"It's right up there, gentlemen." Heyes and Curry turned simultaneously, looking at the gently sloping hill with a large cottonwood tree at the crest.
Curry shielded his eyes with one hand, squinting in the intense afternoon sunlight.
"By the tree?" he asked.
"Directly under it."
"Thank you, Reverend Corkill," Heyes said. "If we have any trouble finding it, can we ask you for help?"
"Of course, of course," the reverend assured him. "But the marker you ordered has been placed, so you shouldn't have any problem."
"Already?" Heyes asked, surprised. "That was fast work."
"Absolutely. Mr. Morgan, who owns the funeral home, is very efficient."
"That's good news." Heyes adjusted the saddlebag he carried on his shoulder. It didn't help; he was still hot and uncomfortable. "I guess that's all we need. We'll stop by the rectory when we're leaving."
"Very considerate of you," Corkill said. "In fact, you and Mr. Jones have been very proper and polite, which I certainly appreciate. That's not always common in these situations."
Curry's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, in these situations?"
Corkill wilted a little under the intense gaze. "I meant no disrespect, Mr. Jones. Only that, considering the circumstances of the deceased's passing, mourners are usually few and far between. It's especially uncommon for anyone paying for burial in sanctified ground, as well as $100 for such a fine marker."
"Our friend didn't have a good death, but that don't mean he had a bad life. Even the worst bad man has got some good in him. A man in your position ought to know that."
"Again, Mr. Smith, I meant no disrespect. And yes, I have seen many a bad man with some good in him. But you must understand, sir, that when someone is hung for his crimes, the good is not immediately obvious."
Heyes and Curry exchanged a quick glance. Curry's voice was tight and even.
"I seen plenty of men who were called good, who had a lot of bad in 'em. It was just a matter of luck that the law never caught up with them."
Corkill nodded. "That is also true. I am not one to judge. I leave that in God's capable hands." Heyes saw Curry's mouth open to reply and interrupted.
"Well, this is one interesting conversation, ain't it, Thaddeus?" Heyes smiled and slapped Curry's shoulder a little too hard, ignoring his annoyed expression. "Maybe we can talk more later, after we get out of this hot sun." He reached over to shake hands with Corkill.
"Thanks again for arranging everything, Reverend. We don't want to keep you out here any longer. You must be awful hot."
"Indeed I am. Good day, gentlemen. And please, stop by for some lemonade at the rectory on your way out. I'm sure you'll need some refreshment after your melancholy errand."
"We'll be sure to do that," Heyes said, nodding enthusiastically. Curry dredged up a friendly smile and waved half-heartedly as the minister took his leave.
"Will you calm down! We don't need to do anything to make sure that preacher remembers us real clear!"
"He's already gonna remember us because of all the money we just laid out."
"He'll remember the money more'n he'll remember us, so long as you don't get all hotheaded with him."
"I didn't do nothin," Curry protested. "I was just sayin'!"
"Save your sayin' for someone else! It's too hot to get into an argument."
"Then why're you tryin' to start one?"
"I ain't! I just . . . " Heyes looked again at the cottonwood, shimmering in the heat, and sighed.
Curry followed Heyes' gaze, and his shoulders sank, almost as if he'd been deflated. "I know. I never thought he'd end up like this."
"Me neither. I thought he'd outlive us all."
"Yeah. . . Might as well go up. You ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"Me neither."
The walk up the hill only took a few minutes. Neither man spoke, and both kept their eyes on the ground, making sure not to step on any grave. As they approached the shade cast by the tree's broad branches, a gentle breeze came up, rustling the dry leaves. The gravesites here were more modest, marked only by simple stones laid flat in the ground.
"Didn't think there'd be so many here."
"Wichita's a rough town, Kid. Not as bad as when we first came through, but there's still plenty men dying with their boots on."
"I can't believe how green we were then."
"We were, weren't we? It's a miracle we're not lying here ourselves." Heyes shook his head, as if to clear it. "Where is it? It shouldn't be hard to find, since it's new."
"Maybe it's on the other side."
At the top of the rise, they saw, just below the crest, the solitary grave. The earth on top the freshly-dug grave was still piled higher than the surrounding ground, as if it hadn't had time to settle yet They approached it slowly and stood, side by side, staring down at the carved stone. Heyes got down on one knee, laying the saddlebag on the ground and gently brushing away some fallen leaves from the stone marker. Curry crouched down next to him. He took off his hat and ran one hand through his matted blonde hair.
"It looks real good, Heyes. That mason did a fine job."
Heyes read the inscription out loud as he traced the letters with one finger.
"Willis McDonough. June, 1848 – August 1884. PREACHER – in capital letters, just like we asked for -'I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." John 11:25.' Yeah, Kid. It's good. Worth every penny."
"You got the presents?"
"Of course I do." He reached into the saddle bag and took out a bottle of whiskey, a small Bible, and a bullet. He placed the Bible and the bullet carefully on the gravestone.
"That's for you, Preacher. We're too late to get any better presents for you."
"Except one."
"That's right." Heyes opened the whiskey bottle and took a long drink. He gave the bottle to Curry, watching as he swallowed. Curry poured the rest of the whiskey over the grave, emptying the bottle.
"Our last drink together, Preacher." He put the stopper in the bottle and set it down on the marker.
"Why did he join up with the Branson gang, Kid? He never had anything to do with the roughnecks. Remember how he used to tell us to get out of the robbin' business, because there were some real bad men out there and we didn't want to get mixed up with them?"
"I remember. It was good advice. Shame he didn't take it."
Both men settled down to sit on the cool grass shaded by the tree.
"What if we'd stayed in the business, instead of going for amnesty and going straight? Preacher might still be alive. Oh, he'd still be thieving, just like us, but he wouldn't be a hired gun. He would never have got involved with stone-cold killers like the Bransons."
"You don't know that, Heyes. The way things were going, it might've been us in this here burying yard, along with Preacher and some of the other boys. Getting out of the outlaw business was the best thing to do. It's not our fault that he ended up here."
Heyes sighed deeply. "I guess not. I just wish there was something we could've done to prevent this."
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Maybe we could've broke him out of jail. We are pretty good at getting out of jail, after all."
"You're kidding yourself. When customers get shot during a bank job gone wrong and members of the posse get killed, the jail's guarded tighter than the Denver mint. Once Preacher got caught and charged with murder, he was done for."
Heyes didn't reply. He just looked at the gravestone.
"Come on, Heyes. You know that. You and me, we aren't responsible for Preacher's choices, just like he wasn't responsible for ours. Every man's got to make his own decisions, and then he's got to own them. Sometimes you get the chance to make things right, like you and me, but that's only because we decided to change who we were. He didn't. That's how he ended up here, and we haven't. At least, not yet."
"You really been thinking about this, haven't you?"
Curry shrugged. "Same as you, I bet. We were headed for a cemetery, buried under a tree like this one, for all the stupid thing we did. Or prison, which is pretty much the same thing. Until the amnesty comes through, it could still happen, because of everything we done. But we stopped. He didn't. We did bad things, all of us, but he went on to do worse things. He killed people for money. That ain't the Preacher we knew. He changed since then. So did we, but I think we changed for the better. Maybe we'll end up better, too."
"I guess that's something to hope for. Meantime, I'm ready to get out of here."
"Me too." Both men pushed themselves to their feet. Heyes picked up the now-empty saddlebag.
"So long, Preacher," Curry said. "I hope you like the presents we brought you." Both men tipped their hats to their friend, resting in peaceful solitude in the deep shade.
"Nice view at least. Hope you enjoy it, Preacher."
They turned from the grave, walking silently together down the gentle slope towards the fenced-in graveyard that sat next to the church and rectory. They paused at the rectory door.
"You thirsty, Kid?"
"Yeah. But not for lemonade."
Heyes put a companionable hand on his friend's shoulder.
"For once, I'm in total agreement. The saloon it is."
"A saloon, sure. But not in this town. If we get on our horses now, how far away do you think we can get before nightfall?"
"Won't know until we do it. So let's go."
Side by side, they walked away from the cemetery. They didn't look back.