The Ties That Bind

Jake’s breath froze in his throat as he heard Buck’s footsteps fade away around the opposite side of the jail and out into the street. He took a step back and leaned up against the jailhouse wall, his blood pulsing thickly through his veins. It was a good thing he’d followed Teaspoon out here. That little ‘heart to heart’ he just heard had almost ruined his entire plan. Lucky for him, Teaspoon possessed an almost ridiculous sense of loyalty to him and that Buck was too much of a coward to reveal his past. Even so, Jake knew that he couldn’t rely on luck for long. Sooner or later, that boy would come back and spill it all out. Jake gritted his teeth impatiently. He had no time for the inevitable trouble that a family reunion would bring him. He was too close to success to loose it all now.

Hearing the Marshal emit a weary sigh, Jake made a hasty retreat toward the front of the jail. A few paces before him stood Buck, thankfully with his back turned, untying his horse. Jake immediately headed off in the opposite direction—just in time to miss Teaspoon turn the corner and enter the jailhouse.

Quickly, Michaels scanned the main street. Three men standing out by the livery caught his gaze. Once again, the man with the bushy moustache touched the brim of his hat. Jake nodded his acknowledgement, then headed toward the group. He knew exactly what

had to be done and wasted no time in conveying this to his comrades.

"You see that Indian over there? I want you to follow him. Make sure he gets outta town. . .and then kill him."

"What for?" the man with the moustache inquired.

"McDaniels, you ain’t here to ask questions. Just do what I say—and make sure no one’s around when you take care of him." Jake eyed Buck intensely as the young rider spurred his horse on. "That half-breed’s what’s standin’ in the way of us getting our gold." He suddenly noticed Teaspoon emerge from the jail, squinting out at the street in confusion. "Meet me back at the old Marcus homestead at midnight," he finished hurriedly as he casually walked away from the group. He hoped to God Teaspoon was too nearsighted to have seen him.

"Jake!" Teaspoon’s voice cut through the bustling noise of the town and hit Jake square in the chest. He stopped cold—unable to move. But he soon regained his composure and turned to the Marshal, who was headed straight for him.

"What’er you doin’ out here?" Teaspoon asked.

"Thought I’d take a little walk while you were out tryin’ to corral that spirited rider of yours." He smiled good-naturedly at the Marshal’s crestfallen expression. "I take it he got away from you."

Teaspoon sighed. He didn’t want to talk about it. Instead, he turned his attention toward three men untying their horses over by the saloon. "Who’re they?" he asked curiously.

"Who?"

Teaspoon nodded toward the trio as they galloped out of town. "Those boys you was just talkin’ to. Seems to me, they’re in a mighty big hurry to get outta Rock Creek."

"Them three? Well, I don’t really know ‘em, Teaspoon. We was just makin’ conversation. Seems they’re passin’ through Rock Creek on their way out West to California. They just stopped into town to check on some supplies."

"Oh, I see," the Marshal answered slowly as he took a good hard look at the man

standing before him. He noticed how the edges of Jake’s mouth twitched ever so slightly around his ready smile and how Jake’s pale green eyes never quite met his own.

Buck’s words echoed uncomfortably in his mind: "How many times has he lied to you, Teaspoon?"

I’m sorry about Buck," Teaspoon said finally. "He just ain’t ready to admit his wrong-doing, that’s all. He’ll cool off in a while."

"Don’t worry about it. It don’t bother me none." Jake slapped the Marshal playfully on the back. "How’s about we go to the saloon and I buy you a drink. I owe you a couple."

Teaspoon drew a deep breath. "Naw. Not just yet. Its about time fer supper, an’ I got some business to take care of at the express station."

Business, huh?Jake thought to himself. Well, its about damn time. "Teaspoon," he said aloud, "would it be too much trouble if I indulge in that fine cookin’ of Rachel’s with you all tonight? I ain’t sure when I’m gonna get the chance to taste real food when I leave her, and I’d like to savor every bite I can get!" He laughed. "You know, you could’ve really dug into me when I made fun of your cookin’ today. You know I’m a sorrier cook than you are."

A slight grin passed over the Marshal’s lips. "Yeah, I suppose I could’ve," he answered quietly. "I guess I just ain’t as good at humiliatin’ folks as you is." Teaspoon eyed Jake carefully, hoping his friend would catch his meaning—but he was cut off by the echoing knell of the express house dinner bell.

Teaspoon turned his gaze away as a strange chill entered into his bones. "Lets go eat," he said.

Buck kicked his horse into a gallop. The rush of wind heaved and crashed around him like an endless wave breaking out from an untamed sea. The tumult sent his heart racing—bounding forward with every stride. The rhythmic pulse of the horse’s hooves as they dug into the earth set Buck’s entire being on fire. He felt the mare’s muscles tense, her sweat seeping through his buckskins, as she struggled for speed.

As the horse pressed onward, he recalled the many times, as a child, he raced Red Bear across the prairie. Like most Kiowa, they were both excellent with horses. Buck smiled as he remembered that even riding bareback and blindfolded, he out-ran Red Bear time and again. It was one of the few achievements he could be proud of during his childhood. Flying past his warrior-brother, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake, Running Buck was able—for the briefest moment—to loosen the chains of shame that had been shackled around his ankles ever since that fateful day when Kills With A Gun betrayed the tribe.

Buck swallowed hard as his mind once again unlocked the memories of that terrible day. He saw the endless expressions of fear, distrust and down-right hatred that met him as he stumbled in a daze through the camp. Only that morning, he’d received the adulation of his peers for being the fastest runner in the tribe. But life had turned upside-down after the humiliating tragedy. The Kiowa might not have been able to take revenge on the instigator of their betrayal, but they had the ability to punish his son.

For an entire year after the massacre, no one in the tribe spoke to Running Buck—except for his brother—who occasionally broke his vow of silence out of pity for his half-sibling. Yet, even Red Bear rarely ever made eye contact with his brother during this time. Everyone else diverted their gaze away completely. It didn’t take long for Running Buck to begin hating the fact that his mouth and nose resembled his father’s, that his hair was only a deep, dirty brown—never a thick, raven black, or that his skin could never quite tan deeply enough to disguise his white blood. By ignoring him, the tribe made absolutely sure that he knew he was a constant, physical reminder of one of the most humiliating moments in Kiowa history.

Buck slowed his horse to a walk. As the visions of his childhood washed through his mind, he began to wonder if Red Bear had let him win all of those glorious races. He knew well that Red Bear was the better horseman. Yet, in his heart, he felt that it really didn’t matter if the races were thrown. Buck was grateful to his brother for those glimpses of freedom—and for so much else. It was Red Bear who had convinced the tribe to drop their code of silence. Red Bear influenced the elders to give Running Buck the chance to prove himself in the hunt.

Red Bear also played a role in bringing Ike into Buck’s life. Buck clearly remembered the day, years ago, when his brother had taken him aside and advised him to leave the Kiowa. Red Bear had explained that it might be beneficial to Running Buck if he learn more about the white men. Perhaps he would be more accepted in their world and could

begin a new life where he would not have to pay for his father’s actions.

Running Buck did not want to be associated with white men, who he had grown to know only as killers and liars. He was ready to beg to stay—even if it meant having to eat his meals alone and sleeping with the eyes of the entire village on his back. But he had ultimately decided to do as his brother suggested out of respect. Who knew that there would soon come a day when his strict opinion of white people would be challenged by a skinny, bald and mute boy who was ready to fight tooth and nail for a half-breed? It was a day Buck wouldn’t soon forget. That day, he’d finally felt as if he truly belonged somewhere—at the side of his new best friend.

Buck drew in a deep, welcome breath. The fragrance of summer wildflowers, the rich earth, and tender green grasses filled his head and strengthened his spirit. He was not far from his tribe’s camp. It lay just beyond Rattlesnake Canyon. Buck squinted up at the sky. If he picked up his pace, he could reach the camp by nightfall.

A sudden chill caught Buck by the throat. It was too quiet. Then he heard them—horses running fast. He stole a look behind himself and discovered three men riding over the horizon—charging straight for him. He decided that he’d rather not wait around to see what they wanted, and spurred his horse. She was still worn out from her last run. Buck noticed frantically that, at this pace, he’d soon be a dead man.

"Time to eat dirt, Injun!" he heard one of the riders scream. Buck kicked the mare again. She must have felt as panicked as he did, because from somewhere, she managed to pick up a little more speed. He felt the hot breath of lead scream past his ears. That was too close. He knew, as the mare struggled for air, that he couldn’t out-run the riders. But maybe he could out-smart them. Up ahead, he spied a small clump of trees that marked one of the entrances to Rattlesnake Canyon. If he could manage to lead them into the canyon, he had a good chance of loosing them.

"Come on, girl," he said desperately as he felt the mare slowing. "Just give me a little bit more. . ."

The three riders were right on his tail. Buck could almost feel the horses’ fuming breath burning his neck. This was not how he’d planned to die.

Buck focused intensely on the trees ahead of him—the gateway to his only chance for life. Then he saw something that forced his heart into his stomach. It was the figure of a woman gesturing to him. She stood before the group of trees, glowing with an unearthly brightness. Buck’s jaw dropped as he realized that he was staring at the figure of none other than Grace Soliel.

There was no time to wonder where she’d come from, how she was able to stand firmly on her broken ankle, or why she glowed with such a celestial light. Buck’s only thought as another round of bullets flew past him was to survive—by any means possible.

As he raced toward her, Grace lifted her hand into the air. Buck turned his head impatiently toward his pursuers. They were close enough now that he could see the hardened sneers on their dirty faces—and Grace was motioning him to stop?! His mind told him that it would be suicide to quit running—and yet, as he looked into the woman’s calm, brown eyes, he felt his faith begin to rise up and smother all traces of doubt. He pulled back on the reigns and the thankful mare slowed to a halt.

Silently, Grace placed a finger against her lips. Buck froze stiff in the saddle. The ground trembled as the riders raced toward him.

"Where the hell did he go to?" McDaniels cried. Buck’s eyes grew wide with wonder. If he wanted to, he could literally reach out and grab McDaniels by the collar. Their horses were standing side by side. And yet, to McDaniels, Buck and his mare were as invisible as the air itself.

"He couldn’t have just disappeared!" one of the others stated in exasperation. "Jake’s gonna have our hides if we don’t kill him."

McDaniels spat in irritation. "It don’t matter," he said. "We’ll just tell him we took care of it. ‘Sides, we ain’t got time to be chasin’ after stupid Indians until hell freezes over. It’s getting dark." He jerked at the reigns. "Lets head outta here."

Buck watched as the three riders spurred their horses on and disappeared over a rise that lay to the west. For a moment, Buck waited, breathless, as he heard the horses’ galloping hooves fade off into silence. Then he turned to Grace.

"Who are you?" he managed to ask between gasps as his breath suddenly returned.

The woman smiled. Her body glowed and pulsated like a flowing stream of light. "Find your strength in the rising sun," she said softly. Her words echoed—reverberating through Buck’s soul. All he could do was stare at her in petrified amazement. What sort of spirit was this standing before him? For, he knew now that Grace had to be from the spirit world. What did she mean by those words she had uttered?

A familiar confusion began to cloud his mind, when suddenly, an eagle cried out above him. Immediately, Buck sought for it—raising his eyes greedily to the sky. Yet, his heart dropped as, once again, he was met with empty space. He quickly turned back to Grace for some sort of understanding. But Buck would find no answers from the spirit woman—for she had vanished just as mysteriously as she had appeared.

On to Chapter Seventeen

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