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- Темная башня: Стрелок
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- Стр. 13/63
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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
depending
on
the
coach
line
for
its
survival
.
Three
boys
were
crouched
silently
around
a
marble
ring
drawn
in
the
dust
to
one
side
of
the
barn
’
s
gaping
maw
,
smoking
cornshuck
cigarettes
.
They
made
long
shadows
in
the
yard
.
The
gunslinger
led
his
mule
past
them
and
looked
into
the
dim
depths
of
the
barn
.
One
lamp
glowed
sunken
ly
,
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
!
"
