They walked out across the yard toward the barn. Tell me somethin, Billy said.
All right.
And I know you'll tell me the truth. I already know what the question is. What's the answer.
The answer is no.
You didnt slack up on him just the littlest bit? No. I dont believe in it.
The horses stirred and snuffled in their stalls as they passed down the bay. John Grady looked at Billy. You dont reckon he thinks that do you? I hope not. He damn sure wouldnt like it a bit. He damn sure wouldnt.
H E WALKED into the pawnshop with the gun in the holster and the holster and belt slung over his shoulder. The pawnbroker was an old man with white hair and he was reading the paper spread out on the glass top of a display case at the rear of the shop. There were guns in racks along one wall and guitars hanging from overhead and knives and pistols and jewelry and tools in the cases. John Grady laid the gunbelt on the counter and the old man looked at it and looked at John Grady. He drew the pistol from the holster and cocked it and let the hammer down on the halfcock notch and spun the cylinder and opened the gate and looked at the chambers and closed the gate and cocked the hammer and let it back down with his thumb.
He turned it over and looked at the serial numbers on the frame and triggerguard and on the bottom of the backstrap and then slid it back into the holster and looked up.
How much do you want? he said.
I need about forty dollars.
The old man sucked his teeth and shook his head gravely.
I been offered fiftyfor it. I just need to pawn it.
I could let you have maybe twentyfive.
John Grady looked at the gun. Let me have thirty, he said.
The pawnbroker shook his head doubtfully.
I dont want to sell it, John Grady said. I just need to borrow on it.
The belt and holster too, yes?
Yes. It all goes together.
All right.
He brought out his pad of forms and slowly copied out the serial number and he wrote down John Grady's name and address and turned the paper on the glass for the boy to read and sign. Then he separated the sheets and handed a copy to John Grady and took the gun to his cage at the rear of the shop. When he returned he had the money and he laid it on the counter.
I'll be back for it, John Grady said.
The old man nodded.
It belonged to my grandfather.
The old man opened his hands and closed them again. A gesture of accommodation. Not quite a blessing. He nodded toward the glass case where half a dozen old Colt revolvers lay displayed, some nickelplated, some with grips of staghorn. One with old worn grips of guttapercha, one with the front sight filed away.
All of them belonged to somebody's grandfather, he said.
As he was going up Ju++rez Avenue a shineboy spoke to him. Hey cowboy, he said.
Hey.
Better let me shine those boots for you.
All right.
He sat on a little folding campstool and put his boot on the shineboy's homemade wooden box. The shineboy turned up the leg of his trousers and began to take out his rags and brushes and tins of polish and lay them to hand.
You goin to see your girl?
Yeah.
I hope you werent goin up there with these boots.
I guess it's a good thing you hollered at me. She might of run me off.
The boy dusted off the boot with his rag and lathered it. When are you gettin married? he said.
What makes you think I'm gettin married?
I dont know. You kind of got the look. Are you?
I dont know. Maybe.
Are you a cowboy sure enough?
Yep.
You work on a ranch?
Yeah. Small ranch. Estancia, you might say.
You like it?
Yeah. I like it.
He wiped off the boot and opened his can and began to slap polish onto the leather with the stained fingers of his left hand.
It's hard work, aint it?
Yeah. Sometimes.
What if you could be somethin else?
I wouldnt be nothin else.
What if you could be anything in the world?
John Grady smiled. He shook his head.
Were you in the war?
No. I was too young.
My brother was too young but he lied about his age.
Was he American?
No. How old was he?
Sixteen.
I guess he was big for his age.
He was a big bullshitter for his age.
John Grady smiled.
The boy put the lid back on the tin and took out his brush.
They asked him if he was a pachuco. He said all the pachucos he knew of lived in El Paso. He told em he didnt know any Mexican pachucos.
He brushed the boot. John Grady watched him.
Was he a pachuco?
Sure. Of course he was.
He brushed the boot and then chucked the brush back into the box and took out his cloth and popped it and bent and began to rifle the cloth back and forth over the toe of the boot.
He joined the marines. He got two purple hearts.
What about you?
What about me what.
What did you join.
He glanced up at John Grady. He whipped the cloth around the counter of the boot. I sure didnt join no marines, he said.
What about the pachucos.
Nah.
You're not a pachuco?
Nah.
Are you a bullshitter?
Sure.
A big one?
Pretty big. Let me have the other foot.
What about the black around the edges?
I do that last. Dont worry about everything.
John Grady put his other foot on the box and turned up his trouserleg.
Appearance is important with women, the boy said. Dont think they dont look at your boots.
You got a girl?
Shit no.
You sound like you've had some bad experiences.
Who aint? You fool with em and that's the kind you'll have.
There'll be some sweet young thing nail you down one of these days.
I hope not.
How old are you?
Fourteen.
You lie about your age?
Yeah. Sure.
I guess if you admit it then it aint a lie.
The boy ceased rubbing in the polish for a moment and sat looking at the boot. Then he began again.
If there's somethin I want to be a different way from what it is then that's how I say it is. What's wrong with that?
I dont know.
Who else is goin to?
Nobody, I guess.
Nobody is right.
Is your brother married?
Which brother? I got three.
The one that was in the marines.
Yeah. He's married. They're all married.
If they're all married why did you ask which one?
The shineboy shook his head. Man, he said.
I guess you're the youngest.
No. I got a brother ten years old is married with three kids. Of course I'm the youngest. What do you think?
Well maybe marriage runs in the family.
Marriage dont run in families. Anyway I'm an outlaw. Oveja negra. You speak spanish? Yeah. I speak spanish.
Oveja negra. That's me.
Black sheep.
I know what it is.
I am too.
The boy looked up at him. He reached and got his brush from the box. Yeah? he said.
Yeah.
You dont look like no outlaw to me.
What does one look like?
Not like you.
He brushed the boot and put away the brush and got his cloth out and popped it. John Grady watched him. What about you? What if you could be anything you wanted?
I'd be a cowboy.
Really?
The boy looked up at him with disgust. Shit no, he said. What's wrong with you? I'd be a rico and lay around on my ass all day. What do you think?
What if you had to do something?
I dont know. Maybe be a airplane pilot.
Yeah?
Sure. I'd fly everywhere.