In the afternoon they passed through the ruins of an old ranch on that stony mesa where there were crippled fenceposts propped among the rocks that carried remnants of a wire not seen in that country for years. An ancient pickethouse. The wreckage of an old wooden windmill fallen among the rocks. They rode on. They walked ducks up out of potholes and in the evening they descended through low rolling hills and across the red clay floodplain into the town of Robert Lee.
They waited until the road was clear before they walked the horses over the board bridge. The river was red with mud. They rode up Commerce Street and turned up Seventh and rode up Austin Street past the bank and dismounted and tied their horses in front of the cafe and went in.
The proprietor came over to take their order. He called them by name. His father looked up from the menu.
Go ahead and order, he said. He wont be here for a hour.
What are you havin?
I think I'll just have some pie and coffee.
What kind of pie you got? the boy said.
The proprietor looked toward the counter.
Go on and get somethin to eat, his father said. I know you're hungry.
They ordered and the proprietor brought their coffee and went back to the counter. His father took a cigarette out of his shirtpocket.
You thought any more about boardin your horse?
Yeah, the boy said. Thought about it.
Wallace might let you feed and swamp out stalls and such as that. Trade it out thataway.
He aint goin to like it.
Who, Wallace?
No. Redbo.
His father smoked. He watched him.
You still seein that Barnett girl?
He shook his head.
She quit you or did you quit her?
I dont know.
That means she quit you.
Yeah.
His father nodded. He smoked. Two horsemen passed outside in the road and they studied them and the animals they rode. His father stirred his coffee a long time. There was nothing to stir because he drank it black. He took the spoon and laid it smoking on the paper napkin and raised the cup and looked at it and drank. He was still looking out the window although there was nothing there to see.
Your mother and me never agreed on a whole lot. She liked horses. I thought that was enough. That's how dumb I was. She was young and I thought she'd outgrow some of the notions she had but she didnt. Maybe they were just notions to me. It wasnt just the war. We were married ten years before the war come along. She left out of here. She was gone from the time you were six months old till you were about three. I know you know somethin about that and it was a mistake not to of told you. We separated. She was in California. Luisa looked after you. Her and Abuela.
He looked at the boy and he looked out the window again.
She wanted me to go out there, he said.
Why didnt you?
I did. I didnt last long at it.
The boy nodded.
She come back because of you, not me. I guess that's what I wanted to say.
Yessir.
The proprietor brought the boy's dinner and the pie. The boy reached for the salt and pepper. He didnt look up. The proprietor brought the coffeepot and filled their cups and went away. His father stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his fork and stabbed at the pie with it.
She's goin to be around a long longern me. I'd like to see you all make up your differences.
The boy didnt answer.
I wouldnt be here if it wasnt for her. When I was in Goshee I'd talk to her by the hour. I made her out to be like somebody who could do anything. I'd tell her about some of the other old boys that I didnt think was goin to make it and I'd ask her to look after them and to pray for them. Some of them did make it too. I guess I was a little crazy. Part of the time anyway. But if it hadnt of been for her I wouldnt of made it. No way in this world. I never told that to nobody. She dont even know it.
The boy ate. Outside it was growing dark. His father drank coffee. They waited for Arturo to come with the truck. The last thing his father said was that the country would never be the same.
People dont feel safe no more, he said. We're like the Comanches was two hundred years ago. We dont know what's goin to show up here come daylight. We dont even know what color they'll be.
THE NIGHT was almost warm. He and Rawlins lay in the road where they could feel the heat coming off the blacktop against their backs and they watched stars falling down the long black slope of the firmament. In the distance they heard a door slam. A voice called. A coyote that had been yammering somewhere in the hills to the south stopped. Then it began again.
Is that somebody hollerin for you? he said.
Probably, said Rawlins.
They lay spreadeagled on the blacktop like captives waiting some trial at dawn.
You told your old man? said Rawlins.
No.
You goin to?
What would be the point in it?
When do you all have to be out?
Closing's the first of June.
You could wait till then.
What for?
Rawlins propped the heel of one boot atop the toe of the other. As if to pace off the heavens. My daddy run off from home when he was fifteen. Otherwise I'd of been born in Alabama.
You wouldnt of been born at all.
What makes you say that?
Cause your mama's from San Angelo and he never would of met her.
He'd of met somebody.
So would she.
So?
So you wouldnt of been born.
I dont see why you say that. I'd of been born somewheres.
How?
Well why not?
If your mama had a baby with her other husband and your daddy had one with his other wife which one would you be?
I wouldnt be neither of em.
That's right.
Rawlins lay watching the stars. After a while he said: I could still be born. I might look different or somethin. If God wanted me to be born I'd be born.
And if He didnt you wouldnt.
You're makin my goddamn head hurt.
I know it. I'm makin my own.
They lay watching the stars.
So what do you think? he said.
I dont know, said Rawlins.
Well.
I could understand if you was from Alabama you'd have ever reason in the world to run off to Texas. But if you're already in Texas. I don't know. You got a lot more reason for leavin than me.
What the hell reason you got for stay in? You think somebody's goin to die and leave you somethin?
Shit no.
That's good. Cause they aint.
The door slammed. The voice called again.
I better get back, Rawlins said.
He rose and swiped at the seat of his jeans with one hand and put his hat on.
If I dont go will you go anyways?
John Grady sat up and put his hat on. I'm already gone, he said.
HE SAW HER one last time in town. He'd been to Cullen Cole's shop on North Chadbourne to get a broken bridlebit welded and he was coming up Twohig Street when she came out of the Cactus Drug. He crossed the street but she called to him and he stopped and waited while she came over.
Were you avoiding me? she said.
He looked at her. I guess I didnt have any thoughts about it one way or the other.
She watched him. A person cant help the way they feel, she said.
That's good all the way around, aint it?
I thought we could be friends.
He nodded. It's all right. I aint goin to be around here all that much longer.
Where are you going?
I aint at liberty to say.
Why ever not?
I just aint.
He looked at her. She was studying his face.
What do you think he'd say if he seen you standin here talkin to me?
He's not jealous.
That's good. That's a good trait to have. Save him a lot of aggravation.
What does that mean.
I dont mean nothin. I got to go.
Do you hate me?
No.
You dont like me.
He looked at her. You're wearin me out, girl, he said. What difference does it make? If you got a bad conscience just tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it.
It wouldnt be you saying it. Anyway I dont have a bad conscience. I just thought we could be friends.
He shook his head. It's just talk, Mary Catherine. I got to get on.
What if it is just talk? Everything's talk isnt it?
Not everything.
Are you really leaving San Angelo?
Yeah.
You'll be back.
Maybe.
I dont have any bad feelings against you.
You got no reason to.
She looked off up the street where he was looking but there wasnt much to look at. She turned back and he looked at her eyes but if they were wet it was just the wind. She held out her hand. At first he didnt know what she was doing.
I dont wish you anything but the best, she said.
He took her hand, small in his, familiar. He'd never shaken hands with a woman before. Take care of yourself, she said.
Thank you. I will.
He stood back and touched the brim of his hat and turned and went on up the street. He didnt look back but he could see her in the windows of the Federal Building across the street standing there and she was still standing there when he reached the corner and stepped out of the glass forever.
HE DISMOUNTED and opened the gate and walked the horse through and closed the gate and walked the horse along the fence. He dropped down to see if he could skylight Rawlins but Rawlins wasnt there. He dropped the reins at the fence corner and watched the house. The horse sniffed the air and pushed its nose against his elbow.
That you, bud? Rawlins whispered.
You better hope so.
Rawlins walked the horse down and stood and looked back at the house.
You ready? said John Grady.
Yeah.
They suspect anything?
Naw.
Well let's go.
Hang on a minute. I just piled everthing on top of the horse and walked him out here.
John Grady picked up the reins and swung up into the saddle. Yonder goes a light, he said.
Damn.
You'll be late for your own funeral.
It aint even four yet. You're early.
Well let's go. There goes the barn.
Rawlins was trying to get his soogan tied on behind the saddle. There's a switch in the kitchen, he said. He aint to the barn yet. He might not even be goin out there. He might just be gettin him a glass of milk or somethin.
He might just be loadin a shotgun or somethin.
Rawlins mounted up. You ready? he said.
I been ready.
They rode out along the fenceline and across the open pastureland. The leather creaked in the morning cold. They pushed the horses into a lope. The lights fell away behind them. They rode out on the high prairie where they slowed the horses to a walk and the stars swarmed around them out of the blackness. They heard somewhere in that tenantless night a bell that tolled and ceased where no bell was and they rode out on the round dais of the earth which alone was dark and no light to it and which carried their figures and bore them up into the swarming stars so that they rode not under but among them and they rode at once jaunty and circumspect, like thieves newly loosed in that dark electric, like young thieves in a glowing orchard, loosely jacketed against the cold and ten thousand worlds for the choosing.
BY NOON the day following they'd made some forty miles. Still in country they knew. Crossing the old Mark Fury ranch in the night where they'd dismounted at the crossfences for John Grady to pull the staples with a catspaw and stand on the wires while Rawlins led the horses through and then raise the wires back and beat the staples into the posts and put the catspaw back in his saddlebag and mount up to ride on.
How the hell do they expect a man to ride a horse in this country? said Rawlins.
They dont, said John Grady.
They rode the sun up and ate the sandwiches John Grady had brought from the house and at noon they watered the horses at an old stone stocktank and walked them down a dry creekbed among the tracks of cattle and javelina to a stand of cottonwoods. There were cattle bedded under the trees that rose at their approach and stood looking at them and then moved off.
They lay in the dry chaff under the trees with their coats rolled up under their heads and their hats over their eyes while the horses grazed in the grass along the creekbed.
What did you bring to shoot? said Rawlins.
Just Grandad's old thumb-buster.
Can you hit anything with it?
No.
Rawlins grinned. We done it, didnt we?
Yeah.
You think they'll be huntin us?
What for?
I dont know. Just seems too damn easy in a way.
They could hear the wind and they could hear the sound of the horses cropping.
I'll tell you what, said Rawlins.
Tell me.
I dont give a damn.
John Grady sat up and took his tobacco from his shirtpocket and began making a cigarette. About what? he said.
He wet the cigarette and put it in his mouth and took out his matches and lit the cigarette and blew the match out with the smoke. He turned and looked at Rawlins but Rawlins was asleep.
They rode on again in the late afternoon. By sunset they could hear trucks on a highway in the distance and in the long cool evening they rode west along a rise from which they could see the headlights on the highway going out and coming back random and periodic in their slow exchange. They came to a ranch road and followed it out to the highway where there was a gate. They sat the horses. They could see no gate on the far side of the highway. They watched the lights of the trucks along the fence both east and west but there was no gate there.
What do you want to do? said Rawlins.
I dont know. I'd like to of got across this thing tonight.
I aint leadin my horse down that highway in the dark.
John Grady leaned and spat. I aint either, he said.
It was growing colder. The wind rattled the gate and the horses stepped uneasily.
What's them lights? said Rawlins.
I'd make it Eldorado.
How far is that do you reckon?
Ten, fifteen miles.
What do you want to do?
They spread their bedrolls in a wash and unsaddled and tied the horses and slept till daybreak. When Rawlins sat up John Grady had already saddled his horse and was strapping on his bedroll. There's a cafe up the road here, he said. Could you eat some breakfast?
Rawlins put on his hat and reached for his boots. You're talkin my language, son.
They led the horses up through a midden of old truckdoors and transmissions and castoff motorparts behind the cafe and they watered them at a metal tank used for locating leaks in innertubes. A Mexican was changing a tire on a truck and John Grady walked over and asked him where the men's room was. He nodded down the side of the building.
He got his shaving things out of his saddlebag and went into the washroom and shaved and washed and brushed his teeth and combed his hair. When he came out the horses were tied to a picnic table under some trees and Rawlins was in the cafe drinking coffee.
He slid into the booth. You ordered? he said.
Waitin on you.
The proprietor came over with another cup of coffee. What'll you boys have? he said.
Go ahead, said Rawlins.
He ordered three eggs with ham and beans and biscuits and Rawlins ordered the same with a sideorder of hotcakes and syrup.
You better load up good.
You watch me, said Rawlins.
They sat with t
heir elbows propped on the table and looked out the window south across the plains to the distant mountains lying folded in their shadows under the morning sun.
That's where we're headed, said Rawlins.
He nodded. They drank their coffee. The man brought their breakfasts on heavy white crockery platters and came back with the coffeepot. Rawlins had peppered his eggs till they were black. He spread butter over the hotcakes.
There's a man likes eggs with his pepper, said the proprietor.
He poured their cups and went back to the kitchen.
You pay attention to your old dad now, Rawlins said. I'll show you how to deal with a unruly breakfast.
Do it, said John Grady.
Might just order the whole thing again.
The store had nothing in the way of feed. They bought a box of dried oatmeal and paid their bill and went out. John Grady cut the paper drum in two with his knife and they poured the oatmeal into a couple of hubcaps and sat on the picnic table and smoked while the horses ate. The Mexican came over to look at the horses. He was not much older than Rawlins.
Where you headed? he said.
Mexico.
What for?
Rawlins looked at John Grady. You think he can be trusted?
Yeah. He looks all right.
We're runnin from the law, Rawlins said.
The Mexican looked them over.
We robbed a bank.
He stood looking at the horses. You aint robbed no bank, he said.
You know that country down there? said Rawlins.
The Mexican shook his head and spat. I never been to Mexico in my life.
When the animals had eaten they saddled them again and led them around to the front of the cafe and down the drive and across the highway. They walked them along the bar ditch to the gate and led them through the gate and closed it. Then they mounted up and rode out the dirt ranch road. They rode it for a mile or so until it veered away to the east and they left it and set out south across the rolling cedar plains.
They reached the Devil's River by midmorning and watered the horses and stretched out in the shade of a stand of black-willow and looked at the map. It was an oilcompany roadmap that Rawlins had picked up at the cafe and he looked at it and he looked south toward the gap in the low hills. There were roads and rivers and towns on the American side of the map as far south as the Rio Grande and beyond that all was white.
It dont show nothin down there, does it? said Rawlins.
No.
You reckon it aint never been mapped?
There's maps. That just aint one of em. I got one in my saddlebag.
Rawlins came back with the map and sat on the ground and traced their route with his finger. He looked up.
All the Pretty Horses Page 3