Jonas was satisfied. It seemed more likely that Rhea, up there on her height of land looking north toward the Bad Grass, Hanging Rock, and Eyebolt Canyon, had set this ugly trap. ”No time to tell the others to be on their guard, that anything might happen, and from the look of them, no need, either. Roland picked it up, feeling the fine point of his developing rage lose its edge.
“There,” he murmured, standing back. It was, so far as he knew, the only shot fired at any of them during the assault on the tankers. Her old throat must be lined with slate, Jonas thought. At first these sounds seemed distant and flat, as if his ears had been packed with cracker-crumbs, but then they began to clarify.
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