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"We need a hole-digger."
"A what?"
"A hole-digger. You tellin' me you ain't got a hole digger in that whole damn city?"
"We live simply," Dale said. "We have something like a shovel." And then he spoke something Sparks couldn't understand, but he must have had said to go get a shovel because one of the gray-skinned Martians ran off.
There was silence for a long time, and Sparks Nevada tried very hard not to think about the fact that Croach's head was still in his lap, or that his hands were sticky with Croach’s drying blood. He didn't look at Red, but he knew Red was staring down at him. Staring at Croach's lifeless body still lying where he'd died minutes before. Staring at the hole just below Croach’s chest that wasn’t supposed to be there.
He'd waited a long time before asking for a shovel, sure that Croach's nanotech would kick in any second now, despite what Dale Tremain had said about alcohol bonding with the nanotech, rendering it useless.
He'd watched Croach stand right back up after throwing himself in front of danger so many times, he’d hardly noticed anymore.
Until this time.
For awhile, there was no sound but Mercury's occasional whinny. The sun was starting to set before the gray-skinned Martian returned with two contraptions that looked near enough like shovels.
Two of the Martians started to dig, but without a word, Sparks stood up, taking care not to let Croach's head hit the ground too hard, and grabbed one of the things that weren't quite shovels. He found a spot marked by a nearby boulder, and began digging Croach's grave. After a minute, Red took the other shovel and joined him.
"Go, Dale. We're comin' in when this is done," he said. Dale nodded, said something in Martian, and left with his people.
Sparks realized that he didn't even know if Martians got buried or what happened when they died, but figured Red or Dale woulda said something if they knew different.
"Eight feet," Red said, once Dale and the Martians were gone. "It has ta be eight feet deep, Nevada."
Sparks nodded, and dug.
He had plenty of water stored in Mercury’s saddlebags, so when they were down two feet and got thirsty, they drank.
At three feet, a Martian appeared with food, and lit a fire. They ate while they dug.
There was still half a bottle of gin in Croach's saddlebag. At four feet, they started to drink that too, straight out of the bottle like Croach had done.
At five feet, Sparks tied one of his ropes around Mercury and dropped it down the hole so they could get back out.
At six feet, Red spoke again.
"I didn't know either, Nevada, and I was raised by Marjuns. He didn't know, and he was one."
Sparks grunted, and kept digging.
At seven feet, they finished the gin and found the whiskey. Croach had been two thirds of the way through that bottle. Sparks found a picture of Red in the saddlebag too, and didn't tell her. Instead, he slipped it in his pocket.
At eight feet, Sparks tied the other rope around Croach, and lowered him down to Red, waiting at the bottom, before joining her again.
"They got any Marjun rites?”
"I'm doin 'em," Red said. "You stand there and think about all the things he tracked for you, you're supposed to say how good he was at his designation, without lyin' or exaggeratin’, Nevada."
Red spoke in Martian for awhile, and Sparks tried to look anywhere but the hole in Croach's middle. He tried real hard not to think of how it was his own pistols that'd put it there.
"Tell a story, Nevada, about him trackin' something for you. It's what you gotta do," Red said, in that way she sounded extra-annoyed when she was trying not to be something else.
Sparks knew there were lots of stories about Croach tracking something he might have told, but he could only think of one. "He tracked ninety nine bountys in the last month, Red. You were number one hundred."
Red didn’t respond. Sparks didn’t look at her.
He drank a swig of whiskey, instead. "You dumb Marjun. How come you don't know how your own biology works?"
"How come you shot at Laredo if you knew Croach's onus weren't to you but to her?" Red snapped.
She was angry, and he didn't fault her for it. She hadn't said nothin' he hadn't been trying to not say to himself.
Red was itchin' for a fight.
Truth be told he was itchin' for losing a fight. He wished she'd just turn around and clock him right in the face.
But not here.
"Finish up, Red," he finally said. "Let's get this over with."
Red grabbed the whiskey and took her own long swig. She said a bit more in Martian. He only understood when she said G'loot Praktaw.
Sparks drank some more and kept right on not looking at the hole in Croach's middle.
Red squeezed in, knelt next to Croach's body and touched his face; Sparks didn't know if that was a Martian thing or just because she wanted to. He figured it didn't much matter anyway.
She ran her sleeve across her face when she stood up, grabbed the rope and climbed. He passed the shovels up to her.
"Stupid Marjun," he said, then took the picture of Red out of his pocket, and put it under Croach's hand, resting just above the hole in his middle that wasn't supposed to be there.
There was probably something else he should have said, but he didn't. He managed to mutter "Bye, Croach," just before grabbing the rope and pulling himself up.
Day was breaking when he reached the surface, and Dale was there, with a few other Martians who were holding more not-quite shovels, and some food. Sparks finished off the whiskey, which Red had managed to put a big dent in since he’d last seen it a minute ago. Then he grabbed his shovel, and tossed the first few handfuls of dirt down the hole.
Nothing happened, not that he was expecting it would, and Red poured dirt on Croach as well. Over and over Croach was covered with more and more of the dry Mars soil, and nothing happened.
After two feet, bone-weary, they let the Martians join in.
When it was finally done, the sun was all the way up past the horizon.
Sparks climbed onto Mercury, and Red got on behind him. He lassoed Croach's hoversaddle to follow. They rode into the Secreted City of Rococoo, and he didn't notice the gold streets or the Martian wonders. Red told Mercury where to go, and soon they were at some kind of room he assumed was hers. A Martian took Mercury and the hoversaddle somewhere, and without asking permission, Sparks Nevada took off his boots and fell into Red's bed, still covered in a lot of red dirt and a little Martian blood.
They still hadn't spoken, but Red fell in next to him. It was a small amount of solace.
That was the first night Croach visited him in his dreams.