I’d thought, seeing him drop, that the kid had been killed, but Gil said no, it had been a glancing blow, that snow on his face and a drink had fixed him up enough to ride. We rode slowly because of my shoulder, letting the others disappear ahead of us, and Gerald and Davies come up behind us. It was difficult to turn in my saddle, but I did, to get a look at Gerald. His face had a knife-edge, marble-white look, and the circles under his eyes were big and dark, so that he appeared to have enormous eyes, or none at all, but empty sockets, like a skull. He wasn’t looking where he was going, but the trouble wasn’t his injury. I don’t think he knew now that he had it. He was gnawing himself inside again. Passionate and womanish, but with a man’s conscience and pride, that boy kept himself thin and bleached just thinking and feeling. Davies, riding beside him, kept passing his hand over his face in a nerveless way unusual to him, rubbing his nose or fingering his mouth or drawing the hand slowly across his eyes and forehead, as if there were cobwebs on his skin.
What do You think about The Ox-Bow Incident (2011)?
