Cormac McCarthy: The Crossing

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 nearaEU'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.

Billy had steak and biscuits and a tin cup of beans wrapped in a cloth and hidden behind the crocks on the pantry shelf by the kitchen door. He sent Boyd first and stood listening and then followed him out. The dog whined and scratched at the smokehouse door when they passed it and he told the dog to hush and it did. They went on at a low crouch along the fence and then made their way down to the trees. When they reached the river the moon was well up and the Indian was standing there with the rifle yokewise across his neck again. They could see his breath in the cold. He turned and they followed him out across the gravel wash and took the cattletrail on the far side downriver along the edge of the pasture. There was woodsmoke in the air. A quarter mile below the house they reached his campfire among the cottonwoods and he stood the rifle against the bole of one of the trees and turned and looked at them.

Bring it here, he said.

Billy crossed to the fire and took the bundle from the crook of his arm and handed it up. The Indian took it and squatted before the fire with that same marionette's effortlessness and set the cloth on the ground before him and opened it and lifted out the beans and set the cup by the coals to warm and then took up one of the biscuits and steak and bit into it.

You'll black that cup, Billy said. I got to take it back to the house.

The indian chewed, his dark eyes half closed in the firelight. Aint you got no coffee at your house, he said.

It aint ground.

You cant grind some?

Not without somebody hearin it I caint.

The Indian put the second half of the biscuit in his mouth and leaned slightly forward and produced a beltknife from somewhere about his person and reached and stirred the beans in the cup with it and then looked up at Billy and ran the blade along his tongue one side and then the other in a slow stropping motion and jammed the knife in the end of the log against which the fire was laid.

How long you live here, he said.

Ten years.

Ten years. Your family own this place?

No.

He reached and picked up the second biscuit and severed it with his square white teeth and sat chewing.

Where are you from? said Billy.

From all over.

Where you headed?

The Indian leaned and took the knife from the log and stirred the beans again and licked the blade again and then slipped the knife through the handle and lifted the blackened cup from the fire and set it on the ground in front of him and began to eat the beans with the knife.

What else you got in the house?

Sir?

I said what else you got in the house.

He raised his head and regarded them standing there in the firelight, chewing slowly, his eyes half closed.

Such as what?

Such as anything. Somethin maybe I can sell.

We aint got nothin. You aint got nothin. No sir. He chewed. You live in a empty house? No. Then you got somethin. There's furniture and stuff. Kitchen stuff. You got any rifleshells? Yessir. Some. What caliber? They wont fit your rifle. What caliber. FortyaEU'four forty. Why dont you bring me some of them. The boy nodded toward the rifle standing against the tree. That aint a fortyaEU'four caliber. Dont make no difference. I can trade em. I caint bring you no rifleshells. The old man'd miss em. Then what'd you say anything about em for? We better go, said Boyd. We got to take the cup back. What else you got? said the indian. We aint got nothin, said Boyd. I wasnt askin you. What else you got? I dont know. I'll see what I can find. The indian put the other half of the second biscuit in his mouth. He reached down and tested the cup with his fingers and picked it up and drained the remaining beans into his open mouth and ran one finger around the inside of the cup and licked his finger clean and set the cup on the ground again. Bring me some of that coffee, he said. I caint grind it they'll hear it. Just bring it. I'll bust it with a rock. All right.

Let him stay here. What for? Keep me company. Keep you company. Yeah. He dont need to stay here. I aint goin to hurt him. I know you aint. Cause he aint stayin. The indian sucked his teeth. You got any traps? We aint got no traps. He looked up at them. He sucked his teeth with a hissing sound. Go on then, he said. Bring me some sugar. All right. Let me have the cup. You can get it when you come back. When they reached the cattlepath Billy looked back at Boyd and he looked back at the firelight among the trees. Out on the plainthe moon was so bright you could count the cattle by it. We aint takin him no coffee are we? said Boyd. No. What are we goin to do about the cup? Nothin. What if Mama asks about it? Just tell her the truth. Tell her I give it to a indian. Tell her a indian come to the house and I give it to him. All right. I can be in trouble. along with you. And I can be in more trouble. Tell her I done it. I aim to. They crossed the open ground toward the fence and the lights from the house. We ought not to of gone out there to start with, Boyd said. Billy didnt answer. Ought we. No.