Disclaimer: The characters Frank and Hidalgo are not mine. I make no profit from this writing.

I'd just like to thank my reviewers very warmly – I am sorry to complete this story! I have enjoyed writing it and thank you very much for reading and leaving reviews.

Lost Chapter 16

He sat on the top step, Watson's ranch house shading him from the hot afternoon sun. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him, his arms resting on his knees. He could not keep still. He watched the small crowd mount up, or get into buggies. He had said goodbye to all of them and now he waited, his mind attempting to catch rag-ends of ideas but not able to hold a thought for a moment before turning to the next.

He was nauseous with a fear that had twisted his gut all through the service and out into the little graveyard. He had given his small bunch of flowers to her coffin, then had thrown a handful of dry earth down onto the box. Dust to dust, the man had said.

Now he was anxious to be on his way, though the day was growing late and he would have to camp ridiculously soon. Yet he had not made the final decision to go for good. All he thought was away, he needed to be away.

Mrs.Watson stood with a small knot of friends who had been there for the wake. Now she glanced up at him, touched the shoulder of the woman she had been speaking to, then moved slowly in his direction.

"Do you want some company, Frank?" she inquired, stopping at the foot of the steps.

He nodded, unable to resist the longing to speak of Lilian to someone who knew her. She came up the steps to him, serious but not demanding any comfort from him, nor offering it.

"Let's go inside, shall we?" she said. "I don't think it's very dignified for someone of my age to be sitting here, do you?" She stood by him, waiting for him to join her.

He could barely move. He felt unsteady, rudderless, unready for the world now. His loss at Wounded Knee had been shaming, for he had carried the orders and his own people had died, and he could say nothing about it, for he could not even admit they were his own people.

Now he had lost a future life. Nothing called to him. There were no plans, no house, no child. He brushed a tear angrily from his cheek. He longed to blame someone and that blame came right back to his door.

He followed Mrs. Watson stiffly back to the kitchen. She put a cup of coffee in his hand. He knew she wanted to speak to him but he could not sit still and listen. He went to the window to look out at the world and saw how bright it was out there.

"Frank?"

He turned reluctantly back to the room. "I know, I know. I don't want to just leave, you know that. I come to – admire this place and – but, you see, she's here, and I don't know…"

"Whether you can leave?"

"Or stay. Right now, I don't know which is worse." He sat back down at the table and tried to drink the coffee. The heat in the room was oppressive and he still felt agitated beyond reason.

"Oh, Frank. You shouldn't go now, not today," the old woman said, coming to sit opposite him. She was tearful now and he couldn't look her in the eye. Lilian had been her friend. "Give it a month. Don't decide right now."

He looked ahead into that month and saw what his decision had to be. The anger that burned in him made the decision easier. If he stayed, he would hit the bottle and then he'd hurt someone. He – they all – would be better off out in the wilds again with just Hidalgo for company. Maybe, in time, head for the Wild West show. Become a shadow of himself.

In that moment, something was sealed over in this heart. He would not speak of her again, not to anyone. So he would have to leave, or be reminded every day of the one thing he had to keep locked away, silent, inside himself.

He coughed, his throat constricted and dry. "No, thank you kindly, ma'am. No. I've said my goodbyes. You've all been kinder to me than a man could easily …"

Mrs.Watson leaned over and placed her hand over his. "You've been welcome – you would be welcome – to stay." She wasn't pleading with him. "I remember when you first came, and how sick you were. And here you are now, arm all healed, and you have to leave us."

Now she was pushing at him too hard. He stood, resettled his hat on his head and steeled himself. "I packed my saddlebags. I don't know if she had kin, but I'd like my wage to go to someone else. I got cash money enough."

Mrs.Watson looked at him once more, then nodded. "All right, Frank. I trust your decisions. Maybe you could write to us once in a while, let us know where you get to." She stumbled towards silence. He held his feelings in check, tight, but shook her hand, holding it for a moment.

"I'll go and saddle up."

She took a bag from the table. "Here. Don't want you to starve."

He nodded, knowing there would be good food to eat for quite a few days to come. It was time for him to try eating again. Then he left her in the kitchen and walked down the corridor, back into the sunlight.

In the stable, Hidalgo was waiting. Each day since Lilian's death Frank had spent time grooming and caring for his horse, receiving neither pity not sympathy in return. Hidalgo knew nothing of his troubles but returned a steady companionship that held the worst of Frank's despair at bay for a while.

He saddled his horse and led him out into the fresh spring air, leaving a few short weeks of his life behind. He headed out, beyond civilisation, beyond people, until such time as he could bear to be with them again.

That night, as he sat by a fire that was a tiny pinpoint of light in a vast landscape, he let himself mourn, after the manner of his own people. His song faltered and rose, and faltered again until it caught him, gathering into itself all his anger and sadness.

Hidalgo, standing back into the wind, didn't go far from him all night.

The End