All the Pretty Horses

gravity proper to it, looking down at the burning cigarette and nodding his head. John Grady looked off through the trees toward the house, the white walls and the red clay rooftiles.
    Digame, he said. Cuál es lo peor: Que soy pobre o que soy americano?
    The vaquero shook his head. Una llave de oro abre cualquier puerta, he said.
    He looked at the boy. He tipped the ash from the end of the cigarette and he said that the boy wished to know his thought. Wished perhaps his advice. But that no one could advise him.
    Tienes razón, said John Grady. He looked at the vaquero. He said that when she returned he intended to speak to her with the greatest seriousness. He said that he intended to know her heart.
    The vaquero looked at him. He looked toward the house. He seemed puzzled and he said that she was here. That she was here now.
    Cómo?
    Sí. Ella está aquí. Desde ayer.
    H E LAY AWAKE all night until the dawn. Listening to the silence in the bay. The shifting of the bedded horses. Their breathing. In the morning he walked up to the bunkhouse to take his breakfast. Rawlins stood in the door of the kitchen and studied him.
    You look like you been rode hard and put up wet, he said.
    They sat at the table and ate. Rawlins leaned back and fished his tobacco out of his shirtpocket.
    I keep waitin for you to unload your wagon, he said. I got to go to work here in a few minutes.
    I just come up to see you.
    What about.
    It dont have to be about somethin does it?
    No. Dont have to. He popped a match on the underside of the table and lit his cigarette and shook out the match and put it in his plate.
    I hope you know what you’re doin, he said.
    John Grady drained the last of his coffee and put the cup on his plate along with the silver. He got his hat from the bench beside him and put it on and stood up to take his dishes to the sink.
    You said you didnt have no hard feelins about me goin down there.
    I dont have no hard feelins about you going down there.
    John Grady nodded. All right, he said.
    Rawlins watched him go to the sink and watched him go to the door. He thought he might turn and say something else but he didnt.
    He worked with the mares all day and in the evening he heard the airplane start up. He came out of the barn and watched. The plane came out of the trees and rose into the late sunlight and banked and turned and leveled out headed southwest. He couldnt see who was in the plane but he watched it out of sight anyway.
    Two days later he and Rawlins were in the mountains again. They rode hard hazing the wild manadas out of the high valleys and they camped at their old site on the south slope of the Anteojos where they’d camped with Luis and they ate beans and barbecued goatmeat wrapped in tortillas and drank black coffee.
    We aint got many more trips up here, have we? said Rawlins.
    John Grady shook his head. No, he said. Probably not.
    Rawlins sipped his coffee and watched the fire. Suddenlythree greyhounds trotted into the light one behind the other and circled the fire, pale and skeletal shapes with the hide stretched taut over their ribs and their eyes red in the firelight. Rawlins half rose, spilling his coffee.
    What in the hell, he said.
    John Grady stood and looked out into the darkness. The dogs vanished as suddenly as they had come.
    They stood waiting. No one came.
    What the hell, said Rawlins.
    He walked out a little ways from the fire and stood listening. He looked back at John Grady.
    You want to holler?
    No.
    Them dogs aint up here by themselves, he said.
    I know.
    You think he’s huntin us?
    If he wants us he can find us.
    Rawlins walked back to the fire. He poured fresh coffee and stood listening.
    He’s probably up here with a bunch of his buddies.
    John Grady didnt answer.
    Dont you reckon? said Rawlins.
    They rode up to the catchpen in the morning expecting to come upon the hacendado and his friends but they did not come upon him. In the days that followed they saw no sign of him. Three days later they set off down the mountain herding before them eleven young mares and they reached the hacienda at dark and put the mares up and went to the bunkhouse and ate. Some of the vaqueros were still at the table drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes but one by one they drifted away.
    The following morning at gray daybreak two men entered his cubicle with drawn pistols and put a flashlight in his eyes and ordered him to get up.
    He sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. The man