Chapter 9
"Damn!" The expletive slipped from Teaspoons mouth as easily as his horse slid down the sodden bank. The downpour of rain had clogged the trail with sticky mud and the horses were finding the going difficult.
"You alright, Teaspoon?" Kid called over his shoulder to the older man.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just wishin' we could go a little faster, is all," he replied tetchily, as he clung to his horse's mane as it lost it's footing once more.
"At least we've managed to pick up their tracks again," Jimmy added. The heavy rain had washed away some of the prints from the horses' hooves but the tracks left after the rain had stopped were deep and clear to see in the soft mud. Unfortunately the muddy conditions also meant they couldn't go too fast either.
"It's goin' to be dark soon. We ought to stop for the night and start again at first light," Kid said reluctantly.
"Let's push on a little further." Jimmy knew it would sensible to stop but he couldn't - not just yet. Every minute they weren't on the move meant the longer it would take to catch up to Brody and Buck and, from what Teaspoon had said, it meant the chances of Buck surviving decreased.
The other two men exchanged a look but nodded their consent and followed on behind as Jimmy forged ahead. They managed to keep going for another hour or so until the light faded and the tracks disappeared in the gloom.
It was a glum group, which made camp that damp night, the weather not helping their disconsolate mood. They ate a meagre supper before slumping into their bedrolls and after a few mumbled words settled down for the night.
Although they lay in their respective beds none of them actually slept.
Kid lay on his side and stared off into the night, thinking how he would break the news to Lou if anything did happen to Buck. Since his return to Rock Creek, Buck had become very much a part of their little family, helping them out, to set up their homestead. Whenever he and Lou had a falling out, Buck was always there for them both, mediating, being a calming voice of reason. Kid closed his eyes tightly and said a silent prayer.
The feeling of responsibility for the present situation gnawed away at Jimmy, wrapping itself about his gut, tightening its grip with every hour that passed without them having found Buck. He knew he wasn't really to blame but the thought he had led Brody straight to his friend bothered him greatly. When he thought of how he had tied Buck's hands and the look of alarm in his face as he had done so, Jimmy felt almost physically sick. There was no way he was going to let Brody get away with this and he vowed he would hunt him down, whatever the outcome. Pulling his blanket over his head Jimmy tried to shut out the feelings of hostility and rage, which threatened to over whelm him.
Teaspoon wrapped his arms about his chest, determined to ignore the hard ground, digging into him, aggravating his old bones. He was prepared to put up with a little discomfort if it meant finding Buck, and lord knows that boy was probably suffering a whole lot more. He thought back to the first day he had met the young Kiowa. The boy had stood tall and proud, looking him directly in the eye. At first his defensive attitude had irked the stationmaster, who had promptly referred to his half blood status. The boy had responded defiantly, daring Teaspoon to comment further. He had shown his spirit and backbone in those first moments and Teaspoon had known then that this was the type of rider that was needed by the Express. His knowledge of the tribes and his ability on the horse had also helped and Teaspoon had seen the humour in the boy's eyes when he had shown him the arrow he had made and he had liked the boy from the first off.
Over time his respect for Buck had grown further. The way he handled himself with dignity and composure, even in the most conflicting of times and his loyalty to his fellow riders. Of all his boys – and girl – Buck seemed to be the one who was the most independent but, at the same time, needed Teaspoon's support the most, making the older man feel real fatherly towards the boy.
After Ike's death he had seen a change in him and he watched him grow into an even more serious young man. The only way he could think to describe it was Buck had lost his inner light, his mood had darkened, bringing him to the brink and making him act uncharacteristically. That fateful morning, when Teaspoon had heard the shot and walked out of the jail to find Neville lying in the dust, he was stunned to see Buck standing there, with the gun in his hand. Although he had realised how distressed Buck had been about Ike being shot he had never thought that this particular rider would dole out retribution in such a blatant form. Buck's form of vengeance usually was more discreet, if forceful, he reflected, as he remembered what had happened to the two men who had covered the boy in paint and feathers. They weren't likely to forget the sort of revenge an Indian could dispense in a hurry.
Teaspoon shifted position, until he lay on his back, staring up at the moon, which peeped from behind a billowing cloud, illuminated in the night sky. He had been immensely proud of the way in which Buck had borne the indignity of that whole episode, from the humiliation of the incident with the feathers, to the way he had been treated by Devlin's daughter. Over time the boy had learnt to lock the hurt away deep inside and hide his true feelings from the others but there where times when Teaspoon caught him off guard and witnessed Buck's inner frustrations at the hand life had dealt him.
Now he was reproaching himself for scolding Buck so harshly, after he had shot Neville, wishing with all his might that his words hadn't been so accurate, predicting Buck would one day pay for what he had done. He was certainly paying now, with interest.
With a deep sigh he closed his eyes and hoped that the next day they would find Buck, hopefully alive. He would not lose another one of his children.
It was the coughing that woke Buck. The cold dampness of the night had worked its way into his body, wrapping itself about his chest and this, coupled with having his arms pulled above his head, made breathing difficult, especially when he finally slumped into sleep, his head falling forward, restricting his breathing further.
His dry throat constricted, causing the irritation that eventually manifested as a husky cough. The action jerked his arms, extending and almost pulling them from their sockets. With considerable effort he lifted his head and squinted through half closed eyes. The sun was almost up, the fire had died down, to little more than charred sticks and soft snoring could be heard from the dark form on the ground, which he presumed was Brody.
His arms had taken most of his body weight throughout the night and he tried to ground his feet to relieve his aching limbs. The effort made him release an involuntary groan and a prolonged bout of coughing, which was enough to wake Brody, who immediately reached for his gun. The bounty hunter was instantly alert but relaxed when he realised his captive had been the source of the noise.
Brody crawled from beneath his blanket and stretched, opening his mouth in a wide yawn and rubbing his face with his hands. Next he set about rekindling the fire and after a few minutes had got it burning again and began to make a pot of coffee. Next he packed up his bedroll and went to saddle the horses.
Buck listened to the activity in the camp but felt too tired to be bothered to lift his head, just about managing to support his body with his weakened legs and bound arms, giving way to intermittent bouts of coughing. Suddenly he felt the strain on his arms lessen and realised Brody had unhitched the rope from the rock, holding them up. He tried to stand but found himself sinking to the ground and sat down. It took him a few moments to get his head to stop spinning.
"Here,' he heard Brody say and lifted his head a fraction as he felt something warm in his hands. It took him a few more minutes for it to register that the bounty hunter had placed a cup of coffee between his tied hands. Tentatively he lifted the cup to his lips and took a small sip. Coffee had never tasted so good and it didn't take him long to drain the contents of the cup. As he was tipping the last drops into his mouth the cup was snatched away.
"That ought'a keep you goin' long enough. Should be in Omaha this afternoon," Brody said as he loosened the knot on the rope around Buck's wrists and released his hands. There was very little feeling in his fingers and all Buck could do was sit with his hands lying limply in his lap. Brody wasted little time in taking a length of rawhide from his pocket and re-tying his hands together although Buck was relieved that he was allowed to have them in front. He didn't think he could cope with another day in the saddle with them tied behind his back.
"Time to get movin', injun." Brody stood up and waited for Buck to get to his feet. As he tried to push himself up onto his feet, his legs trembled and refused to co-operate. He tried again but still couldn't stand and collapsed back to the ground and started to cough again. Eventually Brody lost patience and dragged Buck to his feet and led him over to his horse. Grasping the horn of the saddle with both hands Buck managed to scramble up onto the horse but it left him feeling totally drained. As they rode out it was all he could do to hold firmly on to the horn to stop himself from falling off.
Brody set a relentless pace, keen to press on to get to their destination by the end of the day. Buck clung to the saddle so tightly his knuckles turned white. The coffee had only gone part way to reviving him and he was beginning to really feel the lack of food over the two days. His head swam and his vision blurred but Brody seemed oblivious, hardly bothering to even look at him. It occurred to Buck that he might possibly be able to simply slip from the horse and try to make a run for it but knew this was an unrealistic proposition.
As the day passed, the landscape changed, flattening out and, having ridden this route on a run for the Express, Buck knew they were getting closer to Omaha with only about two or three hours riding before they reached the town. By now he'd given up hope of Jimmy finding him and truth be told he had come to terms with the fact that this was probably the last day of his life. He had no doubt that Neville Senior planned to dispose of him as quickly as possible, to avoid any intervention.
As he was slumping into dejected despondency, Brody brought the horses to a halt and dismounted. Bending over he picked up his mount's foreleg and began to examine the hoof. It was then that Buck thought he heard it – the cry of an eagle and a voice calling to him. At first he thought it was someone calling his given Kiowa name but the first syllable became dominant. The voice was telling him to run.
Stirring himself, Buck lifted his head. Brody was leaning right over, his back to Buck and he had let go of the reins to both horses. Within a split second Buck saw his chance and took it. Kicking his horse sharply in the ribs he urged it forward as fast as it would run. Without looking back and letting the horse pick its route, he gripped the horse's mane with both his bound hands. Lying low over its neck, as Teaspoon had taught all the riders to do to avoid bullets, he let the horse have its head. He had no idea where they were headed but just wanted to put as much distance between himself and Brody and then he would work out what to do next.
Even in his exhausted state, Buck sat the horse with an effortless grace, following its movements and putting his trust in its judgement. All of a sudden he heard the crack of a rifle shot but was relieved not to feel the smart of a bullet ripping into his flesh. The relief was short lived as he felt himself flying through the air and then land with a forceful jolt, knocking the wind from his body. Not quite sure what had happened, he lay on the ground in a dazed state, trying to get his bearings. He could hear his horse snorting, close by and became aware that it was thrashing its legs, as it struggled to stand.
The sound of hoof beats announced the bounty hunter's arrival on the scene. Buck struggled to sit up but Brody, who had quickly sprung to the ground, placed a well-aimed boot in his side.
"Lay down, injun," he growled, his infuriation evident in his tone. With little other option than to oblige, Buck curled on the ground and watched the man draw his gun. He winced as Brody raised the weapon and checked the barrel. Clicking it closed, Brody glared at Buck and then turned, aimed the barrel at the stricken horse and pulled the trigger. After the deafening blast the horse stilled and lay motionless and Brody slipped his gun back into its holster.
"Now, why'd you go do a fool thing like that, injun, when we were gettin' along so well, huh?" Brody stood, hands on hips, head down as he spoke to Buck, who lay at his feet. "Didn't leave much choice but to shoot your horse, runnin' off like that. Now, how'd you think we're gonna make it to Omaha before sundown with only one horse between us?"
Hauling Buck to his feet, Brody gave him a surreptitious one over and, seeing that the boy wasn't badly injured from the fall, made a decision. "Guess you're just gonna have to walk the rest of the way, injun," he said, turning back to his horse and unhooking the lariat from his saddle. Pulling the loop open, he slipped it over Buck's head and down his arms, pinning them to his sides. "Now, I suggest you try and stay on your feet or it's gonna be a long, rough journey."
Knowing it was pointless to protest, Buck accepted his fate wordlessly and prepared himself for the latest ordeal. Brody remounted his horse, wrapped the rope about his saddle horn and kicked his horse into a trot. Buck grabbed the rope as it tightened, to stop himself from being pulled over and let the momentum of the horse drag him along, as he tried to keep up. He did not want a repeat of what had happened the day he had been lassoed by those men employed by Kathleen Devlin's father. He never wanted to be humiliated like that ever again and he was determined to stay on his feet. There was no denying the truth of Brody's words – this was going to be a long and demanding trip and something more permanent than tar and feathers would be waiting for him at the journey's end.