Thirteen years later, two cowboys hunting strays in the lonely lands where the Panhandle of Oklahoma gives way to the Panhandle of Texas, came on some bones.
“Hey, Sam. Looka here!”
Sam rode over, looked into the shallow place
behind the clump of bear grass. “What d’ya know?
Woman, too.”
“White woman.” The first cowhand indicated the twisted leather of a boot sole and heel. He held up a finger bone. On it was a gold ring with a diamond—or what looked like one.
“What would a white woman be doin’ away off here?”
He looked around. Some of the bones had been pulled away by coyotes. There was no sign of a grave. Somehow she had come to this point, died here, and remained lying there until now.
“Ought to bury her,” Sam said.
“With what? We got no shovel. Come on.
We got miles to go an’ we’ll be late for chuck. If we’re late the cook will throw it out.”
“What about the ring?”
“Leave it with her. Maybe she set store
by it. And anyway, she’s got nothing else.”
They rode away. The sound of their hoof-beats died away. The wind stirred, and a little dust drifted over the whitened bones, and then lay still.