CRYERS by Geoff North Read Free Book Online Page B

babysit you someday, I probably wouldn’t
have given you the time of day.” He lay down on the dirt, away from the other
three, and went to sleep.
    The rollers were gone the next
morning. Trot took up residence again behind Lawson on Dust’s back. Cobe and
Willem picked their way along a stony trail, behind the horse riders, that led
down into the northern plains.
    “Wouldn’t it be safer to stick to
the cliffs up top?” Cobe asked.
    “Safer maybe, but a hell of a lot
longer,” Lawson called back.
    “Longer to where?”
    “Big Hole.”
    Big Hole. What the hell does that mean? The lawman seemed more grim than
usual this morning, so Cobe dropped the subject. They ventured further out into
the flat land. Willem—afraid the rollers might reappear—asked if he could ride
atop Dust, said he hadn’t slept well, that he was still tired. Cobe knew well-enough
what was going on inside his brother’s head, and figured Lawson suspected the
same. The lawman grunted, slipped off the horse’s back, and set Willem in his
place.
    “There’s another river running west
about four miles north of here.” Lawson rolled a cigarette as he walked and
talked. “It ain’t fit to drink from either, but we can follow it all the way to
where we’re headed. Rollers tend to stay clear of water, so we should be safer
once we get there.”
    They came upon the first set of
roller tracks. Cobe placed his foot in a depression of cracked dirt where a
large knuckled hand had settled. He could have stood in it with both feet and
still had plenty of room. The ground was hard, the imprint over an inch deep.
The thing was damn big, Cobe realized. A lot bigger than they had appeared last
night from a couple miles away.
    They walked across deep grooves in
the ground that ran for miles in every direction—some meandering and twisting,
others as straight as an arrow’s path. Those
ones were really moving , Cobe thought. Willem swiveled around on Dust’s
back, whistling. “There must have been hundreds of ‘em.”
    “A dozen at the most,” Lawson said.
“Once they find nice open spots like this, they’ll tear it up for hours on end,
covering as much ground as they can in search of food. The less they find, the
more worked up they get. Ain’t nothin’ angrier and faster than a herd of
rollers with nothin’ to eat.”
    Trot patted Dust’s mane. “Not
faster than Dust.”
    Lawson shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to
put it to any kind of test.”
    They crossed the roller trails,
creating their own dim set of tracks at a considerably lesser pace, until the
ground became rockier. The tracks ended and soon they were in hills again. Cobe
breathed easier, and he could see Willem’s form behind Trot had relaxed as
well. Lawson guided Dust around outcroppings of rock and through dead forest.
The horse could’ve picked its way without his help, Cobe was sure, but he had
already seen the silent bond between the man and animal. Dust had one eye;
Lawson was only trying to help it along on its bad side. It was plain to see
the two had traveled that way together for a long time.
    The trees ended and they headed
down again. Cobe saw the river Lawson had mentioned earlier, dirty brown and twisting,
like a big, sick worm. They followed its muddy bank west for a mile when Trot
yelled out, “I thought you said rollers didn’t like water! There’s three of ‘em
up ahead!”
    Lawson squinted to see them, his
face a leather map of cracked lines. “Quit yellin’. They’re people.” Cobe
noticed the lawman’s hand move instinctively over the handle of the heavy gun
strapped at his side. “It ain’t unheard of for people to move about from town
to town, just uncommon. Keep yer mouths shut and let me do the talking.”

Chapter 9
    Willem slipped off of Dust’s back
and went to walk with his brother. If things turned ugly and they had to run,
the boy didn’t want to be anywhere near the big horse.
    It was a man and a woman. They
looked to be around the same