He wiped his arms across his eyes. He had to do something, he thought vaguely.
But he couldn't bring himself to bury what was in the cabin.
They weren't his mother and father; his parents could never look like that.
There was only one thing to do.
He walked over to the stack of firewood and gathered up an armful. Then he walked back into the house and put it down on the floor.
It took him almost a half hour until firewood lay covering the floor like a blanket, three layers thick.
He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment then turned and went outside again. He took the harness down from the lean-to wall and hitched the mules up to the wagon. He picked up a crate and went through the pen, throwing all the chickens into it. He placed the crate in the wagon. Then one by one, he lifted the sheep into the wagon and tied them to the floor rings.
He led the team of mules and the wagon around to the front of the cabin and tied the bay horse's lead to the back of the wagon. Then he walked them all to the road about two hundred yards from the house and tethered the team to a small scrub tree and went back to the house.
He picked up the pitch bucket and went inside. Slowly he smeared the pitch over the firewood that lay on the floor. He kept his eyes down and away from the bodies of his parents. He stopped at the door and smeared the last of the pitch on that.
He hesitated a moment, then remembering something, he went back into the cabin. He reached up on the shelf where his father had kept his rifle and pistol but they were not there.
He pushed his hand farther along the shelf and felt something soft. He took it down.
It was a new buckskin shirt and breeches his mother had made for him. It was bright and soft and clean-chamois colored.
Again his eyes filled with sudden tears.
He rolled it up under his arm and went back to the door.
He held a match to the pitch stick until it was blazing brightly.
After holding it for a second more to make sure, he threw it into the cabin and stepped back from the open door.
He looked up at the sky in sudden surprise.
The sun had just gone down and night had fallen in quick anger.
The stars stared balefully down on him.
A cloud of heavy, billowing smoke poured out of the doorway.
Suddenly, there was a crack like thunder and a flame leaped through the doorway as the tinder-dry wood caught fire.
He walked down to the road and got up on the wagon and began to drive to town.
He did not look back until three miles later, when he reached the top of a small rise.
There was a bright-orange flame reaching high into the sky where his home had been.
5.
HE DROVE THE WAGON INTO THE YARD BEHIND Olsen's Livery Stable.
Then he got down and walked across to the house that stood next to it. He climbed up the back steps and knocked at the door.
"Mister Olsen," he called out.
A shadow darkened the light of the window. The door opened and Olsen stood there.
"Max!" he said. "What you doin' back here?"
Max stared up into Olsen's face.
"They killed my ma and pa," he said.
"Killed?" Olsen exclaimed in surprise. '"Who killed?"
Attracted by the sound of her husband's voice, Mrs. Olsen appeared in the doorway behind him.
"The three men," Max said. "They asked me an' I gave them the directions to my house.
An' they killed 'em." He hesitated a moment and his voice almost broke. "An' they stole Pa's hoss an' took his rifle an' pistol, too."
Mrs. Olsen saw into the shock that lay behind the boy's facade of calm.
She pushed her husband out of the way and reached out to Max.
"You come inside an' let me fix you somethin' hot to drink," she said.
He looked into her eyes.
"They ain't time, ma'am," he said.
"I got to be gettin' after them." He turned to Olsen. "I got the mules an' the wagon an' four sheep an' sixteen chickens outside in the yard.
Would you give me a hundred dollars an' the pinto for 'em?"
Olsen nodded.
"Why, sure, boy," he said.
The mules and the wagon alone were worth three times that.
"I’ll even give you the big bay if you want.
He's a better hoss. An' I'll throw in a saddle, too."
Max shook his head.
"No, thank you, Mr. Olsen.