John Grady rode through the willows and down the arroyo following the occasional bare footprint in the rain spotted loam until he came upon Blevins crouched under the roots of a dead cottonwood in a caveout where the arroyo turned and fanned out onto the plain. He was naked save for an outsized pair of stained undershorts. What the hell are you doin? said John Grady. Blevins sat gripping his thin white shoulders in either hand. Just settin here, he said.