The Young Riders

The Journey

By Gabrielle Lawson

Chapter Three

Lou woke up early, almost forgetting that she was alone at the station. She remembered, though, when Kid was not beside her on the bed. That realization made her miss him, but it also excited her. She had a run today.

She made herself some breakfast of scrambled eggs and bread and then got dressed. She had kept her "man" clothes even after her wedding, storing them in a trunk under the bed. She was glad she had kept them. She was so excited that she almost forgot to wear long johns under her trousers. So, when she saw them under her shirt and jacket, she had to take off the trousers and start over. She slicked her hair back on the top and pushed the sides behind her ears. She slipped into her boots and placed her hat on her head. Glasses were next, and lastly, her gun belt. She paused long enough to load her pistol and then headed out to the barn to prepare her horse.

When the rider came, she had been sitting on the bunkhouse porch for fifteen minutes, just waiting. She jumped up and ran to the middle of the yard to intercept him.

Instead of the usual pass-off, the rider, Ben Freely, pulled up short. "Lou?" he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought you was-"

"I'm doing Buck a favor," she interrupted. She held out her hand for the pouch.

Ben hesitated, looking toward the bunkhouse as if he were hoping for help from there. "Ben Freely," Lou said, using her sternest tone, "this is nothin' new. I started ridin' with the Pony Express even before you did. Now you hand over that mochilla or you can keep right on riding that same sorry horse and see what the company says when the mail is late."

Ben's mouth turned up on one side. "Same old Lou," he grunted as he handed her the pouch.

She gave him a smile before running to her horse. "There's some eggs in the bunkhouse," she called back. "Help yourself." She started her horse off and then jumped, using the momentum to swing herself back over the horse. As if he knew this was secret signal, the horse opened up and tore out of the yard, heading out across the prairie and racing the rising sun. Lou hoped Buck was having as much fun.


Jenny Tompkins felt her stomach tighten as she climbed aboard the stage coach again. Today was the day. He'd be there or he wouldn't.

She hoped he would.

"What brings you out west?" one of the other passengers, a dapper young man who'd just joined the stage at the last stop, asked, tipping his hat to her. "You wouldn't be one of those mail order brides. You're too pretty for that."

"No," Jenny said, hoping to leave it at that. She felt no need to explain herself to the man.

"It's dangerous for a woman to be traveling alone," he said, not taking the hint. The other two passengers, an elderly couple, watched the exchange from across the way. The woman smiled softly at Jenny.

"I'm not expected in St. Joe for another two days," the young man went on. "Perhaps I could accompany you to your destination. Where did you say you were going?"

"I didn't," she told him. She didn't want him to know where she was going anyway. "And thank you, but I'll be fine."

"The West isn't a tame place, Miss. . . ." He leaned over to her, and she knew he was waiting for her to fill in the rest.

"Why is that?" she asked. She knew she shouldn't. It was still half a day's travel to reach St. Joseph. It wouldn't do any good to get kicked off now.

"I don't mean to frighten you, but there are Indians out there," he replied, "savages who'd take a pretty thing like you and do unspeakable things."

Jenny fumed and felt her face grow hot.

The young man must have mistaken the blush in her face for flirtation or fear, because he seemed encouraged now. "I wouldn't be any kind of gentleman if I didn't offer to protect you. I'm Jonathan Twyler and I'm at your service." He bowed for her, as much as he could while sitting beside her on the cramped stage. He took her hand to kiss it. "I didn't catch your name."

Jenny didn't pull her hand free, though she was angry with him. Her people were far less savage than some of the things she'd seen or been subjected to in the white man's world. "Eagle Feather," she answered sharply.

The smile fell away from Mr. Twyler's face and he dropped her hand. "I'm-I'm sorry," he stammered, "but that's an unusual name."

"It's Lakota," she told him. "And my people are not savages."

Twyler sat back in his seat and averted his eyes. The old woman now looked at her with scorn, but Jenny tried to ignore it. As long as they didn't kick her off the stage, she'd rather finish the trip in silence.


Buck was shaking when the man came back. He'd watched the morning come sometime earlier. He didn't know how long it was. He only knew it was day when before it had been night.

"Good, you're awake." The man knelt down in front of him and lifted Buck's head by the hair. "You're gonna tell me where your friends are so's I can tell the army after I'm done dealing with you."

Buck understood the words but he couldn't piece together what the man was talking about. He remembered some of it: the shooting, his horse, the barn. But it didn't make sense to him. "What friends?" he asked, wondering why the army would want the other riders.

Buck's head dropped and the weight pulled on his arms. The man and everything else disappeared for a moment until the blackness faded from his eyes. "The savages that killed my family."

"I don't know," Buck told him through clenched teeth, "anything about that."

The blow he received moved his arms in a different way. It left him dizzy. He would have fallen if not for the table.

"Sara was only six years old!" the man bellowed, striking him again. "Caleb was only nine and Jacob was fourteen. Elizabeth was a good woman, a good mother and you slaughtered her!" Each name brought another blow, but Buck had ceased to feel them. Each one was just a continuation of the agony he felt flowing from his arms, filling his chest, coursing through his legs.

His head jerked up again though he did not feel the hand in his hair. He couldn't even see the man anymore. There was only the pain.

"Where are they?" the man screamed and Buck vaguely heard the words, like a howling wind far over the plains.

"Who?" he breathed, and the pain flared again, blinding him.


St. Joseph was so different from St. Louis. St. Louis was settled and civilized-at least in the white way-all brick and white picket fences. St. Joe was settled, but it was still wild. Jenny turned her back on the stage and faced the plains, her home. If she narrowed her vision, she could forget the town behind her and follow her heart to where her brother and her father-her Sioux father-lived free still. She wished once again she'd never been found by the Army and returned to this white world. Her mother would still be alive. Her brother would grow up with a sister who loved him and she would have a father who accepted her as she was.

But she wouldn't have Buck. Buck was the one good thing to come out of the breaking of her family. She walked around the stage, scanning the faces, looking for his long brown hair, the knife in his boot, anything to identify him among the strangers here. Twyler stepped back, giving her a wide berth as she passed, but she ignored him. His disdainful look was nothing new to her. The others from the stage backed away, too, and the whispers started when the gathered townspeople asked the passengers why. The whispers didn't matter either. She didn't care what any of them thought of her. Only Buck's opinion mattered.

And her heart ached in her chest when she couldn't find him. She stood still a moment, letting the reality sink in. He didn't want her. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she pushed them away, punishing herself for raising her hopes. She'd been foolish to ask him. She'd been too forward. They hardly knew each other. He had no obligation to her. No reason to come to St. Joseph on such short notice for a relative stranger.

No, not a stranger. They'd known each other. Perhaps it had only been a short time. And perhaps she was to blame for shortening it further because of her initial anger. But he'd stayed with her patiently, trying to help, until she let go of the anger and saw him for who he was. He hadn't left her. He'd waited.

She would wait, too. He could simply be late, she argued. He could have been delayed.

She brushed the hair back from her face and marched back to her one and only bag. There was a bench outside the stage office and she sat down, turning toward the open prairie west of the town. That was the way he'd come. If he came. The doubt still plagued her, and the worries crept back into her thoughts. Where would she go? She'd left Aunt Sarah and had no intention of going back, but without Buck, she'd have no one. She wasn't fit to work in the white world. She couldn't read or write well enough to be a teacher. Her skills weren't needed here. She could sew leather and sinew, tan hides, cook buffalo and cure meat. She could put together a tepee, build a travois. She could be a trapper's wife perhaps, but the thought of those smelly, hairy men disgusted her.

Dust billowed up in the distance, and Jenny sat up straighter and held a hand over her eyes to shield the sunlight from her gaze. A horse and rider, coming fast. Her pulse sped with the horse as it approached. Let it be him, she prayed silently. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he did come for her. The Pony Express wouldn't outlast the telegraph. He would be lost in this world, too. But she wouldn't worry if she were with him. They'd find something. Even if they went to the mountains to become trappers themselves. Buck wasn't like the hairy men. He was kind and gentle, strong and honorable, handsome and clean. He was Indian.

As the rider came closer she noted the shape of his hat, the color of his clothing. It wasn't what she remembered, and the hurt returned. The rider slowed as he entered town, and she knew for certain it was not him. He trotted the horse past her without even a glance.

"Is there something I can help you with, Miss?" a man's voice pulled her away from the rider. She turned and saw a paunchy man in a worn suit. He probably ran the stage here.

Jenny shook her head. She had no money left. This was it, and she didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. She had no where to go from this place, from this very bench.

The man looked up past her as a hand tapped her shoulder. Jenny started, wondering why she hadn't heard anyone approach her. She turned around and looked up, blocking the sun again, so she could see clearly.

He smiled at her and she knew him. He removed his hat, revealing a smooth head covered in a red bandana. Stuffing the hat under one arm, he moved his hands and she understood, the signs as familiar to her as the Lakota her mind still spoke. He was Buck's friend. Buck wanted to come, he told her, but he was held up. Ike had come in his place. He replaced his hat after tipping it to the stage manager and lifted her bag from the ground. Then he crooked an elbow and held it out to her.

Jenny felt the wind rustle the hem of her skirts and felt she could soar if he'd asked. She smiled back at him and took his arm. "Ike," she remembered.

He nodded and led her away towards the hotel. Tomorrow, he explained, she would leave for Rock Creek. He had a run to make so he couldn't go the whole way, but she wasn't to worry. She'd be in Rock Creek by Sunday afternoon.

He paid the clerk for a room and signed her name. He gave her some money for dinner and said he'd be back in the morning. "I can't take your money," she told him. But he shook his head and said it wasn't his. It was meant for her. "Won't you stay for supper?" she asked him, but he smiled and shook his head. He had things to do.

"Rest well," his hands told her. "It will be a long ride."

The hotel clerk cleared his throat to get her attention. He held out a key to her. "Number six, second floor on your left. Dinner's at seven sharp."

"Thank you," she said, taking the key. When she turned again, Ike was gone. She hadn't heard him step away.


As the light faded, the heat began to fade as well. Sweat soaked Buck's clothes, mixed with the blood, entered the cuts and stung his eyes. He couldn't close them. If he closed them, he would sleep, and if he slept, his body would fall. If his body fell. . . . He didn't want to think about that. It hurt enough as things were. He swayed on his knees no matter how hard he tried to stay still. The ropes bit into his wrist and arm. He couldn't feel his hands below the ropes. He vaguely wondered if he still had hands. Maybe the man had cut them off. He couldn't remember.

He was thirsty. His thirst had managed to gain his attention through all the pain. The sun had baked the tin shed until the air had become thick and heavy with the heat. His coat stifled him; his shirt choked him.

But now he could feel the breeze, just a wisp of it now and then, like cool water on his skin. But not in his mouth. He'd long lost his ability to speak or even to scream. Each breath brought new fire to his parched throat. He needed water.

Water was his only thought then, his obsession. It outweighed the pain, the discomfort, the heat. Water. He remembered the stream where this had started, and he didn't think of the man, of his horse, of his own wounds. Only the water. The sweat still clung to him, teasing him with its wetness when he couldn't drink.

As the sky grew darker, the breezes blew stronger. His wet clothes chilled him and he began to shiver. He didn't notice. Night came, and he thought of another river, long ago, and a beautiful woman kneeling on the banks, her long blond hair brushing against the doeskin dress she wore. She held a feather in her hand.


Lou woke early, eager to get back to Rock Creek. The Kid would be returning the next day. She was enjoying the run, the speed and freedom, but she missed him dearly. And she missed Buck. She was excited for him, even though she knew he was a bit fearful of the whole situation. She probably would be, too, in his place, but she loved him as a brother and wanted him to find happiness and love like she had with the Kid. He deserved so much better than he usually got.

She brushed her horse down one more time and then saddled her. She heard the station master call "Rider comin'!" just as she finished checking the last buckle. She led the horse out into the yard and turned west to watch the rider come in. The horse pawed at the ground and lifted its head to sniff the wind. It seemed she was just as anxious as Lou.

"You be careful out there, son," the station master told her. "Keep yer head down and ride hard."

"Yes, sir," she told him. She could hear the pounding of the rider's horse as it bore down on her. She let her own horse go then, with just one foot in the stirrup. She used the horse's momentum to throw her up onto its back just as the other rider passed. She caught the mochilla and settled it beneath her. The other rider reigned in, but she gave her horse a soft kick. The dirt and grass beneath them became a blur as they raced away from the station.

Lou missed this. A woman couldn't ride like this with all those skirts on. The weight of all that material alone would slow the horse, she mused. Not that she hated the dresses. She remembered the first one she'd bought with her Pony Express pay. She'd felt like a princess wearing it after so many weeks in the course britches she wore. It had felt good to be a girl again, to have gentlemen tip their hats to her, to look at her reflection and see herself for a change. But now that she wore dresses all the time, she missed the pants. Now that she was always home, she missed the travel, no matter how tiring or dreary the long runs had been. Someday, she dreamed, women would be able to wear whichever they preferred and have exciting jobs and still be wives and mothers.

By late afternoon, she was on the last leg of the run for the day, heading toward the next way station and another fresh horse the following morning. She wondered how Buck and Jenny were faring, there at the station all alone together.


Jenny carefully folded the blanket back over the bed, just as her aunt had taught her. She knew she didn't have to, but she was anxious and had nothing else to do. She'd finished getting ready a half an hour ago. She'd saved a bit of money from the night before to buy a simple breakfast which she'd eaten in her room. Then she'd packed up her bag and waited for Ike to come for her. And as she waited, she doubted again. Yes, Ike had come for her, sent by Buck. But still, it would be awkward. Maybe he'd only sent for her to help her, knowing she had nowhere else to go. He might not want her for himself. She was fluffing the pillow when the knock came at the door.

Jenny rushed over and opened the door. Ike grinned at her, greeting her with his hands. He looked past her to the bed and asked if she'd slept alright. She nodded and told him she was fine. His grin widened after a few moments and he motioned into the room.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, realized she'd been rude. She held out her arm to show him in. "I'm sorry. I'm just nervous, I guess." She rubbed her palms on her skirt.

Ike found her bag and started for the door again. "Have you eaten?" he asked with his free hand.

She nodded again, and held out the last bit of money she had left over.

He shook his head and closed her hand around the coins. He led the way into the hall, but Jenny found herself still standing in the doorway. She wanted to follow after him but her feet refused to move. It had all seemed so certain and easy when she'd left her aunt. But now that she was here, leaving for Rock Creek, she was struck by the uncertainty of it all. Ike turned to her and waited. And then she blurted out her fears. "He does want me to come, doesn't he?"

Ike set the bag down and faced her directly. His smile was soft and his hands danced in graceful movements. "More than he even knows."


The cold of the night had given way to warmth with the first sunlight of the morning, but the sun had kept climbing and the shed was once again heating up. And yet, Buck was still shivering. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he didn't even blink. He'd forgotten his thirst. No thought at all came to him, though he was awake. He still couldn't sleep, couldn't let his body relax. There was still the pain.

He had thought of Jenny during the night, and it was just another ache added to his wounds. He'd missed her. He hadn't been sure anymore what day it was but he knew he'd missed her in St. Joseph. She was gone now, gone to somewhere else. He would never know where. She would think he'd rejected her and move on to find her place in the world however she could. He might have loved her. She might have loved him. Now they'd never know.

But even Jenny was removed from him, leaving only the regret. His mind was a slave to his body now which only thought of pain and how to avoid it. Thus he stayed on his knees, occasionally shifting his weight to try and ease the muscles only to shift back to ease his injured knee. He lifted his head only to allow his breath to come a little easier within his chest. He remained careful not to move his arms or jar his shoulders. He only existed, beyond hope of any decrease in agony and only fearful of any increase in it. He sucked in another heavy breath and didn't even hear when the door screeched open.


TBC