All the Pretty Horses

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Authors: Cormac McCarthy
Tags: Literary, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Contemporary Fiction
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ride.
    I seen Booger Red ride, said Rawlins.
    Yeah? said Blevins.
    Yeah.
    You think he can outride him?
    I know for a fact he can.
    Maybe he can and maybe he caint.
    You dont know shit from applebutter, said Rawlins. Booger Red’s been dead forever.
    Dont pay no attention to him, said John Grady.
    Rawlins recrossed his boots and nodded toward John Grady. He cant take my part of it without braggin on hisself, can he?
    He’s full of shit, said John Grady.
    You hear that? said Rawlins.
    Blevins leaned his chin toward the fire and spat. I dont see how you can say somebody is just flat out the best.
    You cant, said John Grady. He’s just ignorant, that’s all.
    There’s a lot of good riders, said Blevins.
    That’s right, said Rawlins. There’s a lot of good riders. But there’s just one that’s the best. And he happens to be settin right yonder.
    Leave him alone, said John Grady.
    I aint botherin him, said Rawlins. Am I botherin you?
    No.
    Tell Joe yonder I aint botherin you.
    I said you wasnt.
    Leave him alone, said John Grady.
    D AYS TO COME they rode through the mountains and they crossed at a barren windgap and sat the horses among the rocks and looked out over the country to the south where the last shadows were running over the land before the wind and the sun to the west lay blood red among the shelving clouds and the distant cordilleras ranged down the terminals of the sky to fade from pale to pale of blue and then to nothing at all.
    Where do you reckon that paradise is at? said Rawlins.
    John Grady had taken off his hat to let the wind cool his head. You cant tell what’s in a country like that till you’re down there in it, he said.
    There’s damn sure a bunch of it, aint there.
    John Grady nodded. That’s what I’m here for.
    I hear you, cousin.
    They rode down through the cooling blue shadowland of the north slope. Evergreen ash growing in the rocky draws. Persimmon, mountain gum. A hawk set forth below them and circled in the deepening haze and dropped and they kicked their feet out of the stirrups and put the horses forward with care down the shaly rock switchbacks. At just dark they benched out on a gravel shelf and made their camp and that night they heardwhat they’d none heard before, three long howls to the southwest and all afterwards a silence.
    You hear that? said Rawlins.
    Yeah.
    It’s a wolf, aint it?
    Yeah.
    He lay on his back in his blankets and looked out where the quartermoon lay cocked over the heel of the mountains. In that false blue dawn the Pleiades seemed to be rising up into the darkness above the world and dragging all the stars away, the great diamond of Orion and Cepella and the signature of Cassiopeia all rising up through the phosphorous dark like a sea-net. He lay a long time listening to the others breathing in their sleep while he contemplated the wildness about him, the wildness within.
    It was cold in the night and in the dawn before daylight when they woke Blevins was already up and had a fire going on the ground and was huddled over it in his thin clothes. John Grady crawled out and got his boots and jacket on and walked out to study the new country as it shaped itself out of the darkness below them.
    They drank the last of the coffee and ate cold tortillas with a thin stripe of bottled hot sauce down the middle.
    How far down the road you think this’ll get us? said Rawlins.
    I aint worried, said John Grady.
    Your pardner yonder looks a little misgive.
    He aint got a lot of bacon to spare.
    You aint neither.
    They watched the sun rise below them. The horses standing out on the bench grazing raised their heads and watched it. Rawlins drank the last of his coffee and shook out his cup and reached in his shirtpocket for his tobacco.
    You think there’ll be a day when the sun wont rise?
    Yeah, said John Grady. Judgment day.
    When you think that’ll be?
    Whenever He decides to hold it.
    Judgment day, said Rawlins. You believe in all that?
    I dont know. Yeah, I reckon.

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