Absalom rode across to the west bank of the river in the folding back rumble seat of a Strider with a long-faced woman he didn’t know and her two children. He had tried to maneuver to get into the same Strider as Annie, but when passengers had lined up to board, he hadn’t been able to find her. He was polite, though, doffing his damaged hat and smiling at the children even when one of them kicked him in the shin. Some of the baggage had floated away with the flooding of the Liahona’s belly, and the Stridermen chased that down too, in their jerky, long-legged vehicles. Absalom had never before seen a real live Mexican or one of their Striders, and he found them fascinating. They looked vaguely chivalrous, like knights of the trash heap, with smoked-glass visors on their bulky helmets, cup-like padding on knees and elbows and shoulders, high riding boots and many-buckled leather harnesses belted about their hips and chests. They behaved like knights, too, deferential and helpful and modest, though they kept their visors down. With their rifle-fired suction harpoons, they had quickly snared the larger pieces of luggage. One of the Striders had knelt down and disgorged a Striderman, who had waded into waist-high water with a long pole like a boathook and dragged in the last of the passengers’ drifting things.
