Some time elapsed before Gary could even bring himself to think of the thing he had uncovered. He moved farther away, pretending that he was seeking the shade; in reality, he wanted to push a little more sunlight between the shaft and himself.
Faith came and mewed suddenly at his elbow, rubbing herself against his arm, and Gary jumped as if some one had struck him from behind. The contact of the cat set him quivering again, and he pushed her away from him with a backward sweep of his arm. Faith retreated to another rock and stood there with her back arched, regarding him fixedly in round-eyed amazement. Gary slid off the bowlder and started down the bluff, his going savoring strongly of retreat. He was not particularly squeamish, nor had he ever been called a coward; nevertheless the grisly discovery drove him from the spot with the very unexpectedness of the disinterment.
At the cabin he stopped and looked back up the bluff, ashamed of his flight.
“Steve Carson—the poor devil!” he muttered under his breath. “A cave-in caught him, I reckon. And nobody ever knew what became of him.”
He walked aimlessly to the corral, perhaps seeking the small comfort of even the horse’s presence. He gave Jazz an extra forkful of hay and stood leaning his elbows upon the top rail of the corral, watching Jazz nose the heap for the tenderest morsels. The phlegmatic content of the old horse steadied him. He could think of the horror now, without shaking inside like joggled jelly.
He looked at his watch and saw that it lacked half an hour until noon. There would be time enough to do what he knew must be done, if he were to have any future peace in Johnnywater Cañon.
He found an extra pick, shouldered the long-handled irrigating shovel and set out to find a suitable spot—not too close to the house—where he might give the shattered bones of Steve Carson decent burial. He chose the tiny knoll crowned with the thick-branched juniper and dug the grave there that afternoon. For the time being he must leave the body where it was, crushed under the cave-in.
“But he stayed there for five years,” Gary excused the seeming slight. “One more night shouldn’t hurt him.”
It was an uncomfortable night, however, for Gary. Even in his sleep the thought of that broken body would not leave him. It overshadowed all his hopes and dreams, and even Patricia seemed very far away, and life seemed very short and uncertain.
The next day Gary devoted to moving what little was left of Steve Carson from under the mass of broken rock and burying the remains in the grave under the juniper. The mottled cat walked solemnly behind him all the way; and it seemed to Gary that the unseen yet sentient spirit of the man walked beside him.