Epilogue

Cimarron Valley, Ten Years Later

Wade approached the sprawling ranch house, his heart lightening at the sight of the flickering lights that welcomed him.

He’d been gone five weeks this time, once more fighting for the cause of the Utes. They had won one more minor victory in Washington. The southern Utes wouldn’t be pushed into the semidesert reservation in Utah, as many Coloradoans wished, but would be permitted to stay on their own reservation in southern Colorado.

The word “reservation,” in regard to Manchez and his other friends, still gave Wade cold shivers. It was so wrong to cage these riders of the wind on a small piece of land. Yet the southern Utes had fared better than any of the other tribes. They still had a corner of their ancestral land and were given occasional permission to hunt outside the reservation.

The trip had tired him, as had the numerous visits to congressmen and senators. He had legally taken the name of Wade Foster, wanting to bury deeper his memories of Kansas and Missouri. His life started, he thought, when he’d met Mary Jo.

They had three children now, including Jeff, and he loved them all with the same intensity. Matt was eight, and as curious and mischievous as Jeff had been. And Hope, at six, was the baby and adored by all. She was as pretty as a rosebud with her mother’s auburn hair and green eyes, and she was such a happy little girl. He wanted to give her the world. He wanted to give them all the world.

Most of all he’d wanted to give them love and safety and security. And tolerance. It had taken him so long to learn tolerance, so much time and so much pain. If there was any legacy he wanted to leave, it was to understand and accept people for who they were, not what they were. He’d been guilty as a young man of condemning a whole group of people for what a few had done, as so many whites now did in condemning the Indians.

And Drew, the son he’d lost, was always in his heart, as was Chivita. Mary Jo had taught him to remember the good, rather than the evil, to protect the fine things rather than discard them with the bad. Mary Jo was his light, the candle of his soul, and his children were its joy.

He stopped his horse and looked out over the Circle J. It was so long since she had asked him whether he had ever allowed himself to have joy. He’d thought then that joy was gone forever from his life.

And now he had so much. Mary Jo and Jeff had given it to him through their love and sheer determination. Mary Jo, he thought with a small secret smile, could move mountains if she wished. And Jeff took after her. Now twenty-two, his eldest son was assistant foreman of the ranch, which had grown to include more than ten thousand head of cattle and a substantial stable of fine horses. Tuck still ramrodded the ranch and would until Jeff was ready, and then Jeff and Tuck would run the ranch together. Tuck had become indispensable, a member of the family in all important ways.

Wade supervised the horse-breeding. Circle J horses had become famous throughout Colorado, and Wade had little doubt Jeff could handle that operation, too. After numerous trips to Ute camps, Jeff had become as fine a horseman as many of the Utes. He had, in fact, won the last race, which had taken place on the Ute reservation just two months earlier.

Jeff had grown as tall as Wade. He was more thoughtful now, though he would probably always have a reckless, adventurous streak. Texas Ranger blood, Mary Jo called it. Wade, however, thought Mary Jo definitely had a part in it.

He nudged his horse into a canter, his right arm falling to the saddle horn. His fingers had never fully regained their dexterity, and his elbow was stiff, but he’d learned to function well despite those two problems. He’d taught himself to shoot with his left hand, though he hoped to God he would never have to use a weapon again against a human being.

He doubted that he would. Civilization was coming west. Matt Sinclair had moved on five years ago when Last Chance had died, surrendering to dust after a rail line had bypassed it in favor of a more centrally located ranching town. Matt had become a good friend of the family and had stood as godfather to young Matt, but they had heard nothing in the past five years except for a gift on each of the children’s birthdays. Wade often wondered what would have happened to him, to them all, if Matt had not been sheriff. He was an extraordinary man. But he had been restless those last years in Last Chance, and then one day he had come by the ranch to say goodbye.

Wade thought of him often and wished him well.

Another light flared up inside the house, and the door opened. Mary Jo always seemed to sense his presence, was always there to greet him when he returned from a trip. Just as she opened the door, Hope darted out and threw herself in his arms.

“Daddy,” she screamed happily. “We had puppies.”

“You did?” he said with a small grin. “I would have liked to have seen that.”

She giggled. “You’re silly.”

“So are you,” he said, then planted a kiss on her forehead as she wriggled down. “And I like you just that way.”

The pups would be Jake’s grandlitter, and he would be unbearably proud. He was getting stiff in his old age, but he still felt as if he owned the family rather than the family owning him. And sure enough, he too was at the door, the now graying tail thumping as enthusiastically as always.

Wade held out his arms to Mary Jo. “Our brood keeps growing,” he said, nibbling at her lips. She looked just as pretty as she did ten years ago.

“Hmmmm,” she said, standing on tiptoes to kiss him with the passion that had not faded with time. It had grown instead, the early desperation changing into something sweeter, everlasting.

“Welcome home,” she whispered.

Wade put his an arm around Mary Jo and, filled with a happiness that never ceased to astound him, walked into heaven.