All the Pretty Horses

turned off.
    Where to?
    Rawlins smoked. What do you reckon they want?
    I dont know.
    What do you want to do?
    Let’s just ride. They’ll either show or they wont.
    They came up out of the river breaks riding slowly side by side along the dusty road and onto a high plateau where they could see out over the country to the south, rolling country covered with grass and wild daisies. To the west a mile away ran a wire fence strung from pole to pole like a bad suture across the gray grasslands and beyond that a small band of antelope all of whom were watching them. John Grady turned his horse sideways and sat looking back down the road. Rawlins waited.
    Is he back there? he said.
    Yeah. Somewheres.
    They rode till they came to a broad swale or bajada in the plateau. A little off to the right was a stand of closegrown cedar and Rawlins nodded at the cedars and slowed his horse.
    Why dont we lay up yonder and wait on him?
    John Grady looked back down the road. All right, he said. Let’s ride on a ways and then double back. He sees our tracks quit the road here he’ll know where we’re at.
    All right.
    They rode on another half mile and then left the road and cut back toward the cedars and dismounted and tied their horses and sat on the ground.
    You reckon we got time for a smoke? said Rawlins.
    Smoke em if you got em, said John Grady.
    They sat smoking and watching the backroad. They waited a long time but nobody came. Rawlins lay back and put his hat over his eyes. I aint sleepin, he said. I’m just restin.
    He hadnt been asleep long before John Grady kicked his boot. He sat up and put on his hat and looked. A rider was coming along the road. Even at that distance they both remarked on the horse.
    He came along till he was not more than a hundred yards down the road. He had on a broadbrim hat and bib overalls. He slowed the horse and looked down the bajada directly at them. Then he came on again.
    It’s some kid, Rawlins said.
    That’s a hell of a horse, said John Grady.
    Aint it though.
    You think he saw us?
    No.
    What do you want to do?
    Give him a minute and then we’ll just ride into the road behind him.
    They waited till he was all but out of sight and then they untied the horses and mounted and rode up out of the trees and into the road.
    When he heard them he stopped and looked back. He pushed his hat back on his head and sat the horse in the road and watched them. They rode up one at either side.
    You huntin us? said Rawlins.
    He was a kid about thirteen years old.
    No, he said. I aint huntin you.
    How come you followin us?
    I aint followin you.
    Rawlins looked at John Grady. John Grady was watching the kid. He looked off toward the distant mountains and then back at the kid and finally at Rawlins. Rawlins sat with his hands composed upon the pommel of his saddle. You aint been followin us? he said.
    I’m goin to Langtry, the kid said. I dont know who you all are.
    Rawlins looked at John Grady. John Grady was rolling a smoke and studying the kid and his outfit and his horse.
    Where’d you get the horse? he said.
    It’s my horse.
    He put the cigarette in his mouth and took a wooden match from his shirtpocket and popped it with his thumbnail and lit the cigarette. Is that your hat? he said.
    The boy looked up at the hatbrim over his eyes. He looked at Rawlins.
    How old are you? said John Grady.
    Sixteen.
    Rawlins spat. You’re a lyin sack of green shit.
    You dont know everthing.
    I know you aint no goddamn sixteen. Where are you comin from?
    Pandale.
    You seen us in Pandale last night, didnt you?
    Yeah.
    What’d you do, run off?
    He looked from one of them to the other. What if I did?
    Rawlins looked at John Grady. What do you want to do?
    I dont know.
    We could sell that horse in Mexico.
    Yeah.
    I aint diggin no grave like we done that last one.
    Hell, said John Grady, that was your idea. I was the one said just leave him for the buzzards.
    You want to flip to see who gets to shoot him?
    Yeah. Go ahead.
    Call it, said Rawlins.
    Heads.
    The coin spun in the air. Rawlins caught it and slapped it down on top of his wrist and held his wrist where they could see it and lifted his hand away.
    Heads, he said.
    Let me have your rifle.
    It aint fair, said Rawlins. You shot the last three.
    Well go on then. You can owe me.
    Well hold his horse. He might not be gunbroke.
    You all are just funnin, said the boy.
    What makes you so sure?
    You aint shot nobody.
    What makes you think you wouldnt be somebody good to