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.
5 MILES OUTSIDE FT. LARAMIE, 1875
It was a quiet morning, the sun warm above the treetops, the creek glittering with it's reflection. Three Kiowa women walked slowly from the beach, with the water they had collected for their cooking. Not far away sat an old man with grayish hair, talking to a bunch of young boys. They listened keenly to his story, commented where they felt it was necessary. Another man approached them, a wide smile on his face as he patted his son on the shoulder.
"You're telling it wrong, Red Bear," he smirked, sitting down beside his brother.
"Then tell me, dear brother, what really happened," Red Bear smiled back, the boys turning to him with questioning faces.
"Well, for starters, it wasn't Arapaho, it was Ojibwas. And we didn't attack them, they attacked us," Buck started, Red Bear shaking his head.
"Brother, you're confusing things again! It was the Arapaho, and we attacked them at first crack of dawn. I remember it clearly, it was six seasons ago…" Red Bear trailed off, recollecting the memories, Buck smirking with the boys.
"He's wrong," he insisted, rising again.
"Are you staying with this confused old man or are you coming with me?" he asked his son, Wild Buck.
The soon twelve year old boy rose immediately, following his father, wherever he might be going. They had barely walked ten feet before a gunshot broke the silence, caused the whole village to jump. Horses appeared on the other side of the creek, with bluecoat riders.
"Come on!" Buck called, pulling his son by the arm.
They started running toward the center of the village, where Buck planned on leaving his boy before looking for his mother. More gunshot echoed in the air, and they both knew a battle was inevitable.
"You're safe here, don't go anywhere!" he said, a wild fire rising in his eyes.
"I'm just going to find Gray Moon then I'll be right back!" he promised, pulling the boy into a quick embrace before rushing off.
He had no idea where to look, but started by their teepee. It was empty, so he ran down the path toward Red Bear's home. Looking inside, he found four children, their mother and his own wife, all curled up in the middle of the teepee, hugging each other.
"Running Buck!" Gray Moon called, though not daring to leave her position.
"Where's Wild Buck? What's happening?!" she demanded, Buck shaking his head.
"You can't stay here, you have to run!" he insisted, pulling whoever was closest.
He ushered them all out of the teepee, pointing in the right direction for cover by some trees.
"I'll get Wild Buck, don't worry," he promised, looking deep into the eyes of Gray Moon, the woman he had married many years ago.
She stared back, looking after him as he ran off.
"Gray Moon!" Red Bear's wife called, pulling her arm.
Buck found his son right where he had left him, collected the scared child into his embrace.
"Come, we must move," Buck spoke silently, taking his son by the hand.
They made it to the trees on the other side of the village, seconds before the soldiers had arrived on the right side of the creek. They were now fought by the warriors and the few boys who were old enough.
"You're mother's over there," he pointed for his son, then left to help his tribe in the fight.
It seemed the fight had been going on forever, dead bodies and injured soldiers and braves everywhere. Buck glanced toward the trees where he had left his family, stated it was still a safe place. More women and children had gathered there, all of them watching the fight with big eyes.
He had so far made it unharmed, but he knew Red Bear was shot in the shoulder. The soldiers were too many, and they all knew it. It was only a matter of time before they were captured for sure.
"Red Bear," he spoke, crouching by his brother's side.
"Running Buck, this fight is lost," the war chief pointed out, Buck nodding.
"I know. Too many warriors are dead, we will never make it."
"We have to surrender," Red Bear spoke silently, realizing he was destroying the tribe by letting his warriors fight any longer.
"Help me," he pleaded, Buck supporting him to a standing position.
"How?" he asked, looking around.
Soldiers were everywhere, shooting at all that moved.
"There. The white leader on that black horse. Show him a white flag and he'll let his soldier rest," Red Bear said, pointing for his brother to see.
A slow march had just begun, all of the remaining Kiowas walking, limping and crawling toward Fort Laramie, lead by the blue soldiers. A few hours and they were lead inside the Fort, surrounded by barbed wire and more soldiers. A man with many golden stripes on his arm explained that they were the prisoners of the U.S. government, and they were soon to be inspected and checked for injuries and diseases. Shortly they would also be placed in a reservation.
"What do you know about this place?" Red Bear asked his brother, who was hugging his wife and son tightly.
"The injured will stay with the tribe, but the sick will be moved to another place. They won't be cared for, if that's what you think. They get blankets and bunks, but there's room for perhaps a third of all who's there. No doctor will care for them and they simply lay there and die," Buck said, voice deep, eyes blank.
"I see," Red Bear sighed, moving over to his family, one hand covering the still bleeding wound on his shoulder.
The day passed slowly, more and more sick Kiowas moved from their families and friends. Buck was unusually silent where he sat with his wife and son, watching every move around him. When the inspecting soldiers came closer to them, Buck stood nervously.
"Running Buck?" Gray Moon spoke, standing also.
"I'm sick," he whispered.
"This is giving me the creeps too, but we will make it if we stay together," she said, reaching out to embrace him, but he shied away.
"No, I'm sick. Like them," he said, pointing at two women being lead away by the soldiers.
"What…?" Gray Moon gaped, staring deep into his eyes.
"They'll know, and they'll take me away too," he spoke sincerely, wanting to hug her but chickened out as a soldier came up behind her.
"Take care of Wild Buck, I'll escape when I can," he whispered in her ear, then just waited for his doom.
He had been trying to deny his illness for weeks now, but the weakness he felt grew more intense every day, and he woke with a fever every morning. He knew he looked bad, even if no one had commented it, and he was surprised his wife hadn't noticed until now.
"You're coming with me, Injun. Hope you've said your good-byes," a private spoke with a grin, taking Buck by the arm.
Gray Moon looked on as her husband was lead toward a smaller opening in the barbed fence, saw him turn once, dark liquid eyes searching for her. She reached for her son, hugged him closely, tried to explain to him what was going on.
Buck looked around with disgusted eyes. Under a roof with three walls lay, sat and stood Indians with all kinds of diseases. The sun was shaded by the roof, which made it hard to see exact details, but many of the men and women around him had apparent rash in the face and on arms. Probably on the rest of their bodies too, he guessed. Some coughed or gasped for breath, but most of them were quiet, waiting for their maker to take them away. There were all kinds of tribes, many Sioux or Navajos. They all looked up at him with pleading eyes, then sighed and returned to their own worlds as the soldiers stepped out in the sunlight again, hands covering their mouths.
Buck sat down by the wall, wondering what he was doing there. He wasn't at all as sick as the others, and he hoped he wouldn't become either. He looked out in the sunlight, watching the soldiers as they marched back and forth. Instead of a fourth wall there was barbed wire, and a few men guarded it with rifles. No one would escape there, Buck thought morosely.
He stood again and walked closer to the fence.
"Hey, get back in there!" a private called at him, pointing with his rifle.
"Didn't you hear me, Injun, get back in with the others!" he screamed, more men gathering around him.
Buck stepped back, eyes lingering between the soldiers. He couldn't see his tribe from there anyhow, so he decided to return to his spot in the corner, show his respect for their guns.
The Indians in the room looked up, wondering what the commotion was about. When they didn't see anything interesting, they once again sighed and trailed off.
By nightfall Buck was hungrier than in awhile, and even if he was used to starving by now, he had always before managed to get something in him each day. But not this day. He wondered what Gray Moon and Wild Buck were doing, hoped at least they were fed.
He was restless, kicking in the dirt occasionally, sighing deeply from time to time. All the waiting was both irritating and boring, and the worst was the knowing there was no end to it. I can't just sit here and rot! he told himself, rising for the millionth time that hour.
He moved gracefully over to the fence again, stood in the shadow of the wall, watching the still marching soldiers outside. Suddenly a blonde man caught his eye, and he stepped forward to see better.
"Cody!" he called, not getting any response from the blonde rider who was about to dismount.
"Cody! Over here! Cody!"
"Injun! I thought I told you before, you're out of line!"
Buck turned to see the private from that afternoon again point his rifle at him.
"Look, if you step back in there nice and quiet, I'm prepared to let this one pass. Capice?"
Buck nodded silently, glancing over at the blonde man. He just stepped inside a building across the yard.
"Mr. Cody, you're our tracker, not peacemaker," Captain Ricks spoke, returning back to his paperwork.
"Please, Captain, I just want to go in there and look for a friend," Cody pleaded, the Colonel once again looking up from behind his desk.
"Mr. Cody… I've tried to be patient with this, but you refuse to listen. You are not going into that camp looking for a friend, is that clear?" he spoke calmly, though the harshness obvious in his voice.
"Yes, sir," Cody sighed, placing his hand by his temple in a lazy salute, then strolled back out into the chilly night.
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