Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

Meehan was dead when Kerney returned. He took Sara to the truck, where the heater was going full blast. She sat directly in front of the vent, her teeth chattering, thinking that she never wanted to be cold again. She said nothing until she noticed something strange on the floorboard.

"What's that?" she asked.

Kerney turned on the interior light. Sara's face was pale and drawn.

Still clutching Meehan's weapon, she looked at him intensely. There were bruises under her eye, on her cheek, and next to her mouth.

"What?" Kerney asked back. She pointed the pistol at the floorboard. Carlos's upper plate was on the mat.

"That."

"False teeth. They belong to a guy called Carlos. He told me how to find you."

"So that's how you did it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"My name is Sara, not ma'am."

"Can I ask you a favor, Sara?"

"What is it?"

"Could you point the pistol somewhere else?" Sara looked at the gun in her hand, nodded, and put it on the seat between them. She bit her lip, and Kerney could see tears in the corners other eyes. She turned her face away and said nothing more. She didn't protest when he turned her over to the doctors at a hospital in El Paso. He watched the ER team wheel her into an examining room before he called Major Curry. Finished with Curry, he hung up and turned to find a place to sit down. The leg gave out and he fell to his knees in the corridor.

When Kerney awoke, he was in a hospital bed. Andy Baca stood over him, a worried look on his face.

"How's Eddie?" Kerney asked.

"Out of surgery and doing well," Andy answered. "The doctors said he should have full use of his fingers."

"Good. And Sara?"

"They're discharging her today. She's been asking about you."

"She's okay?" Kerney demanded.

"Fine. She's a pistol," Andy responded.

"I know it." He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Two weeks passed before the Army sent Sammy's body home. Terry called Kerney as soon as the casket arrived. The family had gathered by the time Kerney got to Maria's home. Rows of shoes lined the front step and the path to the door. Kerney pulled off his boots and went inside. The living-room furniture had been removed, and a casket in the center of the room was surrounded by two circles of mourners sitting on the floor.

Kerney squeezed in next to an old man, who gave him a somber nod and returned to his silent prayers. Terry caught his eye and smiled. A trio of women entered from the kitchen and placed trays of food at the foot of the casket. An elder, dressed in soft deerskin and velvet, rose and began offering food to the guests. After serving everyone, he put the remaining food in a woven basket.

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?"