A second, identical basket was circulated for the collection of mementos of Sammy's life. Terry contributed his son's Army service ribbons. Maria added Sammy's paintbrushes. Hoping it was acceptable, Kerney put a snapshot of Soldier, the mustang named in honor of Sammy, in the container. The old man next to him grunted his approval. The casket was opened and both baskets were placed inside.
Then the silence ended and the meal began. The family ate and told stories of Sammy's life; anecdotes, filled with detail, that lifted the somber mood. The wake continued until dawn, when Kerney went home to change for the burial service at the Santa Fe National Cemetery. He got to the cemetery as the funeral procession was coming slowly down Tesuque Hill, led by tribal police cars.
The honor guard assembled in front of the covered pallet as Sammy's coffin was carried up the hill. Kerney hung back at the fringe of the crowd that surrounded the canopy and searched for a glimpse of Sara. Some military brass had arrived in a missile range staff car, a bird colonel and a young lieutenant. Sara, Eddie Tapia, and Major Curry were not with them. The ceremony was brief. With the coffin on the pallet, Maria, Terry, and Sammy's grandparents stood at one side under the awning. Taps, played by two buglers spaced widely apart, created a mournful echo. The traditional rifle salute was fired by National Guardsmen in dress blues. The ritual finished with the slow, precise folding of the American flag from the coffin and the deliberate hand salutes as the flag passed to the colonel, who made the final presentation of the colors to Maria.
The detail retired, and Sammy's casket was placed on a wagon pulled by a tractor to an open grave. At the grave, Maria clutched the flag, tears flowing freely, with Terry close by her side. The tribal elder waited until the casket was in the ground, then, kneeling, placed a small pottery water jug in the grave and broke it with a stick. He sprinkled corn pollen on the coffin and nodded at the assembly. Sammy was now ready to start his journey. The services were over. *** During the next four days, Kerney went daily to the pueblo. Maria and Terry stayed together at her house, sleeping in blankets on the floor of the empty living room. She could not be alone in the house until Sammy's spirit was gone. On the last night the elder returned and purged the house of Sammy's spirit so he would have no reason to return. Kerney waited outside with people he now knew by name.
When Maria and Terry finally emerged, both looked tired but less troubled. He hugged each of them. Maria kissed him gently on the cheek and patted him with affection. "You must come back to visit," she said. "Often."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"Yes." Terry's hug was bearlike.
"I need to talk to you," Terry said in his ear.
"If it's about the money, forget it," Kerney replied.
"It is. I want you to take it back." He shook his head firmly.
"I've been paid. I'll explain later." Terry released him, and they shook hands. The leaves in the tall cottonwood trees rustled in the night air. Terry and Maria were saying goodbye to the last of their guests. From the edge of the plaza, Kerney turned back to look and saw Terry hug Maria and walk off into the darkness of the night, Maria left alone under the porch light. It gave him a sad feeling.
Back home, Kerney sat on the corral rail and studied the night sky. The stars were pinpoints of soft, quivering light. Quinn, his landlord, had decided to sell the ranch. It wouldn't take long for it to be gobbled up, probably to be subdivided into ranchettes by a developer. Except for two pieces of mail, there had been no contact with anybody involved in the investigation. Andy sent him a check for a month's pay and a note that said he liked the idea of using him on special cases and wanted to talk about it. The second envelope was from the Department of the Army. It contained a government warrant for twenty thousand dollars. The accompanying letter explained that it was for professional services provided to the provost marshal at White Sands Missile Range. Kerney put the money in the bank.
Soldier nudged Kerney's hand, looking for another treat. He scratched the horse's muzzle and looked across the volcanic rift at the clouds parked over Santa Fe. City lights created a rosy glow in the underbelly of the fluffy cumulus clouds. Since returning home, Kerney had taught Soldier how to turn and guide with the touch of a rein against his neck. Now he responded easily to a one handed cue. Soldier's gait had smoothed out and he wasn't skittish anymore. It was time to take him to his new home.
"So what are you going to do?" Dale Jennings asked, watching as Kerney opened the door to the horse trailer.
"Hell if I know," Kerney replied. He walked Soldier out of the trailer and put him in the corral. Soldier trotted over to the bay.
"Move down here," Dale suggested.
"I still need a partner. You can have the foreman's cottage." Kerney gave Dale a sidelong glance.
"I guess not," Dale noted.
"So what do you want to do?"
"Right now? How about a trail ride? Are you up for it?" Dale rolled his tongue over his teeth.
"Anyplace particular in mind?"
Kerney tilted his chin toward the mountains on the missile range.
"You're kidding."
"Why not?" Dale put both arms on the top railing of the corral and studied the two horses. After a long pause he swung around, leaned against the corral, and grinned at Kerney.
"The bay could stand to shed a few pounds."
Using an old horse trail. Dale and Kerney reached the 7-Bar-K in short order, even with Dale's frequent stops to reminisce. Kerney had to break him away from the sight of the space harbor and the test facilities dotting the basin; Dale was shaking his head in incredulity as he remounted.
"Looks smaller than I remember," Dale said, as his eyes moved over the ranch house. He looked at the alkali flats to the north.
"Hard country," he commented. He glanced at Big Mesa. "And to think your folks had a fortune hidden up there, just waiting to be found."
"Luck of the Irish," Kerney said.
"Why did you want to come back?"
"I forgot something." He left Dale holding the reins to the horses and went inside. When he came out he was holding the horseshoe from his first pony that he had nailed over his bedroom door when he was eight years old. *** "How are you feeling. Sergeant?" Sara Brannon asked. She was in Eddie Tapia's new quarters on the base. His promotion, along with some string-pulling on Sara's part, qualified the Tapia family for a single-family dwelling. The house, a typical military box arrangement, had been transformed by Eddie's wife, Isabel, into a warm, comfortable home. Handmade curtains covered the windows and house plants filled the living room with splashes of color.
"I don't know how to thank you for all this," Eddie replied with a grin.
"The plants are lovely," Sara commented. "It looks very nice."
"Isabel keeps bringing stuff home from the nursery. She wants me to dig flower beds for her in the backyard as soon as I can use my hands again." Sara nodded. The fingers on Eddie's hands were braced with splints, held in place by rubber bands attached to metal braces around his wrists. Pins were inserted in each broken knuckle to immobilize the joints. The appliances looked like weird pincers.
"Don't rush it," Sara cautioned. Eddie grimaced.
"I don't have any choice."
"Isabel tells me you're getting cranky." Eddie nodded.
"Yeah, I guess I am. Sitting around the house is getting old. I asked for a desk job-anything-but the doctor won't even talk to me about light duty."
"I've got a detail for you. We've been ordered to appear before the commanding general at fourteen hundred hours, in uniform." Eddie immediately became worried.