DISCLAIMER: The Young Riders is the creation of Ed Spielman, and the property of Ogiens/Kane productions in association with MGM/UA television. This Story is created for entertainment purposes only, no infringement intended. Not to be copied without permission from the author.
Standing trapped in the corner, he lifted his fisted hands, ready to defend himself, the agile young Indian realised that he would have no choice but to fight. Again. It seemed that day after day the only entertainment the children in the orphanage that Red Bear had taken him to was to beat him. It had never been his way to fight but they had left him no choice. He had lived her for three months now, Red Bear had deposited him on the doorstep here the day after his mother had died. For the past three months, he had been forced to dress in white man’s clothes for the nuns had taken away his beloved moccasins and buckskins the day that he arrived. His hair had been cut to make him look more like the other children and every time he spoke in his native Kiowa tongue the sisters washed his mouth out with soap. If that wasn’t trauma enough for the confused and lonely eight-year-old boy, the other residents had taken it upon themselves to beat the Indian out of him.
Mother Superior of the mission orphanage, Sister Margarita watched from the window of her office as the angry group of twelve and thirteen year old boys circled the young Indian that had arrived at the orphanage some months ago. She shook her head sadly as she realised that the only lessons that had been learnt by any of the boys was that if they pushed their quarry hard enough eventually he would fight back. It seemed that it didn’t matter how much she tried to take the Indian out of his appearance, she cold not stop the other children taunting him.
She knew that he laid awake at night, his silent sobbing unheard by the other children but she heard it, her heart breaking with the young boys pain. It had taken her some time but she had discovered the story of his past and he had become even more special to her then he should have been. She realised that she had served God for almost 40 years, her entire adult life and each of the almost 100 children in her care was very special to her in their own way. Somehow, Running Buck was different to the other children, The only Indian in her care she watched as he bore the brunt of the hatred of most of the other children, and she prayed that things would be different for him as he grew, but somehow she knew that he would be scorned by the so called Christian society, no matter how good he was in his soul.
For three months now, she had watched as the other children had teased, taunted and beaten Running Buck. For the first four or five weeks, she had watched by as he had day after day taken the beatings, she had been dismayed by the distrust in his eyes as she had confiscated his Indian clothes, forbidden him to speak in his own language and finally in an act of desperation had his beautiful silky ebony hair cut short. Somehow it didn’t help ease the pain in her soul of the hurt in his eyes when he looked at her and she remembered that she had ordered those changes to his life.
Motioning to the young nun who had come to inform her of the fight she spoke brusquely.
“Sister Brigitte, take one the men and break them up, then bring Running Buck back here to me”
“But Mother, he had nothing to do with the fight he is only protecting himself” she spoke
“Sister I didn’t ask who started the fight, I asked you to bring him to me.” she turned to look at her “I would like to think that you get there before they beat him too badly” she spoke knowing that now that he had learned to retaliate he would keep being knocked down by the much bigger boys until he couldn’t get up again.
“Yes mother” Sister Brigitte hastily left the room. Several minutes later she watched as one of the dormitory masters pulled the two struggling boys off each other and tucked the smaller boy under his arm carrying him, still swinging punches and struggling towards her office.
She waited until he entered the office and deposited the belligerent youngster at his feet.
“Leave us please Tom” she spoke firmly
“Are you sure Mother, he’s still wild” Tom spoke watching Buck carefully
“He’s an eight year old boy Tom” she spoke in disbelief
“But he’s an injun” Tom continued
“For Heaven’s sake Tom, he’s just a scared little boy” she spoke her anger at her employee’s words evident as she watched him retreat from the room. She waited until the door closed behind him, then collected the thick folds of her heavy black habit in her hands and knelt in front of Buck, who now sat cross legged on the floor waiting for her to mete out her punishment. She knew that he saw the precautions she was forced to take as retribution for being Indian, but she was only trying to make him appear more like the other children, and in the process making him less of a target for the bullies that currently made his life a misery.
Buck looked up at the woman who knelt before him and wondered what she was going to do to him this time.
“Buck” she spoke cupping the bruised side of his face in a gentle hand “I’m sorry for what I have had to do to you son” she watched as his almost black eyes turned up to hers frowning at her apology, his young mind not understanding what he was hearing, but not convinced enough to speak.
“I have no problem with you or your people Running Buck, in fact I think you should be proud of your heritage. I have not done these things to you out of spite, all I want is for the others to stop tormenting you” she paused seeing the confusion in his eyes “I’m sorry if it seems that I am trying to take the indian out of you, but I must stop this fighting.” she turned his face to hers with her hand under his chin “Do you understand me Buck?” she spoke
Buck watched her carefully, wise beyond his years, realising that she had only done the things that she had done in the hope of helping him. Seeing that perhaps he had an ally in this sea of unfriendly faces he nodded a slight smile on his face.
“Today you are going to get your own surname. From this day on you will be known as Buck Cross. I have chosen a name for you that I think will suit you. I hope you will like it. I have chosen this name for two reasons for you. First of all I believe you need the strength and support of a strong religious symbol behind you, what better than the cross, secondly it will always remind you that even if you are taunted shamelessly, being cross does not help the pain to go away.” she stood and turned to go back and face the window again
“I’m sorry Buck if this is unsuitable to you, but this is how it will be” she turned to look back out the window “You are free to go now, find Sister Brigitte and she will bathe your cuts for you” she turned back to the window feeling that somehow she had let the youngster down.
She didn’t hear Buck rise, but when he touched the sleeve of her habit she was startled.
“What is it Buck?” she bent to look into the face of the serious boy
“Thank you for trying” he spoke quietly, even at his young age he realised that she was doing all she could to help him. Touched by words of gratitude from this silent young man, she embraced him tightly, her arms around his strong shoulders, as she held him to her chest. Releasing him she watched as he walked proudly out of her office, a boy in body but a man in spirit, and she realised that no matter how badly he was treated, his enemies may break his body but they would never break his pride or his spirit.
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