Темная башня: Стрелок

           Thegunslingersteppedgingerlyovertherowsofcornandwentaroundback.Thespringwasatthebottomofahand-dugwell,linedwithstonestokeepthepowderyearthfromcaving.Ashedescendedthericketyladder,thegunslingerreflectedthatthestonesmustrepresenttwoyears’workeasily-hauling,dragging,laying.Thewaterwasclearbutslow-moving,andfillingtheskinswasalongchore.

           Whilehewastoppingthesecond,Zoltanperchedonthelipofthewell.

           "Screwyouandthehorseyourodeinon,"headvised.

           Helookedup,startled.Theshaftwasaboutfifteenfeetdeep:easyenoughforBrowntodroparockonhim,breakhishead,andstealeverythingonhim.Acrazyorarotterwouldn’tdoit;Brownwasneither.YethelikedBrown,andsohepushedthethoughtoutofhismindandgottherestofhiswater.Whatcame,came.

           Whenhecamethroughthehut’sdoorandwalkeddownthesteps(thehovelproperwassetbelowgroundlevel,designedtocatchandholdthecoolnessofthenights),Brownwaspokingearsofcornintotheembersofatinyfirewithahardwoodspatula.Tworaggedplateshadbeensetatoppositeendsofadunblanket.Waterforthebeanswasjustbeginningtobubbleinapothungoverthefire.

           "I’llpayforthewater,too."

           Browndidnotlookup."Thewater’sagiftfromGod.PappaDocbringsthebeans."

           Thegunslingergruntedalaughandsatdownwithhisbackagainstonerudewall,foldedhisarmsandclosedhiseyes.Afteralittle,thesmellofroastingcorncametohisnose