All the Pretty Horses

and murderers. You will too.
    But by then the guard had come forward and seized his arm and shoved him out the door and the other guard shut the door and pushed the boltshackle home in the padlock.
    When they entered the office the captain sat as before. His hair newly slicked. John Grady stood before him. In the room aside from the desk and the chair that the captain sat in there were three folding metal chairs against the far wall that had an uncomfortable emptiness about them. As if people had got up and left. As if people expected were not coming. An old seed-company calendar from Monterrey was nailed to the wall above them and in the corner stood an empty wire birdcage hung from a floorpedestal like some baroque lampstand.
    On the captain’s desk was a glass oil-lamp with a blackened chimney. An ashtray. A pencil that had been sharpened with a knife. Las esposas, he said.
    The guard stepped forward and unlocked the handcuffs. The captain was looking out the window. He’d taken the pencil from the desk and was tapping his lower teeth with it. He turned and tapped the desk twice with the pencil and laid it down. Like a man calling a meeting to order.
    Your friend has told us everything, he said.
    He looked up.
    You will find it is best to tell everything right away. That way you dont have no troubles.
    You didnt have no call to beat up on that boy, said John Grady. We dont know nothin about Blevins. He asked to ride with us, that’s all. We dont know nothin about the horse. The horse got away from him in a thunderstorm and showed up here and that’s when the trouble started. We didnt have nothin to do with it. We been workin for señor Rocha goin on three months down at La Purísima. You went down there and told him a bunch of lies. Lacey Rawlins is as good a boy as ever come out of Tom Green County.
    He is the criminal Smith.
    His name aint Smith its Rawlins. And he aint a criminal. I’ve known him all my life. We were raised together. We went to the same school.
    The captain sat back. He unbuttoned his shirtpocket and pushed his cigarettes up from the bottom in their package and took one out without removing the pack and buttoned the shirt again. The shirt had been tailored in military fashion and fit tightly and the cigarettes fit tightly in the pocket. He leaned in his chair and took a lighter from his coat and lit the cigarette and put the lighter on the desk beside the pencil and pulled the ashtray to him with one finger and leaned back in the chair and sat with his arm upright and the burning cigarette a few inches from his ear in a posture that seemed alien to him. As if perhaps he’d admired it somewhere in others.
    What is your age, he said.
    Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in six weeks.
    What is the age of the assassin Blevins.
    I dont know. I dont know nothin about him. He says he’s sixteen. I’d guess fourteen is more like it. Thirteen even.
    He dont have no feathers.
    He what?
    He dont have no feathers.
    I wouldnt know about that. It dont interest me.
    The captain’s face darkened. He puffed on the cigarette. Then he put his hand on the desk palm upward and snapped his fingers.
    Déme su billetera.
    John Grady took his billfold from his hip pocket and stepped forward and laid it on the desk and stepped back. The captain looked at him. He leaned forward and took the billfold and sat back and opened it and began to take out the money, the cards. The photos. He spread everything out and looked up.
    Where is your license of operator.
    I dont have one.
    You have destroy it.
    I dont have one. I never did have one.
    The assassin Blevins has no documents.
    Probably not.
    Why dont he have no documents.
    He lost his clothes.
    He lose his clothes?
    Yes.
    Why he come here to steal horses?
    It was his horse.
    The captain leaned back, smoking.
    The horse is not his horse.
    Well, you have it your own ignorant way.
    Cómo?
    As far as I know that horse is his horse. He had it with him in Texas and I know he brought it into Mexico because I seen him ride it across the river.
    The captain sat drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair. I dont believe you, he said.
    John Grady didnt answer.
    These are not the facts.
    He half swiveled in his chair to look out the window.
    Not the facts, he said. He turned and looked across his shoulder at the prisoner.
    You have the opportunity to tell the truth here. Here. In three days you will go to Saltillo and then you will no have this opportunity. It will be gone. Then