sk.thegunslinger-第8部分

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The　whole　huge　mountain　of　flesh　suddenly　strained　forward　and　upward；　yet　he　was　careful　not　to　let　her　secret　flesh　touch　him。
Then　she　seemed　to　wilt　and　grow　smaller；　and　she　wept　with　her　hands　in　her　lap。
〃So；〃　he　said；　getting　up。　〃The　demon　is　served；　eh？〃
〃Get　out。　You've　killed　the　child。　Get　out　Get　out。〃
He　stopped　at　the　door　and　looked　back。　〃No　child；〃　he　said　briefly。　〃No　angel；　no　demon。〃
〃Leave　me　alone。〃
He　did。
　
　
XVI
　
　
By　the　time　he　arrived　at　Kennerly's；　a　queer　obscurity　had　e　over　the　northern　horizon　and　he　knew　it　was　dust。　Over　Tull　the　air　was　still　dead　quiet。
Kennerly　was　waiting　for　him　on　the　chaffstrewn　stage　that　was　the　floor　of　his　barn。　〃Leaving？〃　He　grinned　abjectly　at　the　gunslinger。
〃Yes。〃
〃Not　before　the　storm？〃
〃Ahead　of　it〃
〃The　wind　goes　faster　than　a　man　on　a　mule。　In　the　open　it　can　kill　you。〃
〃I'll　want　the　mule　now；〃　the　gunslinger　said　simply。
〃Sure。〃　But　Kennerly　did　not　turn　away；　merely　stood　as　if　searching　for　something　further　to　say；　grinning　his　groveling；　hatefilled　grin；　and　his　eyes　flicked　up　and　over　the　gunslinger's　shoulder。
The　gunslinger　sidestepped　and　turned　at　the　same　time；　and　the　heavy　stick　of　stovewood　that　the　girl　Soobie　held　swished　through　the　air；　grazing　his　elbow　only。　She　lost　hold　of　it　with　the　force　of　her　swing　and　it　clattered　over　the　floor。　In　the　explosive　height　of　the　loft；　barn　swallows　took　shadowed　wing。
The　girl　looked　at　him　bovinely。　Her　breasts　thrust　with　overripe　grandeur　at　the　washfaded　shirt　she　wore。　One　thumb　sought　the　haven　of　her　mouth　with　dreamlike　slowness。
The　gunslinger　turned　back　to　Kennerly。　Kennerly's　grin　was　huge。　His　skin　was　waxy　yellow。　His　eyes　rolled　in　their　sockets。　〃I　　〃　he　began　in　a　phlegmfilled　whisper　and　could　not　continue。
〃The　mule；〃　the　gunslinger　prodded　gently。
〃Sure；　sure；　sure；〃　Kennerly　whispered；　the　grin　now　touched　with　incredulity。　He　shuffled　after　it。
He　moved　to　where　he　could　watch　Kennerly；　The　hostler　brought　the　mule　back　and　handed　him　the　bridle。
〃You　get　in　an　tend　your　sister；〃　he　said　to　Soobie。
Soobie　tossed　her　head　and　didn't　move。
The　gunslinger　left　them　there；　staring　at　each　other　across　the　dusty；　droppingsstrewn　floor；　he　with　his　sick　grin；　she　with　dumb；　inanimate　defiance。　Outside　the　heat　was　still　like　a　hammer。
　
　
XVII
　
　
He　walked　the　mule　up　the　center　of　the　street；　his　boots　sending　up　squirts　of　dust　His　waterbags　were　strapped　across　the　mule's　back。
He　stopped　at　Sheb's；　and　Allie　was　not　there。　The　place　was　deserted；　battened　for　the　storm；　but　still　dirty　from　the　night　before。　She　had　not　begun　her　cleaning　and　the　place　was　as　fetid　as　a　wet　dog。
He　filled　his　tote　sack　with　corn　meal；　dried　and　roasted　corn；　and　half　of　the　raw　hamburg　in　the　cooler。　He　left　four　gold　pieces　stacked　on　the　planked　counter。　Allie　did　not　e　down。　Sheb's　piano　bid　him　a　silent；　yellowtoothed　goodby。　He　stepped　back　out　and　cinched　the　tote　sack　across　the　mule's　back。　There　was　a　tight　feeling　in　his　throat。　He　might　still　avoid　the　trap；　but　the　chances　were　small。　He　was；　after　all；　the　interloper。
He　walked　past　the　shuttered；　waiting　buildings；　feeling　the　eyes　that　peered　through　cracks　and　chinks。　The　man　in　black　had　played　God　in　Tull。　Was　it　only　a　sense　of　the　cosmic　ic；　or　a　matter　of　desperation？　It　was　a　question　of　some　importance。
There　was　a　shrill；　harried　scream　from　behind　him；　and　doors　suddenly　threw　themselves　open。　Forms　lunged。　The　trap　was　sprung；　then。　Men　in　long　handles　and　men　in　dirty　dungarees。　Women　in　slacks　and　in　faded　dresses。
Even　children；　tagging　after　their　parents。　And　in　every　hand　there　was　a　chunk　of　wood　or　a　knife。
His　reaction　was　automatic；　instantaneous；　inbred。　He　whirled　on　his　heels　while　his　hands　pulled　the　guns　from　their　holsters；　the　hafts　heavy　and　sure　in　his　hands。　It　was　Allie；　and　of　course　it　had　to　be　Allie；　ing　at　him　with　her　face　distorted；　the　scar　a　hellish　purple　in　the　lowering　light　He　saw　that　she　was　held　hostage；　the　distorted；　grimacing　face　of　Sheb　peered　over　her　shoulder　like　a　witch's　familiar。　She　was　his　shield　and　sacrifice。　He　saw　it　all；　clear　and　shadowless　in　the　frozen　deathless　light　of　the　sterile　calm；　and　heard　her：
〃He's　got　me　O　Jesus　don't　shoot　don't　don't　don't　　〃
But　the　hands　were　trained。　He　was　the　last　of　his　breed　and　it　was　not　only　his　mouth　that　knew　the　High　Speech。　The　guns　beat　their　heavy；　atonal　music　into　the　air。　Her　mouth　flapped　and　she　sagged　and　the　guns　fired　again。　Sheb's　head　snapped　back。　They　both　fell　into　the　dust。
Sticks　flew　through　the　air；　rained　on　him。　He　staggered；　fended　them　off。　One　with　a　nail　pounded　raggedly　through　it　ripped　at　his　arm　and　drew　blood。　A　man　with　a　beard　stubble　and　sweatstained　armpits　lunged　flying　at　him　with　a　dull　kitchen　knife　held　in　one　paw。　The　gunslinger　shot　him　dead　and　the　man　thumped　into　the　street。　His　teeth　clicked　audibly　as　his　chin　struck。
〃SATAN！〃　Some　was　screaming：　〃THE　ACCURSED！　BRING　HIM　DOWN！〃
〃THE　INTERLOPER！〃　Another　voice　cried。　Sticks　rained　on　him。　A　knife　struck　his　boot　and　bounced。　〃THE
INTERLOPER！　THE　ANTICHRIST！〃
He　blasted　his　way　through　the　middle　of　them；　running　as　the　bodies　fell；　his　hands　picking　the　targets　with　dreadful　accuracy。　Two　men　and　a　woman　went　down；　and　he　ran　through　the　hole　they　left。
He　led　them　a　feverish　parade　across　the　street　and　toward　the　rickety　general　store/barber　shop　that　faced　Sheb's。　He　mounted　the　boardwalk；　turned　again；　and　fired　the　rest　of　his　loads　into　the　charging　crowd。　Behind　them；　Sheb　and　Allie　and　the　others　lay　crucified　in　the　dust。
They　never　hesitated　or　faltered；　although　every　shot　he　fired　found　a　vital　spot　and　although　they　had　probably　never　seen　a　gun　except　for　pictures　in　old　magazines。
He　retreated；　moving　his　body　like　a　dancer　to　avoid　the　flying　missiles。　He　reloaded　as　he　went；　with　a　rapidity　that　had　also　been　trained　into　his　fingers。　They　shuttled　busily　between　gunbelts　and　cylinders。　The　mob　came　up　over　the　boardwalk　and　he　stepped　into　the　general　store　and　rammed　the　door　closed。　The　large　display　window　to　the　right　shattered　inward　and　three　men　crowded　through。　Their　faces　were　zealously　blank；　their　eyes　filled　with　bland　fire。　He　shot　them　all；　and　the　two　that　followed　them。　They　fell　in　the　window；　hung　on　the　jutting　shards　of　glass；　choking　the　opening。
The　door　crashed　and　shuddered　with　their　weight　and　he　could　hear　her　voice：　〃THE　KILLER！　YOUR　SOULS！　THE　CLOVEN　HOOF！〃
The　door　ripped　off　its　hinges　and　fell　straight　in；　making　a　flat　handclap。　Dust　puffed　up　from　the　floor。　Men；　women；　and　children　charged　him。　Spittle　and　stove　wood　flew。　He　shot　his　guns　empty　and　they　fell　like　ninepins。　He　retreated；　shoving　over　a　flour　barrel；　rolling　it　at　them；　into　the　barbershop；　throwing　a　pan　of　boiling　water　that　contained　two　nicked　straightrazors。　They　came　on；　screaming　with　frantic　incoherency。　From　somewhere；　Sylvia　Pittston　exhorted　them；　her　voice　rising　and　falling　on　blind　inflections。　He　pushed　shells　into　hot　chambers；　smelling　the　smells　of　shave　and　tonsure；　smelling　his　own　flesh　as　the　calluses　at　the　tips　of　his　fingers　singed。
He　went　through　the　back　door　and　onto　the　porch。　The　flat　scrubland　was　at　his　back　now；　flatly　denying　the　town　that　crouched　against　its　huge　haunch。　Three　men　hustled　around　the　corner；　with　large　betrayer　grins　on　their　faces。　They　saw　him；　saw　him　seeing　them；　and　the　grins　curdled　in　the　second　before　he　mowed　them　down。　A　woman　had　followed　them；　howling。　She　was　large　and　fat　and　known　to　the　patrons　of　Sheb's　as　Aunt　Mill。　The　gunslinger　blew　her　backwards　and　she　landed　in　a　whorish　sprawl；　her　skirt　kinked　up　between　her　thighs。
He　went　down　the　steps　and　walked　backwards　into　the　desert；　ten　paces；　twenty。　The　back　door　of　the　barber　shop　flew　open　and　they　boiled　out　He　caught　a　glimpse　of　Sylvia　Pittston。　He　opened　up。　They　fell　in　squats；　they　fell　backwards；　they　tumbled　over　the　railing　into　the　dust。　They　cast　no　shadows　in　the　deathless　purple　light　of　the　day。　He　realized　he　was　screaming。　He　had　been　scream　ing　all　along。　His　eyes　felt　like　cracked　ball　bearings。　His　balls　had　drawn　up　against　his　belly。　His　legs　were　wood。　His　ears　were　iron。
The　guns　were　empty　and　they　boiled　at　him；　transmogrified　into　an　Eye　and　a　Hand；　and　he　stood；　scream　ing　and　reloading；　his　mind　far　away　and　absent；　letting　his　hands　do　their　reloading　trick。　Could　he　hold　up　a　hand；　tell　them　he　had　spent　twentyfive　years　learning　this　trick　and　others；　tell　them　of　the　guns　and　the　blood　that　had　blessed　them？　Not　with　his　mouth。　But　his　hands　could　speak　their　own　tale。
They　were　in　throwing　range　as　he　finished　reloading；　and　a　stick　struck　him　on　the　forehead　and　brought　blood　in　abraded　drops。　In　two　seconds　they　would　be　in　gripping　distance。　In　the　forefront　he　saw　Kennerly；　Kennerly's　younger　daughter；　perhaps　eleven；　Soobie；　two　male　barflies；　a　female　barfly　named　Amy　Feldon。　He　let　them　all　have　it；　and　the　ones　behind　them。　Their　bodies　thumped　like　scarecrows。　Blood　and　brains　flew　in　streamers。
They　halted　for　a　moment；　startled；　the　mob　face　shivering　into　individual；　bewildered　faces。　A　man　ran　in　a　large；　screaming　circle。　A　woman　with　blisters　on　her　hands　turned　her　head　up　and　cackled　feverishly　at　the　sky。　The　man　whom　he　had　first　seen　sitting　gravely　on　the　steps　of　the　mercantile　store　made　a　sudden　and　amazing　load　in　his　pants。
He　had　time　to　reload　one　gun。
Then　it　was　Sylvia　Pittston；　running　at　him；　waving　a　wooden　cross　in　each　hand。　〃DEVIL！　DEVIL！　DEVIL！　CHILD…KILLER！　MONSTER！　DESTROY　HIM；　BROTHERS　AND　SISTERS！　DESTROY　THE　CHILD…KILLING　INTERLOPER！〃
He　put　a　shot　into　each　of　the　crosspieces；　blowing　the　roods　to　splinters；　and　four　more　into　the　woman's　head。　She　seemed　to　accordian　into　herself　and　waver　like　a　shimmer　of　heat。
They　all　stared　at　her　for　a　moment　in　tableau；　while　the　gunslinger's　fingers　did　their　reloading　trick。　The　tips　of　his　fingers　sizzled　and　burned。　Neat　circles　were　branded　into　the　tips　of　each　one。
There　were　less　of　them；　now；　he　had　run　through　them　like　a　mower's　scythe。　He　thought　they　would　break　with　the　woman　dead；　but　someone　threw　a