All the Pretty Horses

---

You ever think about dying?

Yeah. You?

Yeah. Some.

You think there's a heaven?

Yeah. Don't you?

I don't know.

Yeah, maybe.

Can you believe there's a heaven|if you don't believe in hell?

I guess you can believe|what you want to.

This ranch has been in my family|as long as anyone can remember.

My granddaddy used to tell me|this was heaven on earth.

Just like his granddaddy|used to tell him.

Everything's changed now|since he died.

Appreciate you lighting them candles.

It wasn't me. It was the lady.

My mother?

She was here?

She's left already?

All I ever wanted was to live|out there like him...

...and work my own spread.

Can't imagine no better life.

I've come to find out Mama|aims to sell it.

Says the oil company would pay|three times what it's worth.

Mama lives in San Antonio now|with her new husband.

She wants to be in the live theater.

As your granddaddy's only child...

...your mother inherits out right.

It's her property.|She can do whatever she wants.

I don't have any say-so?

What about my father?

They're divorced.

You could talk to her.

You're a lawyer.

Well, I have talked to her.

It's a sorry piece of business,|but, son...

...not everybody thinks life|on a cattle ranch in Texas...

...is the second-best thing|to going to heaven.

She don't want to live|out there, that's all.

If it was a paying proposition,|that'd be one thing, but it ain't.

It could be.

I could run it.

It's his own damn fault.

Your father signed every|paper she set in front of him.

Never lifted a hand to save himself.

I begged him to get a lawyer.

Well...

I'm sorry to have no better news...

...but some things in this world|can't be helped.

I believe this is probably|one of them.

She went back to San Antonio.

Don't call her "she."

Mama.

I thought the world of that old man.

Yeah.

Don't go crying on me now.

I ain't.

- Well, don't.|- I ain't.

- What do you think I should do?|- I don't think there's much to do.

- Will you talk to her?|- I can't.

You could talk to her.

Last conversation I had with her...

...was in San Diego, California,|in 1942.

It ain't her fault.

I ain't the same as I once was.

Like to think I am...

...but I ain't.

You are inside.

Inside you are.

It's hard to watch people you came|from waste away before your eyes.

When the land is gone too...

...there's nothing to stand on|or stand for either.

When do y'all have to be out?

Closing is the first of June.

You could wait till then.

What for?

Down in Mexico...

...they got ranches so big...

...you can't ride from one end|to the other in a week.

It ain't all fenced in|and sold off and played out.

Not down there.

You think they can't use|two more top hands?

Real cowboys, huh?

Just like the old-time waddies.

If I don't go, will you go anyways?

I'm already gone.

- Thank you for everything.|- Goodbye.

May God go with you.

Be careful.

Is that you, bud?

I hope so.

- You ready?|- Yeah.

- They suspect anything?|- No.

- Let's go.|- Hang on. Got to pile all this stuff.

- Yonder goes the light.|- Damn.

- Late for your own funeral.|- He could be getting milk.

He could just be loading a shotgun.

Shut up. Lacey, there's been|somebody following us.

- Somebody on horseback?|- Yeah.

Come on.

Some kid.

That's a hell of a horse.

Ain't it, though?

You hunting us?

- I ain't hunting you.|- Then how come you following us?

I ain't. I'm going to Langtry.|I don't even know who you are.

- Where'd you get that horse?|- It's mine.

- How old are you?|- Sixteen.

- Lying sack of sh*t!|- You don't know.

I know you ain't no goddamn sixteen.

- What'd you do, run off?|- What if I did?

We could sell his horse in Mexico.

- You want to?|- I ain't digging no grave this time.

Your idea. I was the one that said|just leave him for the buzzards.

Call it.

Heads.

Damn.

Let me have your rifle.

It ain't fair.|You shot the last three.

You go on, then. You can owe me.

Hold his horse.|It might not be gun-broke.

Y'all ain't never shot nobody.

You could be a good somebody|to start with.

Y'all just funning.|I knowed it all along.

Who's hunting you?

Nobody.

They're hunting that horse,|though, ain't they?

You ain't riding with us.|Get us in the jailhouse.

He belongs to me.

Son, I don't give a sh*t|who he belongs to.

But he damn sure don't belong to you.

Now, let's go, bud.

I thought he'd put up more|of a argument.

We ain't seen the last|of his skinny ass.

That's her, ain't it?|That's the goddamn Rio Grande.

Just think. Over yonder's Old Mexico.

You reckon you want to cross now?

Yeah. You?

Yeah.

Maybe we'd better rest|these horses up first.

All right.

Sh*t.

I got a uneasy feeling|about that son of a b*tch.

I do too.

He ain't as green as he looks,|neither.

There won't nobody be hunting me|in Mexico.

That depends on what you done.

- What's your name?|- Jimmy Blevins.

You got any grub?

No.

You got any money?

No.

You're just a deadhead.

Just tell me one thing.

What the hell would we want you|with us for?

Because I'm a American.

When did you eat last?

Other day.

Your name ain't Blivit, is it?

It's Blevins.

You know what a blivit is?

No. What?

Ten pounds of sh*t|in a five-pound sack.

Y' all ain't said y' all's names was.

I'm John Grady Cole.|This here's Lacey Rawlins.

We're from San Angelo.|Where you from?

Uvalde County.|Near the Sabinal River.

What made you light out for Mexico?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes