Is that his truck?
That's it. Plates is gone.
Pull up here. Have you got a screwdriver?
Look in the jockeybox there.
Chigurh got out with the screwdriver and walked over to the truck and opened the door. He
pried the aluminum inspection plate off of the rivets inside the door and put it in his pocket
and came back and got in and put the screwdriver back in the glovebox. Who cut the tires? he
said.
It wasnt us.
Chigurh nodded. Let's go, he said.
They parked some distance from the trucks and walked down to look at them. Chigurh stood
there a long time. It was cold out on the barrial and he had no jacket but he didnt seem to
notice. The other two men stood waiting. He had a flashlight in his hand and he turned it on
and walked among the trucks and looked at the bodies. The two men followed at a small
distance.
Whose dog? Chigurh said.
We dont know.
He stood looking in at the dead man slumped across the console of the Bronco. He shone the
light into the cargo space behind the seats.
Where's the box? he said.
It's in the truck. You want it?
Can you get anything on it?
No.
Nothing?
Not a bleep.
Chigurh studied the dead man. He jostled him with his flashlight.
These are some ripe petunias, one of the men said.
Chigurh didnt answer. He backed out of the truck and stood looking over the bajada in the
moonlight. Dead quiet. The man in the Bronco had not been dead three days or anything like
it. He pulled the pistol from the waistband of his trousers and turned around to where the two
men were standing and shot them once each through the head in rapid succession and put the
gun back in his belt. The second man had actually half turned to look at the first as he fell.
Chigurh stepped between them and bent and pulled away the shoulder-strap from the second
man and swung up the nine millimeter Glock he'd been carrying and walked back out to the
vehicle and got in and started it and backed around and drove up out of the caldera and back
toward the highway

Part 2