By Mary
Copyright 2000
The sun rose up above them-rushing like a bloody river-as the riders entered Rattlesnake Canyon.
“I hate mornin’ runs,” Cody muttered as his eyelids drooped, still heavy with sleep.
“Stop your complainin’,” Hickock mumbled.
“I ain’t complainin’. I’s just statin’ a fact, is all.” He twisted around in his saddle and glared at Hickock. “I got a right to say the truth, Jimmy.” Then he turned back around and sighed. “Man, I wish I was Buck right now. He’s the only one of us smart enough ta get outta town before bein’ suckered into this job. I bet he’s still sleepin’ like a baby.”
“Least he ain’t actin’ like one,” Noah put in.
“All right, you boys stop yer jawin’,” Teaspoon ordered.
Hickock glanced over at the Marshal. “Where is Buck, anyway?” he asked-a twinge of suspicion in his voice.
“I don’t know,” Teaspoon answered flatly-hoping the subject would be dropped. He still wasn’t quite ready to accept Buck back into his good graces after his exhibition in front of Jake the day before.
“Teaspoon!” Jake called from his position out in front of the pack. Jake slowed his pace and motioned for the Marshal to ride forward.
“What is it?” Teaspoon asked as he maneuvered his horse next to his friend’s.
“Oh, just feelin’ a little lonesome up here,” Jake smiled. “Told you goin’ through the canyon was a good move. Its so safe, I’m getting bored ridin’ point.”
“Yeah, well, I’d rather be bored than fightin’ off an Indian attack,” Teaspoon admitted.
Jake swallowed hard as his heart began to race. He felt the energy rise up within him-shooting electrically through every bone in his body. He began to sweat with anticipation as the blood pounded in his ears. He rested his gaze on the Marshal-his eyes glittering with an excitement he could barely contain. “You know, Teaspoon,” he began, “you’re a real good man.”
Teaspoon looked at his friend closely. He recognized that glint in Jake’s eye. A sudden uneasiness crept through his body-warning him to be cautious.
“What I mean is,” Jake continued, “there ain’t many like you who’d stand up and risk his life for his friends like you’re doin’ for these riders here. Takes a special man, Teaspoon-a real special man.” He glanced off into the bushes that lay silently along the trail. It was time. He turned to the Marshal once again. His green eyes turned to ice as a shallow smile twitched along one corner of his mouth. He touched the brim of his hat. “I’m gonna miss you.”
Teaspoon’s gut wrenched, then shot up into his throat. His blood ran cold as Jake spun his horse around and drew his gun. The Marshal’s brain went numb as Jake’s men emerged from the brush-guns blazing.
Suddenly, Teaspoon found his voice. “Take cover! It’s a trap!” he yelled, then slapped Jake’s horse hard before he dismounted and ran behind a rock. The slap spooked the horse-throwing Jake to the ground. But it wasn’t long before Jake was on his feet-laughing as the bullets ripped through the sky.
The riders scrambled for cover. Hickock drew his gun-shooting frantically at anything that moved. He spied a fallen log and lunged for it-only to be greeted by one of Jake’s men who’d been hiding there waiting for just that moment.
“Time to die, friend,” the man sneered. A crack rang through Hickock’s ears. The attacker’s eyes grew wide-staring into nothingness-as he crumpled to the ground.
“Not today,” Cody answered from behind his smoking six-shooter. “You owe me one, Jimmy,” he called as he ran out onto the trail-his gun aimed squarely at Jake’s head. But a sudden searing pain in his leg overpowered him and he fell to the ground-the blood already seeping through his pants.
“Cody!” Noah cried as he ran for his friend and dragged him into the brush.
“It ain’t that bad,” Cody whispered as his face creased with pain.
Hickock, who’s attention had been diverted to the wounded rider, was suddenly grazed by a bullet in the shoulder. He fell behind the nearby log, trying desperately to aim his gun at his assailant, as the blood burned through his skin.
“Lou!” Kid’s voice rang out from amidst the gunfire.
“Stop your shooting, boys!” Jake ordered and his men immediately halted their attack. “You express riders can throw down your guns!” Jake cried as he forced Lou’s back closer to his chest. “Throw ‘em down now or this one dies!”
“Do what he says!” Teaspoon called from his hiding place.
Reluctantly, they all complied, knowing that they were outnumbered.
“Good,” Jake grinned. A giddy rush of excitement trembled up into his mouth and he laughed. “Now you can give me what I want. Hand over the message-and maybe I’ll let him go.”
“Michaels,” Teaspoon cried out, “let Lou go now, and we’ll give you whatever you want.”
Michaels smiled in the direction of his old friend’s voice. The riders were going to die
anyway-why not have some fun, first? “Fine, Teaspoon. Come out and I’ll let him go.”
The Marshal emerged from behind a rock and slowly stepped out onto the main trail until hie stood only a few feet before Jake and Lou.
“Now let him go,” Teaspoon ordered.
“OK,” Jake answered simply and threw Lou off of him. She hit the ground with a thud.
“Why are you doin’ all this, Jake?” Teaspoon asked trying not to allow the devastation that smoldered in his heart rise up into his voice.
“Why not?” Jake replied smartly. Then his face turned to stone as slowly, he raised his gun-aiming with cold precision at the Marshal’s head. “On your knees, old man. Now!”
Teaspoon felt his legs give out from under him as he fell to the ground. He threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender-hoping this was all just a horrible dream-but knowing full well it wasn’t. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth-preparing himself for what he was sure was coming next.
Suddenly, a sharp cry echoed through the canyon-then another and another-until a chorus of voices sliced through the sky. Teaspoon’s eyes shot open to discover a Kiowa war party bounding into the canyon. There were at least twenty men; their painted faces accentuated the fearlessness that surrounded each of them like an impenetrable shield as they raced in at full speed.
Jake froze in the commotion, but his men kicked up into a terrified retreat as the Natives took aim. One by one, they shot at the outlaws with pitiless accuracy.
“Great!” Hickock yelled. “Ambushed by outlaws then slaughtered by Indians!” He ran for his gun.
“Jimmy, wait!” Kid called. Through the chaos, he noticed a familiar face. “I don’t think they’re out to kill us.”
“What the hell are you thinkin’?!” Hickock screamed.
“Look!” Kid pointed in the direction of two warriors riding slowly into the canyon side by side. One of the two, who’s hair was braided and wrapped in otter fur, called out to the Kiowa men. To everyone’s surprise, the Indians halted their attack. The two warriors then headed straight to Jake who had been purposely left unscathed by the Kiowa. The Kiowa with the braided hair slowed his horse to a stop near the trail, but the other one continued forward.
Hickock took a good look at the young warrior. He was dressed only in a pair of buckskin trousers. A string of red suns had been painted down one of his pant legs. Hickock noticed the blade of a knife sticking out of his waistband, glinting in the sunlight. The warrior’s feet were bare. Two eagle feathers dangled from a thin braid in his long dark hair. The feathers flew back in a fresh breeze that began to waft through the canyon. Hickock’s mouth dropped open as he gazed upon the warrior’s face. It was truly a sight to behold-covered with war paint in a pattern Hickock had never seen before. From one edge of his jaw to the other and all across his lips was a thick stripe of black paint. Above that, from cheek bone to cheek bone and over his nose, lay a band of deep blue. His eyes and temples were encased in a blaze of red, and just above his eyebrows was drawn a thin stripe of bright yellow. He looked, to Hickock, like the horizon itself-rising up from darkness into the full light of day. Even thus transformed, Hickock knew immediately who it was that had come to save them.
The warrior’s eyes were focused on only one person. “Kills With A Gun!” he cried out in Kiowa.
A stunned Michaels spun around to the sound of his name. The bright mid-morning sun pierced his eyes as he struggled to see the warrior’s face. Jake’s breath smothered itself in his throat. The rising sun lit up the young Kiowa from behind until he appeared to glow-pulsating with powerful medicine.
“It is time,” the warrior said in Kiowa. Then he dismounted. He removed the knife from his waistband and approached the outlaw.
A shaken Teaspoon found his way to his feet and finally put two and two together. “Buck?”
But the Kiowa did not respond. His dark eyes dug deep into his father’s face.
Jake sought desperately for words that might buy him some time. “Running Buck?” he answered in Kiowa as he tried to smile. “You wouldn’t kill your own father, would you?”
“My father is dead,” Buck replied coldly in Kiowa. “He died the day my mother was shot in the back-the day a man named Jake Michaels raped my people’s spirit for fifty dollars. I am here to avenge the deaths of my mother and my Kiowa brothers. I am here to bring a murderer to justice.”
Jake’s hands shook. He tried to raise his gun-which he suddenly realized he still gripped in his hand.
“I wouldn’t try that if I was you,” Teaspoon warned as he cocked his own gun.
“Drop it,” Kid said, appearing at the Marshal’s side.
Jake’s mouth quivered as the nausea tumbled in his stomach. This wasn’t fun anymore.
“OK, Buck. We’ve got him,” Teaspoon said slowly. “Put the knife away.”
Buck’s eyes fell to Jake’s necklace. The golden stone shone brightly-calling to its rightful owner. Buck approached Jake. He raised his knife to Michaels’ neck. Jake felt the cold steel rest patiently against his throat.
“Buck, don’t!” Kid cried out.
Buck moved in closer, pressing the knife mercilessly along Jake’s windpipe. Buck’s face was only inches away from his father’s. He looked deep into those green eyes he had loved as a child-those green eyes that now stared back at him without love-without life. “You will die,” Buck whispered from between clenched teeth.
Jake gasped as Buck jerked at the necklace. The knife sliced through the air as he cut through the leather strap and the necklace fell into his grip. “You will die,” he repeated, “but not by my hand.”
Buck raised his eyes past Michaels and let them rest on the Marshal who stood only steps behind the two. “This is the man who killed those express riders,” he said.
“You can’t prove that!” Jake shot out.
“Oh, I think we can,” Lou called out from the brush nearby. “This one’s still alive!” With Lou’s help, a wounded Jarvis sat up and glared at his former leader. If he was going to hang, he’d make sure Jake went down with him.
Teaspoon moved in behind Michaels and began tying him up. “Game’s over, Michaels,” he said. “Looks like you dealt yerself a loosin’ hand.”
Teaspoon glanced up into the sky and sighed. The afternoon sun glared down through an unending field of blue, covering the Earth in a shimmering hot haze. The Marshal removed his hat and wiped his forehead as he looked out into the street. The townsfolk were beginning to gather. Children bounded through the town, weaving through the spectators, as friends and neighbors greeted one another-exchanging the day’s news as they waited for the event to begin.
Teaspoon shook his head in disgust as a sick sensation rose up into his throat. You’d think the circus was comin’ to town the way they’re actin’, he thought bitterly. Teaspoon gritted his teeth hard. He’d witnessed many a hanging in his day, but never before had he been assailed by the emotions that attacked him now.
His head knew it was right that Jake should pay for his crimes. But his old heart still clung desperately to the belief that, underneath it all, Jake Michaels was a good man. He’d just gone astray-as did so many men living in the untamed West. If he were given just a little more time, Jake would come to his senses and change his ways.
Oh, who was he kidding? Jake Michaels was out to please only one man-himself. He was a con-artist, a thief and a cold-blooded killer-plain and simple. Teaspoon kicked at the ground absent-mindedly. He knew well enough that Jake would never have ‘come to his senses,’ because he never had any to begin with. He was a man born without sense-without conscience.
The Marshal took a deep breath as a hot wave of shame crashed over him. He could
hardly admit to himself that he’d been duped by Michaels. He had actually allowed himself to believe that lair-against his better judgement-even to the point of endangering the lives of the boys he called his family. He had prided himself in his ability to teach those boys about the ways of the world. He even fancied himself something of a father figure to the unlikely group of orphans. But now, as he finally allowed himself to recognize how he’d been betrayed, he began to wonder if he had the right to lecture his riders about life. He had so much to learn, himself.
A hand rested gently on his shoulder, rousing the Marshal from his contemplation. He turned around to discover Buck standing before him.
“Are you all right?” Buck asked quietly.
Teaspoon took a good look at the young man. Of all people, Buck had the most right to feel hurt and betrayed. Through Teaspoon didn’t know the whole story, he was fairly certain that Buck had known Michaels long before he had met him.
“I’m fine,” Teaspoon answered.
“I’m sorry you had to learn about Michaels the hard way, Teaspoon,” Buck admitted-his eyes trained on the gallows that loomed over the center of the now crowded street.
“It’s better than not learnin’ at all,” Teaspoon replied as he eyed Buck closely. The rider’s face was expressionless, but the Marshal was quick to notice how Buck’s left hand moved up to stroke Ike’s bandanna as he sought for some comfort from his dead friend. In his right hand, Buck gripped Jake’s necklace tightly.
“You know,” Teaspoon began, “you don’t have to stay for this if you don’t want to.”
Buck turned toward the Marshal. “I’ll be all right,” he answered calmly.
“OK, then. We’d best get this over with.” Teaspoon turned to Barnett, who’d been standing nearby, awaiting Teaspoon’s instructions. “You and Mitchell go on in an’ get the prisoner.”
Teaspoon nodded toward the executioner who somberly donned his black hood and ascended the scaffold. A hush fell upon the crowd as Michaels was escorted from the jail. He squinted painfully in the bright light, then hurriedly sought out the Marshal. “I’ll see you in Hell!” he screamed as the men led him away.
Buck lowered his head. The sound of Jake’s footsteps knocked through his ears as the man climbed the last few feet to his death. Buck heard the preacher read from the Bible-something about green pastures and still waters. An anonymous man behind him mumbled, “kill the bastard, already!” while a woman tried to quiet her crying baby.
“God have mercy on your soul,” the preacher finished.
Buck raised his eyes to find Jake staring at him. The hangman secured the noose in place. Buck gripped the necklace tighter in his fist as a final, bitter smile appeared on Jake’s lips.
The trap door swung open. In an instant, it was over.
The crowd began to break up. Buck stood still for a moment, watching the lifeless body dangle before him as the townsfolk went about their business.
“Hey!” he heard Cody’s voice as the rider limped up beside him. “Let’s go back to the station. Rachel just made us one of her famous strawberry pies!”
Buck stared at the rider. Just what would it take to get Cody’s mind OFF food? he wondered to himself. Then, suddenly, he felt a strange and welcome urge overpower him and he started to laugh. “Are you serious?” he asked as he felt a great weight of tension fall from his shoulders.
Cody’s face went red. “I wasn’t tryin’ ta be funny, Buck. When the hell is anyone around here gonna take me seriously?” He turned around and wobbled off in a huff.
“You OK, son?” Teaspoon called as he walked up behind Buck.
“Yeah, Teaspoon,” he replied as he finally composed himself. “I think maybe I just need to be alone for a minute.”
The old man nodded, then motioned to the other riders who had gathered around to head out.
Buck drew a deep breath. The sun was hot, but he welcomed its light. He allowed it to penetrate deep into his spirit. It was the light of truth-a light that signaled a new era in his life.
Suddenly, he remembered Grace Soliel. He saw her deep brown eyes smiling at him-her body shimmering like a sunbeam. He glanced down at the necklace and rubbed his fingers gently over the stone. Then he heard Grace’s voice call to him once more. “Find your strength in the rising sun,” she said.
“Rising sun. . .” Buck repeated. Then his heart leapt up as he realized who the spirit woman really was.
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