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The
woman
behind
the
bar
made
a
small
moaning
sound
.
The
cracked
lips
writhed
,
lifted
,
revealing
the
green
,
mossy
teeth
,
and
the
gunslinger
thought
:
-
He
’
s
not
even
smoking
it
anymore
.
He
’
s
chewing
it
.
He
’
s
really
chewing
it
.
And
on
the
heels
of
that
:
-
He
’
s
a
dead
man
.
He
should
have
been
dead
a
year
ago
.
And
on
the
heels
of
that
:
-
The
man
in
black
.
They
stared
at
each
other
,
the
gunslinger
and
the
man
who
had
gone
around
the
rim
of
madness
.
He
spoke
,
and
the
gunslinger
,
dumfounded
,
heard
himself
addressed
in
the
High
Speech
:
"
The
gold
for
a
favor
,
gunslinger
.
Just
one
?
For
a
pretty
.
"
The
High
Speech
.
For
a
moment
his
mind
refused
to
track
it
.
It
had
been
years
-
God
!
-
centuries
,
millenniums
;
there
was
no
more
High
Speech
,
he
was
the
last
,
the
last
gunslinger
.
The
others
were
-
Numbed
,
he
reached
into
his
breast
pocket
and
produced
a
gold
piece
.
The
split
,
scrubbed
hand
reached
for
it
,
fondled
it
,
held
it
up
to
reflect
the
greasy
glare
of
the
kerosene
lamps
.
It
threw
off
its
proud
civilized
glow
;
golden
,
reddish
,
bloody
.
"
Ahhhhhh
.
.
.
"
An
inarticulate
sound
of
pleasure
.
The
old
man
did
a
weaving
turn
and
began
moving
back
to
his
table
,
holding
the
coin
at
eye
level
,
turning
it
,
flashing
it
.
