All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy Read Free Book Online
Authors: Cormac McCarthy
there were cattle shaded up in a stand of emory oak. They meant to lay clear of Langtry and they talked about crossing the river at night. The day was warm and they washed out their shirts and put them on wet and mounted up and rode on. They could see the road behind them for several miles back to the northeast but they saw no rider.
That evening they crossed the Southern Pacific tracks just east of Pumpville Texas and made camp a half mile on the far side of the right of way. By the time they had the horses brushed and staked and a fire built it was dark. John Grady stood his saddle upright to the fire and walked out on the prairie and stood listening. He could see the Pumpville watertank against the purple sky. Beside it the horned moon. He could hear the horses cropping grass a hundred yards away. The prairie otherwise lay blue and silent all about.
They crossed highway 90 midmorning of the following day and rode out onto a pastureland dotted with grazing cattle. Far to the south the mountains of Mexico drifted in and out of the uncertain light of a moving cloud-cover like ghosts of mountains. Two hours later they were at the river. They sat on a low bluff and took off their hats and watched it. The water was the color of clay and roily and they could hear it in the rips downstream. The sandbar below them was thickly grown with willow and carrizo cane and the bluffs on the far side were stained and cavepocked and traversed by a constant myriad of swallows. Beyond that the desert rolled as before. They turned and looked at each other and put on their hats.
They rode upriver to where a creek cut in and they rode down the creek and out onto a gravel bar and sat the horses and studied the water and the country about. Rawlins rolled a cigarette and crossed one leg over the pommel of the saddle and sat smoking.
Who is it we’re hidin from? he said.
Who aint we?
I dont see where anybody could be hidin over there.
They might say the same thing lookin at this side.
Rawlins sat smoking. He didnt answer.
We can cross right down yonder off of that shoal, John Grady said.
Why dont we do it now?
John Grady leaned and spat into the river. I’ll do whatever you want, he said. I thought we agreed to play it safe.
I’d sure like to get it behind me if we’re goin to.
I would too pardner. He turned and looked at Rawlins.
Rawlins nodded. All right, he said.
They rode back up the creek and dismounted and unsaddled the horses on the gravel bar and staked them out in the creekside grass. They sat under the shade of the willows and ate vienna sausages and crackers and drank koolaid made from creekwater. You think they got vienna sausages in Mexico? Rawlins said.
Late in the afternoon he walked up the creek and stood on the level prairie with his hat in his hand and looked out across the blowing grass to the northeast. A rider was crossing the plain a mile away. He watched him.
When he got back to the camp he woke up Rawlins.
What is it? said Rawlins.
There’s somebody comin. I think it’s that gunsel.
Rawlins adjusted his hat and climbed up the bank and stood looking.
Can you make him out? called John Grady.
Rawlins nodded. He leaned and spat.
If I cant make him out I can damn sure make out that horse.
Did he see you?
I dont know.
He’s headed this way.
He probably seen me.
I think we ought to run him off.
He looked back at John Grady again. I got a uneasy feelin about that little son of a bitch.
I do too.
He aint as green as he looks, neither.
What’s he doin? said John Grady.
Ridin.
Well come on back down. He might not of seen us.
He’s stopped, said Rawlins.
What’s he doin?
Ridin again.
They waited for him to arrive if he would. It wasnt long before the horses raised their heads and stood staring downstream. They heard the rider come down into the creek bed, a rattling of gravel and a faint chink of metal.
Rawlins got his rifle and they walked out down the creek to the river. The kid was sitting
That evening they crossed the Southern Pacific tracks just east of Pumpville Texas and made camp a half mile on the far side of the right of way. By the time they had the horses brushed and staked and a fire built it was dark. John Grady stood his saddle upright to the fire and walked out on the prairie and stood listening. He could see the Pumpville watertank against the purple sky. Beside it the horned moon. He could hear the horses cropping grass a hundred yards away. The prairie otherwise lay blue and silent all about.
They crossed highway 90 midmorning of the following day and rode out onto a pastureland dotted with grazing cattle. Far to the south the mountains of Mexico drifted in and out of the uncertain light of a moving cloud-cover like ghosts of mountains. Two hours later they were at the river. They sat on a low bluff and took off their hats and watched it. The water was the color of clay and roily and they could hear it in the rips downstream. The sandbar below them was thickly grown with willow and carrizo cane and the bluffs on the far side were stained and cavepocked and traversed by a constant myriad of swallows. Beyond that the desert rolled as before. They turned and looked at each other and put on their hats.
They rode upriver to where a creek cut in and they rode down the creek and out onto a gravel bar and sat the horses and studied the water and the country about. Rawlins rolled a cigarette and crossed one leg over the pommel of the saddle and sat smoking.
Who is it we’re hidin from? he said.
Who aint we?
I dont see where anybody could be hidin over there.
They might say the same thing lookin at this side.
Rawlins sat smoking. He didnt answer.
We can cross right down yonder off of that shoal, John Grady said.
Why dont we do it now?
John Grady leaned and spat into the river. I’ll do whatever you want, he said. I thought we agreed to play it safe.
I’d sure like to get it behind me if we’re goin to.
I would too pardner. He turned and looked at Rawlins.
Rawlins nodded. All right, he said.
They rode back up the creek and dismounted and unsaddled the horses on the gravel bar and staked them out in the creekside grass. They sat under the shade of the willows and ate vienna sausages and crackers and drank koolaid made from creekwater. You think they got vienna sausages in Mexico? Rawlins said.
Late in the afternoon he walked up the creek and stood on the level prairie with his hat in his hand and looked out across the blowing grass to the northeast. A rider was crossing the plain a mile away. He watched him.
When he got back to the camp he woke up Rawlins.
What is it? said Rawlins.
There’s somebody comin. I think it’s that gunsel.
Rawlins adjusted his hat and climbed up the bank and stood looking.
Can you make him out? called John Grady.
Rawlins nodded. He leaned and spat.
If I cant make him out I can damn sure make out that horse.
Did he see you?
I dont know.
He’s headed this way.
He probably seen me.
I think we ought to run him off.
He looked back at John Grady again. I got a uneasy feelin about that little son of a bitch.
I do too.
He aint as green as he looks, neither.
What’s he doin? said John Grady.
Ridin.
Well come on back down. He might not of seen us.
He’s stopped, said Rawlins.
What’s he doin?
Ridin again.
They waited for him to arrive if he would. It wasnt long before the horses raised their heads and stood staring downstream. They heard the rider come down into the creek bed, a rattling of gravel and a faint chink of metal.
Rawlins got his rifle and they walked out down the creek to the river. The kid was sitting
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