All the Pretty Horses

provocation.
    I did. But it dont help. He tried to kill me with a knife. I just happened to get the best of him.
    Why does it bother you?
    I dont know. I dont know nothin about him. I never even knew his name. He could of been a pretty good old boy. I dont know. I dont know that he’s supposed to be dead.
    He looked up. His eyes were wet in the firelight. The judge sat watching him.
    You know he wasnt a pretty good old boy. Dont you?
    Yessir. I guess.
    You wouldnt want to be a judge, would you?
    No sir. I sure wouldnt.
    I didnt either.
    Sir?
    I didnt want to be a judge. I was a young lawyer practicing in San Antonio and I come back out here when my daddy was sick and I went to work for the county prosecutor. I sure didnt want to be a judge. I think I felt a lot like you do. I still do.
    What made you change your mind?
    I dont know as I did change it. I just saw a lot of injustice in the court system and I saw people my own age in positions of authority that I had grown up with and knew for a calcified fact didnt have one damn lick of sense. I think I just didnt have any choice. Just didnt have any choice. I sent a boy from this county to the electric chair in Huntsville in nineteen thirty-two. I think about that. I dont think he was a pretty good old boy. But I think about it. Would I do it again? Yes I would.
    I almost done it again.
    Done what, killed somebody?
    Yessir.
    The Mexican captain?
    Yessir. Captain. Whatever he was. He was what they call a madrina. Not even a real peace officer.
    But you didnt.
    No sir. I didnt.
    They sat. The fire had burned to coals. Outside the wind was blowing and he was going to have to go out in it pretty soon.
    I hadnt made up my mind about it though. I told myself that I had. But I hadnt. I dont know what would of happened if they hadnt of come and got him. I expect he’s dead anyways.
    He looked up from the fire at the judge.
    I wasnt even mad at him. Or I didnt feel like I was. That boy he shot, I didnt hardly even know him. I felt bad about it. But he wasnt nothin to me.
    Why do you think you wanted to kill him?
    I dont know.
    Well, said the judge. I guess that’s somethin between you and the good Lord. Wouldnt you say?
    Yessir. I didnt mean that I expected a answer. Maybe there aint no answer. It just bothered me that you might think I was somethin special. I aint.
    Well that aint a bad way to be bothered.
    He picked up his hat and held it in both hands. He looked like he was about to get up but he didnt get up.
    The reason I wanted to kill him was because I stood there and let him walk that boy out in the trees and shoot him and I never said nothin.
    Would it have done any good?
    No sir. But that dont make it right.
    The judge leaned from his chair and took the poker standing on the hearth and jostled the coals and stood the poker back and folded his hands and looked at the boy.
    What would you have done if I’d found against you today?
    I dont know.
    Well, that’s a fair answer I guess.
    It wasnt their horse. It would of bothered me.
    Yes, said the judge. I expect it would.
    I need to find out who the horse belongs to. It’s gotten to be like a millstone around my neck.
    There’s nothin wrong with you son. I think you’ll get it sorted out.
    Yessir. I guess I will. If I live.
    He stood.
    I thank you for your time. And for invitin me into your home and all.
    The judge stood up. You come back and visit any time, he said.
    Yessir. I appreciate it.
    It was cold out but the judge stood on the porch in his robe and slippers while he untied the horse and got the other two horses sorted out and then mounted up. He turned the horseand looked at him standing in the doorlight and he raised his hand and the judge raised a hand back and he rode out down the street from pool to pool of lamplight until he had vanished in the dark.
    O N THE S UNDAY MORNING following he was sitting in a cafe in Bracketville Texas drinking coffee. There was no one else in the cafe except the counterman and he was sitting on the last stool at the end of the counter smoking a cigarette and reading the paper. There was a radio playing behind the counter and after a while a voice said that it was the Jimmy Blevins Gospel Hour.
    John Grady looked up. Where’s that radio station comin from? he said.
    That’s Del Rio, said the counterman.
    He got to Del Rio about four-thirty in the afternoon and by the time he found the Blevins house it was getting on toward dark. The reverend lived in a white frame house