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 start with?
You all are just funnin. I knowed you was all along.
Sure you did, said Rawlins.
Who’s huntin you? John Grady said.
Nobody.
They’re huntin that horse though, aint they?
He didnt answer.
You really headed for Langtry?
Yeah.
You aint ridin with us, said Rawlins. You’ll get us thowed in the jailhouse.
It belongs to me, the boy said.
Son, said Rawlins, I dont give a shit who it belongs to. But it damn sure dont belong to you. Let’s go bud.
They turned their horses and chucked them up and trotted out along the road south again. They didnt look back.
I thought he’d put up more of a argument, said Rawlins.
John Grady flipped the stub of the cigarette into the road before them. We aint seen the last of his skinny ass.
By noon they’d left the road and were riding southwest through the open grassland. They watered their horses at a steel stocktank under an old F W Axtell windmill that creaked slowly in the wind. To the south there were cattle shaded up in a stand of emory oak. They meant to lay clear of Langtry and they talked about crossing the river at night. The day was warm and they washed out their shirts and put them on wet and mounted up and rode on. They could see the road behind them for several miles back to the northeast but they saw no rider.
That evening they crossed the Southern Pacific tracks just east of Pumpville Texas and made camp a half mile on the far side of the right of way. By the time they had the horses brushed and staked and a fire built it was dark. John Grady stood his saddle upright to the fire and walked out on the prairie and stood listening. He could see the Pumpville watertank against the purple sky. Beside it the horned moon. He could hear the horses cropping grass a hundred yards away. The prairie otherwise lay blue and silent all about.
They crossed highway 90 midmorning of the following day and rode out onto a pastureland dotted with grazing cattle. Far to the south the mountains of Mexico drifted in and out of the uncertain light of a moving cloud-cover like ghosts of mountains. Two hours later they were at the river. They sat on a low bluff and took off their hats and watched it. The water was the color of clay and roily and they could hear it in the rips downstream. The sandbar below them was thickly grown with willow and carrizo cane and the bluffs on the far side were stained and cavepocked and traversed by a constant myriad of swallows. Beyond that the desert rolled as before. They turned and looked at each other and put on their hats.