The Young Riders
The Journey
By Gabrielle Lawson
Chapter Seven
Buck's leather coat had taken quite a bit of work to cut away, but the shirt underneath was easier. Lou hadn't wanted to cut his vest. Buck had always worn it. It wouldn't be as easily replaced as a coat or a shirt. So they had compromised, cutting at the seams on the shoulders so that it could be laid open and slipped in one piece from beneath him and resewn later. Once the shirt and undershirt beneath had been removed, the full extent of Buck's wounds had become apparent.
One of his shoulders lay wrong on the bed, probably dislocated. An ugly hole, black in the dim light of the fire, oozed blood onto the blanket below him. The other arm was a mess. White bone poked through torn, bloody skin at his wrist. His chest and side were bruised down past his waist. His face, likewise, was bruised. His eyes were swollen so that they could barely open, but still he never closed them longer than to blink. He bled from several cuts and a split lip.
Every movement had caused Buck to react in pain. He twitched, tossed his head, groaned, but could not say anything coherent. And each movement Buck made, each sound, caused Teaspoon's stomach to turn. But he knew Buck would die for certain if they didn't clean and bandage his wounds. While they had worked, Lou had told him what had happened, about the plan to bring Jenny Tompkins to Rock Creek, about the stream, and about the shed. Buck had been in the shed for two, maybe three, days. The temperature would fluctuate from intense heat during the day to cold at night. And all that with no evidence of water for Buck to drink. Lou also didn't think he'd had a chance to sleep in all that time, tied up the way he was. There were dangers beyond his visible wounds, and Teaspoon didn't know what to do about those.
As the night wore on, Teaspoon had told Lou to bring in the other light bed and then ordered her to sleep. Buck still did not rest, though they had finished what ministrations they could offer. He lay shivering under a worn blanket and the thick quilt Kid had brought to the shed. The soft light of the candles Lou had lit reflected in Buck's half-open eyes that slowly closed only to be forced open again. Teaspoon tried telling Buck that he could sleep now, but Buck never seemed to hear him.
Teaspoon didn't think he could rest either, seeing Buck like this, knowing the boy could die in the night before the doctor ever came. He sat close and held Buck's right hand gently in his own. His hand was cold, so Teaspoon kept it covered, putting his own hand under the blanket. Buck's hand tensed and clutched his in return, but the grip was weak and Teaspoon could pull free easily if he wanted. Every few minutes, he dabbed a cloth in cold water and wrang the drops out over Buck's lips. It was the only way they had managed yet to get water in him.
Teaspoon didn't often sing, but he sang now. Softly, so as not to wake Lou, he sang a song his first Indian wife had taught him. It was a child's song, and Teaspoon had never really learned what the words meant. But it had a comforting sound, like a lullaby.
While he sang, Teaspoon's mind tried to make sense of what had happened. And it was all too easy. The man's family had been killed by Indians. Buck was an Indian. It all came down to blind hate and falsely-placed blame. Teaspoon had seen it too often. Whether it was White against Indian or White against Black. Noah had been killed for the same reasons, though less directly. Hate and bigotry. So simple. So wrong.
The morning sun was just beginning to peak through the curtains when Teaspoon heard the sound of hooves approaching. Lou heard, too, and sat up from her bed. She looked first to Buck, stiffening until she saw him move and knew he had survived the night. Then she got up and went to the door. Kid had returned.
Ike had left her in the morning. He signed to her that he had other business to attend to, but that Rock Creek was only an hour's ride to the west. Jenny was sad to see him go, but he assured her she'd be safe. She thanked him and set out, arriving at the edges of town one hour later, just as he had said. She slowed her horse to a walk as she rode through town. Her stomach began to fill with butterflies. She was anxious to see Buck again, to see if this could work. But the doubts had snuck up on her as she neared the town. What if he didn't love her? What if she didn't love him? They really didn't know each other at all. What would her father say? Why did he have to be in the same town anyway?
She was past his store right then. He was just changing the sign on the front door. She watched him for a moment, remembering her anger, but also the letters he'd written since she'd left. She didn't hate him anymore. He looked up and she turned her head so he might not see her. She wanted to see Buck first. Her father would only ask what had brought her here, and she didn't have an answer until she saw Buck.
The station, Ike had told her, was at the far end of town. She rode on until she reached it and then tied her horse to the post out front. No one was around outside, but it was still early, so she wasn't surprised. She lifted her small bag and walked up the steps. She remembered the other station house, staying there with her mother and Two Ponies and wanting only to leave.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. She didn't expect it to open as quickly as it did. Rachel looked older than when Jenny had last seen her. Her face was drawn and her hair was only loosely put up. Jenny worried at first that she had come too early and had gotten Rachel out of bed, but Rachel stood dressed before her.
"Jenny Tompkins?" she asked, her eyes widening with surprise. Jenny saw then that they were red as if she'd been crying.
Jenny tried to smile but the butterflies in her stomach had picked up their pace. Rachel hadn't know she was coming! Maybe Buck hadn't told anyone. Maybe he hadn't gotten her letter at all. No, Ike had said differently. But he hadn't said that anyone else knew. "Hello," she finally said. But then she couldn't think of anything else.
"Are you visiting your father?" Rachel asked, stepping back out of the doorway. "Oh forgive me. Please, come in. I'm a bit out of sorts right now." She held out her hand, waiting for Jenny to follow.
"It's early," Jenny apologized, stepping inside. "I'm sorry. I came to see Buck."
Rachel froze, her hand outstretched. Her skin paled and Jenny worried she'd faint. "Oh," was all she managed to say.
Jenny was beginning to feel sick. She had thought the white people might have some difficulty with what she had proposed to Buck, but she hadn't expected this haunted shock that now adorned Rachel's countenance. She tried to explain. "I realize, this isn't the way—"
"He's not here," Rachel said, dropping her hand, but looking even more concerned than before. "I'm sorry. It's just . . . he's been hurt."
Jenny felt her own knees become weak. Her bag was suddenly much too heavy to hold and it slipped from her fingers. "Hurt? Where?"
"He was going to St. Joseph. I'm not sure why."
Jenny was no different than the bag, heavy and slipping down to the floor. Rachel reached out and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her to a chair. "St. Joseph?" she breathed.
Rachel nodded and placed a cup of warm tea in Jenny's hands. "Kid came rushing through here late last night to get some supplies and the doctor. He didn't know why Buck was going to St. Joseph. He hadn't had a chance to ask Lou."
"Me," Jenny told her. She couldn't look at the older woman though. She stared instead at the dark brown liquid in her cup. "He was coming to meet me. What happened?"
"I don't know," Rachel replied. She lifted the cup to Jenny's lips. "But it isn't your fault. He wanted to go. He and Lou had worked out a plan from what I can tell. She took his ride so he could go."
"Is it bad?" Jenny asked, hoping it was nothing more than a throw from a horse.
Rachel only nodded, and now that Jenny looked up, she could see the tears. Rachel had been crying all night.
Buck allowed himself a few seconds to rest his eyes when he heard the door close. But only his eyes, for no other part of his body could rest. His arms, hitched behind him as they were, had ceased to be useful appendages and had become, instead, agonizing restraints to the rest of his body. His legs below his knees had gone numb so that he hardly remembered he'd ever had feet. His knees were not meant to carry his weight for so long, and one of them burned no matter how cold the dark air around him became. Each breath he took was a renewed pain. He pulled his eyes open again when the pain in his arm flared.
There was a voice in the thunder that shook the walls. "Thought I'd left, didn't ya?"
The breath Buck had just taken froze in his chest. He couldn't look at the man. He couldn't lift his head. He felt the blow, though, and tasted the blood that ran from his mouth.
"That's what you get for sleepin'."
The blows kept coming, raining down in lightning flashes on his shoulders, his stomach, his face. Buck listened hard past the storm for the voice he'd heard before, but he couldn't find it.
"Can you give him something?" Kid asked, standing well back from the bed and the doctor who stood next to it. "He can't sleep."
"Or he won't," the doctor replied, touching Buck's forehead one more time. Buck flinched at the touch. "He's not conscious, not strictly speaking. But he won't sleep. He's forcing himself to stay awake."
"The shed," Lou said in a voice so quiet it was hardly more than a mumble. "The way he was tied, he couldn't sleep, not without hurting himself."
Teaspoon didn't like that Buck was in pain or that he couldn't rest, but he was more concerned with just one thing. "Will he live?"
Lou turned around toward the fireplace, but the doctor met Teaspoon's gaze. "I don't know. I'm honestly surprised he's lived this long. The bullet hit his shoulder, went right through. But it's been untreated for days. He's broken most of the ribs on his left side, possibly damaging the organs underneath them. He's dehydrated. The heat alone could have killed him. Or thirst."
"Can't you make him sleep?" Kid asked again, but quieter. "So at least he won't be in pain?"
"Not if you want him to have any chance at all," the doctor said. "He's dying, Kid. The only way he will live is if he wants to survive. He's fought this long, hasn't he? But his condition is far too precarious for anything I've got with me."
"Then let's take him back to Rock Creek."
Teaspoon put his hand on Kid's shoulder. "No. We're not moving him again. He's in enough pain now."
The doctor packed his things. "I've done what I can for him," he said. And Teaspoon knew that was true. Buck's left wrist had even been set and splinted. Buck had screamed at that and fought enough that Teaspoon and Kid had to hold him down. But still his eyes popped open again when it was finished.
"And so have you," the doctor continued. "Keep him warm and keep trying to get him to drink something, water or soup. Talk to him." He laid his hand on Teaspoon's shoulder. "Maybe he'll come out of it."
The horse was gone. The one she'd ridden in on and tied near the house. There weren't even any tracks near the post. Not that she cared really. Jenny had bigger worries. She worried for herself after coming all this way. Would she have to go to her father? She had no more money, no skills to benefit her in the white world.
But even more than that she was worried for Buck. Rachel didn't know where he was except that he was on his way to St. Joe. On his way to get her. Whatever had happened was because of her. She had sent the letter. He hadn't asked her to come. She asked him to take her.
"How did you get here?" Rachel asked quietly behind her.
They'd already talked about the letter. Rachel hadn't blamed her; Jenny managed that on her own.
When Jenny didn't answer, Rachel stepped up beside her and leaned on the porch rail. "I mean, how did you know to come if he wasn't there."
"Ike," Jenny said. More than he even knows, she remembered him saying. "He said Buck wanted to come but he was held—" She stopped. If Ike knew Buck was in trouble, why hadn't he helped him? It didn't make sense.
Rachel turned to her, looking paler even then before. "Who?"
"Ike," Jenny repeated, though now she felt a little uneasy herself.
"No," Rachel said, shaking her head, "it couldn't have been Ike. It must have been someone else." She turned away and dropped into a rocking chair by the door.
Jenny turned toward her. "Why?" Ike was rather distinct, given his baldness and the sign language. Who else could it have been?
"Ike's dead," Rachel told her, though she didn't look up at Jenny. "He was shot. Months ago."
Jenny felt her knees go weak for the second time that day. She found the other chair and let herself down into it slowly. Ike was dead, but it was Ike who had brought her from St. Joe. It could not have been anyone else, and yet it could not have been Ike. She looked again to where the horse had been tied, and the horse was just as impossible as Ike was. She had never before seen a spirit herself, though she had heard her father—her Lakota father—talk about them. But it was the only explanation that made sense. Ike was a spirit, a ghost.
"Why did this happen, Teaspoon?" Kid asked. Lou had reluctantly ridden back with the doctor. Kid had his hat in his hands, and he bunched up the brim with his fingers. He faced the floor so he wouldn't have to see Buck.
Teaspoon wanted to look away, too. Whatever Buck was seeing and hearing must have been frightful. Buck's eyes weren't even trying to close anymore. He writhed under the blankets and cried out in words so quiet Teaspoon had given up trying to make them out. He felt helpless. He couldn't ease Buck's suffering; he couldn't comfort his fears.
"He's Indian," Teaspoon finally said in answer. "That's all that man needed to know."
Kid shook his head. "He had to have some kind of reason. He tortured Buck."
Teaspoon took a deep breath. He hated to hear that word, especially when it applied to one of his boys. "Do you think Buck deserved this?" he asked quietly as he caught Kid's eye.
Kid was quick to respond. "No! It's just-"
"There're four fresh graves out back. His family. Indians killed 'em."
"Buck didn't," Kid said. "He couldn't. He wouldn't."
Teaspoon shook his head. Kid sometimes seemed the youngest of all the riders because of his innocent trust in the goodness of life. There were times when Teaspoon appreciated that, and times when it was exasperatingly naive. "I'm sure he told Mr. Lathrop that at some point." The man had a name now. The doctor had supplied it, saying he'd been out here to treat the little girl the year before. "I don't think Lathrop cared if Buck did it or not. Indians did it and Buck's Indian."
"That's not right," Kid sighed.
"There ain't nothing right about it," Teaspoon agreed.
"What was he doing coming this way?" Kid asked. "He had a ride. Lou-"
"Kid," Teaspoon said, holding up a hand to stop him. "They decided this together. Lou offered to take the ride. It's nothing she ain't done before. She thought Buck had a right to maybe find someone he could be happy with. This is Jenny Tompkins we're talking about—Eagle Feather—not some mail order bride."
Teaspoon might have thought it odd if Jimmy or Cody had decided such a thing. But Indian ways were different, and Buck was disadvantaged in the game of romance in the white world. It hadn't escaped Teaspoon's attention that Buck rarely danced at the town functions. Lou and Rachel were his only regular dance partners. So Teaspoon felt that Jenny returning might be a good thing for Buck. He wouldn't have looked askance at it, had all gone well. Things hadn't gone well, but he wasn't going to let Kid lay blame on anyone but Lathrop.
"I'm just—" Kid tried again. "He could die."
Teaspoon sat beside him and placed a hand on Kid's shoulder. "He could live," he said. "That's what you gotta hold onto. He could live, and he'll need our help. He'll be a long time healing. But he can do it, if he doesn't give up. So we gotta not give up on him."
Kid still didn't look up. He shook his head. "You didn't see it, Teaspoon. The way his own tribe treated him. He got that for being white. He gets the same for being Indian, and he don't deserve none of it. Maybe it'd be better—maybe he'd be better off—"
He didn't finish that sentence, and Teaspoon was glad for it. No one was better off dead. "I don't believe that, Kid, and I don't think you really do either."
Lou was tired from the ride even though she had gotten to sleep the night before. And she knew it was not sleep she wanted, but rest. She was drained and wanted nothing as much as to know that Buck would be well.
"Louise?"
Lou leaned against the horse and took a deep breath, wishing again that she had stayed behind at the house. But Kid had been up all night bringing the doctor, and he deserved the chance to sleep as she had. Teaspoon was not about to leave, so it fell to Lou to escort the doctor. And to bring the news back to Rachel.
She finished with the saddle and turned to face the older woman. But it wasn't just one woman she faced. Jenny Tompkins stood behind Rachel just inside the barn doors. "Eagle Feather!"
Jenny moved forward. "How is he?"
Lou was still lost in the shock. "You're here." Buck had not made it to St. Joe. How had she known to come?
"Louise," Rachel said again, her voice stern but strained from the worry that Lou could now see in her eyes. "How is Buck?"
TBC
