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Reluctantly she relinquished him into Benteen’s keeping and watched as he carried him to the chuck wagon. She knew Benteen was saying his last good-bye to Arthur.
It was a sad and solemn procession that set out for the headquarters with the body of the small boy wrapped in a quilt and carefully laid in the back of the chuck wagon.
28
Lumber from the new house was used to make little Arthur’s coffin. The carpenters would have done it, but Zeke insisted it was his right. He’d made the cradle Arthur slept in as a baby and nailed together the cot that had been the boy’s bed. He’d make Arthur’s final resting place, too.
The grave was dug under the shade of the cottonwood trees by the river where he had played so many hours. Galloping Triple C riders had located a traveling preacher trying to save some sinners at Frank Fitzsimmons’ place in Blue Moon. They hadn’t wasted time with explanations—just dragged him out of the saloon and shoved him onto his horse.
A cowboy could be put under the earth with a simple spoken introduction to his Maker. But in their thinking, the little boy—Mrs. Calder’s little boy—needed some proper words said. It was a way of showing their deep respect and loyalty for Benteen, too.
Word of the tragedy had spread beyond the boundaries of the Triple C. Besides Mary and Ely and the cowboys, there were a couple of neighboring ranchers, Frank Fitzsimmons, Lady Crawford, and Bull Giles among the throng of mourners at the grave site.
It was a crisp, tart morning with a stiff breeze rustling the dried brown leaves of the cottonwood trees. There was more than grief and the mourning of a loved one in the air. The cold breath of revenge had brought its scent, visible in the guns strapped to Benteen’s hip and to the hips of his men. Saddled horses with rifle scabbards filled stood waiting at the corral.
The minister took note of this when he finished his prayers, with a request for forgiveness. “And may God have mercy on the souls of those who perpetrated this deed. Amen.”
First Benteen, then Lorna stepped forward to throw a handful of dirt into the grave. One by one, the cowboys began filing past. Lorna’s eyes were bright with tears, but she kept her shoulders squared. Benteen stood straight and tall beside her. The minister came quietly over to offer his condolences.
“My deepest sympathies to both of you,” he murmured.
“Thank you, Reverend Worth,” Lorna replied with a faint nod of her head. “My husband and I are extremely grateful that you are here.”
“It is my work,” he insisted.
“We would like to build you a church as … as soon as all this is over …” She faltered slightly. “This country is in need of churches … and schools. I’m sure Mr. Fitzsimmons will be happy to help you choose a site.”
“You are most generous, Mrs. Calder,” the reverend declared. “And you, Mr. Calder.”
Benteen acknowledged the remark with a short nod of his head. The vaquero Ramon approached the grave and hesitated, glancing at Benteen and Lorna. After a moment’s indecision he approached them and bowed slightly with quiet dignity and respect. Reaching inside his jacket, he took out the little wooden horse he had carved for Arthur and presented it to Lorna.
“I found eet, señora,” he said. “You would wish to keep eet, no?”
“Yes.” She accepted the return of Arthur’s toy, gripping it tightly for a moment. “Gracias, Ramon.”
The vaquero bowed again and moved away. Benteen’s
arm tightened around her waist. She stood a little taller, strengthened by his silent support. Mary hugged her and cried. Then Benteen’s mother, Lady Crawford, came, a black veil covering her face. She embraced Lorna in a gesture of sympathy and turned to Benteen.
“You can’t really mean to go after them.” She sounded impatient, but the veil concealed her expression. “What will you prove? It won’t bring back your son, Benteen.”
“No.” Even though he agreed, it didn’t change his decision.
“You are being foolish,” Elaine insisted. “Send your men after them, if you must, but don’t risk your own life. What if you are shot and killed? You should be thinking of your wife and your other son—of this ranch and what will happen to it if you die, instead of following this stupid code of a man’s honor and pride.”
“You don’t lead men by staying behind where it’s safe,” he said grimly. “And you don’t stand by while cattle are stolen and your son is killed and do nothing about it.”
“Let someone else do it.” Her agitation was apparent. “It’s a matter for the law to handle.”
“There isn’t any law out here. You’re looking at the only justice there is. ‘Just-us.’”
“Lorna …” She turned to appeal to her.
“Benteen’s right,” Lorna said with an unsteady voice. “If he doesn’t stop them, who will? Maybe someday that won’t be true, but it is now.”
With a quick turn, Lady Crawford moved stiffly away. Bull Giles paused in front of Benteen. His eyes were red-rimmed with grief, but they burned, too, with a dark anger. Bull worked his jaw for a silent minute, trying to find the right words.
“If you’d see clear to loan me a horse, Benteen,” he said, “I’d like to ride with you.”
