sk.thegunslinger-第3部分

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or　had　been　moved　along；　an　occasional　dweller's　hovel；　given　away　by　a　single　flickering　point　of　light　in　the　dark；　or　by　sullen；　inbred　clans　toiling　silently　in　the　fields　by　day。　Corn　was　the　main　crop；　but　there　were　beans　and　also　some　peas。　An　occasional　scrawny　cow　stared　at　him　lumpishly　from　between　peeled　alder　poles。　Coaches　had　passed　him　four　times；　twice　ing　and　twice　going；　nearly　empty　as　they　came　up　on　him　from　behind　and　bypassed　him　and　his　mule；　fuller　as　they　headed　back　toward　the　forests　of　the　north。
It　was　ugly　country。　It　had　showered　twice　since　he　had　left　Pricetown；　grudgingly　both　times。　Even　the　timothy　looked　yellow　and　dispirited。　Ugly　country。　He　had　seen　no　sign　of　the　man　in　black。　Perhaps　he　had　taken　a　coach。
The　road　made　a　bend；　and　beyond　it　the　gunslinger　clucked　the　mule　to　a　stop　and　looked　down　at　Tull。　It　was　at　the　floor　of　a　circular；　bowl…shaped　hollow；　a　shoddy　jewel　in　a　cheap　setting。　There　were　a　number　of　lights；　most　of　them　clustered　around　the　area　of　the　music。　There　looked　to　be　four　streets；　three　running　at　right　angles　to　the　coach　road；　which　was　the　main　avenue　of　the　town。　Perhaps　there　would　be　a　restaurant。　He　doubted　it；　but　perhaps。　He　clucked　at　the　mule。
More　houses　sporadically　lined　the　road　now；　most　of　them　still　deserted。　He　passed　a　tiny　graveyard　with　moldy；　leaning　wooden　slabs　overgrown　and　choked　by　the　rank　devil…grass。　Perhaps　five　hundred　feet　further　on　he　passed　a　chewed　sign　which　said：　TULL
The　paint　was　flaked　almost　to　the　point　of　illegibility。　There　was　another　further　on；　but　the　gunslinger　was　not　able　to　read　that　one　at　all。
A　fool's　chorus　of　half…stoned　voices　was　rising　in　the　final　protracted　lyric　of　Hey　Jude　　〃Naa…naa…naa　naa…na…na…na。。。　hey；　Jude。。。〃　　as　he　entered　the　town　proper。　It　was　a　dead　sound；　like　the　wind　in　the　hollow　of　a　rotted　tree。　Only　the　prosaic　thump　and　pound　of　the　honky…tonk　piano　saved　him　from　seriously　wondering　if　the　man　in　black　might　not　have　raised　ghosts　to　inhabit　a　deserted　town。　He　smiled　a　little　at　the　thought。
There　were　a　few　people　on　the　streets；　not　many；　but　a　few。　Three　ladies　wearing　black　slacks　and　identical　middy　blouses　passed　by　on　the　opposite　boardwalk；　not　looking　at　him　with　pointed　curiosity。　Their　faces　seemed　to　swim　above　their　all…but…invisible　bodies　like　huge；　pallid　baseballs　with　eyes。　A　solemn　old　man　with　a　straw　hat　perched　firmly　on　top　of　his　head　watched　him　from　the　steps　of　a　boarded…up　grocery　store。　A　scrawny　tailor　with　a　late　customer　paused　to　watch　him　by；　he　held　up　the　lamp　in　his　window　for　a　better　look。　The　gunslinger　nodded。　Neither　the　tailor　nor　his　customer　nodded　back。　He　could　feel　their　eyes　resting　heavily　against　the　low…slung　holsters　that　lay　against　his　hips。　A　young　boy；　perhaps　thirteen；　and　his　girl　crossed　the　street　a　block　up；　pausing　imperceptibly。　Their　footfalls　raised　little　hanging　clouds　of　dust。　A　few　of　the　street　side　lamps　worked；　but　their　glass　sides　were　cloudy　with　congealed　oil。　Most　had　been　crashed　out。　There　was　a　livery；　probably　
The　gunslinger　led　his　mule　past　them　and　looked　into　the　dim　depths　of　the　barn。　One　lamp　glowed　sunkenly；　and　a　shadow　jumped　and　flickered　as　a　gangling　old　man　in　bib　overalls　forked　loose　timothy　hay　into　the　hay　loft　with　huge；　grunting　swipes　of　his　fork。
〃Hey！〃　the　gunslinger　called。
The　fork　faltered　and　the　hostler　looked　around　waspishly。　〃Hey　yourself！〃
〃I　got　a　mule　here。〃
〃Good　for　you。〃
The　gunslinger　flicked　a　heavy；　unevenly　milled　gold　piece　into　the　semi　dark。　It　rang　on　the　old；　chaff…drifted　boards　and　glittered。
The　hostler　came　forward；　bent；　picked　it　up；　squinted　at　the　gunslinger。　His　eyes　dropped　to　the　gunbelts　and　he　nodded　sourly。
〃How　long　you　want　him　put　up？〃
〃A　night。　Maybe　two。　Maybe　longer。〃
〃I　ain't　got　no　change　for　gold。〃
〃I'm　not　asking　for　any。〃
〃Blood　money；〃　the　hostler　muttered。
〃What？〃
〃Nothing。〃　The　hostler　caught　the　mule's　bridle　and　led　him　inside。
〃Rub　him　down！〃　the　gunslinger　called。　The　old　man　did　not　turn。
The　gunslinger　walked　out　to　the　boys　crouched　around　the　marble　ring。　They　had　watched　the　entire　exchange　with　contemptuous　interest
〃How　they　hanging？〃　the　gunslinger　asked　conversationally。
No　answer。
〃You　dudes　live　in　town？〃
No　answer。
One　of　the　boys　removed　a　crazily　tilted　twist　of　corn…shuck　from　his　mouth；　grasped　a　green　cat's…eye　marble；　and　squirted　it　into　the　dirt　circle。　It　struck　a　croaker　and　knocked　it　outside。　He　picked　up　the　cat's…eye　and　prepared　to　shoot　again。
〃There　a　restaurant　in　this　town？〃　the　gunslinger　asked。
One　of　them　looked　up；　the　youngest　There　was　a　huge　cold…sore　at　the　corner　of　his　mouth；　but　his　eyes　were　still　ingenuous。　He　looked　at　the　gunslinger　with　hooded　brimming　wonder　that　was　touching　and　frightening。
〃Might　get　a　burger　at　Sheb's。〃
〃That　the　honky…tonk？〃
The　boy　nodded　but　didn't　speak。　The　eyes　of　his　playmates　had　turned　ugly　and　hostile。
The　gunslinger　touched　the　brim　of　his　hat。　〃I'm　grateful。　It's　good　to　know　someone　in　this　town　is　bright　enough　to　talk。〃
He　walked　past；　mounted　the　boardwalk　and　started　down　toward　Sheb's；　hearing　the　clear；　contemptuous　voice　of　one　of　the　others；　hardly　more　than　a　childish　treble：
〃Weed…eater！　How　long　you　been　screwin'　your　sister；　Charlie？　Weed…eater！〃
There　were　three　flaring　kerosene　lamps　in　front　of　Sheb's；　one　to　each　side　and　one　nailed　above　the　drunk…hung　batwing　doors。　The　chorus　of　Hey　Jude　had　petered　out；　and　the　piano　was　plinking　some　other　old　ballad。　Voices　murmured　like　broken　threads。　The　gunslinger　paused　outside　for　a　moment；　looking　in。　Sawdust　floor；　spittoons　by　the　tipsy…legged　tables。　A　plank　bar　on　saw…horses。　A　gummy　mirror　behind　it；　reflecting　the　piano　player；　who　wore　an　inevitable　piano…stool　slouch。　The　front　of　the　piano　had　been　removed　so　you　could　watch　the　wooden　keys　whonk　up　and　down　as　the　contraption　was　played。　The　bartender　was　a　straw…haired　woman　wearing　a　dirty　blue　dress。　One　strap　was　held　with　a　safety　pin。　There　were　perhaps　six　townies　in　the　back　of　the　room；　juicing　and　playing　Watch　Me　apathetically。　Another　half…dozen　were　grouped　loosely　about　the　piano。　Four　or　five　at　the　bar。　And　an　old　man　with　wild　gray　hair　collapsed　at　a　table　by　the　doors。　The　gunslinger　went　in。
Heads　swiveled　to　look　at　him　and　his　guns。　There　was　a　moment　of　near　silence；　except　for　the　oblivious　piano　player；　who　continued　to　tinkle。　Then　the　woman　mopped　at　the　bar；　and　things　shifted　back。
〃Watch　me；〃　one　of　the　players　in　the　corner　said　and　matched　three　hearts　with　four　spades；　emptying　his　hand。　The　one　with　the　hearts　swore；　handed　over　his　bet；　and　the　next　was　dealt。
The　gunslinger　approached　the　bar。　〃You　got　hamburger？〃　he　asked。
〃Sure。〃　She　looked　him　in　the　eye；　and　she　might　have　been　pretty　when　she　started　out；　but　now　her　face　was　lumpy　and　there　was　a　livid　scar　corkscrewed　across　her　forehead。　She　had　powdered　it　heavily；　but　it　called　attention　rather　than　camouflaging。　〃It's　dear；　though。〃
〃I　figured。　Gimme　three　burgers　and　a　beer。〃
Again　that　subtle　shift　in　tone。　Three　hamburgers。　Mouths　watered　and　tongues　liked　at　saliva　with　slow　lust　Three　hamburgers。
〃That　would　go　you　five　bucks。　With　the　beer。〃
The　gunslinger　put　a　gold　piece　on　the　bar。
Eyes　followed　it。
There　was　a　sullenly　smoldering　charcoal　brazier　behind　the　bar　and　to　the　left　of　the　mirror。　The　woman　disappeared　into　a　small　room　behind　it　and　returned　with　meat　on　a　paper。　She　scrimped　out　three　patties　and　put　them　on　the　fire。　The　smell　that　arose　was　maddening。　The　gunslinger　stood　with　stolid　indifference；　only　peripherally　aware　of　the　faltering　piano；　the　slowing　of　the　card　game；　the　sidelong　glances　of　the　barflies。
The　man　was　halfway　up　behind　him　when　the　gunslinger　saw　him　in　the　mirror。　The　man　was　almost　pletely　bald；　and　his　hand　was　wrapped　around　the　haft　of　a　gigantic　hunting　knife　that　was　looped　onto　his　belt　like　a　holster。
〃Go　sit　down；〃　the　gunslinger　said　quietly。
The　man　stopped。　His　upper　lip　lifted　unconsciously；　like　a　dog's；　and　there　was　a　moment　of　silence。　Then　he　went　back　to　his　table；　and　the　atmosphere　shifted　back　again。　His　beer　came　in　a　cracked　glass　schooner。　〃I　ain't　got　change　for　gold；〃　the　woman　said　truculently。
〃Don't　expect　any。〃
She　nodded　angrily；　as　if　this　show　of　wealth；　even　at　her　benefit；　incensed　her。　But　she　took　his　gold；　and　a　moment　later　the　hamburgers　came　on　a　cloudy　plate；　still　red　around　the　edges。
〃Do　you　have　salt？〃
She　gave　into　him　from　underneath　the　bar。　〃Bread？〃
〃No。〃　He　knew　she　was　lying；　but　he　didn't　push　it。　The　bald　man　was　staring　at　him　with　cyanosed　eyes；　his　hands　clenching　and　unclenching　on　the　splintered　and　gouged　surface　of　his　table。　His　nostrils　flared　with　pulsating　regularity。
The　gunslinger　began　to　eat　steadily；　almost　blandly；　chopping　the　meat　apart　and　forking　it　into　his　mouth；　trying　not　to　think　of　what　might　have　been　added　to　cut　the　beef。
He　was　almost　through；　ready　to　call　for　another　beer　and　roll　a　smoke　when　the　hand　fell　on　his　shoulder。
He　suddenly　became　aware　that　the　room　had　gone　silent　again；　and　he　tasted　thick　tension　in　the　air。　He　turned