It had been a bright, sunny and warm day when Buck left the station. Barely even a white cloud in sky. He had actually be happy when Teaspoon asked him to take a special run, because it came with a full week's extra pay compliments of the army.
Ike's birthday was coming up and he wanted to get his friend something special. Ike wasn't one to particularly care about his clothes or even his saddle, but one of the nuns at the mission school had put in him the habit of keeping a journal where he could write the things he didn't want to, or couldn't say, make drawings and such. And Buck knew Ike had almost filled up the pages of the book he had. He'd seen a beautiful new one at a book shop in Denver the month before. It was handmade, bound with threads and not hoof glue, covered in smooth leather that had been embossed with an intricate pattern of twisting knots and flowers. The shop keep had told him that it was already sold but he could have another just as fine made by the end of the month and would hold it for him. And Lou had a run that way at the end of the week and had promised to pick it up for him.
Yes Buck hadn't protested when Teaspoon had asked him to take the run, which meant riding to Fort Miles almost two full days to the east, then down to Fort Collins (another day's ride) and then west to Fort Scott before returning home. Teaspoon knew the run would go through part of the Kiowa hunting grounds and Buck knew the safest trails to avoid trouble. Given the choice between risking one of his friends and taking on a six day ride himself, it was an easy choice. The bonus pay and a promise of the whole next week off was, as they say 'icing on the cake'.
Now he was starting to regret his eagerness. The ride to Fort Miles had been uneventful. He had retrieved the letters the fort captain needed delivered and headed out. He stopped at the nearby way station to switch horses and pick up supplies, preferring not to spend any extra time at the fort where he felt a dozen sets of eyes drilling holes in his back. He knew the men were there to fight 'his kind' and it was only his half white blood and their fear of traveling through enemy land alone that kept them civil. It was something he was accustomed to.
The clouds had come during the night and the rain and winds started close to mid day. Even with the leather rain ponchos they carried, Buck was soaked and chilled. And being on horseback for hours without any real time to stop was making him tired and sore. He found himself thinking about home and about Emma's cooking and how she'd make hot stew and coffee and fresh biscuits or hot cakes and bacon for him when he got back. She always made sure they had fresh clothes and a clean blanket on their beds. She'd heat up water for a hot bath and he could soak in it until the water turned cold. And he could sleep the whole next day and no one would dare to fuss he wasn't helping with the chores, for fear of what truly nasty chore Emma would find to shut them up.
Buck reached Fort Collins just after dark. Quick work was made of delivering his letters, bedding down his horse and eating, although again that was not the most comfortable of activities with eyes on him. He had wished he could have ridden out to a station house but the fort was not on the regular trail and the messages he had to carry out in the morning too important to waste time. So he accepted the food and bed, and offer of fresh supplies and was forced to stay there until dawn, the rains now flooding down and making it impossible to see in the starless dark.
Sleep was elusive. The air was filled with a nervous tension and Buck could sense it. He knew it was the same as the men at Fort Miles, he was the enemy and they would be on guard lest he attack and scalp them. The cook, an old man that reminded him some of Teaspoon, declared the chatter 'hogwash' and had offered Buck a bed in his little room off the mess. But Buck could still sense the fear. And his own apprehension that one of the men might come after him and made him toss and turn and never truly sleep. Breakfast the next morning did little to help with the growing aches and pains, or truly the grumbling of his stomach which wasn't fond of oatmeal even on a good day.
The rain had stopped in the early hours, but the air was still damp and the wind chilly. Buck saddled up and was riding out before the sun was even fully over the horizon. It was barely an hour later when the rains started again. Buck rode as quickly as he dared, barely able to see the path in front of him, the near constant thunder and lightening making it hard to keep his mount calm and focused.
He reached the old creek that marked the furthest boundary of the Kiowa land and found that the normally tricking brook had swollen to a torrent from the rain. It was too deep to cross against such a strong current. He knew from hunting parties and the trail maps Teaspoon made them all memorize that there should shallower areas to the north. Buck had no choice but to turn back to find one of those spots, hoping the rocks would be enough to cross the water and then ride harder to make up the time. Any hope of making the fort before dark was gone.
He turned his mount and carefully headed upstream. As he reached the first curve in the creek bed he could hear the sounds of shooting from a little further ahead. It was hard to make out the words, but it sounded like a fairly large group. Buck carefully kept going. He had no idea if it was a hunting group, a war party, bushwackers or just a group of travelers. But he had no choice.
