

“No one but the ladies and ourselves,” Roland said firmly.

“If the Calla- folkensaw the women throw well, it could swing a lot of people who are on the fence.”

Roland shook his head. He didn’t want them to know how well the women threw, that was very nearly the whole point. But that the town knew they were throwing…that might not be such a bad thing. “How good are they, Susannah? Tell me.”

She thought about it, then smiled. “Killer aim,” she said. “Every one.”

“Can you teach them that crosshand throw?”