The ride into Tombstone would again take them most of a day, but Indigo made the trip about twice a month for supplies and Darby would have to get used to it. Taza had remained behind in the village since the town held little interest for the boy.

So many thoughts coursed through Darby's mind and many of them centered around Taza and what it would be like to introduce the Apache boy to the outside world. This clan of Apache had travelled several hundred miles from the mountains of the New Mexico territory to reach the river. But that was a generation ago and even Great Hawk's memories of their past were not discussed. Life on the reservation must have been terrible.

Darby could understand how the stories and legends meant so much to these people because it was their link to the past. In a few days' time the village would hold a ceremonial dance for three girls who had reached the threshold of womanhood. The Sunrise Dance was a big deal Darby was told, and most secret.

Word had reached Great Hawk that the government had banned all Apache spiritual ceremonies, or at least they tried to enforce that law. For hundreds of years the Apache had inducted girls in the same way and nothing the white man said was going to change that. The Verde Apache were off the reservation and out of reach.

Indigo had scoffed at the white man's incredible gall in trying to suppress Indian spirituality.

"They violate their own Constitution with such laws," He'd said. "But Indians are not citizens so these men of God roam the reservation to root out all spiritual practices. If they come here we will shoot them and toss their bodies in the river." Darby hoped it wouldn't come to that.

The Sunrise Dance would go on in secret because tradition was more important than any god the white man had. Of course Darby was curious because he had never seen such a ceremony. With Great Hawk's permission he would be allowed to observe, only the second white man to ever see such a thing.

This would all take place after they returned from Tombstone and the errands they had to run. Darby was going to meet the lawyer, Mr. James Pennington, the very same man who had encouraged the sheriff to write the New York lawyer about Sean's death.

Darby knew the man was an important link to all this Apache silver mining business. Of more importance perhaps was that the man would know about the business of the assay offices in Denver and the bank accounts in California. He would be the one to write the letter of introduction to both those entities so that Darby could plan his visits.

Letters ... and Darby patted the saddle bag on Branna's flank. He glanced back at Indigo driving the wagon and smiled when he saw Mosh asleep on the seat. He knew better than to trot behind the wagon in a cloud of dust, smart dog.

The letters Darby had written might take a month to reach their destination, but at least he had written them. The first would go to his family since he was sure his parents would be in distress at his disappearance. At least they would soon know he was alive and well, and more importantly, they could write him back.

He wanted news of his family since his sisters were developing into young ladies. Darby just hoped they would remember the warning he gave them about the boys in Woodhaven. The words in his letter painted a wonderful image of the Arizona landscape and the people he had met. Not the whole truth, but then explaining Mexican bandits didn't seem like a good idea.

The second letter he wrote was to Alex Morgan, his overnight acquaintance on the Chicago train. The address was in New York City although he had no idea where the man was at the moment. But Alex had so carefully explained his adventures as a boy that Darby felt it was only right to share what he had accomplished.

To Alex he described fighting off the bandits and being embraced by the Apache. He related the sad circumstances of Sean's death and managed only a passing word or two about the mining business. The O'Brien deal with the Apache was a secret, and would remain so. Darby didn't feel the need to talk about wealth to the scion of the Morgan family.

Just being able to write these letters was liberating, although he might have to wait a good long while for a return post. The mail was moving by train these days which ought to speed things up. Darby was wondering when the telephone would reach Tombstone, although they did have the telegraph.

They would set up camp outside of town and perhaps do a bit of looking around. Tomorrow Darby would seek out the lawyer, and then the banker. The bank business made him uncomfortable even though the New York lawyer had told him how much was in the account. Surely some of that money had belonged to Hank ... and he didn't even know the man's last name.

They finally reached the Tucson road and turned south for Tombstone. They had only been on it for about fifteen minutes when Darby heard the sound of a trumpet coming from behind. Indigo pulled the wagon over to the side and Darby turned back to see what was happening when the Modoc stage came flying up the road. A final blast of sound from the driver blowing his trumpet and the stage went past in a cloud of dust.

Darby took off his hat and beat the dust down off his shirt and pants. "That was rude, they could have slowed down," Darby said.

"They just got fresh horses a few miles back," Indigo said. "You must remember your trip down here."

"Yes, don't remind me. When I go to Denver I plan on taking the train."

"With Taza? That should prove interesting ... Indians don't ride trains."

"This one will, even if I have to buy out the entire coach," Darby said.

Indigo laughed. "Yes, you are definitely Sean's blood."

"I meant to ask you ... what was Hank's last name?"

"Sullivan, Henry Sullivan."

"Damn, another Irishman," Darby said.

"That was probably the issue. He was another hot-headed Irish," Indigo said. "Glad to see you are such a calm individual ... at least for now."

The dusty streets of Tombstone held no allure so they immediately went to the campsite to drop off the wagon, and then Darby went to see Mrs. Randolph.

There beside her store stood the official U.S. Post Office for the town, ensconced in the Tombstone Epitaph newspaper office. Darby went there first and handed over his two letters to the clerk along with a nickel, receiving a penny in change.

"Any idea how long it will take the letters to reach New York?" Darby asked.

"No, young man, not really sure, but perhaps ten days," the man said. "At least it all goes by railroad, no more Pony Express riders dodging floods and wild Indians. It's a very reliable system now."

Darby thanked the clerk and went next door to see Mrs. Randolph.

"So how are things out at your ranch?" She asked. "You know we heard all about that bunch of Mexican bandits heading your way."

"The Army took care of them quite well," Darby said. There was no mention made of the Apache, and perhaps that was a good thing. She was fishing for news, or was it gossip, and Darby wasn't about to give her anything. But to mollify her curiosity Darby bought a new shirt to wear to the lawyer's office the following day.

By the time Darby was done Indigo had the wagon in place at their campsite and had finished unhitching the mules. Without being asked Darby gathered some kindling for a fire and set out the fry pan for Indigo to cook their dinner. It would be another meal of beans and bacon, and as darkness set in he started cooking.

"That Sonsee has probably spoiled you boys to death," Indigo said as he started frying the bacon. "I hear she's a pretty good cook."

"She is, makes a great mutton stew. But Taza has me eating fish now and that was something I didn't know I would like."

"Hmm, a lot of Apache won't touch a fish, they prefer meat. I wonder who taught him to fish?"

"You did, Taza told me."

"The knowledge is important. Just because the old ways exist doesn't mean Taza can't learn something new. His ancestors ate lots of fish in those northern waters. As I recall a great big fat salmon is very good."

"You traveled north?" Darby asked.

"Just to the border," Indigo replied. "My ancestors were from Canada. Could be they were Eskimo at one time."

"I know that word. Those were the tribes that lived in the ice and snow way up north. I have a copy of Call of the Wild I want Taza to read."

"It would be a kind thing to teach him how to read, he needs to know how to communicate with words."

"It's a fair swap, he's teaching me about the Apache and their beliefs, but I doubt if I shall ever learn the language," Darby said.

"Ha-nam-a yo-o ya hai huh-wurt

Ka-na-hu-va nuh-muhk

Ka-cho-wuch-chi ka-no-ya ki-moi."

Darby smiled. "Very nice, but I have no idea what you just said."

"It's part of a chant," Indigo said. "Apache poetry if you will, and of course it speaks about the beauty of nature:

Far on the desert edge stands the cactus,

Lo, the blossoms swaying.

To and fro the blossoms swaying ... swaying.

"For a tribe with such a war-like past they embrace a lot of beauty in what they sing about. You will see an important ceremony in the Sunrise dance, although I don't imagine you will see all of it."

"Why not?"

"It is exhausting for the audience and the participants ... it lasts four days."

"They dance for four days?" Darby said.

"The girls will, at least until they drop from exhaustion. Such physical demands bring about a trance state and when they reach that point they will be closer to their gods. Personally, I fail to understand the need for these things, but it is an ancient tradition."

"I hope they won't be offended if I fall asleep," Darby said.

Indigo laughed and began to dole out the contents of the pan. "I'm sure you won't be alone in doing that ... " And Mosh growled in warning.

Out of the darkness a man approached the campsite. "Uh oh," Indigo said and set the pan back down by the fire. The man was unsteady on his feet and Darby realized he was drunk. Mosh stood up and would have charged except Darby put a hand on the dog's shoulder.

"Call off your dog or I'll shoot him," the man said and Darby saw the pistol. "Now where's my horse?"

"You lost that horse to Sean O'Brien in a poker game, Mr. Willis," Indigo said.

"I know that you dumb Indian, but he's dead ... the horse is mine."

"I don't think that's how it works," Darby said.

"Shut up you young Irish bastard. I have a bullet here that says that horse is mine."

Indigo reached for the rifle which lay on the bedroll and stopped when he heard another pistol cock ... Willis wasn't alone. A young boy stepped out from behind the rocks and pointed his pistol at Indigo. The kid looked about twelve years of age and his hand shook, not a good thing when he held a loaded pistol.

Mosh had seen about enough at this point and he went for Willis. The pistol in the man's hand discharged but he was too drunk to aim properly and Mosh bit down on his leg. Willis howled in pain and tried to point the gun at the dog. That was when Darby stepped forward and aimed his hand at the man, discharging the derringer right between Willis' eyes.

The boy with the pistol took his eyes off Indigo who promptly swung the fry pan and knocked the pistol out of the boy's hand.

"Pa," the boy yelled and rushed over to look down at his father. Darby's bullet had drilled a hole right between the man's eyes. "You killed him ... you killed my Pa."

The boy took a swing at Darby and ended up flat on his back. Darby stood there with the derringer pointed at the boy's face.

"I didn't start this. You let your father come running in here drunk with a gun in his hand? He brought this on himself, and all over a damn horse."

"You killed my Pa," the boy said and the tears flowed. "The sheriff is gonna hang you ... "

"I doubt that," another voice said from the darkness and several men approached the campsite.

"Sheriff," Indigo said.

"We heard the shooting ... what happened?"

"He killed my Pa," the Wills boy said.

"I can see that, Jesse," the sheriff said. "Indigo, how did this get started?"

"Willis came for the horse, pointed his pistol at Darby but was too drunk to properly shoot and Darby shot back."

The sheriff looked at Darby who opened his hand to reveal the derringer.

"I'm Sheriff Behan ... you must be Sean's nephew. I guess we all knew this was coming but I was hoping to avoid bloodshed. It looks like self-defense to me."

"I didn't want to kill him," Darby said.

Behan looked down at the body and then at the other pistol beside the fire which was now covered in beans.

"Who had that pistol?" Behan asked, and Indigo looked at the boy ... enough said.

Behan went over and pulled Jesse to his feet and then kept a hand on his shoulder. He turned to the group of men that had gathered around.

"Martin, go fetch the Doc and his wagon. Jesse, you'll have to come with me."

"What will happen to the boy?" Darby asked.

"His mother's gone, and now he has no father. We'll have to see what the judge has to say tomorrow. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, Mr. O'Brien. But as you see your uncle left some hard feelings among some of the town folk for the way he ran his affairs.

"Sean could be a hard man, but he had my respect. I expect you'll be staying on out at the ranch but I would just be careful when you come to town. Something like this is tragic even though it wasn't your fault. You will now have a reputation and in Tombstone that isn't always a good thing."

The sheriff picked up both pistols, nodded to Indigo, and then led Jesse off towards town and the jailhouse. It wasn't long before several men drove up in a wagon to remove Willis' body, and then there was only their small campfire to hold back the darkness.

The beans and bacon were gone, strewn across the ground, but neither of them felt hungry anymore. Indigo didn't know what to say so he waited for Darby to say something.

"I never killed a man like that before," Darby said.

"Willis probably deserved killing," Indigo said. "The past few years of his life someone had been taking a shot at Sean whenever he came to town. I figured it was Willis but we could never prove anything. The man had to be out of his mind over that horse."

"You told me Branna was treated badly."

"That's a fact. She was damn near skin and bones when Willis lost her in that card game. He couldn't afford to feed his family much less a horse. His wife took off and left him with the boy. A sorry state of affairs."

"I feel bad for the boy," Darby said.

"Maybe they can find the mother, I don't know. Otherwise Jesse will end up in that Tucson workhouse where they keep the orphans."

"Oh no, that is not right, he doesn't deserve that."

"The sheriff is right ... we'll let the judge decide. The boy pointed a loaded pistol at me, but I won't press charges. I think he just needs some good parenting."

Darby lay on his bedroll and wondered how he would feel if some stranger shot his father. Mr. Willis had been a bad parent and the boy would suffer ... unless. They would figure it out tomorrow because all of a sudden Darby was very tired and he quickly fell asleep.

Taza was right, Indigo thought, Darby was a warrior. He had faced down a man with a gun and shot him with that toy pistol. Indigo didn't even know Darby was armed. The boy held his secrets close, but didn't all men?

Most city boys would have been devastated over shooting a man, but Darby didn't seem overwrought. He had a strong sense of self-preservation ... just like a warrior. There would be time to see if there was any grief over this incident but it was good the sheriff was in town.

Behan had been sheriff for a long time and a friend to Sean. There had been bad blood between Behan and the Earp family, both of them representing opposing sides of the law. But Earp was a federal marshal and Behan a county sheriff who blamed them for the OK Corral massacre. The dispute was never settled until the Earp family left town.

Glad I wasn't around back then, Indigo thought. It was hard enough being the smart Indian in town and he would not have wanted to face any issues with the Earp brothers. Not that Behan was by any means an angel. He had a reputation that involved the criminal element in town.

It would be good to conduct their business and then skedaddle back to the river. But Darby had to meet the lawyer and the banker, something he would have to do on his own. Indigo would fetch their supplies from Drucker and perhaps get some of that good tobacco Great Hawk liked so much. Indian pipe weed tasted like horse droppings.

In the morning they broke camp and loaded the wagon. Indigo was off for their feed supplies while Darby headed on up the street past the hotel to the municipal building where the lawyer Pennington had his office. Darby was wearing his clean shirt and his suit coat, but the jeans and boots remained.

Pennington shook his hand, offered coffee which was gratefully accepted and they sat down to talk. It was nine o'clock in the morning but the events of the night before had already spread around town.

The man was dressed in an impeccable suit making Darby feel a little shabby by contrast. But there was a western style cowboy hat sitting on the corner of his desk and he was wearing high styled boots. The smile he gave Darby seemed genuine and he removed his reading glasses to shake hands.

"I'm very sorry to hear that you had an altercation with one of our less than reputable citizens last evening," Pennington said.

"I shot him dead ... it was more than an altercation, Mr. Pennington."

"Ah, so it was. But the sheriff has declared it self-defense, and I'm just glad you weren't harmed. You have to weigh Willis' actions against the laws of the territory. If he had succeeded in taking your horse at the point of a gun then the penalty is hanging. Willis wasn't known for making good decisions ... but that is now in the past. "

"Thank you," Darby said. "I suppose you know why I am here."

Pennington set down his coffee cup and donned his glasses before he picked up several sheets of paper off the desk.

"I have the original copy of Sean O'Brien's last will and testament here which leaves his estate to you pending the conditions of your arrival in Tombstone within one year. You have met those conditions and so the benefits of the will cannot be contested.

"We will need to file the new ownership papers with the county but that's about it. I have some papers for you to sign and then you should take a copy of the will over to the bank and have Sean's accounts verified and placed in your name."

"I need to settle the bill with you," Darby said. "But I have a few questions if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Pennington said, setting the papers down. "I would hope you consider me as your legal representative from now on."

"I think you should remain my lawyer because I assume you understand the complexity of the business Sean established and I will need your advice."

"Yes, I agree. Sean's mining claims are solid and well documented. I have the original survey of the land in question and the validation by the territorial claims office. I get quarterly reports from the assay office and the mint in Denver so you don't have to worry about that."

"What do I have to worry about?" Darby asked.

"You understand that the knowledge Sean imparted to me is considered privileged information. I cannot discuss it with anyone else, except you of course." Pennington removed his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief before setting them down on the desk.

"I admired Sean O'Brien. In many ways he represented what is good about human nature. His consideration for Great Hawk and his people is first rate and I hope through you it continues for years to come.

"I came here from Chicago many years ago and for a long time I was considered an outsider. The Indian is still considered an outsider even though this has been their land since before this country was founded. The laws we have are outdated and wrong, and the Indians suffer under our current system.

"When Sean first came to me and handed me a hundred dollars to hire my services I had no idea what he had in mind for the Apache. He didn't see them as wild savages to be mistreated or abused ... and neither do I.

"There is a statehood movement afoot across the territory and we will have to be careful that the people in charge don't discover our plans. Yes, I include myself in this because we may have some issues with the politicians up in Phoenix when the time comes. But that is still some years away ... and what are your plans for now?" "As you suggest, I need to visit the bank," Darby said. "Then I would like to visit Denver and see the operation up there first hand. I am no expert in mining or the processing of the ore and I would like to learn the details. I also hope to visit the bank in California. Never been there, never seen the ocean ... I think it's about time I did."

Pennington smiled. "I think you should. The funds are just sitting in that bank and might be better invested in something ... but you will have to seek advice and make those decisions."

Then the man turned serious. "Sean had a grand scheme that covered thousands of acres of land. I don't imagine there will be too much competition in the purchase if you don't wait too long. But once our territory becomes a state things will most assuredly be different and probably more expensive."

"I don't even know how much Sean managed to accumulate in that California bank," Darby said.

"The people of Tombstone don't know either, but from the assay reports I can make a guess. Right now I'd say it's approaching half a million dollars," Pennington said.

Darby was speechless and sat there with his mouth open as the coffee cup slid off the saucer and into his lap ... fortunately it was empty.

"I ... I never imagined ... all that in just five years?"

"Yes, their mine has been very productive, especially in the past few years. I don't really understand how Mr. Sullivan managed to shoot Sean. Some claim it was an accident, others say there was a big fight between them. I don't think we'll ever know the truth."

Darby nodded. "However it happened it was a great loss to me and my family. But we move on from here because I have a whole village of Apache to worry about."

Pennington nodded. "I'm glad you said that. And how are you getting along with our most colorful native ... Indigo?"

"The most unusual Indian I ever met, although in truth he was the first one I ever met as well. None of this would be possible without him. But he is probably waiting outside for me and I'd better go. Do you have a bill made up for your services?"

"I do, but it's less than three hundred dollars at this point, you can pay that off any time you like," Pennington said. "I will write you a letter of introduction to the assay office manager in Denver if you decide to go. Do you know when you'll be going?"

"Not yet, but I imagine before the year is over," Darby said.

"Well you just let me know," Pennington said, rising to his feet. "I will walk with you over to the bank and introduce you to Mr. Cummings. That should get you started."

"One more thing," Darby said as Pennington reached for his hat. "I'll be taking Great Hawk's son with me to Denver. Do you foresee any difficulties with that?"

"Perhaps a few," Pennington said, and then that smile again. "But I doubt if there will be anything a stubborn O'Brien can't overcome."

"All right, let's go see the money," Darby said.

"C.L. Cummings is quite a man," Pennington said as they left the offices and headed up the walkway. "He has interests in many of the businesses in town and has kept them going. The copper mines are the biggest employers but much of their wealth is not invested in our local economy.

"The miners have been a source of some difficulty with many of our citizens and they certainly keep the sheriff busy, but their money is most welcome. Ahh, here's the bank."

The Bank of Tombstone was nothing like a New York bank. The gilded columns and marble floors Darby had seen in J.P. Morgan's establishment had made him think of a church, this bank was more like a saloon. In place of the bar was a counter with three teller windows, but only one of them was open.

Pennington smiled and doffed his hat to the young teller, a lady he seemed to know quite well.

"Hello, Jenny ... is Charlie in this morning?" He asked.

"He's in his office, why don't you knock, Mr. Pennington."

"Thank you, I will."

Darby didn't see any large vault and wondered where his money was being kept. All banks had vaults, didn't they? Pennington approached a wooden door at the back of the bank lobby and knocked before opening it a crack.

"Charlie ... .are you busy?" He asked.

"James ... never too busy to see you," the man inside replied.

Pennington opened the door and ushered Darby inside. The office had a barred window, a smattering of office furniture and a large desk behind which sat a tough looking man in a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Cummings stood as they entered the room and that's when Darby saw the large safe against the wall.

"Charlie, this is Darby O'Brien, a client of yours," Pennington said. "Darby, this is C.L. Cummings, the President of our bank."

"Mr. O'Brien ... so happy to finally meet you," Cummings said, coming around from behind the desk to shake their hands. Darby felt a grip of steel and noticed how strong Cummings appeared to be. "Please have a seat, won't you?"

"Darby has been out at the ranch for the better part of a month ... "Pennington began.

"And a very busy fellow I hear," Cummings said. "We heard about your little adventure with the bandits, you were most fortunate. I haven't seen the ranch personally but Sean told me it was built like a fort."

"It is," Darby said. "Perez and his gang didn't have a chance of dislodging us."

"But now I hear you got into a gunfight with old Willis last night. Sorry, bad news travels fast around here. But the sheriff says it was all in self-defense."

"The sheriff certainly does seem to talk a lot," Darby said.

"Probably too much is what you're saying," Cummings replied. "A lot of us gather for breakfast down at Miss Ruby's place, and men like to talk. I hear they have the Willis' boy in the jailhouse. A damn shame, he being only thirteen and already involved in such criminal activity."

"A boy usually follows his father's direction," Darby said. "I don't think he should be held accountable. And now I suppose I have an interest in what happens to him." Darby looked at the safe once again. "Is that where you keep my money?"

Cummings looked startled. "Why no ... no it isn't. We keep enough cash on hand to transact our daily business and little more."

"Oh ... then where is it?" Darby asked.

Cummings smiled. "I guess you need a little lesson in banking to understand where your money is. So ... what do you think of Tombstone?"

"Nice town I guess, but I haven't seen much of it."

"You should, your money is out there. You see a bank operates by taking in money from our clients and then loaning it out. People need money to build a house, a business might need to buy new equipment, and the money for all these things comes from our bank.

"Our Mrs. Randolph took out a loan to expand her store ... Sam's barbershop took a loan to add another chair in his shop. They borrow money from us and we charge interest on that loan which they pay back in time. A bank is an important part of a town's development. Does that help you understand?"

"I guess, but what if I wanted a large amount of money in cash?"

"Then I would wire the Central Bank in Phoenix and they would send us the cash under guard on the train. Your money is safe, Mr. O'Brien, but the power of money is too valuable just to have it sit around in a safe and collect dust. Do you need a large amount of cash?"

"No ... well not at the moment. I may need a few thousand to cover travel expenses in a few months."

"A few thousand is not a burden, we keep several thousand on hand at all times ... you just let me know when you want it. May I ask where your travels will take you?" Cummings asked.

"I don't know yet," Darby replied.

"I think he's planning a visit to the mint in Denver," Pennington said. "Darby wants to learn about the source of the mine's income, and the processing is a part of that. Otherwise I think he wants to visit the company accounts in California. You can help him there, Charlie."

"I certainly can. It's never advisable to travel with a great deal of cash on your person. But as a bank we can issue you a letter of credit that will give you access to your money through other banks. You've seen how that works when we sent a money transfer to J.P. Morgan's bank in New York for you last year."

"Yes, that worked quite well," Darby said. "I'll be back when I need some money."

Cummings stood up as Darby and Pennington did, showing them to the door with another handshake. "My door is open to you anytime you need assistance. I promise to take good care of your money."

"Nice man," Darby said as he and Pennington reached the sidewalk.

"He's been in town for over thirty years," Pennington said and then he laughed. "Started his business career as a butcher."

"That explains his hands," Darby said. "They are rather large."

Darby looked down the street and saw Indigo loading the wagon in front of Drucker's store.

"I guess that's all I need today," Darby said. "I better go help Indigo load up."

"You let me know when you plan on travelling," Pennington said.

"I will ... thank you for everything."

Pennington walked back towards his office as Darby headed up the street towards the wagon. Indigo came out the door carrying a sack and right behind him was Jesse Willis with his own load. What was going on here?

"Darby, are you finished with your business?" Indigo asked.

"Yes," Darby said, but he was looking at the boy.

"Oh, the judge released Jesse this morning after we had a little chat. Drucker has taken him in until they find his mother so he'll be working here for a while. Go on, Jesse, remember what the judge said."

"Yes, sir," Jesse said and approached Darby. "I'm sorry, Mr. O'Brien ... I never should have pointed a pistol at you."

Darby held out his hand and the boy took it for a handshake.

"I'm sorry about the whole affair, Jesse. I didn't mean to kill your father ... "

And then Mr. Drucker walked out of the store with another man who was dressed in a black suit. Jesse looked up and as they turned up the street he followed.

"Come on," Indigo said.

"What's going on?" Darby asked.

"They're going to bury Jesse's father."

Darby climbed up on the wagon as Indigo picked up the reins and they slowly followed along with Branna in tow behind the wagon. Boot Hill cemetery was beyond the northern perimeter of town and it took them a while to get there. But when they did there was a hearse and two men waiting for them.

The grave had already been dug and beside it sat a simple pine coffin containing Jesse's Pa. The two workmen ran a couple of ropes around the box and then lowered it into the grave. There were no other people from town to observe the burial. It seems no one wanted to mourn Willis' death.

Darby stood by the side of the grave, hat in hand, and wondered if anyone was going to say a final word. It made him wonder who had been there to mourn Sean who was buried not more than a hundred feet away. Jesse stood there looking down at the box in silence.

"Goodbye, Pa ... " And then the tears flowed down the boy's cheeks.

Drucker put a hand on Jesse's shoulder. A man of few words he didn't know what to say now, and then Indigo began to speak.

"It is easy to hate and difficult to love ... this is the way of life. Sometimes the good things are hard to come by while the bad things come much too easily. In this Mr. Willis forgot his place in life and the responsibilities he owed his family. No death comes easy because it leaves only pain in the living."

Indigo turned away from the grave and walked back down the slope to the wagon. Darby watched him go and wondered at the words he had spoken. He had never asked but he was sure that Indigo had similar words to say when they buried Sean.

Darby turned away from the grave as the workmen began to fill in the hole. Drucker had embraced Jesse and they stood quietly as the work proceeded. I don't need to be here, Darby thought.


On to Chapter Nine

Back to Chapter Seven

Chapter Index

Chris James Home Page

"Indigo and the Cowboy" Copyright © Chris James. All rights reserved.
    This work may not be duplicated in any form (physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise) without the author's written permission. All applicable copyright laws apply. All individuals depicted are fictional with any resemblance to real persons being purely coincidental.

Home Page | Authors | Christmas Stories | Stories by the Writer Suggested Reading | Suggested Viewing | Links Privacy Policy | Terms of Service Send a Comment All Site Content © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer unless otherwise noted Layout © 2003 - 2024 Tarheel Writer