Durango by Gary Hart Page B

he continued, He cares a lot about this community. He loves Durango. Sheridans have been here almost from the beginning. It’s his home. It’s where he’ll die. It has to grieve him that old friends are becoming enemies.
    The young man now nodded vigorously.
    Smithson continued. He wouldn’t get involved to try to salvage his reputation. Most of us around here don’t think he needs to. But if he thought he might prevent a local civil war or keep the place from dividing down the middle, that would be a powerful argument for him.
    That’s exactly my point, Patrick said. That’s it. If he were convinced that he might have some role to play that no one else could play, to settle this thing peacefully, and to everyone’s satisfaction—
    It’s not going to be settled to everyone’s satisfaction, the professor interrupted.
    â€”but at least for most people in Durango, the young man continued, then he would at least have to give it some thought.
    Smithson smiled. I know the first thing he’ll say is, What can I do that anyone else can’t do?
    Patrick smiled and responded, The tribe. The Southern Utes. That’s his unique weapon. Where they are concerned, with the possible exception of Mr. Maynard, he is their most trusted friend. I believe he is the key to the Indians and the Indians are the key to the Animas–La Plata.
    17.
    On the day years back when Daniel Sheridan resigned from the La Plata County Commission, Caroline had returned to her large house in the foothills west of Durango to find all traces of her husband gone. His closets were cleaned out, down to and including his laundry. His dresser drawers were empty. Her inspection revealed that his revolver, previously hidden in the sock drawer, and his hunting rifle were gone. Virtually every trace of his existence had disappeared.
    She noticed with a degree of grim satisfaction that he had taken no books. He had never been much of a reader, and most of the books were hers in any case. And even more important, he had taken none of her paintings. This also did not surprise her, since he had taken little interest in her artistic efforts.
    Caroline had gone to the sun porch with a glass of wine. Just as well that their ten-year marriage had yielded no children, she reflected. Her hopes for an intimate, romantic relationship had never really materialized. Their years in New York and then a few years in Denver on the way to Durango had been characterized by his professional preoccupations and her activities in the investment world. They had been social enough everywhere they had lived, though she had become increasingly restless with the frequent parties, charity balls, and evenings out in the cities even as he had been increasingly swept up in them.
    Socially, they had evolved into a two-car family by the time they moved to Durango. She left early, and he stayed late. For a while, the independent bank he had acquired in Durango proved satisfying to him, and they adjusted well to the informal small community life. Their friends tended to derive from the professional class of lawyers and doctors. As a leading banker, Russell Chandler quickly became a pillar in the Chamber of Commerce and the service clubs. He also became an officer in the state banking association. Caroline attempted to participate in garden clubs and local charities but within a year or so began to spend most of her time trying to improve her painting skills.
    As newcomers they made it a point to attend as many city council and county commission meetings as they could, often accompanying the Farnsworths, who made an effort to introduce them to the Durango area. They became acquainted, through various business and social affairs, with the mayor, the members of the council, and the commissioners and knew most of them on a first-name basis.
    Caroline now studied the sun reflecting through the golden wine. She thought of the evening when the chairman of the