Wolves of the Calla

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Book: Read Wolves of the Calla for Free Online
Authors: Stephen King
kill our children,” he said, looking at the Manni. “All God’s grace to ye, gentlemen, but I don’t believe even you could do so, came it right down to the killin-floor. Or not all of ye. We can’t pull up bag and baggage and go west—or in any other direction—because we leave our farms behind. They’d burn us out, all right, and come after the children just the same. They need em, gods know why.
    “It always comes back to the same thing: we’re farmers, most of us. Strong when our hands are in the soil, weak when they ain’t. I got two kiddies of my own, four years old, and I love em both well. Should hate to lose either. But I’d give one to keep the other. And my farm.” Murmurs of agreement met this. “What other choice do we have? I say this: it would be the world’s worst mistake to anger the Wolves. Unless, of course, we can stand against them. If ’twere possible, I’d stand. But I just don’t see how it is.”
    Tian felt his heart shrivel with each of Haycox’s words. How much of his thunder had the man stolen? Gods and the Man Jesus!
    Wayne Overholser got to his feet. He was Calla Bryn Sturgis’s most successful farmer, and had a vast sloping belly to prove it. “Hear me, I beg.”
    “We say thankee-sai,” they murmured.
    “Tell you what we’re going to do,” he said, looking around. “What we always done, that’s what. Do any of you want to talk about standing against the Wolves? Are any of you that mad? With what? Spears and rocks, a few bows and bahs? Maybe four rusty old sof’ calibers like that?” He jerked a thumb toward Eisenhart’s rifle.
    “Don’t be making fun of my shooting-iron, son,” Eisenhart said, but he was smiling ruefully.
    “They’ll come and they’ll take the children,” Overholser said, looking around. “ Some of em. Then they’ll leave us alone again for a generation or even longer. So it is, so it has been, and I say leave it alone.”
    Disapproving rumbles rose at this, but Overholser waited them out.
    “Twenty-three years or twenty-four, it don’t matter,” he said when they were quiet again. “Either way it’s a long time. A long time of peace . Could be you’ve forgotten a few things, folks. One is that children are like any other crop. God always sends more. I know that sounds hard. But it’s how we’ve lived and how we have to go on.”
    Tian didn’t wait for any of the stock responses. If they went any further down this road, any chance he might have to turn them would be lost. He raised the opopanax feather and said, “Hear what I say! Would ye hear, I beg!”
    “Thankee-sai,” they responded. Overholser was looking at Tian distrustfully.
    And you’re right to look at me so, the farmer thought. For I’ve had enough of such cowardly common sense, so I have.
    “Wayne Overholser is a smart man and a successful man,” Tian said, “and I hate to speak against his position for those reasons. And for another, as well: he’s old enough to be my Da’.”
    “ ’Ware he ain’t your Da’,” Garrett Strong’s only farmhand—Rossiter, his name was—called out, and there was general laughter. Even Overholser smiled at this jest.
    “Son, if ye truly hate to speak agin me, don’t ye do it,” Overholser said. He continued to smile, but only with his mouth.
    “I must, though,” Tian said. He began to walk slowly back and forth in front of the benches. In his hands, the rusty-red plume of the opopanax feather swayed. Tian raised his voice slightly so they’d understand he was no longer speaking just to the big farmer.
    “I must because sai Overholser is old enough to be my Da’. His children are grown, do ye kennit, and so far as I know there were only two to begin with, one girl and one boy.” He paused, then shot the killer. “Born two years apart.” Both singletons, in other words. Both safe from the Wolves, although he didn’t need to say it right out loud. The crowd murmured.
    Overholser flushed a bright and dangerous

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