By Mary
Copyright 2000
The jailhouse clock ticked monotonously. A fly droned somewhere out of sight. With each second that passed, the noose tied around the Marshal’s patience slipped tighter and tighter. Finally, he could endure it no longer. "You just gonna sit there waitin’ to die or are ya gonna make a move?" Teaspoon shuffled his cards, then fanned them out impatiently.
"Hold your horses, Teaspoon," Jake answered calmly. "Great minds need time to strategize." His eyes wandered down to the all important note stashed away in Teaspoon’s waistband. His hands started to sweat as he considered how close he was to victory. That unassuming slip of paper was his key to ultimate power. It was worth at least three thousand dollars in pure gold—gold that would assure Jake Michaels of all the fun he could possibly handle for the rest of his life. His imagination began to run wild as he thought of the endless parties—the high class hooch and the low class women—the many desperate men willing to do his bidding just for the chance to rub elbows with such wealth. His heart raced as he considered how many luckless people would try in vain to rob him of his gold and attempt to kill him for a chance at it. He could almost feel the bullets flying past him as he outran every one of them. No one could stop Jake Michaels—though he was willing to give a few suckers the chance to think they could. A shallow smile began to form about his mouth. This shipment was really just the tip of the iceberg. With his scheme, he could make tens of thousands of dollars and no one would be the wiser. Thanks to the Kiowa, he had a fool-proof scapegoat. He felt the laugher rise into his chest as he smothered his smile. He gritted his teeth as reality shook him by the shoulder. He had to keep focused. He still needed that note to tell him when and where to be to collect that shipment headed for Saint Joe.
"You strategizin’ for a war, Jake?" The sound of Teaspoon’s voice forced Michaels back to the present and he laid down two cards.
"Those’ll be the two biggest mistakes you ever made, Michaels," Teaspoon stated as a sly smile twisted over his lips. "I’m gonna beat you yet."
Jake grinned in feigned amusement, then raised his eyes past the Marshal to the open door. He noticed three men loitering in the street nearby. One, a man with a bushy moustache, caught his gaze and Jake casually ran a finger across his jaw line. The man in the street reached up and touched the brim of his hat, then walked behind the jail and out of sight. Jake turned his attention back to the Marshal who was absorbed in his cards.
"Well, whatcha got Teaspoon?" Jake asked abruptly.
Teaspoon sighed in satisfaction as he slowly spread his cards on the table. "Read ‘em and weep, my friend. Three fine ladies came to call."
"That beats me out." Jake tossed his pair of tens and garbage on top of Teaspoon’s winning hand—then he stood up.
"Where are you goin’?" Teaspoon demanded. "I got a winnin’ streak, here!"
"I know. I know. It’s a good thing we ain’t playing for money or you’d have wiped me out hours ago." Jake reached for his hat. "I just need to go for a little walk—call of nature. I won’t be long."
Before Teaspoon had a chance to rebut, Michaels was out the door. Teaspoon always had a good eye for trouble and he could sense that something more than nature was calling Jake. Exactly what it was, he couldn’t quite guess. But he had to admit, in the pit of his heart, he really didn’t want to know.
Teaspoon gathered up the deck of cards and began shuffling them absent-mindedly. Jake had always been a little too adventurous for his own good. But he’d also been one of Teaspoon’s good friends back in Deadwood. Jake was his only loyal deputy in that wild hell hole. He was a good man in a fight. The Marshal remembered the many times he was spared a bullet in the back due to Michaels’ quick draw. He owed the man his life. Yet, he couldn’t shake off a certain feeling of uneasiness that had spread over him ever since Jake came into town—literally out of nowhere. He’d changed somehow. He was as fun-loving as ever, but he seemed strangely pre-occupied; his mind wandering to places Teaspoon was not allowed to enter.
The Marshal shrugged off a sigh as he set down the deck of cards. It was easy enough to understand what had happened to his old friend. It had, of course, been fifteen years since they parted ways. No doubt, Jake had spent those years living by the seat of his pants in untamed, lawless towns with one hand glued to his gun. He’d probably been forced to kill more enemies than he cared to admit. Teaspoon knew from experience how that kind of life could wear on even the most easy-going conscience. Thinking it over, the Marshal was amazed at just how un-touched Jake Michaels appeared—given those circumstances.
The sound of footsteps outside the jail quickly aroused the Marshal from his contemplation.
"Teaspoon, you’ll never guess who we ran into!" Cody’s amicable voice rang through the jailhouse.
"Well, I was beginnin’ to wonder what happened to you." Teaspoon rose to greet Buck.
"Found him in Rattlesnake Canyon," Kid said.
"What in hell was you doin’ there, son—takin’ a holiday?" He sized up the dirty, bedraggled rider. "Its sure done wonders fer yer looks, I’ll give you that."
Buck couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the old law man—still breathing and as able as ever to pass out sarcasm as easily as a counterfeit dollar.
"I got sidetracked on the way back to town," Buck explained simply.
"Yeah," Cody grinned. "He was tryin’ to rescue an imaginary woman."
Buck clenched his teeth as a surge of irritation silently shook through him. His body burned with a dangerous mix of anger and bitter humiliation. It was time to wipe that goofy grin off of William F. Cody’s sassy face.
Cody’s comment had piqued Teaspoon’s interest and he wanted to inquire further into the matter, but noticing Buck’s mood, he realized he’d rather keep both the jailhouse and Cody in one piece and wisely decided not to pursue it. Instead, he shot a warning glance at Cody, who stood by the door trying desperately not to laugh. Then he turned to Buck.
"You find any helpful information at South Pass?"
"No, not really."
"You think it was the Kiowa that killed McMasters?" Kid asked solemnly.
Buck dreaded that question. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to answer it. His heart told him that the Kiowa couldn’t have killed that rider. But his common sense thought differently. "I don’t. . ."
"Hey, Teaspoon! I didn’t know you was havin’ a party in here!" Jake Michaels’ voice broke through the conversation. Buck, who’s back had been to the door, turned to face the visitor as both Cody and Kid welcomed him in.
"This your wanderer?" Jake asked, smiling right into Buck’s eyes.
Buck stood there, dumbstruck. He felt as if he were being slowly swallowed into a dream. He noticed, with a quickening interest, that Michaels’ eyes were green. He knew those eyes. . .
"Yeah," the Marshal responded, "that’s him. Buck, I want you to meet my old friend from Kansas, Mr. Jake Michaels."
Michaels stretched out a hand, but Buck hardly noticed. Teaspoon’s voice sounded far away—dissolving into the thumping rush of blood that flooded his ears. His eyes instinctively fell to Jake’s necklace. The golden-red jewel shone like the sun—beckoning Buck’s memory to awaken. Against his will, a vision shot out from the recesses of his mind and he saw her face shining before him. It was the face of Rising Dawn—his mother. Suddenly, he remembered Grace Soliel’s words:"Allow the light to guide you. . . accept its truth. . .you will know who can stand proudly in the light and who can’t."
Michaels lowered his hand as the smile retreated from his lips. He hadn’t know that this Buck was a half-breed. A tremor of fear passed through him. There was something about that boy’s eyes. . .
An awkward silence hung heavy in the jailhouse. Teaspoon wondered with some embarrassment what had happened to Buck’s manners. "Well, Buck? You got anything to say?" he coaxed.
"Where’d you get that necklace?" Buck asked without emotion.
Jake tried to smile nonchalantly, but Buck’s black eyes penetrated him to his depths. "Traded with the Sioux for it," he answered simply.
"You’re a liar," Buck stated coldly. "And a bastard."
The only sound that could be heard was the incessant ticking of the clock as Buck pushed past Michaels and left without another word.
Chapter 12
Teaspoon felt his jaw drop. Never in his life had he seen Buck act so rudely—especially in front of one of his good friends. He glanced at the others. Cody’s smile had vanished. Kid’s eyes were wide with shock. Jake’s face was as white as a sheet. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.
For a moment, silence reigned. The Marshal soon realized that it was up to him to set things straight. He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "I’m sure he didn’t mean nothin’, Jake. Buck’s been actin’ kinda strange lately. . .just lost his best friend not long ago." Teaspoon eyed the remaining riders. "You boys better head back to the station. I know you still got chores to do."
Cody looked over at Kid, who nodded, and the two silently departed.
Teaspoon squinted out at the street. "This Indian trouble’s been hard on the boy," he explained. "Seems every time anyone around here suspects its Indians, Buck gets blamed. ‘Course its worse this time. Its probably his own tribe that’s done it."
"That’s done what?" Michaels asked cautiously.
"A few Pony Express riders been killed lately," Teaspoon admitted. "Looks like the Kiowa done it."
Michaels’ blood ran cold. "You sayin’ he’s part Kiowa?"
Teaspoon nodded. "Yeah. His half-brother is one of the war chiefs. Red Bear, I think
his name is."
Michaels couldn’t believe his ears. Red Bear. . .he hadn’t heard that name in over fifteen years. Buck? No. No! he thought. It can’t be. . .Running Buck. . . alive? His heart raced in panic. His throat was parched with fear. God. This was all he needed. He looked up at the Marshal whose face was contorted in bewilderment. Ok, Michaels, Jake said to himself, get a grip on yourself. You’ve got to stay focused!
Teaspoon approached Michaels, then pulled out a chair. "Sit down, son. Looks to me like you need a drink."
Michaels took a seat and tried to smile as his friend poured the whiskey. "Sorry, Teaspoon. I guess I just ain’t used to bein’ called a bastard."
Teaspoon gritted his teeth in shame. "I’m gonna go talk to that boy. He owes you an apology and I’m gonna make sure he gives you one. You just wait right here while I go get him."
Jake reached for the glass as the sound of Teaspoon’s footsteps faded out into the street. He felt the fire water scorch him to his bones as Buck’s black eyes pierced into his soul once again. Buck knew who he was. He knew! Something had to be done about him—before it was too late.
On to Chapter Thirteen
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