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ts had ground their meal。 when he looked back again the truck was gone。 two men were trotting along the high bluff silhouetted against the sky。 he was almost to the cane when it rattled all about him and there was a heavy whump and then the echo of it from across the river。
he was hit in the upper arm by a buckshot and it stung like a hornet。 he put his hand over it and dove into the cane； the lead ball half buried in the back of his arm。 his left leg kept wanting to give out beneath him and he was having trouble breathing。
deep in the brake he dropped to his knees and knelt there sucking air。 he undid his belt and let the boots drop into the sand and reached down and got the 。45 and laid it to one side and felt the back of his arm。 the buckshot was gone。 he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off and pulled his arm around to see the wound。 it was just the shape of the buckshot； bleeding slightly； pieces of shirtfiber packed into it。 the whole back of his arm was already being an ugly purple bruise。 he wrung the water out of his shirt and put it on again and buttoned it and pulled on the boots and stood and buckled his belt。 he picked up the pistol and took the clip out of it and ejected the round from the chamber and then shook the gun and blew through the barrel and reassembled it。 he didnt know if it would fire or not but he thought it probably would。
when he came out of the cane on the far side he stopped to look back but the cane was thirty feet high and he couldnt see anything。 downriver was a broad bench of land and a stand of cottonwoods。 by the time he got there his feet were already beginning to blister from walking barefoot in the wet boots。 his arm was swollen and throbbing but the bleeding seemed to have stopped and he walked out into the sun on a gravel bar and sat there and pulled off the boots and looked at the raw red sores on his heels。 as soon as he sat down his leg began to hurt again。
he unsnapped the small leather holster at his belt and got out his knife and then stood up and took off his shirt again。 he cut off the sleeves at the elbow and sat and wrapped his feet in them and pulled on the boots。 he put the knife back in the holster and fastened it and picked up the pistol and stood and listened。 a redwing blackbird。
nothing。
as he turned to go he heard the truck very faintly on the far side of the river。 he looked for it but he couldnt see it。 he thought that by now probably the two men had crossed the river and were somewhere behind him。
he went on through the trees。 the trunks silted up from the high water and the roots tangled among the rocks。 he took off his boots again to try to cross the gravel without leaving any tracks and he climbed a long and rocky rincon toward the south rim of the river canyon carrying the boots and the wrappings and the pistol and keeping an eye on the terrain below。 the sun was in the canyon and the rocks hed crossed would dry in minutes。 at a bench near the rim he stopped and lay on his belly with his boots in the grass beside him。 it was only another ten minutes to the top but he didnt think he had ten minutes。 on the far side of the river a hawk set forth from the cliffs whistling thinly。
he waited。 after a while a man came out of the cane upriver and paused and stood。 he was carrying a machinegun。 a second man emerged below him。 they glanced at one another and then came on。
they passed below him and he watched them out of sight down the river。 he wasnt really even thinking about them。 he was thinking about his truck。 when the courthouse opened at nine oclock monday morning someone was going to be calling in the vehicle number and getting his name and address。 this was some twenty…four hours away。 by then they would know who he was and they would never stop looking for him。 never； as in never。
he had a brother in california he was supposed to tell what？ arthur theres some old boys on their way down there to see you who propose to lower your balls between the jaws of a six…inch machinists vise and mence crankin on the handle a quarter turn at a time whether you know where im at or not。 you might want to think about movin to china。
he sat up and wrapped his feet and pulled the boots on and stood and started up the last stretch of canyon to the rim。 where he crested out the country lay dead flat； stretching away to the south and to the east。 red dirt and creosote。 mountains in the far and middle distance。 nothing out there。 heatshimmer。 he stuck the pistol in his belt and looked down at the river one more time and then set out east。 langtry texas was thirty miles as the crow flies。 maybe less。 ten hours。 twelve。 his feet were already hurting。 his leg hurt。 his chest。 his arm。 the river dropped away behind him。 he hadnt even taken a drink。
xs
No Country for Old MenII
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i dont know if law enforcement work is more dangerous now than what it used to be or not。 i know when i first took office youd have a fistfight somewheres and youd go to break it up and theyd offer to fight you。 and sometimes you had to acmodate em。
they wouldnt have it no other way。 and youd better not lose； neither。 you dont see that so much no more； but maybe you see worse。 i had a man pull a gun on me one time and it happened that i grabbed it just as he went to fire and the plunger on the hammer went right through the fleshy part of my thumb。 you can see the mark of it there。 but that man had ever intention of killin me。 a few years ago and it wasnt that many neither i was goin out one of these little two lane blacktop roads of a night and i e up on a pickup truck that they was two old boys settin in the bed of it。 they kindly blinked in the lights and i backed off some but the truck had coahuila plates on it and i thought； well； i need to stop these old boys and take a look。 so i hit the lights and whenever i done that i seen the slider window in the back of the cab open and here e somebody passin a shotgun out the window to the old boy settin in the bed of the truck。 ill tell you right now i hit them brakes with both feet。 it skidded the unit sideways to where the lights was goin out into the