Her lids and her voice both dropped a little; her eyes peeked at him slyly from their corners.
“Not f’um startin out, leastways.”
Dis goan be a day you ’member, whitebread, those sly eyes promised. Dis goan be a day you ’member for a long, long time.
Sho.
14
They made three miles that day, maybe a shade under. Detta’s chair upset twice. Once she did it herself, working her fingers slowly and unobtrusively over to that handbrake again and yanking it. The second time Eddie did with no help at all, shoving too hard in one of those goddamned sand traps. That was near the end of the day, and he simply panicked, thinking he just wasn’t going to be able to get her out this time, just wasn’t. So he gave that one last titanic heave with his quivering arms, and of course it had been much too hard, and over she had gone, like Humpty-Dumpty falling off his wall, and he and Roland had to labor to get her upright again. They finished the job just in time. The rope under her breasts was now pulled taut across her windpipe. The gunslinger’s efficient running slipknot was choking her to death. Her face had gone a funny blue color, she was on the verge of losing consciousness, but still she went on wheezing her nasty laughter.
Let her be, why don’t you? Eddie nearly said as Roland bent quickly forward to loosen the knot. Let her choke! I don’t know if she wants to do herself like you said, but I know she wants to do US . . . so let her go!
Then he remembered Odetta （although their encounter had been so brief and seemed so long ago that memory was growing dim） and moved forward to help.
The gunslinger pushed him impatiently away with one hand. “Only room for one.”
When the rope was loosened and the Lady gasping harshly for breath （which she expelled in gusts of her angry laughter）， he turned and looked at Eddie critically. “I think we ought to stop for the night.”
“A little further.” He was almost pleading. “I can go a little further.”
“Sho! He be one strong buck He be good fo choppin one mo row cotton and he still have enough lef’ to give yo little bitty white candle one fine suckin-on t’night.”
She still wouldn’t eat, and her face was becoming all stark lines and angles. Her eyes glittered in deepening sockets.
Roland gave her no notice at all, only studied Eddie closely. At last he nodded. “A little way. Not far, but a little way.”
Twenty minutes later Eddie called it quits himself. His arms felt like Jell-O.
They sat in the shadows of the rocks, listening to the gulls, watching the tide come in, waiting for the sun to go down and the lobstrosities to come out and begin their cumbersome cross-examinations.
Roland told Eddie in a voice too low for Detta to hear that he thought they were out of live shells. Eddie’s mouth tightened down a little but that was all. Roland was pleased.
“So you’ll have to brain one of them yourself,” Roland said. “I’m too weak to handle a rock big enough to do the job . . . and still be sure.”
Eddie was now the one to do the studying.
He had no liking for what he saw.
The gunslinger waved his scrutiny away.
“Never mind,” he said. “Never mind, Eddie. What is, is.”
“Ka,” Eddie said.
The gunslinger nodded and smiled faintly. “Ka.”
“Kaka,” Eddie said, and they looked at each other, and both laughed. Roland looked startled and perhaps even a little afraid of the rusty sound emerging from his mouth. His laughter did not last long. When it had stopped he looked distant and melancholy.
“Dat laffin mean you fine’ly managed to joik each other off?” Detta cried over at them in her hoarse, failing voice. “When you goan get down to de pokin? Dat’s what I want to see! Dat pokin!”