We placed food and water and all of their possessions in the grave to sustain them on the journey to the West. Little Bear kept only his brother’s rifle and Whisper. I suspected he was silently vowing to run down the killers with the horse and slay them with the weapon. I prayed time would purge the thirst for vengeance from him.
We sang prayers to the All Powerful to protect the two souls on their journey and begged a great welcome when they arrived. Then we shoveled dirt into the pit and walked the horses over the spot to obfuscate the gravesite.
With the burial over, we returned to the farm where we stripped and bathed in the pool near the farmhouse, a sort of cleansing ceremony for both of us. Bear was not his usual yammering magpie self as we allowed the water to soak away the contamination of death. A sweat lodge would have been better, but I hadn’t gotten around to building one yet.
“Why do they hate us?” he finally asked.
“Why do we hate them?”
“Because they kill us.”