Standing on his front porch four years later, Ben waved goodbye to Wayne and Nicholas as they rode away. Nick had twisted his torso and was waving frantically, screaming, “Bye, Uncle Ben! Bye-bye! Bye-bye!”

“Bye, Little Nick!” Ben shouted back at the top of his lungs. It was a shame to see them leave but they’d had a good time together and now that Ben was pushing his mid-sixties, the little boy had almost been too much for him. His energy wasn’t what it used to be.

“Come on, Bruce ol’ boy,” Ben said, leaning down to pat his dog on the head. The golden brown pup, only two years old, instantly sat, looking up at Ben with a love only man’s best friend could have. Especially for crotchety old men. “You think I’m an old grump, do ya?” Ben asked, kissing the dog on the top of his head. Bruce’s reaction was to lick him straight up his face, staring at his lips. Ben was glad he closed his eyes or that tongue might have struck an eyeball. “You ready to go check some traps, old boy?”

Bruce stood up and barked happily. He bounced on his four feet, making Ben laugh.

“Yeah, you love to go huntin’, don’t ya, boy?” He ruffled the dog’s hair and headed inside to get his rifle. When he stepped back out on the porch, he had to stop instantly, hearing the rumbling sound of wheels on a track, the hiss of the whistle as the train passed through the valley in the distance, heading for the mountain he’d lived on for years.

From where he was, he could peer off toward the east and saw the steam rising in puffs in a straight line as it sped through the forest, heading for its destination at 25 miles per hour. Or so. Ben had asked a man working for the railroad station how fast those trains could go.

“Well, that’s gonna depend, sir, on a buncha different factors. First, ya got yer high speed passenger trains that travel at almost sixty miles an hour. Some of them seventy!” The man had shook his head in amazement. That was really fast in Ben’s estimation, too. He wondered how the engineers didn’t lose every meal they had ever eaten moving that fast. “Them’s the high speed special trains, that’s what I call it. They got some regular passenger trains and they get about 35 miles per hour. Them’s the ones that can’t afford the high-dollar premiere trains, if ya know what I’m sayin’ now.”

Ben had nodded, eager for the man to continue.

Encouraged, likely by the intrigued look Ben was giving him, the man did continue.

“That ain’t all, though, mister. Ya got yer freight trains, too. Ain’t no passengers on them. They’re always loaded down with all kindsa heavy stuff. Now they go about 25 miles per hour. Faster than a horse, let me tell you. But not as fast as some of them passenger trains.”

Ben remembered the conversation in his head.

When he visited the train tracks on a hunting trip, there were several places where he could look down into the valley below and see his own cabin. The whistle of the train in the distance echoed off the mountains that surrounded him.

Ben didn’t mind the fact that the railroad he cut through the mountain. He was able to travel to places he knew he’d never have reached otherwise. He couldn’t walk fifty miles. Nor a hundred. Or more.

So he was happy there were alternative ways to travel. But there were some things that still bothered him. The Utes were nearly gone. The train had hit several in the first two years, as many of the Indians weren’t aware, some didn’t even know what a train was. He’d heard of two young Indian Braves who were inspecting the iron train tracks and didn’t move in time for the train to keep from hitting them.

Ben shuddered, thinking about that incident. So gruesome. He hadn’t been there to see it but he didn’t need to be. He could imagine the Indians looking at the tracks with amazement and wonder, looking up to see a huge locomotive barreling down on them. They wouldn’t have expected it to hit them. They might have thought it could stop in time. Either way, their bodies were torn apart. It was a sad time for all.

The San Juan mountains had become civilized. The Timber Wolves had been hunted down and either driven out of the area or captured and put in prison. The Indians had always meant so much to him. They’d protected him and he’d done the same for them, establishing a link between himself and the town citizenship in his right hand and the Utes in the left. Those Indian families and tribes who had stayed worked with him to buy, sell and trade with the people of Durango and the people of Silverton.

“All right, boy,” he said, pulling out of his thoughts. “Let’s get some huntin’ done before the night drives us back into the house.” It might not be as dangerous as it used to be but he still liked to be precautious. There was just a little left of the uncivilized part – enough to make him continue living in the forest while still being nearer to the town.

“You don’t see ol’ papa’s ghosts, do ya?” he asked Bruce, looking down at his beloved pet. Bruce whined a little, patting Ben on the leg until the hermit leaned down to rub his head. He was still so young. He didn’t want to just sit down and be quiet. He wanted to jump around, bark and howl like a wolf, playing every chance he got.

“Let’s go see what we can get,” Ben stated, “You wanna go?”

Bruce barked three times, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, the ends curled up in a smile only a dog could pull off.

“Yeah, yeah, I see how anxious you are. But ya gotta be patient now, boy. You can’t grow up to be a wild wolf.  You remember that, eh boy?”

Ben spent the next two hours in the woods hunting. He caught a fairly large rabbit, two squirrels and a raven, a beautiful bird falling to the ground after he’d pulled the trigger. He’d picked the animals up, including the bird and brought them back to the cabin.

Before he prepared the rabbit and the squirrels, he went to the outbuilding on his property and went inside. It was dark but not too dark to see. He went straight to the back on the left and grabbed a small wooden box. He pulled the top off and looked inside. There were some paint brushes, small bottles of paint and a thick piece of fabric. He turned the box over and dumped everything in it out onto the shelf. He placed the raven inside and covered him with some of the fabric, which he’d torn off, cutting a slit with his pocket knife.

He took twenty minutes to dig a small grave behind his ranch house, said a little prayer and buried the raven.

“Respect for the dead is humbling and should be nurtured,” he mumbled. He stood up, taking his hat from his head, looking heavily down at the wooden box, contemplating what had happened. “Sorry about that, Mr. Raven,” he said, feeling remorseful. After burying the raven, Ben went back in the house and prepared the rabbit for dinner that night.

A conversation between himself, Wayne and Elanor invaded his mind. It was not too long ago when he’d visited. He and Wayne were returning from hunting. Ben had just asked Wayne at what age he would start taking his young son with him on hunting trips. The boy was five at the time, the age Ben’s own father had started taking him, training him to shoot with a gun and a rifle.

“Oh, he’ll begin soon,” Wayne said as they went up the steps to greet Elanor, who was waiting for them there. “Isn’t that right, my love?” He leaned to kiss her cheek, which she turned to him, smiling.

“That’s right. I didn’t hear what you said…” She giggled, turning her gaze to Ben, “but I’m sure you’re right.”

They all laughed as they went inside. Ben had to laugh some more when he saw Nicholas at the kitchen counter, standing on a stool. He was stirring something in a large yellow bowl with a wooden spoon.

“Cooking?” Ben teased, eyeing Wayne, “Your son will learn to cook before he learns to shoot?”

His gaze was averted when Elanor snorted. She was looking at her husband. “What lies have you been telling this man?”

Wayne’s face reddened, though the corners of his lips were twitching as he tried not to smile. He gave Ben a side-long look.

“Oh, you’ve already taught him?” Ben asked. “Well, why didn’t ya just say so?”

Wayne shrugged, sauntering over to his son and staring down in the bowl. “Awwww,” he said, feigning disappointment. “I thought you were mixing up a delicious cake for us. But that looks like… like biscuit mix?” He turned to Elanor who nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“It will be good, papa!” Nicholas said, raising his blond eyebrows. Ben thought how much he resembled his mother. There were still traces of Wayne in the boy, but he was definitely the spitting image of his mother.

“I know it will, Nicky,” Wayne replied, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I’m just teasing you.”

While Wayne attempted to help his son with the stirring and they started to fuss with each other playfully, Elanor looked up at Ben. “Wayne made sure Nicky had a gun in his hand as soon as he was ready. My son is actually a good shot for being so small.” She laughed. With a giggle, she added, “The rifle is bigger than he is. I’m surprised he can hold it up and aim it. He’s strong for his age! Much better with the pistol but that’s not a surprise.”

Ben nodded.

“Come on, Nicky, let’s go show Uncle Ben how good you can shoot!”

Wayne lifted his son and put him on the floor. Nicholas ran to Ben his arms outstretched for a hug. Ben was suddenly struck by the energy and happiness that emanated from the little boy. He bent down and grabbed him, lifting him up in the air. Nicholas laughed as Ben dug his fingers into the boy’s side to tickle him. His wiggling almost made Ben drop him but he was able to successfully place Nicholas back on his two feet.

“Come on, Uncle!” Nicky yelled, grabbing for Ben’s hand.

“Shh, inside voice, Nicky,” Elanor said in a loving way. She gave Ben another smile and accepted another kiss on the cheek when Wayne walked over.

“We’ll be back in shortly,” Wayne said. She nodded.

Outside, Ben watched as Wayne patiently instructed Nicholas, reminding him how to handle the gun without putting anyone in danger. When his son turned to look at Ben, still holding the rifle, Wayne instantly touched the barrel, moving it so it wasn’t pointed at Ben.

“Never point a gun at someone unless you intend to shoot them, son,” Wayne said. “And when you practice, make sure your gun or rifle is pointed at the ground. Remember?”

Nicholas nodded vigorously, holding the rifle correctly. “Sorry, papa.”

“It’s all right. Now look at the target there next to the barn.” Wayne crouched so he was on one knee right next to his son. He adjusted the rifle, moving it just slightly. “Okay, are you ready?”

Nicholas nodded and tilted his head so he was looking through the sights of the rifle.

Wayne stepped back so he was next to Ben.

“I’m so glad you are happy with your family, Wayne. I want you to know that.”

Wayne grinned at him. “I’m very happy. And Elanor is pretty sure we’re going to have another baby early next year.”

“Congratulations!” Ben said enthusiastically. “You want another boy?”

“A girl would be nice, too,” Wayne replied. “As long as it’s healthy and Elanor comes through it all right, I’ll be satisfied and content.”

Ben nodded, turning his eyes to Nicholas when the boy shot the target that was attached to a bale of hay by the barn. He hit the bullseye.

Wayne clapped loudly, calling out praise for the young man.

Ben thought about the ghosts who had come much less frequently to him now. The nightmares were practically gone. His mind was quiet, finding no reason to complain anymore. He’d come to a point where he could accept his past without getting stuck there.

He can move on, and he has.

THE END