Stevens seemed like a little child.
To Duane the moment was sad, elemental, big, with a burden of mystery he could not understand.
Duane buried him in a shallow arroyo and heaped up a pile of stones to mark the grave.

That done, he saddled his comrade's horse, hung the weapons over the pommel; and, mounting his own steed, he rode down the trail in the gathering twilight..