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he didnt bother to take a picture。 there was no one watching。 he looked out downriver at the slow green water。 he walked a dozen steps and came back。 he stepped into the roadway and crossed to the other side。 a truck passed。 a light tremor in the superstructure。 he went on along the walkway and then he stopped。 faint outline of a bootprint in blood。 fainter of another。 he studied the chain…link fence to see if there might be blood on the wire。 he took his handkerchief from his pocket and wet it with his tongue and passed it among the diamonds。 he stood looking down at the river。 a road down there along the american side。 between the road and the river a thick stand of carrizo cane。 the cane lashed softly in the wind off the river。 if hed carried the money into mexico it was gone。 but he hadnt。
wells stood back and looked at the bootprints again。 some mexicans were ing along the bridge with their baskets and dayparcels。 he took out his camera and snapped a picture of the sky； the river； the world。
bell sat at the desk signing checks and totting up figures on a hand calculator。 when he was done he leaned back in his chair and looked out the window at the bleak courthouse lawn。 molly； he said。
she came and stood in the door。
did you find anything on any of those vehicles yet？
sheriff i found out everything there was to find。 those vehicles are titled and registered to deceased people。 the owner of that blazer died twenty years ago。 did you want me to see what i could find out about the mexican ones？
no。 lord no。 heres your checks。
she came in and took the big leatherette checkbook off his desk and put it under her arm。
that dea agent called again。 you dont want to talk to him？
im goin to try and keep from it as much as i can。
he said hes goin back out there and he wanted to know if you wanted to go with him。
well thats cordial of him。 i guess he can go wherever he wants。 hes a certified agent of the united states government。
he wanted to know what you were goin to do with the vehicles。
yeah。 ive got to try and sell them things at auction。 more county money down the toilet。
one of em has got a hot engine in it。 we might be able to get a few dollars for that。 no word from mrs moss？
no sir。
all right。
he looked at the clock on the outer office wall。 i wonder if i could get you to call loretta and tell her ive gone to eagle pass and ill call her from down there。 id call her but shell want me to e home and i just might。
you want me to wait till youve quit the buildin？
yes i do。
he pushed the chair back and rose and got down his gun…belt from the coatrack behind his desk and hung it over his shoulder and picked up his hat and put it on。 what is it that torbert says？ about truth and justice？
we dedicate ourselves anew daily。 somethin like that。
i think im goin to mence dedicatin myself twice daily。 it may e to three fore its over。 ill see you in the mornin。
he stopped at the cafe and got a coffee to go and walked out to the cruiser as the flatbed was ing up the street。 powdered over with the gray desert dust。 he stopped and watched it and then got in the cruiser and wheeled around and drove past the truck and pulled it over。 when he got out and walked back the driver was sitting at the wheel chewing gum and watching him with a sort of goodnatured arrogance。
bell put one hand on the cab and looked in at the driver。 the driver nodded。 sheriff； he said。
have you looked at your load lately？
the driver looked in the mirror。 whats the problem； sheriff？
bell stepped back from the truck。 step out here； he said。
the man opened the door and got out。 bell nodded toward the bed of the truck。 thats a damned outrage； he said。
the man walked back and took a look。 one of the tiedowns is worked loose； he said。
he got hold of the loose corner of the tarp and pulled it back up along the bed of the truck over the bodies lying there； each wrapped in blue reinforced plastic sheeting and bound with tape。 there were eight of them and they looked like just that。 dead bodies wrapped and taped。
how many did you leave with？ bell said。
i aint lost none of em； sheriff。
couldnt you all of took a van out there？
we didnt have no van with four wheel drive。
he tied down the corner of the tarp and stood。
all right； bell said。
you aint goin to write me up for improperly secured load？
you get your ass out of here。
he reached the devils river bridge at sundown and half way across he pulled the cruiser to a halt and turned on the rooflights and got out and shut the door and walked around in front of the vehicle and stood leaning on the aluminum pipe that served for the top guardrail。 watching the sun set into the blue reservoir beyond the railroad bridge to the west。 a westbound semi ing around the long curve of the span downshifted when the lights came into view。 the driver leaned from the window as he passed。 dont jump； sheriff。 she aint worth it。 then he was gone in a long suck of wind； the diesel engine winding up and the driver double clutching and shifting gears。 bell smiled。 truth of the matter is； he said； she is。
some two miles past the junction of 481 and 57 the boitting in the passenger seat gave off a single bleep and went silent again。 chigurh pulled onto the shoulder and stopped。 he picked up the box and turned it and turned it back。 he adjusted the knobs。
nothing。 he pulled out onto the highway again。 the sun pooled in the low blue hills before him。 bleeding slowly away。 a cool and shadowed twilight falling over the desert。
he took off his sunglasses and put them in the glovebox and closed the glovebox door and turned on the headlights。 as he did so the box began to beep with a slow measured time。
he parked behind the hotel and got out and came limping around the truck with the box and the shotgun and the pistol all in a zipper bag and crossed the parking lot and climbed the hotel steps。
he registered and got the key and hobbled up the steps and down the hall to his room and went in and locked the door and lay on the bed with the shotgun across his chest staring at the ceiling。 he could think of no reason for the transponder sending unit to be in the hotel。 he ruled out moss because he thought moss was almost certainly dead。
that left the police。 or some agent of the matacumbe petroleum group。 who must think that he thought that they thought that he thought they were very dumb。 he thought about that。
when he woke it was ten…thirty at night and he lay there in the half dark and the quiet but he knew what the answer was。 he got up and put the shotgun behind the pillows and stuck the pistol into the waistband of his trousers。 then he went out and limped down the stairs to the desk。
the clerk was sitting reading a magazine and when he saw chigurh he stuck the magazine under the desk and rose。 yessir； he said。
id like to see the registration。
are you a police officer？
no。 im not。
im afraid i cant do that sir。
yes you can。
when he came back up he stopped and stood listening in the hallway outside his door。
he went in and got the shotgun and the receiver and then walked down to the room with the tape across it and held the box to the door and turned it on。 he went down to the second door and tried the reception there。 then he came back to the first room and opened the door with the key from the desk and stepped back and stood against the hallway wall。
he could hear traffic in the street beyond the parking lot but still he thought the window was closed。 there was no air moving。 he looked quickly into the room。 bed pulled away from the wall。 bathroom door open。 he checked the safety on the shotgun。 he stepped across the doorway to the other side。
there was no one in the room。 he scanned the room with the box and found the sending unit in the drawer of the bedside table。 he sat on the bed turning it in his hand。 small lozenge of burnished metal the size of a domino。 he looked out the window at the parking lot。 his leg hurt。 he put the piece of metal in his pocket and turned off the receiver and rose and left； pulling the door shut behind him。 in