Mi hermano, said Billy.
The old man nodded. He was dressed in the dirty white manta of that country in which the workers tended the fields like soiled inmates wandered from some ultimate Bedlam to stand at last hacking in slow and mindless rage at the earth itself. The oxen raised their dripping mouths out of the river first one and then the other. The old man tilted his stick toward them as if to bless.
Le gustan, he said.
Claro, said Billy.
He watched them drink. He asked the old man if the oxen were willing workers and the old man weighed the question and then said that he did not know. He said that the oxen had no choice. He looked at the horses. Y los caballos? he said.
The boy said he thought that horses were willing enough. He said that some horses enjoyed their work. They enjoyed working cattle. He said that horses were different from oxen.
A kingfisher flew up the river and veered and chattered and then swung back above the river again and continued upstream. No one looked at it. The old man said that the ox was an animal close to God as all the world knew and that perhaps the silence and the rumination of the ox was something like the shadow of a greater silence, a deeper thought.
He looked up. He smiled. He said that in any case the ox knew enough to work so as to keep from being killed and eaten and that was a useful thing to know.
He came forward and hazed the animals up out of the river. They clambered out along the gravel shore and blew and craned their necks. The old man turned, his stick on one shoulder.
Está lejos de su casa? he said.
The boy said that he had no home.
The old man’s face grew troubled. He said that the boy must have a home but the boy said that he did not. The old man said that there was a place for everyone in the world and that he would pray for the boy. Then he drove the oxen out through the willows and the sycamore wood in the new dusk and was soon gone from sight.
When he got back to the fire it was almost dark. The dog stood up and the girl came forward to take the sleek and dripping animals. He walked around the fire and turned his saddle where it stood to dry.
She wants to go to Namiquipa to see her mother, Boyd said.
He stood looking down at his brother. I guess she can go wherever she’s a mind to, he said.
She wants me to go with her.
Wants you to go with her?
Yeah.
What for?
I dont know. Because she’s afraid.
Billy stared into the coals. Is that what you want to do? he said.
No.
Then what are we jawin about?
I told her she could take the horse.
Billy squatted slowly with his elbows on his knees. He shook his head. No, he said. She aint got no other way to go.
What the hell do you think is goin to happen if somebody sees her ridin a stolen horse? Hell. Any horse.
It aint stole.
The hell it aint. And how do you aim to get it back?
She’ll bring it back.
It and the sheriff. What did she run off for if she wants to go back?
I dont know.
I dont either. We come a long ways to get that horse.
I know it.
Billy spat into the fire. I sure would hate to be a woman in this country. What does she aim to do after she gets back?
Boyd didnt answer.
Does she know the kind of shape we’re in?
Yeah.
Why wont she talk to me?
She’s afraid you’ll leave her.
That’s why she wants to take the horse.
Yeah. I guess.
What if I wont let her take it?
I reckon she’d go anyways.
Then let her.
The girl came back. They stopped talking even though she could not have understood what they said. She arranged their cookware in the coals and went off to the river for water. Billy looked at Boyd.
You aint above runnin off with her. Are you?
I aint goin nowheres.
If push come to shove.
I dont know what that would be.
If you thought she’d be left on her own or they wouldnt be nobody to look after her or somebody would bother her. Like that. You aint above just goin with her. Are you?
Boyd leaned and pushed the blackened billet ends of two sticks forward into the small coals with his fingers and wiped his fingers on the leg of his jeans. He didnt look at his brother. No, he said. I guess I aint.
In the morning they rode out to the crossroads and here they took leave of the girl.
How much money have we got? Boyd said.
Damn near none.
Why dont you give it to her?
I knew this was comin. What do you propose to eat on?
Give her half of it.
All right.
She sat the horse bareback and looked down at Boyd with her black eyes brimming and then she slid from the horse and put her arms around him. Billy watched them. He looked at the sky to the south all troubled with weather clouds. He leaned and spat dryly into the road. Let’s go, he said.
Boyd boosted her onto the horse and she turned and looked down at him with her hand to her mouth and then reined the horse around and set off on the narrow dirt road east.