Oren looked disgusted.
Hell, said Mac. We can have a little fun with the old boy cant we?
The bidding went to seven. The owner stood up in the stands. I'll tell you what, he said. If you can make him go through the bridle I'll give him to you.
The bidding went to seven and a half, it went to eight.
John Grady did you hear about the preacher that sold the old boy the blind horse?
No sir.
He was always justifyin everthing with scripture. They come around wantin to know how he could do the old boy thataway and he told em, said: Well, he was a stranger and I took him in.
I think you told me that.
Mac nodded. He thumbed his notes.
He didnt know how to bid on that string. I think it just confused him.
Yessir.
He's ready to buy a horse.
He might be.
You a poker player, son?
I've sat in a time or two, yessir.
You think this horse will sell for under a thousand?
No sir. I kindly doubt it.
If it does bust a thousand what will it go to?
I dont know.
I dont know either.
Mac bid the horse to eight and a half and then to nine and a half. There it stopped. Oren leaned and spat.
What Oren dont understand is that the more money that nedhead is got in his pockets the more that Welburn horse is goin to cost me.
Oren understands that, said Oren. He just thinks you ought to go on and buy the horse for what the bid is and not risk not havin the money to do it with. Anyway, that sumbuck's got more money than Carter has liver pills.
The spotter raised his hand.
I got ten got ten got ten, called the auctioneer. Now eleven now eleven.
The horse went to eleven and Wolfenbarger bid it to twelve and Mac bid it to thirteen.
I aint responsible, said Oren.
The man's a horsebuyer.
You remember what the horse was bid in at?
Yeah. I remember.
Just go on then.
Old Oren, Mac said.
Wolfenbarger bought the horse for seventeen hundred dollars.
Fine piece of horseflesh, said Mac. Ought to suit him just about right.
He reached in his pocket and took out a dollar.
Why dont you run get us some Cokes, John Grady.
Yessir.
Oren watched him climb down through the stands.
You think he'd tout you off of a horse as well as he would on?
Yes. I do.
I think he would too.
I wish I had about six more just like him.
You know there's things about a horse he can only say in spanish?
I dont care if he only knows em in greek. Why?
I just thought it was curious. You think he's from San Angelo?
I think he's from wherever he says he's from.
I guess he is.
He learned it out of a book.
Out of a book?
Joaqu'n says he knows the name of ever bone a horse has got.
Oren nodded. Well, he said. He might at that. I know some things that he didnt learn out of no book.
I do too, said Mac.
The next horse they brought out the auctioneer read from the horse's papers at some length.
I believe this here is a biblical horse, Mac said.
Aint that the truth.
The horse was bid in at a thousand dollars and went to eigh?teen five and was a no sale.
Oren leaned and spat. Man thinks a lot of his horse, he said.
The man does, said Mac.
They trotted in the Welburn horse and Mac bought him for fourteen hundred dollars.
Boys, he said. Let's go home.
You dont want to stick around and spend some more of Wolfenbarger's money?
Wolfenbarger who?
SOCORRO FOLDED and hung her towel, she untied and hung her apron. She turned at the door.
Buenas noches, she said.
Buenas noches, said Mac.
She shut the door. He could hear her winding her old tin clock. A little later he heard the faint ratcheting sound of his fatherinlaw winding the tallcase clock in the hallway. The glass doorcase closed softly. Then it was quiet. It was quiet in the house and it was quiet in the country about. He sat smoking. The cooling stove ticked. Far away in the hills behind the house a coyote called. When they had used to spend winters at the old house on the southeasternmost section of the ranch the last thing he would hear before he fell asleep at night was the bawl of the train eastbound out of El Paso. Sierra Blanca, Van Horn, Marfa, Alpine, Marathon. Rolling across the blue prairie through the night and on toward Langtry and Del Rio. The white bore of the headlamp lighting up the desert scrub and the eyes of trackside cattle floating in the dark like coals. The herders in the hills standing with their serapes about their shoulders watching the train pass below and the little desert foxes stepping into the darkened roadbed to sniff after it where the warm steel rails lay humming in the night.
That part of the ranch was long gone and the rest would soon follow. He drank the last of his coffee cold in the cup and lit his last cigarette before bed and then he rose from his chair and turned off the light and came back and sat smoking in the dark. A storm front had moved down from the north in the afternoon and it had turned off cold. No rain. Maybe in the eastern sections. Up in the Sacramentos. People imagined that if you got through a drought you could expect a few good years to try and get caught up but it was just like the seven on a pair of dice. The drought didnt know when the last one was and nobody knew when the next one was coming. He was about out of the cattle business anyway. He drew slowly on the cigarette. It flared and faded. His wife would be dead three years in February. Socorro's Candlemas Day. Candelaria. Something to do with the Virgin. As what didnt. In Mexico there is no God. Just her. He stubbed out the cigarette and rose and stood looking out at the softly lit barnlot. Oh Margaret, he said.
JC PULLED UP in front of Maud's and got out and slammed the truck door and he and John Grady went in.
Yonder come two good'ns, said Troy.
They stood at the bar. What'll you boys have, said Travis.
Give us two Blue Ribbons.
He got the bottles out of the cooler and opened them and set them on the bar.
I got it, said John Grady.
I got it, said JC.
He put forty cents on the bar and took the bottle by the neck and swigged down a long drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned against the bar.
You put in a hard day in the saddle? said Troy.
I'm mostly a nightrider, said JC.
Billy stood bent over the shuffleboard sliding the puck up and back. He looked at Troy and he looked at JC and then he slid the puck down the hardwood alleyway. The pins at the end swung up and the strike light lit up on the scoreboard and the small bells counted up the score. Troy grinned and put the cigar he was smoking in the corner of his mouth and stepped forward and took the puck and bent over the board.
You want to play?
JC'll play.
You want to play, JC?
Yeah, I'll play. What are we playin for?
Troy scored a strike on the bowling machine and stepped back and popped his fingers.
Me and JC'll play you and Askins.
Askins stood by the machine with one hand in his back pocket and the other holding a beer. Me and Jessie'll play you and Troy, he said.
Billy lit a cigarette. He looked at Askins. He looked at JC.
You and Troy play them, he said.
Go on and play.
You and Troy play. Go on.
What are we playin for? said JC.
I dont care.
Make it light on yourself.
What are we playin for, Troy?
Whatever they want to play for.
We'll play for a dollar.
High rollers. Get your quarters up. Jessie, you in?
I'm in, said Jessie.
Billy sat on the stool at the bar next to John Grady. They watched while the players put their quarters in the machine. The numbers rolled back and the bells chinged. Troy poured powdered wax from a can onto the alley and slid the puck back and forth and bent to shoot. Bowlin school is now open, he said.