Billy Sun
The day of the funerals was the warmest of the young spring. Buffalo's cemetery was filled to overflowing with the families of Hi Kinch, Nestor Lopez, and Pat Comstock, but most of the people had come to honor Billy Sun. Cowboys from the Lazy L and B, every member of the Northern Wyoming Farmers' and Stockgrowers' Association, and men who rode with him in roundups came in their Sunday clothes to pay their respects.
Dixon stood between Odalie, her face still bandaged, and Lorna. Though he had not known Billy Sun, Rob Hardy came from Olympus for the service. He was never far from Lorna's side, and when she wept, he offered his handkerchief.
The bodies were in pine boxes beside the empty graves. Brother James White delivered the sermon, reading from a Bible whose pages blew in the warm April wind. After, he spoke in a soaring voice.
“These men gave their lives for you, the people of Buffalo and Johnson County. They sacrificed themselves so that you, the humble and hardworking homesteaders of this great land, could build your houses and raise your children and graze your livestock and cultivate your fields in freedom, without fear of a feudal oppressor. Now the world knows that this land belongs to all of us, not just a wealthy and privileged few. These four men died to hold back the tyrants who would take it from you.”
Some in the crowd turned angry eyes on Odalie, who pretended not to notice. Dixon held her hand.
“Had these men not fought as bravely as they did, who knows how many of us might have been massacred before our president dispatched the United States Army to put the invaders in jail, where they remain to this day awaiting justice? How many of you women would be widows, how many of your children fatherless? We will never know the answers to these questions, but we do know this: each and every one of us owes Hi Kinch, Nestor Lopez, and young Pat Comstock, who had not yet seen his twentieth year, a high debt of gratitude.
“But now I want to talk about Billy Sun, a man who had one foot in the world of the red Indian and one foot in the white man's world and a solid place in neither. His Indian kinsmen are gone, and the white people never fully accepted him. Oh, yes, you're here today, but before your congratulate yourself, admit you sometimes looked down on him, considered him less than yourself, because of his aboriginal blood. Would you have welcomed Billy Sun as a suitor for your daughter, or a business partner for your son? I think not.”
White's voice grew louder.
“Yes, you hired him to break your green horses, but would you have welcomed Billy Sun into your home for Sunday dinner? No! You would not, but he gave his life for you anyway, not asking for reward or recognition or a place at your table. He did this because he was a brave man, an honest man, and a man worthy of your deepest respect.”
White nodded and the gravediggers silently lowered the bodies into the ground. White threw a handful of red soil onto each coffin, with the words “dust to dust, ashes to ashes.”
“Now, as we stand at these graves I ask each one of you to look into your own heart. Are you honest? Are you kind and respectful to those who love you? Are you brave enough to risk ruin, pain, and, yes, even death, to defend what you believe in, as these men did? Look into your heart and ask yourself, Am I as good a man as Billy Sun?” White bowed his head.
“Let us pray.”
After the service, as the mourners melted away, Dixon and Odalie stood alone at his grave. Dixon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out Billy's bear claw necklace and a folded piece of paper, stained with blood. “Sheriff Angus gave these to me because the letter mentions Cal. Billy wrote it in the line shack. I think he'd want you to have it, and the necklace, too.”
Odalie read the blockish printed letters, written in pencil.
There was a woman I loved from the first time I saw her and I love her still. She might someday see letter, and if she does, she will know.
Her eyes burned with tears as she refolded the letter and put it, along with the necklace, in her bag.
He was too good for me.
After a few minutes of silence, she cleared her throat. “What's happening with Canton and the others?” she said. “Will they truly face justice?”
Dixon laughed bitterly. “No. The president called out the army mostly to protect them from us, the good people of Johnson County. I suppose there will be some kind of trial, but it will be only for show. They won't face any real punishment.”
“What about Tom Horn? Was he taken with the others?”
“No. No one seems to know where he is, but he'll turn up again. Men like him always do. But what about you, Odalie? Where will you go?”
She shrugged. “I don't know, back to New Orleans maybe. I still have some family there. The Manor I'll leave to the county. Perhaps they can find a good use for it.”
They started walking to the wagon, where Lorna and Hardy were waiting. “Those two have grown close,” Dixon said. “I'd be happy to welcome Rob to the family if it comes to that, and I wouldn't be surprised.”
“He is a fine man.”
“There's someone else I'd like to welcome to the family, if she'll have me.”
Odalie's heart quickened. “And who would that be?” she said.
Dixon put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to him. “I think you know.”
She touched the bandage on her face. “You pity me. I will be ugly and disfigured and you feel responsible for some reason. Well, you needn't. I'll get Richard's money, or some of it. I'll be fine. You don't have to worry.”
“I love you, Odalie,” he said. “I have for some time. Would you be happy as a physician's wife? We'll never be rich, but we can do good things together. Maybe we can be the kind of people Billy Sun thought we were.”
Only then did the tears come. They ran down Odalie's face, wetting the bandage on her cheek and burning the healing wound below it. Dixon tasted their saltiness on her lips when he kissed her.
“What do you think?” he said. “Can we do it?”
She smiled up at him. “We can try.”
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3629-5
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First electronic edition: June 2016
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ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3630-1
ISBN-10: 0-7860-3630-3