By afternoon of the day following he was deep in the bolsón and a day later he was entering the range country and the broken land that entabled the desert mountains to the north. The horse was not in condition for the riding he called upon it to do and he was forced to rest it often. He rode at night that its hooves might benefit from the damp or from what damp there was and as he rode he saw small villages distant on the plain that glowed a faint yellow in that incoordinate dark and he knew that the life there was unimaginable to him. Five days later he rode at night into a small crossroads pueblo nameless to him and he sat the horse in the crossroads and by the light of a full moon read the names of towns burned into crateslats with a hot iron and nailed to a post. San Jerónimo. Los Pintos. La Rosita. At the bottom a board with the arrow pointed the other way that said La Encantada. He sat a long time. He leaned and spat. He looked toward the darkness in west. The hell with it, he said. I aint leavin my horse down here.
He rode all night and in the first gray light with the horse badly drawn down he walked it out upon a rise beneath which he could make out the shape of the town, the yellow windows in the old mud walls where the first lamps were lit, the narrow spires of smoke standing vertically into the windless dawn so still the village seemed to hang by threads from the darkness. He dismounted and unrolled his plunder and opened the box of shells and put half of them in his pocket and checked the pistol that it was loaded all six cylinders and closed the cylinder gate and put the pistol into his belt and rolled his gear back up and retied the roll behind the saddle and mounted the horse again and rode into the town.
There was no one in the streets. He tied the horse in front of the store and walked down to the old school and stood on the porch and looked in. He tried the door. He walked around to the rear and broke out the glass and reached in and unlocked the doorlatch and walked in with the pistol in his hand. He crossed the room and looked out the window at the street. Then he turned and walked back to the captain’s desk. He opened the top drawer and took out the handcuffs and laid them on top of the desk. Then he sat down and put his feet up.
An hour later the maid arrived and opened the door with her key. She was startled to see him sitting there and she stood uncertainly.
Pásale, pásale, he said. Está bien.
Gracias, she said.
She’d have crossed the room and gone on to the rear but that he stopped her and made her take a seat in one of the metal folding chairs against the wall. She sat very quietly. She didnt ask him anything at all. They waited.
He saw the captain cross the street. He heard his boots on the boards. He came in with his coffee in one hand and the ring of keys in the other and the mail under his arm and he stood looking at John Grady and at the pistol he was holding with the butt resting on the desktop.
Cierra la puerta, said John Grady.
The captain’s eyes darted toward the door. John Grady stood. He cocked the pistol. The click of the sear and the click of the cylinderhand falling into place were sharp and clear in the morning silence. The maid put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes. The captain shut the door slowly with his elbow.
What do you want? he said.
I come to get my horse.
You horse?
Yes.
I dont have you horse.
You better know where he’s at.
The captain looked at the maid. She still had her hands over her ears but she had looked up.
Come over here and put that stuff down, said John Grady.
He walked to the desk and put down his coffee and the mail and stood holding the keys.
Put down the keys.
He put the keys on the desk.
Turn around.
You make bad troubles for you self.
I got troubles you never even heard of. Turn around.
He turned around. John Grady leaned forward and unsnapped the flap of the holster he wore and took out the pistol and uncocked it and put it in his belt.
Turn around, he said.
He turned around. He hadnt been told to put his hands up but he’d put them up anyway. John Grady picked up the handcuffs from the desk and stuck them in his belt.
Where do you want to put the criada? he said.
Mande?
Never mind. Let’s go.
He picked up the keys and came around from behind the desk and pushed the captain forward. He gestured at the woman with his chin.
Vámonos, he said.
The back door was still open and they walked out and down the path to the jail. John Grady unlocked the padlock and opened the door. Blinking in the pale triangular light sat the old man as before.
Ya estás, viejo?
Sí, cómo no.
Ven aquí.
He was a long time rising. He shuffled forward with one hand on the wall and John Grady told him he was free to go. He motioned for the cleaning woman to enter and he apologized for inconveniencing her and she said not to give it a thought and he closed and locked the door.