The Crossing

by Cormac McCarthy

  The horse was either the color of the terrain or was stained so by it. The rider advanced over the shallow standing water and the water displaced under the hooves of the horse brightened in the light and vanished instantly like lead dishing in a vat. He rode off of the lake and threaded a path along the sandy soda shore through the sparse tussocks of grass until he sat the clay-colored horse before them and looked down at them from under the shade of his hat. He didnt speak. He looked at them and he looked back across the playa and leaned and spat and looked at them again. You aint who I thought you was, he said.

  Who'd you think we was?

  The rider ignored him. What are you all doin out here? he said.

  Aint doin nothin.

  He looked at Boyd. He looked at the horse. What have you got under that blanket? he said.

  A shotgun.

  Are you fixin to shoot me?

  No sir.

  Is that your brother?

  He can answer for hisself.

  Are you his brother?

  Yeah.

  What are you all doin out here?

  Passin through.

  Passin through?

  Yeah.

  Passin through to where?

  We're goin to Douglas Arizona.

  Yeah?

  We got friends over there.

  You aint got none over here?

  We aint cut out for town life.

  Is that your all's horse?

  Yeah.

  I know who you are, the man said.

  They didnt answer. The man looked back out across the flats of the dry lake where the thin standing water lay like lead in the windless morning. He leaned and spat again and looked at Billy.

  I'm goin to tell Mr Boruff what you told me. That it's just a pair of drifters. Or if you want I'll wait on you and you can ride back with me.

  We aint ridin back. I appreciate it.

  I'll tell you somethin else if you dont know it.

  Tell it.

  You got a long row to hoe.

  Billy didnt answer.

  How old are you?

  Seventeen.

  The man shook his head. Well, he said. You all take care.

  Tell me somethin, Billy said.

  All right.

  How could you see us from way out yonder?

  I seen your reflection. Certain times you can see things out on a playa that's too far to see. Some of the boys claimed you all was a mirage but Mr. Boruff knowed you wasnt. He studies this country. He knows what's in it and what aint in it. So do I.

  You study it again in about a hour and see if you see us.

  I aim to.

  He nodded to them each separately where they sat on that barren inland strand and he looked at the mute dog.

  He aint much shucks as a watchdog, is he?

  He's had his throat cut.

  I know it, the rider said. You all take care. Then he turned the horse and rode back out across the flats and across the lake. He rode into the sun and he rode in silhouette but even though the sun was well up and no longer in their eyes when they themselves were mounted and set out south along the edge of the pan they still could see nothing at all on the far shore of the lake where the rider had vanished.

  Some time midmorning they crossed the boundary line into the state of Arizona. They rode through a low range of mountains and descended into the San Simon Valley where it ran down from the north and they nooned at the river in a grove of cottonwoods. They hobbled and watered the horse and sat naked in the shallow gravel pool. Pale, thin, dirty. Billy watched his brother until his brother raised up and looked at him.

  It aint no use you askin me a bunch of stuff.

  I wasnt going to ask you nothin.

  You will.

  They sat in the water. The dog sat in the grass watching them.

  He's wearin daddy's boots, aint he? Billy said.

  There you go.

  You're lucky you aint dead too.

  I dont know what's so lucky about it.

  That's a ignorant thing to say.

  You dont know.

  What dont I know?

  But Boyd didnt say what it was he didnt know.

  They ate sardines and crackers in the shade of the cottonwoods and they slept and in the afternoon they rode on again.

  I thought one time maybe you'd gone to California, Boyd said.

  What would I do in California?

  I dont know. They got cowboys in California.

  California cowboys.

  I wouldnt want to go to California.

  I wouldnt either.

  I might go to Texas.

  What for?

  I dont know. I aint never been.

  You aint never been noplace. So what reason is that?

  Only one I got.

  They rode. In the long shadows jackrabbits bolted and loped and froze again. The mute dog paid them no mind.

  Why caint the law go to Mexico? Boyd said.

  Cause it's American law. It aint worth nothin in Mexico.

  What about the Mexican law?

  There aint no law in Mexico. It's just a pack of rogues.

  Will number five shot kill a man?

  It will if you get close enough. It'll make a hole you can run your arm through.

  In the evening they crossed the highway just east of Bowie and struck the old road south through the Dos Cabezas range. They made camp and Billy rustled wood out along a shallow stone arroyo and they ate and sat by the fire.

  You reckon they will come after us? Boyd said.

  I dont know. They might.

  He leaned and jostled the coals with a stick and put the stick in the fire. Billy watched him.

  They wont catch us.

  I know it.

  Why dont you say what's on your mind.

  There aint nothin on my mind.

  It wasnt nobody's fault.

  Boyd sat staring into the fire. Coyotes were yapping out along the ridge to the north of the camp.

  You'll just make yourself crazy, Billy said.

  I done already have.

  He looked up. His pale hair looked white. He looked fourteen going on some age that never was. He looked as if he'd been sitting there and God had made the trees and rocks around him. He looked like his own reincarnation and then his own again. Above all else he looked to be filled with a terrible sadness. As if he harbored news of some horrendous loss that no one else had heard of yet. Some vast tragedy not of fact or incident or event but of the way the world was.

  The day following they crossed through the high gap at Apache Pass. Boyd sat behind him with his thin legs dangling on the horse's flanks and together they looked over the country to the south. The day was sunny and there was a wind blowing and there were ravens in the mountains riding the updrafts over the southfacing slopes.

  This is one more place you aint been, Billy said.

  They're everwhere, aint they?

  You see that line yonder where the color changes?

  Yeah.

  That's Mexico.

  It dont look like it's gettin no closer.

  What does that mean?

  It means let's ride if we're goin to.

  Noon the following day they struck route 666 and followed the blacktop down out of the Sulphur Springs Valley. They rode through the town of Elfrida. They rode through the town of McNeal. In the evening they rode through the main street of Douglas and halted at the gateshack on the border. The guard stood in the doorway and nodded at them. He looked at the dog.

  Where's Gilchrist at? said Billy.

  He's off. He dont come on till in the mornin.

  Can I leave some money for him?

  Yeah. You can leave it.

  Let me have a half dollar, Boyd.

  Boyd dug the leather changepurse out of his pocket and unsnapped it. The money was all nickels and dimes and pennies and he counted the requisite coins out and cupped them and handed them across Billy's shoulder to him. Billy took the coins and poked them ap
art in his own hand and recounted them and then cupped them together again and leaned down and held out his fist.

  I owe him a half dollar.

  All right, said the guard.

  Billy touched the brim of his hat with his forefinger and put the horse forward.

  You takin that dog with you? the guard said.

  If he wants to come.

  The guard watched them go, the dog trotting after. They crossed the little bridge. The Mexican guard looked up at them and nodded them on and they rode into Agua Prieta.

  I know how to count, Boyd said.

  What?

  I know how to count. There wasnt no need for you to count it a second time.

  Billy turned and looked at him and turned back again.

  All right, he said. I wont do it again.

  They bought paletas of icecream from a streetvendor and sat on the curb at the horse's feet and watched the street coming to life in the evening. The dog lay uneasily in the dust in front of them while town dogs passed and circled with their backs roached taking his scent.

  They bought meal and dried beans in a grocery and salt and coffee and dried fruit and dried peppers and they bought a small enameled frypan and a pot with a lid and a box of kitchen matches and a few utensils and they changed the remainder of their money into pesos.

  Now you're rich, Billy said.

  Nigger-rich, said Boyd.

  It's moren what I had when I come down here.

  That aint no big comfort.

  They left the road at the south end of town and followed the river along its course of pale gray cobbles out into the desert and made camp in the dark. Billy fixed their supper and they ate and sat watching the fire.

  You need to quit thinkin about it, Billy said.

  I aint thinkin about it.

  What are you thinkin about?

  Nothin.

  That's hard to do.

  What if somethin was to happen to you?

  Dont be thinkin all the time about what would happen.

  What if it was?

  You could go back.

  To the Websters?

  Yeah.

  After we robbed em and all?

  You didnt rob em. I thought you wasnt thinkin about nothin.

  I aint. I just got a uneasy feelin.

  Billy leaned and spat into the fire. You'll be all right.

  I'm all right now.

  They rode all the day following along the secular river in its bed of stones and in the early evening they entered the roadside hamlet of Ojito. Boyd had been sleeping with his face against his brother's back and he raised up all sweaty and rumpled and got his hat from where he'd crushed it in his lap between them and put it on.

  Where are we at? he said.

  I dont know.

  I'm hungry.

  I know it. I am too.

  You reckon they got anything to eat here?

  I dont know.

  They halted the horse before a man in a crumbling mud doorway and asked if there was anything to eat in the town and the man reflected a moment and then offered to sell them a chicken. They rode on. Where the empty road ran out into the desert to the south a storm was making up and the country was bluelooking under the clouds and the thin wires of lightning that stood repeatedly over the raw blue mountains in the distance broke in utter silence like a storm in a belljar. It caught them just before dark. The rain came ripping across the desert driving flights of wild doves before it and they rode into a wall of water and were wet instantly. A hundred yards along they dismounted and stood in a grove of roadside trees and held the horse and watched the rain roar in the mud. By the time the storm had passed it was dead black of night about them and they stood shivering in the starless dark and listened to the water dripping in the silence.

  What do you want to do now? Boyd said.

  Mount up and ride, I reckon.

  That's a awful wet horse to have to climb aboard.

  He might say the same about you.

  It was past midnight when they rode through the town of Morelos. Lamps dimmed out down the street as if they were bringing the darkness with them. He'd wrapped his coat around Boyd and Boyd was tottering asleep against his back and the horse went sucking through the mud with its head down and the dog tacked before them among the pools of standing water and they took the road south where he had followed the pilgrims to the fair in the spring of that same year so long ago.

  They passed what was left of the night in a jacal just off the road and in the morning they built a fire and made breakfast and dried their clothes and then saddled the horse and set out again on the road south. In three more days of such riding and seven days into the country passing one by one through the squalid mud towns along the river they entered the town of Bacerac. In front of a whitewashed house under an elder tree were two horses standing head down. One was a big roan gelding with a fresh brand on its left hip and the other was their horse Keno wearing a tooled mexican saddle.

  Look yonder, said Boyd.

  I see him. Get down.

  Boyd slid from the horse and Billy dismounted and passed him the reins and pulled the shotgun from the saddlescabbard. The dog had stopped in the road and stood looking back at them. Billy unbreeched the gun to see that it was loaded and breeched it shut again and looked at Boyd.

  Take the horse over yonder and keep out of the way.

  All right.

  He watched while Boyd walked the horse across the road and then he turned and started for the house. The dog stood looking from one to the other until Boyd whistled for it.

  He walked around Keno and patted his neck and the horse pushed its forehead against his shirt and breathed a long sweet breath against him. He stood the shotgun against the elder tree and lifted the stirrup and hung it over the horn and pulled the latigo and slid the strap free and pulled loose the backcinch and took hold of the saddle by horn and cantle and lifted it down and stood it in the dirt. Then he pulled off the saddleblanket and hung it over the horn of the saddle and picked up the shotgun and untied the horse and led it back across the street to where Boyd stood.

  He jammed the shotgun back into the scabbard and looked again toward the house. Ride Bird, he said.

  Boyd stood up into the saddle and looked down at him.

  Take the horses up here and keep out of sight of the house. I'll meet you at the south end of town. Just stay hid. I'll find you.

  What do you aim to do?

  I want to see who all's in there.

  What if it's them?

  It aint.

  Who all do you think is in there?

  I dont know. I think somebody has died. Go on now.

  You better take the shotgun.

  I dont need it. Go on.

  He watched him ride up the narrow dirt street and then he turned and walked back to the house.

  He knocked at the door and stood with his hat in his hands. No one came. He put his hat on and walked down and pushed at an old weathered carriage door in the wall but it was barred shut. He looked at the top of the wall. There were broken bottle ends set into the mud masonry there. He took out his knife and put it between the doors and began to walk the ancient wooden tranca a half inch at a time across the gates until the end of it slipped free of the cradle and he pushed the door open and stepped inside and pushed it shut again. There were no dragmarks in the dirt, nothing come and gone. There were chickens sitting in a tree in broad daylight. He crossed the patio to the rear of the house and stood in a doorway that gave onto a long hall. On a low bench were clay pots with plants in them which had been recently watered and the dirt was damp and the tiles under the bench were wet. He took off his hat again and walked down the hallway and stood in the door at the far end. In a darkened room a woman lay in a bed. About her were sister figures clothed in dark rebozos. On a table a candle burning.

  The woman in the bed was lying with her eyes closed and she held a glass rosary in her hands. She was dead. One of the women kneeling turned her head
and looked at him. Then she looked toward a part of the room he could not see. After a while a man came out pulling on his coat and he nodded politely to the boy standing at the door.

  Quien es? he said.

  He was tall and blond and he spoke Spanish with a foreign accent. Billy stepped to one side and they stood in the hall.

  Estaba su caballo enfrente de la casa?

  The man stopped, his coat on one shoulder. He looked at Billy and he looked down the hallway. Estaba? he said.

  HE FOUND BOYD laid up with the horses in a stand of carrizo cane at the river's edge south of the town.

  Anybody could of tracked you here, he said.

  Boyd didnt answer. Billy squatted on the ground and broke off a reed and broke it again in his hands.

  He's a German doctor. He had a factura for the horse. Or said he did. He said he had papers from a broker in Casas Grandes named Soto.

  Boyd had been standing holding the shotgun. He reholstered it in the scabbard and leaned and spat. Well, he said. Whatever papers he has it's moren what we got.

  We got the horse.

  Boyd stood looking past the horse at the river running. They're goin to shoot us, he said.

  Come on, Billy said. Let's go.

  You just walked in there?

  Yeah.

  What did you tell him?

  Let's go. We aint down here for the fun of it.

  What did you tell him.

  Told him the truth. Told him his horse was stole by indians.

  Where's he at now?

  He took the mozo's horse and rode off downriver to hunt em.

  Did he have a gun?

  Yeah. He had a gun.

  What are we goin to do?

  Ride to Casas Grandes.

  Where's it at?

  I dont know.

  They left Keno in the brake doublehobbled with the dog tied to him and rode back into the town. They sat on the ground in the dusty square while a thin old man squatted opposite and drew for them with a whittled stick a portrait of the country they said they wished to visit. He sketched in the dust streams and promontories and pueblos and mountain ranges. He commenced to draw trees and houses. Clouds. A bird. He penciled in the horsemen themselves doubled upon their mount. Billy leaned forward from time to time to question the measure of some part of their route whereupon the old man would turn and squint at the horse standing in the street and then give an answer in hours. All the while there sat watching on a bench a few feet away four men dressed in ancient and sunfaded suits. By the time the old man was done the map he'd drawn covered an area in the dirt the size of a blanket. He stood and dusted the seat of his trousers with a swipe of his flattened hand.