By BL Durnell
October 1861, Rock Creek, Nebraska Territory
The dust rose from the ground as the slight breeze swept across the desert plains. The sun glowed a dusky orange as it set in the distant horizon. Calm and peaceful, the tumbleweeds floated on the breeze as they bounced and rolled across the well-worn path. Suddenly a crack of thunder split through the air. It was not the sound of natural thunder heard following a bolt of lightning, but the artificial thunder coming from a rifle being fired in the distance.
From over the low hill the rider came, staying low to his brown and white paint, he galloped hard and fast. Behind him a group of ten more riders followed, with an occasional rifle being raised to a shoulder and fired. A seeming lucky shot caused the lone rider to lurch and almost fall from his horse, but he held on and urged his horse even faster. Five miles from safety, he knew he had only to hang on a little while longer and he would be home free. Free to rest and heal. Free to tell the Army about the desperate men just a half days ride from the town.
In the distance, the small town appeared over the horizon and the men that followed slowed and turned back. They knew that if the lone rider survived he would bring the Army down on them. They knew if that were the case, they would have to move their encampment and possibly lose precious time and fall behind schedule. They also knew that the chances of the lone rider surviving to tell what he knew were slim, but they weren't the type of men that took chances. Better to fall behind schedule and catch up than to be caught and have no chance to secure their objective.
The lone rider continued on, barely holding on to the pommel of his saddle and the reins. He didn't try to slow or stop his horse, for his horse knew this route as well as he and would stop only after reaching his destination. As he got closer, the faint words "Rider coming in." carried on the evening breeze made his heart sing. For upon hearing them, he knew that he had been seen and he was safe at last. As he started to sit straighter in the saddle, his back spasmed and sent tendrils of burning pain through his body. He was only a hundred yards from the rider that was waiting for him to pass on the satchel when he fell from his horse and lay still.
Those watching and waiting saw the rider fall and yelled for assistance as they ran to the fallen rider. The waiting rider galloped toward the fallen man and leaped from his horse, when he reached him. Two others ran up, a few seconds later. One wearing black pants, a black Stetson, and a tan coat grabbed the paint to calm her down. The other, a half-white/ half-Indian joined the man in the buckskins leaning over their fallen friend. They looked at each other and had the same thing to say. "Someone's gonna haveta tell Lou and the others."
Their friend holding the horses looked over at them, "What's goin' on? How bad is he?"
Cody looked up at his friend in shock, "It's Kid, Jimmy. He's alive, but ..."
Hickock looked at him with ice in his eyes, "But what, Cody?"
Buck was shaken as he finished for him, "He's been shot in the back"
As realization crossed his features, Jimmy looked from them to their friend lying on the ground unconscious, to the plains from which he'd ridden, leaped onto the back of Cody's horse and rode hard straight towards town to tell Teaspoon and Rachel. And most importantly to break the news to Louise, Kid's wife of only two months.