Dorothy Garlock Read Free Page B

that of me, my mother. For I have vowed that someday I will kill him.”
    A half smile curled her lips. “No, my son. Killing is the refuge of cowards and my son is not a coward. Show your father that you are the better man and he will die a thousand times.”
    “I will think on this, my mother.”
    “I see your heart, my son, and seeing it has warmed my own. When the time comes you will do what is right.”
    A film glazed her eyes, but there was fearlessness in her face. She knew she was dying, but the knowledge of it held no terror for her. She had walked too long beside the Spirit People to fear joining them. She was confident she would live forever among her long-lost loved ones.
    Logan knew his mother was slipping away from him to walk in the darkness forever without him. He saw her lips open, but no sound came from them. In the silence she went on talking soundlessly. One of her hands groped for his and fastened on his wrist. A tremor passed through her body, then her life ebbed away.
    Rosalee had moved away from the bed when Morning Sun began to talk. She stood, now, with her back to the bunk, her hands on her cheeks. There are no easy deaths, she thought, and her mind flashed back to her mother’s death while giving birth to her sixth child. Death was cruel, agonizing, gut-crushing. She turned back to Logan Horn. He sat on the bunk, his mother’s hand in his, his eyes riveted to her face. Had the woman closed her eyes in death, or had her son closed them? Rosalee moved to stand beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He looked up. Her eyes were a mirror of tears.
    “I wish there was something we could have done.”
    He nodded. “You did more than I expected a
Wasicun
to do. It was dry and warm here, and she could see my face. I thank you.”
    “I’ll take care of her, if you like.”
    “I’d be obliged. I have her ceremonial dress.” He tucked his mother’s hand beneath the blanket and stood up. The tin roof rumbled as the restless wind passed over it. Logan lifted his head and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Good-bye, my mother,” he whispered.

Chapter Two
    Logan Horn sat at the table and drank the hot tea while Rosalee washed and dressed his mother’s body. Soon after the woman had breathed her last, he had gone outside and stayed for a long while. When he returned he carried a package wrapped in an oiled slicker. It contained a beaded dress of soft leather that had once been white but now was yellowed with age. He laid it on the end of the bunk beside worn, white moccasins and a feather necklace and turned away.
    By the time dawn streaked the sky the wind had carried the rain clouds away. Everything looked fresh and clean, but the ground was soggy underfoot.
    Logan brought the mare from the corral and attached the travois. After commanding the dog to sit at the mare’s head, he returned to the cabin for his mother’s blanket-wrapped body. Ben and Rosalee followed him into the yard.
    “I’d be glad to come along, Mr. Horn.” Ben stood awkwardly on first one foot and then the other and spoke in hushed tones, acknowledging the presence of death.
    “Thank you for the offer, but this is something I need to do alone. I’d be obliged for the use of your ax.”
    “You’re welcome to it,” Ben said, and went to get it from the woodpile where the blade was sunk in a log to protect it from rust.
    Logan secured his mother’s body to the travois with a rope and saddled the spotted stallion. He picked up the mare’s reins and turned to the silent pair.
    “I thank you for taking us in and for all you’ve done, ma’am.” He mounted the horse and put his fingers to the brim of his hat. Rosalee went to him and thrust a cloth-wrapped package into his hand.
    “A few biscuits and some meat.” She met his downbearing gaze with the same air of assurance she had maintained the night before.
    “Thank you.”
    “Are you familiar with the country, Mr. Horn?”
    “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been