By Mary
Copyright 2000
Jake Michaels steadied his horse and looked down into the small valley below him. The old Marcus homestead limped into view—the corroding lean-to as silent as the grave. From his pocket, Michaels produced a small mirror. Instinctively, he glanced around himself before giving the sign. Three flashes of light hit a scrub of bushes near the backside of the house. A moment passed before the signal was returned, and Jake cautiously entered the property. As he approached the dilapidated house, they all began to creep out from the woodwork.
There were eleven men in all—hard as nails and twice as tough. Their battered clothing told a tale of long hard rides and uncountable fisticuffs. One of them, who’s shirt was splattered with the dried blood of some unfortunate foe, stepped forward as Jake dismounted. He wore a battered broad brimmed hat that rode low on his head—casting a shadow about his eyes.
Jake glanced around himself once more before eyeing the front man. "What’d you find?" he asked with authority.
"There wasn’t nothin’ in that mail bag, Jake. An’ I’m gonna be the first to talk for the boys when I say it’s a damned waste of time lookin’ for it."
Jake gritted his teeth and sized up each man in turn. Then he smiled roguishly. "Well boys, I think our luck’s about to pick up. Jonesie back in Blue Creek was right. Teaspoon Hunter is the Sheriff of Rock Creek now. And, to top it all off, he’s also in charge of the Rock Creek Pony Express station."
The front man’s eyes flickered with suspicion. "How the hell is buddying up to a Marshal gonna help us get at that money? I thought we’d planned to keep away from the law."
"Plan’s changed, Jarvis. Teaspoon Hunter’s our ace in the hole. The man’s a sucker for an old friend—always has been. We know that the army’s got a shipment headed out to Saint Joe—its all just a matter of when. The Pony Express is always handlin’ the army’s business. Now we got an inside line to tell us just where to be when the army decides to use the Express’s services again. I can get Hunter to tell me anything." He flashed a self-satisfied grin. "Hell, I can get him to do just about anything I want."
Jarvis remained unconvinced. "Last heist we pulled was more’n three months ago, Jake. Its just takin’ too damn long." Several others grumbled in agreement.
Jake sighed. "Ok. You all can go off half-cocked and rob a pitiful little bank. Get yer jollies and about a hundred dollars. Or you can stay with me and rake in a couple thousand in pure U.S. prime army gold. Last shipment we got was peanuts compared to this one. With the war comin’, that gold is headed back east faster than ever. You need money to fight a war, boys. An’ this is our chance to take ourselves a cut before its all wasted on uniforms." Jake paused for a moment to let his words do their work. It didn’t take long before he could feel the mighty flame of greed flare up and seduce his comrades once more. He continued, "Good things always take a little time to materialize. But, I swear, it’ll be well worth the wait. An’ I don’t think we’ll be needing to worry much about getting caught. I know for a fact that Teaspoon and all of Rock Creek think the Kiowa killed that rider—and all the others, too."
Jake smiled broadly to himself as the play perfectly unfolded before his eyes. It was most certainly turning into a thing of beauty. Now it was time for act two to begin.
"I gotta get back to town and see what I can get out of old Teaspoon." Jake glanced up at the edge of the horizon. "I think its safe for you all to move around a little. Too many men in one place draws suspicion. But be careful. We don’t need no stupid stunts ruining our game." His eyes picked over his men. "Jackson, Matthews and McDaniels—you all follow me back to town. But I want you to act like you never seen me before. If trouble stirs, I may need you—so keep close by. The rest of you stay ‘round here and lay low. I’ll be back tonight about midnight with the low-down. Ok?"
They all nodded in silent acceptance.
Jake mounted his horse and smiled. "It won’t be too long now, boys." He savored the moment as a wave of exhilaration flew through his spine—setting his whole being on fire. Nothing was going to stop him now.
"There now. You drink up." Buck gave his horse a good stroke as she gratefully lowered her nose to the water—oblivious to everything else around her.
Buck knelt down beside the stream and dipped a hand into its clear coolness. He felt it wash past him, rushing eagerly onward through the canyon. The sun’s light sifted through the near-by trees, clothing the stream in a shimmering coat bedecked with liquid jewels. In the dazzling light, Buck watched as his fingers seemed to become one with the movement—melting into the flashing, easy momentum of the stream. Carefully, he lifted his hand to his face and allowed the magical fluid to wash down past his eyes and nose, then over his lips and finally, drop by drop, return, anonymous, to its home among the ripples.
How many times as a child had Running Buck knelt beside this stream? How many times had he longed to dissolve away—drop by drop—and become one with the water as it flowed irresistibly forward? How many times had he longed to run away with it somewhere no one would blame him or hate him or ignore him completely? He’d flow to a place where there was no ‘white man’—no ‘Indian’—where he would only be liquid and clear—water itself—clothed in the jewels of the sun.
"Is someone there?" The distant sound of a voice jarred Buck suddenly back to the present. He wiped his wet hand on his shirt and stood up slowly. He listened.
"Please. . .who’s there?" It sounded like a woman. He grasped the mare’s reigns and led the reluctant horse away from the stream and into a clearing.
"Over here!" the voice called out again. This time, he was able to pin-point its source. To the left of him, about fifteen yards away, a woman sat near a large rock at the bottom of the canyon wall. Noticing that she’d finally caught his attention, she called out eagerly, "Please help me. . .I think I may have hurt my ankle."
Buck hesitated. This was just his luck. The woman was white and from what he could tell, not very young. Once she’d got a closer look at him, she’d probably scream. She’d certainly regret getting the attention of a no-good half-breed. But Buck couldn’t just walk away from a woman in trouble. He knew what a dangerous place the canyon could be—especially when there was Indian trouble. He tugged at the horse’s reigns and cautiously approached.
As he neared, the woman’s features became more readable. She appeared to be in her mid-forties or early fifties, dressed in a high-collared white ruffle blouse and a royal blue skirt cinched in at the waist. To Buck, it seemed very stylish clothing for such an old woman, but she appeared to carry it off. Her lightly disheveled hair was whisped up in what was once a fine array of dark brown locks going a bit gray at the temples. A gold locket hung about her neck—reflecting the sunlight whenever she moved. It looked like a pretty expensive piece of jewelry. Someone should have told her to leave it at home, Buck thought. That kind of gold hanging of a defenseless lady could call out thieves from as far away as Blue Creek.
"Thank you." She smiled at him, as he stopped before her, with a look of relief that sent Buck into a slight state of shock. He stood there, awkwardly staring at the obviously un-frightened woman.
The lady’s brown eyes suddenly darkened with concern. "Can you speak English"? she asked slowly.
The surprise was evident on his face as Buck sputtered out a "yes". These weren’t usually the first words Buck encountered when he met a strange white woman. He was completely caught off guard. Immediately, he struggled to compose himself.
"Are you Ok, ma’am?" he asked as he saw the woman wince in pain and reflexively grip her left ankle.
"I think I may have sprained it." She laughed weakly. "I never knew going out for a walk could be so hazardous to one’s health!"
"Were you out walking alone?" He glanced down at her foot. "Do you think you can stand on it? Do you want me to help you?"
"My, you do like to ask questions, don’t you?"
Buck’s face turned a humiliated shade of red.
"Oh, its alright. I didn’t mean to make you feel awkward. Yes, I was walking alone. . ." She bit her lip as a wave of pain seared through her ankle.
Buck swallowed. "You mind if I take a look at it? I’m not a doctor or anything, but I might be able to help some." He hesitated, then continued. "I’m gonna have to touch your ankle, though."
"Well, I expect that much!" she answered, trying to smile. "Will it hurt?"
"Probably not much more than it does now."
"That’s a comfort," she replied sarcastically.
Buck knelt down and proceeded to untie her boot laces as gingerly as possible. The ankle was already beginning to swell. "All right, this might hurt some." He tried pulling off the boot, but stopped short as the woman cried out. He looked up into the stranger’s face. He expected her to break into tears or at least chastise him for his carelessness, but instead she looked back down at him with a courage and faith that touched him. She knew the boot must be removed and was ready to face the pain involved. But what was more amazing to Buck was how she was willing to trust him with her care. She nodded, then closed her eyes as Buck completed the task. "There, its done." Buck sighed in relief. He then began examining the ankle. When he tried to rotate it, he felt a click and the woman jumped back in response.
"Looks like you broke it, ma’am," he stated frankly. "I’d better get you back to Rock Creek so the doctor can set it. You think you can lean on me so I can get you on the horse?"
She looked doubtful. "I can try." She wrapped an arm about his neck and tried to stand, but within moments, she begged to be set back down. "It just hurts too much to move."
Buck took a good look around. "I can make up a splint. It’ll keep the bone from moving and make the ride back to town easier on you. But it might take me a little while to put it together, ma’am."
"Oh, that’s all right," she answered with a weary grin, "I’m not going anywhere fast. But I would appreciate it if you’d quit calling me ‘ma’am’. It makes me feel older than I already am!" A spark of humor shone in her eyes. "Besides, I was brought up to believe that when a lady allows a young man to touch her ankle, the had better be properly introduced." She straightened herself up. "My name is Grace Soliel, but you can call me Grace." She extended her hand and Buck accepted it, knowing that’s what a gentleman’s supposed to do—but not feeling at all comfortable with the gesture.
"So-lay?" Buck pronounced the foreign word aloud, testing it out with some confusion.
Grace laughed. "Soliel. Yes, that’s it. It’s a French word. It means ‘sunlight’."
"That’s a beautiful name," Buck ventured. Then he remembered his manners. "I’m Buck. Buck Cross."
"Well, Buck, I thank you for your kind assistance. I don’t know how long I might have had to sit here alone if you hadn’t heard me calling."
Grace’s friendly brown eyes appealed to Buck, and he couldn’t help but stare at that strange woman. There was something oddly familiar about her—though Buck had no idea how that could be. All he knew was that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that comfortable around any woman—young or old. And this very comfort made him uneasy. But, as he looked at her, he was surprised to find his awkwardness begin to melt away and a liberated ease settle down in its place. He grinned to himself. Whoever this woman was, she certainly had good medicine.
On to Chapter Nine
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