The batwing doors swung open and closed again as one very tired, very unhappy man walked into the saloon. A friend sat at a close table with a bottle, two glasses, and a waiting chair, so he peeled off his duster and his hat and sat down.

The other man poured him a drink, and looked at him with uplifted eyebrows.

Bad?

A short sigh, a shake of his head and a deep swallow of the whiskey were the answer.

Bad.

His friend filled the glasses again, shaking his own head.

That's tough, having to tell a family their son ain't comin' home.

Another sigh, a longer one this time, and the whiskey went down even faster.

I never want to have to do that again.

A few more moments, another couple of shots of whiskey were spent by the two, sitting alone in the crowded saloon. After those couple of minutes, the second man gave a puzzled look out the door.

Where's the others?

The first man sank visibly against the back of his chair. His shoulders fell and he ducked his head to shadow his eyes.

Nathan and Josiah stayed with the parents. I couldn't. I just couldn't stay there.

A strong, warm hand settled on his shoulder and gave a strong squeeze.

You did what you had to, you took that boy's body home. That's what counts. Then the hand gave his shoulder a shake before letting go. I wish I'dbeen here to go with you.

The first man shook his head again, and poured them each another shot.

You're here now.

They tipped their glasses and he recorked the bottle and stood up.

Let's get back to work.

He put on his hat and duster and waited for his friend, who nodded as they came even with the batwing doors.

Right behind you Pard.

And Chris and Buck left the saloon and headed out onto the dusty street.

The end.