FourteenThree of them now stood at the graveside, Landers, unable to keep his grief at bay, cried openly whilst Hanson clutched his hat in front of him in both hands, screwing up the rim, teeth clenched. The dead Utes they burned.
“The smoke will warn any others,” muttered Hanson, “and I hope more of them come. I truly do.”
Simms ignored him and tended to the horses. A little way off, hobbled behind another outcrop of rocks, he came upon some ponies, pulled off their blankets and let them run free across the plain. Three ponies for the three dead Utes. He stared after them for a long time.
The only cross which bore any kind of inscription was the one marking their dead companion's grave. It said simply 'Wicks, a soldier'. Simms thought it was enough.
They rode on in silence, each burde
