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The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger
The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger
The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger
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The Dark Tower I: The Gunslinger

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“An impressive work of mythic magnitude that may turn out to be Stephen King’s greatest literary achievement” (The Atlanta Journal-Constitution), The Gunslinger is the first volume in the epic Dark Tower Series.

A #1 national bestseller, The Gunslinger introduces readers to one of Stephen King’s most powerful creations, Roland of Gilead: The Last Gunslinger. He is a haunting figure, a loner on a spellbinding journey into good and evil. In his desolate world, which mirrors our own in frightening ways, Roland tracks The Man in Black, encounters an enticing woman named Alice, and begins a friendship with the boy from New York named Jake.

Inspired in part by the Robert Browning narrative poem, “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came,” The Gunslinger is “a compelling whirlpool of a story that draws one irretrievable to its center” (Milwaukee Sentinel). It is “brilliant and fresh…and will leave you panting for more” (Booklist).

Editor's Note

King’s magnum opus…

This first book in Stephen King’s magnum opus, The Dark Tower series has so much going on. Some fantasy, a little sci-fi, and a lot of Western. A fun read and an essential one to prepare for the movie and TV series adaptations.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherScribner
Release dateJan 1, 2016
ISBN9781501141386
Author

Stephen King

Stephen King is the author of more than sixty books, all of them worldwide bestsellers. His recent work includes the short story collection You Like It Darker, Holly, Fairy Tale, Billy Summers, If It Bleeds, The Institute, Elevation, The Outsider, Sleeping Beauties (cowritten with his son Owen King), and the Bill Hodges trilogy: End of Watch, Finders Keepers, and Mr. Mercedes (an Edgar Award winner for Best Novel and a television series streaming on Peacock). His novel 11/22/63 was named a top ten book of 2011 by The New York Times Book Review and won the Los Angeles Times Book Prize for Mystery/Thriller. His epic works The Dark Tower, It, Pet Sematary, Doctor Sleep, and Firestarter are the basis for major motion pictures, with It now the highest-grossing horror film of all time. He is the recipient of the 2020 Audio Publishers Association Lifetime Achievement Award, the 2018 PEN America Literary Service Award, the 2014 National Medal of Arts, and the 2003 National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. He lives in Bangor, Maine, with his wife, novelist Tabitha King. 

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Reviews for The Dark Tower I

Rating: 3.8198568641084214 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    ...interesting at times, but it just never quite grabbed me
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I really like it this book. I hear so many great things about these books and I know that the movie is coming soon so I wanted to know what is the buzz all around. I really like it. I think that Roland and the dark man are very interesting characters. The book is giving a brief sugestion of What could be the Dark Tower and I have some ideas in my mind. I will play with them to see how right (or wrong) I will be. I will try to finish all the books before the movie comes out. And lookiung forward to the second one that people says it blows their minds away....
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It's been many years since I first read this novel, so I was not able to identify any of the edits or additions to the story, all I know is that it is just as brilliant as I thought it was all those years ago when I bought the original and read it for the first time. My mind, as before, was blown again by the concept of the relativity of size. Maybe because I am older, it seemed to carry more depth. And as before, it leaves me eager to reread the entire series, which I will now have to do. Stephen King perfection at its best.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This is the 2nd time reading The Gunslinger and I think I enjoyed it more the 2nd time as I had read 5 or 6 of The Dark Tower series and it seemed to make more sense to me having some knowledge of what's to come. I took my time reading it this time. I listened to the audio and read along with the book and took notes in order to be able to refer back as I am reading this as a group read. I am looking forward to reading The Drawing of the Three in June and following with the rest of the series. I would recommend this to those who have read some of King's other works as there are references to some of his other writings and this is considered his masterpiece.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    When I first read this a while back I was very confused and thought "What the F&$% did I just read?!?!?" and was not sure about continuing the series. I ended up loving the series and so glad I stuck with it. Re-reading this I definitely loved it a lot more. I caught a lot of things I missed and things I don't even remember happening. I loved visiting with Roland, Jake, the Man in Black and everyone else. I'm very excited to continue my re-read of the series.
  • Rating: 1 out of 5 stars
    1/5
    Not my cup of tea. Not even a little bit. It started out pretty good, very King. Got me all excited.
    And then. Well I don't know what happened next, because to me nothing major, exciting or even remotely interesting happened. It felt like a big book about nothing.
    I was very disappointed as I love other novels by Stephen King. But I am pretty sure I missed all of the important points, references and anything else that a lot of people love about this book. So here is that.
    Barely 200 pages, but it felt like 700 pages to me.
    I finished the book, as in 2016 I didn't want to Not Finish books. That's not going to be the rule in 2017.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Well this is not the type of Stephen King book I have ever read before. The writing style is not all that different from the other books he has written, but the fantasy backdrop is certainly different. I have gotten more into the fantasy genre in recent years, and this (like the description and foreword say) is more of a Western set in a fantasy world.

    I enjoyed the book and look forward to reading more. Rating this book is kind of difficult. I enjoyed it, but felt like it was simply the opening chapters to a longer book. King admits that the entire series should be viewed as one novel, but since it was published as its own novel, I have to go with the 3 stars. My guess is that I will rate the series higher when I get through it, and this is a promising start.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I think this is one of Stephen Kings earlier works. The series went on for a total of 8 boos, I think. I generously gave it 4 stars although 3 was probably what it deserved. I can see the potential and hopefully book 2 will be a bit better. In this one he had a lofty goal and it fell I little short.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    A wonderfully written and engaging book that becomes all the more interesting on a second read through after having become aware of the end of the Dark Tower series. A precursor for Roland Deschain's adventure in travelling ever onwards to the Dark Tower.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Apparently I did read the 2003 revised version (ebooks aren't always very clear on stuff like this but there are clues). The writing is mostly very good, although in many places ambiguous in a way that is annoying and not artful. It was entertaining enough that I'll probably read the next in the series. I'm told it improves.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I have been meaning to read this book for quite a while. I bought my current copy six years ago and it has been sitting on my shelf since then. It has been recommended to me often by friends I hold dear, but I was reluctant to start it. This is probably because I know I will want to finish the series and that is a huge time commitment. Well, The Gunslinger was selected last month by our book club and I knew I could avoid it no longer. It took no time at all to finish and it went very quickly. I liked the story very much but I had to work through a lot misconceptions going in. It's Stephen King and Stephen King could mean a lot of things. Horror this was not though. Once I accepted that, the story became more digestable. It's hard for me to describe why I liked this style of writing so much. The story is not straight forward, time and its passing is elusive, and the land the gunslinger inhabits is partially void of reason and logic. King throws around clues here and there but he doesn't come out and just say "sometime in the distant future". It reminds me a great deal of Gene Wolfe's "Claw of the Conciliator" stories in that way. Odd that those came out around the same time. I can also see where perhaps Phillip Pullman got the inspiration for his "Dark Materials" trilogy. Lot's of parallels there. I look forward to picking up the next title in the series, The Drawing of the Three.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Have a grand plan to get through this Stephen King opus before the film comes out. So begin at the beginning. He always makes me uneasy as I read and this was no different. I did do a double take at the rabbits coming to "silflay" - Uh - isn't that a made up word from "Watership Down"? Google it and yes, it is - part of King's references to other books.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I am a Stephen King fan but had never read any of his Dark Tower series, so I decided to give them a try after King revised and reissued them. I'm afraid this series is just not for me.I didn't expect everything to be tied up with a neat bow in the end because this is the first book of a series. But I also didn't expect to be bored, and I was.I really don't much like Roland, the gunslinger. I don't really care if he catches up with the man in black. I don't care if he ever finds the Dark Tower. I did like Jake, a sad kid he met along the way.I am still a Stephen King fan, but assuming that this first book is typical of the rest of the series, this series is just not for me.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    The Gunslinger is a necessary world building exercise for the sprawling Dark Tower series. Like the beginning of a smart movie, you are left wondering what is going on for most of the book. This only motives the reader to want to read the next in the series.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    You need to read the Foreword as it explains why he brought this back. I tried to read the first book back in 1982 and could not get into it. This one is very compelling. Not your typical Steven King horror novels. I enjoyed it and would highly recommend the series. I have The Dark Tower 2 to read next.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I always hate discovering and enjoying the inaugural novel in a book series and realizing that there are seven to follow. The Dark Tower series begin with The Gunfighter, the protagonist, Roland of Gilead and involves his initial quest for the man in black. This novel is set in a parallel universe which resembles the Old West. Confronting the man in black is only an interim task before reaching is final destination of the Dark Tower. This novel provides few clues regarding Roland's motivation. I have recently read that the series is being produced for a television series.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    The first book in the Dark Tower series, and written when King was 19 years old. Reading/listening to the book, readers can begin to witness the brilliant storytelling that King is best known for. I'm told that the series only gets better, and can't wait to dive into the second book.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This is my second time reading The Gunslinger, and I believe I enjoyed it more than I did the first time.The Dark Tower series was recommended to me when there were only three books written, and I picked up a box set of those three just before the fourth was released. I read them all in short order because I was quickly pulled into the world and the story and just couldn't stop. Then I finished Wizard and Glass only to learn that there were more coming, but with no idea when. Then, as happens, other books got in the way. I remember excitedly getting book five, Wolves of the Calla, when it was released, but it had been a while and I wanted to refresh my memory on Roland's quest for the Tower before I jumped back in.It's taken a long time and a lot of other books in between, but I'm finally back at the start, with Roland the gunslinger chasing across the desert after the Man in Black. Roland's tale is quite a journey, both for him and the reader, as the world he resides is fleshed out in the telling, things are just off kilter enough for anyone to keep reading just in the hope of answering the questions that are sure to crop up in the reader's mind.Roland's world has "moved on," but it seems that at one time it was very much just like ours. It even had the Beatles, if the piano player's rendition of "Hey Jude" is any indication. But we quickly learn that this world is not our world, or it's not anymore. Then the boy comes and complicates things further.The Gunslinger is a slow burn, taking its time building up to the inevitable confrontation between Roland and the Man in Black after a merry chase across the remains of this world, both strange and familiar at the same time. King's afterword explaining his plans for the rest of the series is just as fascinating as the book itself, and I can't wait to revisit the next three books in the series before jumping into uncharted territory yet again in book 5. This was the first step into a much, much larger world."Go then. There are other worlds than these."
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    The Gunslinger is a classic genre-bending novel that skates the line between Western, sci-fi and fantasy. The book started slow, sending the gunslinger gradually along his path until the final gallop and the brilliant ending. The writing is perfect, each word chosen carefully to tell the story simply yet meaningfully. King is a true master.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I read (re-read) the revised and expanded version. I remember reading this when it was first published in 1982 and I hungered for more immediately. It's a bit less dark now then it was then with some of the added context on Roland's life. Still a great start to a great series.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This book has been on my to read list for a very long time. I went and saw the movie version and figured it was time to give the book a shot. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Watching the movie gave me a basis to imagine the setting and the gunslinger himself. The book was way more metaphysical than I had anticipated. Will definitely be reading the rest of the series.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    I'm hooked.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Since it's late at night and I should go to bed, quick review: Read this book. It's part western, part fantasy, part everything else you can read about on wikipedia or anywhere else. It's worth a read, I didn't want to put the book down, yet it took me a bit because shoveling snow got in the way. I'm really looking forward to continuing the series now. Might have to do that tomorrow.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    Multiple librarians (friends, classmates, and co-workers) have recommended this book, but I was not wowed. The build up was very slow and the payoff was intriguing but vague.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Really liked
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    The Gunslinger, Roland, lives in a harrowing landscape of a world that was; a world with similarities to our own but clearly in a later, possibly post-apocalyptic time, with occasional relics from the world we know. His immediate goal is to track down the man in black. His ultimate quest is to find the Dark Tower. He believes if he can confront the man in black he can make him reveal what he know about the Tower and aid him in his quest. His pursuit of the man takes him through a seemingly unending bleak desert landscape and encounters with desperate, worn out people, as well as some creatures who are not quite, or no longer, human. He also finds a boy named Jake living in a shack in the middle of the desert, who he must bring along on his trek in order to save him from certain death. Despite all hardships, Roland continues doggedly on, single-mindedly refusing to be deterred from what he seeks.

    I resisted reading this book when it was published in 1982. While I had many friends who raved about it, and I loved King's other works at that time, this sounded like a western, and I don't like westerns. I should have realized that if King wrote it, I would indeed like it. And it's not really a western anyway. I started this book on my morning commute and finished it before going to sleep that same day, because with King one always has to know what happens next.

    King wrote an Afterward that I particularly enjoyed as he spoke about various characters Roland remembers and wondered himself what their stories were. I found it fascinating to think that the author himself was waiting to see who these people were and their importance in his story. I have the second book of the series in the house and while it's not on my regular list, I have a feeling it will make my overflow list this year. I really enjoyed it.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Right away I will tell you I do not LOVE Stephen King. I have enjoyed a few of his stories (The Stand being my favorite). I decided to start the Dark Tower series because someone hinted to me that there is a tie into The Stand. I must say that I was surprised to have enjoyed The Gunslinger. It grabbed me right away and I basically could not put it down. The only thing I have to say against it is that it is filled with vulgar language. I'm no prude; I just don't feel that an abundance of profanity adds anything to the story. Having said that, I would, based on this first story, recommend the series.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A very good start. Stephen King has created a very dark and disturbing world.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This epic fantasy classic has been on my to read list for ages and I'm finally motivated to read it after seeing the movie preview. I know this is only the first book in the dark tower series but based off the movie preview there must combine quite a few of the books to get the first movie. Basically The Gunslinger introduces the two main characters to the series: The Gunslinger (Roland) and The Man in Black. The gunslinger is following the man in black across a long wasteland of a desert and trying to avoid the traps left behind by the man in black (quite unsuccessfully). The gunslinger is determined to track down and kill the man in black, but not before he gets answers. The two are from another world in another time, and besides the dark tower they are the only remnants of where they are from. As the gunslinger follows the man in blacks trail readers get a little back story on his past as he tells it to the people he encounters. He eventually finds a kid in the desert and together they set off to cross the mountains, right on the man in black's trail. It's kinda heavy, very literary, and leaves you with lots of questions. I guess I'll have to read the next one in the series.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    The first book in the Dark Tower series. Very different in feel and style than the rest of its sequels, since it was King's second published book and something of an experiment for him. Dark and surreal.

Book preview

The Dark Tower I - Stephen King

THE GUNSLINGER

CHAPTER 1

The Gunslinger

I

The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.

The desert was the apotheosis of all deserts, huge, standing to the sky for what looked like eternity in all directions. It was white and blinding and waterless and without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon and the devil-grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death. An occasional tombstone sign pointed the way, for once the drifted track that cut its way through the thick crust of alkali had been a highway. Coaches and buckas had followed it. The world had moved on since then. The world had emptied.

The gunslinger had been struck by a momentary dizziness, a kind of yawing sensation that made the entire world seem ephemeral, almost a thing that could be looked through. It passed and, like the world upon whose hide he walked, he moved on. He passed the miles stolidly, not hurrying, not loafing. A hide waterbag was slung around his middle like a bloated sausage. It was almost full. He had progressed through the khef over many years, and had reached perhaps the fifth level. Had he been a Manni holy man, he might not have even been thirsty; he could have watched his own body dehydrate with clinical, detached attention, watering its crevices and dark inner hollows only when his logic told him it must be done. He was not a Manni, however, nor a follower of the Man Jesus, and considered himself in no way holy. He was just an ordinary pilgrim, in other words, and all he could say with real certainty was that he was thirsty. And even so, he had no particular urge to drink. In a vague way, all this pleased him. It was what the country required, it was a thirsty country, and he had in his long life been nothing if not adaptable.

Below the waterbag were his guns, carefully weighted to his hands; a plate had been added to each when they had come to him from his father, who had been lighter and not so tall. The two belts crisscrossed above his crotch. The holsters were oiled too deeply for even this Philistine sun to crack. The stocks of the guns were sandalwood, yellow and finely grained. Rawhide tiedowns held the holsters loosely to his thighs, and they swung a bit with his step; they had rubbed away the bluing of his jeans (and thinned the cloth) in a pair of arcs that looked almost like smiles. The brass casings of the cartridges looped into the gun-belts heliographed in the sun. There were fewer now. The leather made subtle creaking noises.

His shirt, the no-color of rain or dust, was open at the throat, with a rawhide thong dangling loosely in hand-punched eyelets. His hat was gone. So was the horn he had once carried; gone for years, that horn, spilled from the hand of a dying friend, and he missed them both.

He breasted a gently rising dune (although there was no sand here; the desert was hardpan, and even the harsh winds that blew when dark came raised only an aggravating harsh dust like scouring powder) and saw the kicked remains of a tiny campfire on the lee side, the side the sun would quit earliest. Small signs like this, once more affirming the man in black’s possible humanity, never failed to please him. His lips stretched in the pitted, flaked remains of his face. The grin was gruesome, painful. He squatted.

His quarry had burned the devil-grass, of course. It was the only thing out here that would burn. It burned with a greasy, flat light, and it burned slow. Border dwellers had told him that devils lived even in the flames. They burned it but would not look into the light. They said the devils hypnotized, beckoned, would eventually draw the one who looked into the fires. And the next man foolish enough to look into the fire might see you.

The burned grass was crisscrossed in the now familiar ideographic pattern, and crumbled to gray senselessness before the gunslinger’s prodding hand. There was nothing in the remains but a charred scrap of bacon, which he ate thoughtfully. It had always been this way. The gunslinger had followed the man in black across the desert for two months now, across the endless, screamingly monotonous purgatorial wastes, and had yet to find spoor other than the hygienic sterile ideographs of the man in black’s campfires. He had not found a can, a bottle, or a waterbag (the gunslinger had left four of those behind, like dead snakeskins). He hadn’t found any dung. He assumed the man in black buried it.

Perhaps the campfires were a message, spelled out one Great Letter at a time. Keep your distance, partner, it might say. Or, The end draweth nigh. Or maybe even, Come and get me. It didn’t matter what they said or didn’t say. He had no interest in messages, if messages they were. What mattered was that these remains were as cold as all the others. Yet he had gained. He knew he was closer, but did not know how he knew. A kind of smell, perhaps. That didn’t matter, either. He would keep going until something changed, and if nothing changed, he would keep going, anyway. There would be water if God willed it, the old-timers said. Water if God willed it, even in the desert. The gunslinger stood up, brushing his hands.

No other trace; the wind, razor-sharp, had of course filed away even what scant tracks the hardpan might once have held. No man-scat, no cast-off trash, never a sign of where those things might have been buried. Nothing. Only these cold campfires along the ancient highway moving southeast and the relentless range-finder in his own head. Although of course it was more than that; the pull southeast was more than just a sense of direction, was even more than magnetism.

He sat down and allowed himself a short pull from the waterbag. He thought of that momentary dizziness earlier in the day, that sense of being almost untethered from the world, and wondered what it might have meant. Why should that dizziness make him think of his horn and the last of his old friends, both lost so long ago at Jericho Hill? He still had the guns—his father’s guns—and surely they were more important than horns… or even friends.

Weren’t they?

The question was oddly troubling, but since there seemed to be no answer but the obvious one, he put it aside, possibly for later consideration. He scanned the desert and then looked up at the sun, which was now sliding into a far quadrant of the sky that was, disturbingly, not quite true west. He got up, removed his threadbare gloves from his belt, and began to pull devilgrass for his own fire, which he laid over the ashes the man in black had left. He found the irony, like his thirst, bitterly appealing.

He did not take the flint and steel from his purse until the remains of the day were only fugitive heat in the ground beneath him and a sardonic orange line on the monochrome horizon. He sat with his gunna drawn across his lap and watched the southeast patiently, looking toward the mountains, not hoping to see the thin straight line of smoke from a new campfire, not expecting to see an orange spark of flame, but watching anyway because watching was a part of it, and had its own bitter satisfaction. You will not see what you do not look for, maggot, Cort would have said. Open the gobs the gods gave ya, will ya not?

But there was nothing. He was close, but only relatively so. Not close enough to see smoke at dusk, or the orange wink of a campfire.

He laid the flint down the steel rod and struck his spark to the dry, shredded grass, muttering the old and powerful nonsense words as he did: Spark-a-dark, where’s my sire? Will I lay me? Will I stay me? Bless this camp with fire. It was strange how some of childhood’s words and ways fell at the wayside and were left behind, while others clamped tight and rode for life, growing the heavier to carry as time passed.

He lay down upwind of his little blazon, letting the dreamsmoke blow out toward the waste. The wind, except for occasional gyrating dust-devils, was constant.

Above, the stars were unwinking, also constant. Suns and worlds by the million. Dizzying constellations, cold fire in every primary hue. As he watched, the sky washed from violet to ebony. A meteor etched a brief, spectacular arc below Old Mother and winked out. The fire threw strange shadows as the devil-grass burned its slow way down into new patterns—not ideograms but a straightforward crisscross vaguely frightening in its own no-nonsense surety. He had laid his fuel in a pattern that was not artful but only workable. It spoke of blacks and whites. It spoke of a man who might straighten bad pictures in strange hotel rooms. The fire burned its steady, slow flame, and phantoms danced in its incandescent core. The gunslinger did not see. The two patterns, art and craft, were welded together as he slept. The wind moaned, a witch with cancer in her belly. Every now and then a perverse downdraft would make the smoke whirl and puff toward him and he breathed some of it in. It built dreams in the same way that a small irritant may build a pearl in an oyster. The gunslinger occasionally moaned with the wind. The stars were as indifferent to this as they were to wars, crucifixions, resurrections. This also would have pleased him.

II

He had come down off the last of the foothills leading the mule, whose eyes were already dead and bulging with the heat. He had passed the last town three weeks before, and since then there had only been the deserted coach track and an occasional huddle of border dwellers’ sod dwellings. The huddles had degenerated into single dwellings, most inhabited by lepers or madmen. He found the madmen better company. One had given him a stainless steel Silva compass and bade him give it to the Man Jesus. The gunslinger took it gravely. If he saw Him, he would turn over the compass. He did not expect that he would, but anything was possible. Once he saw a taheen—this one a man with a raven’s head—but the misbegotten thing fled at his hail, cawing what might have been words. What might even have been curses.

Five days had passed since the last hut, and he had begun to suspect there would be no more when he topped the last eroded hill and saw the familiar low-backed sod roof.

The dweller, a surprisingly young man with a wild shock of strawberry hair that reached almost to his waist, was weeding a scrawny stand of corn with zealous abandon. The mule let out a wheezing grunt and the dweller looked up, glaring blue eyes coming target-center on the gunslinger in a moment. The dweller was unarmed, with no bolt nor bah the gunslinger could see. He raised both hands in curt salute to the stranger and then bent to the corn again, humping up the row next to his hut with back bent, tossing devil-grass and an occasional stunted corn plant over his shoulder. His hair flopped and flew in the wind that now came directly from the desert, with nothing to break it.

The gunslinger came down the hill slowly, leading the donkey on which his waterskins sloshed. He paused by the edge of the lifeless-looking cornpatch, drew a drink from one of his skins to start the saliva, and spat into the arid soil.

Life for your crop.

Life for your own, the dweller answered and stood up. His back popped audibly. He surveyed the gunslinger without fear. The little of his face visible between beard and hair seemed unmarked by the rot, and his eyes, while a bit wild, seemed sane. Long days and pleasant nights, stranger.

And may you have twice the number.

Unlikely, the dweller replied, and voiced a curt laugh. I don’t have nobbut corn and beans, he said. Corn’s free, but you’ll have to kick something in for the beans. A man brings them out once in a while. He don’t stay long. The dweller laughed shortly. Afraid of spirits. Afraid of the bird-man, too.

I saw him. The bird-man, I mean. He fled me.

Yar, he’s lost his way. Claims to be looking for a place called Algul Siento, only sometimes he calls it Blue Haven or Heaven, I can’t make out which. Has thee heard of it?

The gunslinger shook his head.

Well… he don’t bite and he don’t bide, so fuck him. Is thee alive or dead?

Alive, the gunslinger said. You speak as the Manni do.

I was with ’em awhile, but that was no life for me; too chummy, they are, and always looking for holes in the world.

This was true, the gunslinger reflected. The Manni-folk were great travelers.

The two of them looked at each other in silence for a moment, and then the dweller put out his hand. Brown is my name.

The gunslinger shook and gave his own name. As he did so, a scrawny raven croaked from the low peak of the sod roof. The dweller gestured at it briefly: That’s Zoltan.

At the sound of its name the raven croaked again and flew across to Brown. It landed on the dweller’s head and roosted, talons firmly twined in the wild thatch of hair.

Screw you, Zoltan croaked brightly. Screw you and the horse you rode in on.

The gunslinger nodded amiably.

Beans, beans, the musical fruit, the raven recited, inspired. The more you eat, the more you toot.

You teach him that?

That’s all he wants to learn, I guess, Brown said. Tried to teach him The Lord’s Prayer once. His eyes traveled out beyond the hut for a moment, toward the gritty, featureless hardpan. Guess this ain’t Lord’s Prayer country. You’re a gunslinger. That right?

Yes. He hunkered down and brought out his makings. Zoltan launched himself from Brown’s head and landed, flittering, on the gunslinger’s shoulder.

Thought your kind was gone.

Then you see different, don’t you?

Did’ee come from In-World?

Long ago, the gunslinger agreed.

Anything left there?

To this the gunslinger made no reply, but his face suggested this was a topic better not pursued.

After the other one, I guess.

Yes. The inevitable question followed: How long since he passed by?

Brown shrugged. I don’t know. Time’s funny out here. Distance and direction, too. More than two weeks. Less than two months. The bean man’s been twice since he passed. I’d guess six weeks. That’s probably wrong.

The more you eat, the more you toot, Zoltan said.

Did he lay by? the gunslinger asked.

Brown nodded. He stayed supper, same as you will, I guess. We passed the time.

The gunslinger stood up and the bird flew back to the roof, squawking. He felt an odd, trembling eagerness. What did he talk about?

Brown cocked an eyebrow at him. Not much. Did it ever rain and when did I come here and had I buried my wife. He asked was she of the Manni-folk and I said yar, because it seemed like he already knew. I did most of the talking, which ain’t usual. He paused, and the only sound was the stark wind. He’s a sorcerer, ain’t he?

Among other things.

Brown nodded slowly. I knew. He dropped a rabbit out of his sleeve, all gutted and ready for the pot. Are you?

A sorcerer? He laughed. I’m just a man.

You’ll never catch him.

I’ll catch him.

They looked at each other, a sudden depth of feeling between them, the dweller upon his dust-puff-dry ground, the gunslinger on the hardpan that shelved down to the desert. He reached for his flint.

Here. Brown produced a sulfur-headed match and struck it with a grimed nail. The gunslinger pushed the tip of his smoke into the flame and drew.

Thanks.

You’ll want to fill your skins, the dweller said, turning away. Spring’s under the eaves in back. I’ll start dinner.

The gunslinger stepped gingerly over the rows of corn and went around back. The spring was at the bottom of a hand-dug well, lined with stones to keep the powdery earth from caving. As he descended the rickety ladder, the gunslinger reflected that the stones must represent two years’ work easily—hauling, dragging, laying. The water was clear but slow-moving, and filling the skins was a long chore. While he was topping the second, Zoltan perched on the lip of the well.

Screw you and the horse you rode in on, he advised.

The gunslinger looked up, startled. The shaft was about fifteen feet deep: easy enough for Brown to drop a rock on him, break his head, and steal everything on him. A crazy or a rotter wouldn’t do it; Brown was neither. Yet he liked Brown, and so he pushed the thought out of his mind and got the rest of the water God had willed. Whatever else God willed was ka’s business, not

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