them and went back in again. They’d hung their saddles over a fence to dry and while they were getting them a man came out and stood watching them. They saddled the horses and led them out to the road and mounted up and turned south.
Wonder what all they’re doin back home? Rawlins said.
John Grady leaned and spat. Well, he said, probably they’re havin the biggest time in the world. Probably struck oil. I’d saythey’re in town about now pickin out their new cars and all.
Shit, said Rawlins.
They rode.
You ever get ill at ease? said Rawlins.
About what?
I dont know. About anything. Just ill at ease.
Sometimes. If you’re someplace you aint supposed to be I guess you’d be ill at ease. Should be anyways.
Well suppose you were ill at ease and didnt know why. Would that mean that you might be someplace you wasnt supposed to be and didnt know it?
What the hell’s wrong with you?
I dont know. Nothin. I believe I’ll sing.
He did. He sang: Will you miss me, will you miss me. Will you miss me when I’m gone.
You know that Del Rio radio station? he said.
Yeah, I know it.
I’ve heard it told that at night you can take a fencewire in your teeth and pick it up. Dont even need a radio.
You believe that?
I dont know.
You ever tried it?
Yeah. One time.
They rode on. Rawlins sang. What the hell is a flowery boundary tree? he said.
You got me, cousin.
They passed under a high limestone bluff where a creek ran down and they crossed a broad gravel wash. Upstream were potholes from the recent rains where a pair of herons stood footed to their long shadows. One rose and flew, one stood. An hour later they crossed the Pecos River, putting the horses into the ford, the water swift and clear and partly salt running over the limestone bedrock and the horses studying the water before them and placing their feet with great care on the broad traprock plates and eyeing the shapes of trailing moss in the rips below the ford where they flared and twisted electric green in themorning light. Rawlins leaned from the saddle and wet his hand in the river and tasted it. It’s gypwater, he said.
They dismounted among the willows on the far side and made sandwiches with the lunchmeat and cheese and ate and sat smoking and watching the river pass. There’s been somebody followin us, John Grady said.
Did you see em?
Not yet.
Somebody horseback?
Yeah.
Rawlins studied the road across the river. Why aint it just somebody ridin?
Cause they’d of showed up at the river by now.
Maybe they turned off.
Where to?
Rawlins smoked. What do you reckon they want?
I dont know.
What do you want to do?
Let’s just ride. They’ll either show or they wont.
They came up out of the river breaks riding slowly side by side along the dusty road and onto a high plateau where they could see out over the country to the south, rolling country covered with grass and wild daisies. To the west a mile away ran a wire fence strung from pole to pole like a bad suture across the gray grasslands and beyond that a small band of antelope all of whom were watching them. John Grady turned his horse sideways and sat looking back down the road. Rawlins waited.
Is he back there? he said.
Yeah. Somewheres.
They rode till they came to a broad swale or bajada in the plateau. A little off to the right was a stand of closegrown cedar and Rawlins nodded at the cedars and slowed his horse.
Why dont we lay up yonder and wait on him?
John Grady looked back down the road. All right, he said. Let’s ride on a ways and then double back. He sees our tracks quit the road here he’ll know where we’re at.
All right.
They rode on another half mile and then left the road and cut back toward the cedars and dismounted and tied their horses and sat on the ground.
You reckon we got time for a smoke? said Rawlins.
Smoke em if you got em, said John Grady.
They sat smoking and watching the backroad. They waited a long time but nobody came. Rawlins lay back and put