It looked the same on this side, but wasn’t. Jake knew it right away. Moonlight or no moonlight, it was darker somehow. Not exactly the way todash–New York had been dark, and there were no chimes, but there was a similarity, just the same. A sense of something waiting, and eyes that could turn in his direction if he was foolish enough to alert their owners to his presence. He had come to the edge of End-World. Jake’s flesh broke out in goosebumps and he shivered. Oy looked up at him.

“S’all right,” Jake whispered. “Just had to get it out of my system.”

He dismounted, put Oy down, and stowed the duster in the shadow of the round rock. He didn’t think he’d need a coat for this part of his excursion; he was sweating, nervous. The babble of the river was loud, and he kept shooting glances across to the other side, wanting to make sure no one was coming. He didn’t want to be surprised. That sense of presence, of others, was both strong and unpleasant. There was nothing good about what lived on this side of the Devar-Tete Whye; of that much Jake was sure. He felt better when he’d taken the docker’s clutch out of the bedroll, cinched it in place, and then added the Ruger. The Ruger made him into a different person, one he didn’t always like. But here, on the far side of the Whye, he was delighted to feel gunweight against his ribs, and delighted to be that person; that gunslinger.

Something farther off to the east screamed like a woman in life-ending agony. Jake knew it was only a rock-cat—he’d heard them before, when he’d been at the river with Benny, either fishing or swimming—but he still put his hand on the butt of the Ruger until it stopped. Oy had assumed the bowing position, front paws apart, head lowered, rump pointed skyward. Usually this meant he wanted to play, but there was nothing playful about his bared teeth.

“S’okay,” Jake said. He rummaged in his bedroll again (he hadn’t bothered to bring a saddlebag) until he found a red-checked cloth. This was Slightman the Elder’s neckerchief, stolen four days previous from beneath the bunkhouse table, where the foreman had dropped it during a game of Watch Me and then forgotten it.

Quite the little thief I am,Jake thought. My Dad’s gun, now Benny’s Dad’s snotrag. I can’t tell if I’m working my way up or down.

It was Roland’s voice that replied. You’re doing what you were called here to do. Why don’t you stop beating your breast and get started?