He had not known that you could see yourself in others’ eyes nor see therein such things as suns. He stood twinned in those dark wells with hair so pale, so thin and strange, the selfsame child. As if it were some cognate child to him that had been lost who now stood windowed away in another world where the red sun sank eternally. As if it were a maze where these orphans of his heart had miswandered in their journey in life and so arrived at last beyond the wall of that antique gaze from whence there could be no way back forever.
From where he stood he could not see his brother or the horse. He could see the slow rings moving out over the water where the horse stood drinking beyond the stand of cane and he could see the slight flex of the muscle beneath the skin of the indian’s lean and hairless jaw.
The indian turned and looked at the tank. The only sound was the dripping of water from the horse’s raised muzzle. He looked at the boy.
You little son of a bitch, he said.
I aint done nothin.
Who’s that with you?
My brother.
How old’s he?
Sixteen.
The indian stood up. He stood immediately and without effort and looked across the tank where Billy stood holding the horse and then he looked at Boyd again. He wore an old tattered blanketcoat and an old greasy Stetson with the crown belled out and his boots were mended with wire.
What are you all doin out here?
Gettin wood.
You got anything to eat?
No.
Where you live at?
The boy hesitated.
I asked you where you lived at.
He gestured downriver.
Haw far?
I dont know.
You little son of a bitch.
He put the rifle over his shoulder and walked out down the shore of the tank and stood looking across at the horse and at Billy.
Howdy, said Billy.
The Indian spat. Spooked everthing in the country, aint you? he said.
We didnt know there was anybody here.
You aint got nothin to eat?
No sir.
Where you live at?
About two miles down the river.
You got anything to eat at your house?
Yessir.
I come down there you goin to bring me somethin out?
You can come to the house. Mama’ll feed you.
I dont want to come to the house. I want you to bring me somethin out.
All right.
You goin to bring me somethin out?
Yes.
All right then.
The boy stood holding the horse. The horse hadnt taken its eyes from the Indian. Boyd, he said. Come on.
You got dogs down there?
Just one.
You goin to put him up?
All right. I’ll put him up.
You put him up inside somewheres where he wont be barkin.
All right.
I aint comin down there to get shot.
I’ll put him up.
All right then.
Boyd. Come on. Let’s go.
Boyd stood on the far side of the tank looking at him.
Come on. It’ll be dark here in just a little bit.
Go on and do like your brother says, said the indian.
We wasnt botherin you.
Come on, Boyd. Let’s go.
He crossed the gravel bar and climbed into the travois.
Get up here, said Billy.
He climbed out of the pile of limbs they’d gathered and looked back at the indian and then reached and took the hand that Billy held down and swung up behind him onto the horse.
How will we find you? said Billy.
The indian was standing with the rifle across his shoulders, his hands hanging over it. You come out you walk towards the moon, he said.
What if it aint up yet?
The indian spat. You think I’d tell you to walk towards a moon that wasnt there? Go on now.
The boy booted the horse forward and they rode out through the trees. The travois poles dragging up small windrows of dead leaves with a dry whisper. The sun low in the west. The indian watched them go. The younger boy rode with one arm around his brother’s waist, his face red in the sun, his near‑white hair pink in the sun. His brother must have told him not to look back because he didnt look back. By the time they’d crossed through the dry bed of the river and ridden up onto the plain the sun was already behind the peaks of the Peloncillo Mountains to the west and the western sky was a deep red under the reefs of cloud. They set out south along the dry river breaks and when Billy looked back the indian was coming along a half mile behind them in the dusk carrying the rifle loosely in one hand.
How come you’re lookin back? said Boyd.
I just am.
Are we goin to carry him some supper?
Yes. We can do that I reckon.
Everthing you can do it dont mean it’s a good idea, said Boyd.
I know it.
He WATCHED the night sky through the front room window. The earliest stars coined out of the dark coping to the south hanging in the dead wickerwork of the trees along the river. The light of the unrisen moon lying in a sulphur haze over the valley to the east. He watched while the light ran out along the edges of the desert prairie and the dome of the moon rose out of the ground white and fat and membranous. Then he climbed down from the chair where he’d been kneeling and went to get his brother.