When they were ready, the pilgrims resumed their walk east along Interstate 70. “I know yer mind, Jonas. She smiled her thin smile (it reminded Roland of Jonas’s), trudged her spoon through her soup, and said nothing. Jonas peered hard into the thread of alley between the mercantile and the butcher’s, glimpsed a shadow behind a tumble of cast-off boxes, tensed, then relaxed as he saw a cat’s shining green eyes.
It lit his whole face. “Nay, young master, Thorin understands ye’ve come to do a job—next door to workin cowboys, ye be! ’Ware they don’t ha There’s plenty of earth-gas out at Citgo—that’s the oilpatch east of town. “That’s not what I mean.
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