The Ties That Bind

Author’s Note: I want to say a special "Aho" to Melanie—otherwise known as "Wind in His Braids" or "Lover of the Bald-Mute Wearing Suspenders"—for all her help in the creation and writing of this story. May all of your wildest TYR dreams come true!

"Rider Comin’!" Lou called as a cloud of dust billowed in the distance.

"Finally!" Cody ran for his horse.

"Thought you might be doomed to finish your chores today, eh Cody?" Noah smirked.

"Very funny," Cody scowled.

Teaspoon squinted down at his pocket watch. "I always thought McMasters was as slow as a two-legged turtle, but he’s exactly one hour and seventeen minutes late according to my calculations. It’s a new record—even for him."

"Wait a minute," Kid called out from over by the barn as the brown mare galloped into the station rider-less. "It’s a runaway!"

Though the horse was clearly spooked, she was even more worn out, and Kid was able to calm her down and take the reigns.

"Maybe I spoke too soon," Noah said as a dejected Cody descended from his mount.

Teaspoon stepped forward and began stroking the horse’s flanks. She was bathed in sweat. Down her left side dripped a crimson streak of blood.

"Is she hurt bad?" Lou questioned.

"This isn’t her blood," Kid replied.

"Looks like we got ourselves a bit of trouble," Teaspoon said as he turned to eye his charges.

Hickock caught the Marshall’s gaze. "You think McMasters was ambushed like Martin and Saunders?"

A heavy silence enveloped the group. Over the last ten days, two other riders had been murdered in cold blood—one near Big Sandy and the other just outside Pacific Springs. Each man’s body was found riddled with arrows and bullet holes. The mail had been stolen in both cases. Most certainly, Indians were on the attack—ready to terrorize the white men who desecrated their lands into submission.

Teaspoon hesitated a moment before he answered, "I don’t know, Jimmy. But it don’t look good."

"Them Indians is always causin’ trouble," Cody grumbled. "We ain’t hurtin’ them none. And they turn around and kill innocent men. We’re just deliverin’ the mail. Since when was that a crime?"

Noah stole a glance at Buck who stood a step behind the rest of them. His face was gray and solemn—his dark eyes, eerily calm. Noah knew from experience that that was not a good sign. It was time to diffuse the situation. "We ain’t even sure it is Indians," he said. "Heck, we can’t be sure McMasters is dead till someone finds him. He mighta just been thrown. You oughta know about that, Cody."

"I ain’t never seen a man bloody his horse like that from a fall," Cody retorted.

"All right!" Teaspoon ordered. "We ain’t got time to argue. We still got to get the mail through. And it looks like in order to do that, we need to find the mail and hopefully the man who was deliverin’ it." He eyed them all in turn. They knew what was coming.

"I’ll go look for him!" Cody volunteered.

"I don’t think so." Teaspoon’s gaze fell on Buck. "If this is Indian work, Buck’d know who mighta done it. ‘Sides, he’s the best tracker we got. Well, Buck?"

From the metallic glint in Teaspoon’s eye, Buck knew he had little choice. "All right, I’ll go."

"Teaspoon, you ain’t gonna send Buck out there alone are you?" Noah asked.

"Of course not. You’re goin’ with him." The Marshal turned to the others. "Jimmy, Kid, I want you to head out to the army’s camp outside Dry Sandy. Captain Jacobs has been expectin’ some of that mail that didn’t arrive today and we’ll have to admit there’s been a delay. And while you’re there, see if you can’t find out if they’ve had any more trouble than usual with the Natives lately. The minute any of you find anything out, come find me at the jailhouse."

"Wait a minute! What do I get to do, Teaspoon?" Cody whined. "I’m as good as Jimmy or Kid at deliverin’ a message."

Noah lifted himself gracefully onto his horse and laughed. "Seems to me like there’s plenty of manure to spread. You always been good at doin’ that!"

Buck smiled to himself as he saw Cody’s face burst like a Chinese firecracker. Noah always knew just what to say.

Buck and Noah had decided to follow the most direct route back to the last way station at South Pass, but that strategy was proving futile. After three hours of hard riding, they remained empty handed. Wherever McMasters and his horse had parted ways, it was nowhere near the most well-traveled route.

The sun began to dip in the west and Noah felt a welcome coolness rise up from the earth as evening approached. He breathed it in gladly, then glanced over at his friend. Buck sat quietly in his saddle—his dark eyes trained out somewhere beyond the horizon. Even as Noah stared at him, Buck’s face remained expressionless. They’d ridden like this for almost three hours and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. Noah liked Buck, but wasn’t always comfortable with his moods. He was especially uncomfortable with this mood in particular. When Buck fell silent for long spaces like this—obviously lost in his own grief—Noah felt powerless to help. And powerless was not a feeling he relished.

These moods had hit more frequently since Ike passed. For his part, Noah could hardly understand what kind of friendship those two had shared; one so deep and full that now, with Ike gone, Buck seemed only half alive. Ike was Buck’s best friend. Noah could only imagine how much they had gone through together in the days before he’d met them. Noah could understand the isolation that Buck must have been feeling without Ike around to stand up for him against constant social prejudice. He couldn’t help but think that now Buck was paying a heavy price for that friendship—a price no one should have to pay.

The more Noah mulled it over, the more the silence got under his skin. "Buck, you see anything that might give us a clue about this rider? Feels like we’ve been ridin’ around in circles for hours. I’m about ready to give up."

Noah hadn’t expected a reply, but was pleasantly surprised to finally hear Buck’s voice. "I think there might be something up ahead," he said.

"If there ain’t, you’re gonna owe me one for followin’ you all the way out here with no lunch!" Noah joked.

Buck eyed his partner carefully—then he smiled. "You sound just like Cody."

Noah snickered—relieved to see Buck becoming his old self again. Suddenly, he spied something out of the corner of his eye. "What do you suppose that is?"

Over to the left of them lay a relatively rocky area dotted here and there with weedy shrubs and stumpy trees. A dark lump, which Noah, in the waning light, first thought was a rock, proved to be otherwise.

The two dismounted and began probing the area. It was McMasters. His back was riddled with arrows and bullet holes. Part of his scalp was missing. Noah noticed that the mail pouch was nowhere to be found.

Buck plucked out one of the arrows and studied it carefully. He then scanned the ground with a deft eye. Noah saw him sigh in frustration as his face went white.

"It was Indians, wasn’t it?" Noah ventured.

Buck took a moment to regain some composure. "I don’t know," he said finally. "Looks like he was killed and then dumped over here. The ground’s too rocky to know how many horses there were—but I’d say no more than five." He glanced down at the bloody arrow clenched in his fist. "Looks like Kiowa—but it don’t make sense. They just signed a peace treaty."

"Its getting dark, Buck," Noah said as he felt that uncomfortable silence begin to rise up between them once more. "We better head back to town and tell Teaspoon what we found."

"You go. I want to head out to the way station at South Pass and see if the station master might be able to give us some information to work with. I’ll meet you back at the express station later." Buck tugged hard at his horse’s reigns. "I think its safe for us to split up."

Noah knew enough not to argue with Buck when he got determined to do something. He nodded in compliance, then mounted up and spurred his horse in the direction of Rock Creek.

The air was thick with tension as Noah entered town. He immediately understood why Buck had sent him back alone. Half of Rock Creek was gathered in the street in front of Teaspoon’s jail fuming with suspicion and boiling with prejudice. No surprise to Noah, Tomkins was the loudest.

"Teaspoon, we demand to know just where our mail is. I heard about what happened to those other express riders. I bet this one was murdered by Indians, too!"

"Hold yer horses, Tomkins," Teaspoon ordered. "No one knows just what happened, as yet. I’m sorry for any inconvenience caused to anyone expectin’ mail from the Pony Express, but these things do happen from time to time."

"Bein’ bushwhacked and scalped by Indians happens all right," Tomkins replied acidly. "But it is your sworn duty to protect us from those heathens! Or has that half-breed of yours made you soft?"

Teaspoon clenched his teeth. "Buck ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, Tompkins."

"I for one know that he’s part Kiowa," Tompkins shot out. "And it was the Kiowa that stole Jeb Jarrit’s horses and have been digging up half the farmland from here to Blue Creek! Stealin’ wasn’t enough for ‘em. Now, they’re out for blood!"

Teaspoon only half-heard the shopkeeper—his mind on what kind of Nirvana Rock Creek would be if that man had had his tongue cut out. But the roar of the crowd soon brought him back to his senses.

"Tomkins, if I was you, I’d shut yer trap before I jail you for inciting the town to riot." The Marshal turned to the crowd. "I want you all to disperse. Now!" With no positive response to that order forthcoming, Teaspoon casually fired his gun into the air. "Listen up! No one said any rider had been killed. We’re at this very minute findin’ out what happened, and the second I know somethin’, I will fulfill my sworn duty and tell you all. I can say right now that Rock Creek ain’t in no danger of Indian attacks. Now go about yer business—all of you!"

With that, the crowd reluctantly broke up. Thank God for Teaspoon! Noah thought as he tied up his horse. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the townsfolk grew restless again. Noah was experienced enough with that kind of hate to know the only thing that would appease it was a good hanging. He hated to think who’s neck would be chosen to fill the noose.

"Noah!" Kid burst out, bringing the rider back to his senses. "Did you find anything?"

Noah glanced around himself uneasily. "We best go into the jail to talk."

"Well?" Teaspoon demanded.

"We found him. Shot in the back with enough arrows through him to make a porcupine jealous."

Jimmy glanced past Noah and out the door. "Where’s Buck?"

"He decided to stop by the way station at South Pass before dark." Noah scanned the room cautiously. "Seems like from what’s been happening here, that’s the best decision he ever made. You all find anything helpful from the army?"

"Not particularly," Kid said as he leaned up against the jail bars. "Except that they’ve been expecting some important information about some kind of shipment coming through that’s headed for Saint Joe. If that has anything to do with these murders, it might be that we’re looking for a band of thieves. But that’s all just a guess. Captain Jacobs wasn’t real interested in talking all that much."

Noah frowned. "From what we found, it definitely looked like Indians that did it. But even Buck wasn’t sure."

Jimmy snorted incredulously. "Wasn’t sure? The man is covered with arrows and Buck, our expert scout, ain’t sure?" He paused for a moment, then ventured his own theory. "I don’t think Buck’s doin’ right by us."

"What are you sayin’, Jimmy?" Teaspoon warned.

"I ain’t sayin’ nothin’—just that we ought to watch our backs, is all. Teaspoon, you’re the one always remindin’ us how Buck’s split down the middle between two worlds. Well, that’s a dangerous place to be. Who knows which side he’s gonna choose?"

"Now Jimmy," Kid started, but his words were checked by the crack of gunfire.

"Teaspoon Hunter!" a voice cried out from the street.

Teaspoon rolled his eyes. "What now?"

"Teaspoon Aloysius Hunter, you parasite lovin’ varmint! I’m callin’ you out!"

"Ok, boys," Teaspoon warned as he eyed them each in turn. And even though he knew he was wasting his precious breath, he ordered them to stay inside the jail. "I’ll take care of this myself."

As he stepped out, the setting sun blinded his eyes for a moment. Then, he made out the silhouette of a man standing only a few paces before him in the street. As his eyes adjusted, the shadowed figure began to develop some features.

He stood tall and lean with a long face, well tanned from about forty good years of weather. His short brown hair was dusty from miles of hard travel. Teaspoon saw that though his Indian buckskins had seen their day, the color was richly mellowed with age. He wore a pair of boots that had just about given up the ghost and his hat wasn’t far behind. But around his neck hung a native treasure—a leather necklace. Bedecked with intricate beadwork, its beauty was painfully out of place with the rest of the costume. At its center lay a polished stone, which, Teaspoon thought, could have been some sort of magical jewel. It shone in the red glow of the evening like a miniature sun; its liquid hues radiated with a mix of deep golden and blood-red tones.

Teaspoon glanced up at the man’s face once more. The stranger’s chilly green eyes suddenly thawed as a smile dawned on his mouth. "Hell," he said, "when they told me at Blue Creek that the great Teaspoon Hunter was Marshalin’ out here, I could hardly believe the old dog was still kickin’. And now I have my proof. Well, I guess I can just lay down and die right here—bein’ witness to a miracle!" He laughed at the wooden expression of surprise etched into Teaspoon’s face.

A few moments passed before Teaspoon found his feet and approached the stranger, openmouthed. "Jake Michaels? Is that really you or just a sorry ghost I see before me?"

"In the flesh," he answered.

The two embraced as only old comrades in crime could. "What in hell are you doin’ out here?" Teaspoon was nearly at a loss for words, which made the riders, who had followed the Marshall outside, almost dumbstruck themselves.

"Teaspoon, who is that guy?" Jimmy asked as he finally removed his hand from his gun--realizing there was no need for concern.

Teaspoon reached out and grabbed Michaels by the shoulder, then turned proudly towards his friends. "Boys, I’d like you to meet one of my dearest friends from back in my Kansas law days—Mr. Jake Michaels."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Michaels." Kid stretched out a welcoming hand.

Michaels smiled. "Call me Jake."

Teaspoon introduced them all in turn, then faced his friend. "You still ain’t answered my question. Why are you in these parts anyways?"

"Well, after keepin’ the peace in about a dozen or so no-name towns, I finally decided to move on. I’m gonna head out to Oregon Territory and live off the land. Figured it was about time I settled down."

"Settle down!" Teaspoon laughed. "Well then, I musta mistaken you fer someone else. You can’t be the Michaels I know."

"Well, Teaspoon, at one point or another, a man’s just gotta grow up. Some of us sooner—some later."

"How long you plan on stayin’ in town?" Noah asked.

"I was figurin’ on staying a few days to load up on supplies and then take a rest while there’s still some civilization in sight. Then I’ll head out."

"By yourself?" Kid inquired, and Jake nodded. "Isn’t that a little dangerous? There’s a lot of restless Indians out there."

"Oh, I think I can get by all right," Jake answered with a certain glint in his eye that Kid couldn’t quite make out.

"Don’t you worry none about this joker," Teaspoon gushed. "Jake here’s been courtin’ death as long as I’ve ever known him and he always manages to keep it from reelin’ him in." Teaspoon glanced around him, realizing that darkness had fully set in. "Where you stayin’ while you’re in town?"

"Oh, I thought I might luxuriate and spend a night at the hotel, then camp out."

"How’s about you come to the Pony Express station with us and bunk out there?" the Marshall asked.

"If you don’t mind Jimmy’s snoring," Noah put in.

Teaspoon continued, undaunted. "Then you can learn a little more about my other occupation and meet the rest of the boys. ‘Sides, we got a lot of catching up to do." Teaspoon’s eyes were bright with anticipation at the thought of being able to tell a few good whoppers.

"If it isn’t any trouble." Jake smiled as he sized up the eager Teaspoon. The old man was as ready as ever to accept a friend with open arms. "I’d be happy to."

On to Chapter Four

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