They built a cairn. There was no time or energy to spare for digging. The filly had seemed to be doing relatively well . . . until she wasn't. Her parents, fled or lost, hadn't made it onto the train. She herself had said little, preoccupied with the injuries done her by a suddenly cruel and incomprehensible world, apparently aggravated by the jolts and bumps of travel by travois. Sunset wept freely, as did others. Cook's face was iron. Rose looked tired.