He skidded to a halt in his dusty boots, and his gun was in his hand before he realized what the sound was. When he did realize, he dropped the revolver
back into its holster with an impatient grunt. He was about to go on again when his eye happened first on Jake's pack...and then on a pair of faint, gleaming streaks
in midair just to the left of it. Roland narrowed his eyes and made out two thin wires which crisscrossed at knee level not three feet in front
of him. Oy, who was built low to the ground, had scurried neatly through the inverted V formed by the wires, but if not for the drums and spotting Jake's castoff pack, Roland
would have run right into them. As his eyes moved upward, tracing the not-quite-random piles of junk poised on either side of the passageway
at this point, Roland's mouth tightened. It had been a close call, and only *ka* had saved him.

* The Wastelands pages 443-444