Well what do you intend to do?
He looked wildly toward the north. Try and outride it, he said. Only chance I got.
Rawlins looked at John Grady. He leaned and spat. Well, he said. If there was any doubt before I guess that ought to clear it up.
You cant outride a thunderstorm, said John Grady. What the hell is wrong with you?
It’s the only chance I got.
He’d no sooner said it than the first thin crack of thunder reached them no louder than a dry stick trod on. Blevins took off his hat and passed the sleeve of his shirt across his forehead and doubled the reins in his fist and took one last desperate look behind him and whacked the horse across the rump with the hat.
They watched him go. He tried to get his hat on and then lost it. It rolled in the road. He went on with his elbows flapping and he grew small on the plain before them and more ludicrous yet.
I aint takin no responsibility for him, said Rawlins. He reached and unhooked the canteen from John Grady’s saddlehorn and put his horse forward. He’ll be a lay in in the road down here and where do you reckon that horse’ll be?
He rode on, drinking and talking to himself. I’ll tell you where that horse’ll be, he called back.
John Grady followed. Dust blew from under the tread of the horses and twisted away down the road before them.
Run plumb out of the country, called Rawlins. That’s where. Gone to hell come Friday. That’s where the goddamn horse’ll be.
They rode on. There were spits of rain in the wind. Blevins’ hat lay in the road and Rawlins tried to ride his horse over it but the horse stepped around it. John Grady slid one boot out of the stirrup and leaned down and picked up the hat without dismounting. They could hear the rain coming down the road behind them like some phantom migration.
Blevins’ horse was standing saddled by the side of the road tied to a clump of willows. Rawlins turned and sat his horse in the rain and looked at John Grady. John Grady rode through the willows and down the arroyo following the occasional bare footprint in the rainspotted loam until he came upon Blevins crouched under the roots of a dead cottonwood in a caveout where the arroyo turned and fanned out onto the plain. He was naked save for an outsized pair of stained undershorts.
What the hell are you doin? said John Grady.
Blevins sat gripping his thin white shoulders in either hand. Just settin here, he said.
John Grady looked out over the plain where the last remnants of sunlight were being driven toward the low hills to the south. He leaned and dropped Blevins’ hat at his feet.
Where’s your clothes at?
I took em off.
I know that. Where are they?
I left em up yonder. Shirt had brass snaps too.
If this rain hits hard there’ll be a river come down through here like a train. You thought about that?
You aint never been struck by lightnin, said Blevins. You dont know what it’s like.
You’ll get drowned settin there.
That’s all right. I aint never been drowned before.
You aim to just set there?
That’s what I aim to do.
John Grady put his hands on his knees. Well, he said. I’ll say no more.
A long rolling crack of thunder went pealing down the sky to the north. The ground shuddered. Blevins put his arms over his head and John Grady turned the horse and rode back up the arroyo. Great pellets of rain were cratering the wet sand underfoot. He looked back once at Blevins. Blevins sat as before. A thing all but inexplicable in that landscape.
Where’s he at? said Rawlins.
He’s just settin out there. You better get your slicker.
I knowed when I first seen him the son of a bitch had a loose wingnut, said Rawlins. It was writ all over him.
The rain was coming down in sheets. Blevins’ horse stood in the downpour like the ghost of a horse. They left the road and followed the wash up toward a stand of trees and took shelter under the barest overhang of rock, sitting with their knees stuck out into the rain and holding the standing horses by the bridlereins. The horses stepped and shook their heads and the lightning cracked and the wind tore through the acacia and paloverde and the rain went slashing down the country. They heard a horse running somewhere out in the rain and then they just heard the rain.
You know what that was dont you? said Rawlins.
Yeah.
You want a drink of this?
I dont think so. I think it’s beginnin to make me feel bad.
Rawlins nodded and drank. I think it is me too, he said.
By dark the storm had slacked and the rain had almost ceased. They pulled the wet saddles off the horses and hobbled them and walked off in separate directions through the chaparral to stand spraddlelegged clutching their knees and vomiting. The browsing horses jerked their heads up. It was no sound they’d ever heard before. In the gray twilight those retchings seemed to echo like the calls of some rude provisional species loosed upon that waste. Something imperfect and malformed lodged in the heart of being. A thing smirking deep in the eyes of grace itself like a gorgon in an autumn pool.