Horsepeople

Epilogue

Dawn broke clear and crisp over Sweetwater, a light dew on the grass and the wind silent. It was beautiful and tranquil. As was her custom, Jo swung a leg over Cricket, took a deep breath, and then touched her heels to her horse's sides. Gone, however, was the typical urgency of their morning rides and Cricket picked up a gentle lope. After yesterday, both horse and rider were still in need of a little softness.

As always, there would be much to do that day. The surrendered militiamen had been offered transportation to Pincher Creek, where there was a pioneer museum along the creek and everything they needed to build a life of their own. It was a second chance, and after the summer of campaigning and violence they'd had, many were ready for that. Those that weren't would walk back to Calgary.

Marshall was fighting for his life, but Maryanne was not hopeful. By all accounts, he thrown himself at a man going after his son and taken his knife to the gut. So, too, was Harold in a bad way. He was severely concussed and Charlie monitored him closely for signs of stroke, although there not much he could do to prevent one or treat one if it came to pass. Eagle's and Smith's bodies needed to be hauled to a far valley, to return to the earth.

But before she could face the day, Jo needed a moment. She needed to stand at the top of a windswept hill. She needed to look over the prairie that their herd of bison would rule. And she needed to speak to the burnt wooden cross sticking up from a rock cairn.

"Beautiful day today, Grandpa," she said, "no wind."

Like a mirror, the calm waters of the Oldman Reservoir reflected the early morning sun, the sandstone cliffs, and the tall pines growing along its southern bank.

"I know you'll be on your way now," she said, "but I wanted to say one thing before you go."

AgCorps' wheat fields had self-seeded and the volunteer wheat was browning. Birds swarmed the fields to feast. Weeds and fescue and wild roses pushed their way up amidst the straw.

"I know you were just a man doing what you thought was right, and that that's all any of us can ever do. But I want you know that you did right by me. And I know I've done right by you."

To the west, the Livingstone Range's sloughed rock face ran unbroken to the Crowsnest Pass, where Turtle Mountain nestled in the valley. To the south, the rest of the Rocky Mountains wrapped around the plains. Chief Mountain, Ninastiko, its contour that of a sleeping Chief and the home of Thunder, watched the eastern slopes.

"I think we're going to be okay," Jo said.

"We're going to be fine," Will answered, stopping by her side. He was riding Cisco, the two-year old bucksin. The colt couldn't be ridden much or hard this young, but he was proving to be sensible and sound, just like his sire.

Beside him, Beady on her rescue roan, Jessica on Ladybug, Shannae on Whitey, Mary on Eddie, Liza on Aspen, Danny, Kurt, little Nicky, Carmen on Cygnus, Jordan, Dakota, and Ravinder, lined their mounts atop the Look Out Hill.

"We've won a battle," Beady said, softly because she didn't have to shout over the wind, "but there's a war coming."

"Yeah," Will smiled. "But we'll be okay. We're a Horsepeople. We always have been. We always will be."