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.
Buck jumped as a man sat down beside him. He was a bit older than Red Bear, hair gray and clothes worn.
"It's going to be a cold night, care to share my blanket with me?" he spoke friendly, holding up the mentioned item.
"Why not, I'll die anyway," Buck mumbled, allowing the older man to wrap the blanket around his bare shoulders.
"Maybe you will, but not from anything I have. I'm not really sick, you see. They just placed me here because of a cough I've had since I was twelve. I have nothing you need to fear," the man promised with a smile.
"Who are you?" Buck asked, not because he cared but because he felt he had to.
"They call me by many names where I come from, but the solders here just call me Ben. I've been here for many years."
Buck looked up with a frown.
"Here? In here with all these sick people?"
The man took his time to answer, a wry look on his face.
"Yes," he said, the lie obvious to Buck.
"It doesn't matter…" he murmured, sighing deeply as he looked down on his hands.
"You miss your family," Ben said, not even meaning it as a question.
"How do you know?"
"I've seen your face before, many young men have it the first day they come here. But it usually disappears the second morning, perhaps sometimes the third. But I have a feeling you are different…" Ben said with a slight grin.
"Oh? Why is that?" Buck asked, mostly to keep the conversation going.
"I saw you earlier, when you called for that man. Cody…?"
"So? It probably wasn't him anyway, he would've heard me," Buck sighed.
"Mmm, maybe. But you never know, remember that. You never know exactly how the next day will look," the older man said, still little too cheery for Buck.
"What's you point?!" he asked, very annoyed.
"My point is, you may not face the same destiny as the others in here. Don't give up yet, Running Buck," Ben smiled as he rose.
Before Buck could ask where he got his name from, the man was gone. He pulled the blanket closer around him, looking around in the darkness. He saw the silhouettes of the guarding soldiers, and someone stirring in a creaky bunk by the wall. Otherwise the night was quiet, and he even caught a few moments of sleep before dawn.
When he awoke, it was because of a Sioux woman screaming. A gunshot echoed in the Fort, and the woman fell dead to the ground. Shocked, Buck sat up, looking around.
"She tried to escape," Ben's calm voice spoke from behind, Buck spinning around with a frantic look.
"Stop doing that!" he spat, then calmed down somewhat.
"What do you mean, she tried to escape?"
"She was delirious, probably from fever. She attacked that guard there, he had no choice but to shoot her. It was self-defense."
Buck realized Ben was right, but still he didn't understand how the old man could be so calm about it. After all, the soldiers weren't exactly their friends.
"I know what you're thinking, and I understand your doubt, but you will have to trust me. Let's return to what happened last night, when you shouted for Mr. Cody," Ben insisted.
"What about it? Like I said, it probably wasn't him," Buck said, leaning against the wall.
"I might be able to help you…" Ben spoke as he stood.
A private came toward them, through the crowd of Indians now gathered around the dead woman.
"I must leave, but think about what I said," Ben whispered, walking off, the soldier greeting him cheerfully.
Buck sat with big eyes for a moment, wondering what on Earth Ben was talking about, and who he really was. He sighed, pulling the blanket closer, making himself as comfortable as possible by the wall.
By lunchtime a few soldiers came with bread and water, plus some half-rotten apples. They threw the food and canteens over the wire fence, without any further ado. Buck was too late to get anything, a herd of starving Indians stumbling over each other in order to be first on the spot.
His thoughts drifted off to Ben, as he watched the few who actually got their hands on some food eat. What did he mean about helping him find Cody? He could not find any good answers, instead decided to check himself up. He had a fever again, not bad, but still a fever. His whole body felt weak, and he preferred to remain sitting. An occasional cough would escape him and he was freezing though it was a sunny day. Knowing well he wouldn't get any better staying among all the sick people in the room, he tried to plan his escape. Like the day before, he only came to the conclusion that there was no way out of there, at least not alive.
Bewildered and feeling somewhat lost, he thought about his family to get his mind off the dilemma he was facing.
He was surprised to wake up from a deep sleep, the sun still shining above the Fort. He wondered how much of the day that had passed, but had little time to contemplate. His eyes fell on the same blonde man as the day before, and he scrambled to his feet within the second.
He now knew better than to scream, or approach the fence, so he stayed a few feet away from it and studied the blonde rider. His hair was long, a few inches below his shoulder, and a bit wavy. His whole body reminded him of Cody, the Pony Express rider he once knew. Recently he had heard Cody shot a few thousand buffaloes and brought them to the Army and some reservations, and that fact troubled him. He had never thought Cody could do something like that, but obviously he had changed. The man turned around to speak to some privates, and Buck saw he had a moustache but otherwise it was still the boyish face of William F. Cody.
He pleaded for Cody to see him, wished the soldiers weren't standing so close to the fence. Then at least he could have tried to scream again.
Cody smiled as he parted with the privates, heading for his horse. He mounted gracefully, riding toward the Fort gate. Buck sighed deeply, just as Cody threw an eye his direction. He stiffened up, looking back, met Cody's eyes. He tried to scream, but the fear of being shot was too strong. Please Cody, see me! he begged inside his head, taking a step closer to the fence. To his dismay, Cody's horse was spooked by a few laughing soldiers and took a few steps in trot. Cody was already past him when he regained control of his horse and rode off out on the prairie.
"You wanted to see me, Ben?" Cody spoke as he dismounted and walked over to the Indian sitting by the small campfire.
It was getting dark, and Cody couldn't understand why Ben wanted to see him so far away from the Fort. He sat down by the fire with a still questioning look on his face.
"Yes. I couldn't tell you in the Fort, but I have met your friend, Running Buck," Ben spoke, turning the meat he had placed over the fire.
"Buck? You've met Buck?!" Cody gaped, Ben nodding silently.
"Yes. He is sick, he needs your help to get better. He has been placed with the dying prisoners, and I fear he is getting worse every minute. There are many diseases right now, influenza being one of them. You need to make a decision fast, or you will lose him."
Cody contemplated for a brief moment, then looked up again.
"What can I do?"
"Help him back to his tribe before it's too late. Act tonight," Ben said, staring into the fire.
Cody rose, walking over to his horse again.
"Thanks, Ben. I mean it, I won't forget you did this, I know it's a big risk for ya," he said, mounting.
"Whatever," Ben sighed, taking the now finished meat from the fire and placed it on a plate.
Cody threw him one more look of gratitude, then rode back to the Fort.
It was in the middle of the night, but no one seemed to be asleep, bluecoats still walking around in the Fort, making all kinds of noises.
"It's the 4th of July," Ben spoke from behind, Buck spinning around violently, nearly knocking himself over.
"Stop doing that!" he cried for the second time, then calmed himself.
"What about it?"
"It's a national holiday, surely you know that?" Ben said with a smirk, Buck shaking his head, recollecting all the dates he once knew as more than just days.
"Yeah, right… When will they calm down?"
"Not for several hours, I guess. You should get some sleep, it might be an early morning tomorrow," Ben continued mysteriously, Buck eyeing him with a slight frown.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing. Like I said, you never know what the next day will look like."
"Is it just me, or are you crazy?" Buck asked, turning away.
"I feel you have misunderstood me in some way," Ben spoke, approaching him, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder.
Buck shied, turning around again.
"Misunderstood you? You claim to have been in here for ages and still the soldiers treat you like one of their own! What is there not to misunderstand?!"
Ben nodded, looking down at his feet.
"Running Buck, I haven't told you the truth, we both know that. And I'm sorry," he spoke sincerely, just as three soldiers, evidently drunk, approached the barbed fence.
"Hey, old man!" one of them called, Ben sighing as he walked toward them.
"Don't you boys have anything better to do?" he asked with a tired tone, the soldiers laughing at his remark.
"Nope! We thought we should have some target practice. Seems we'll start with you!"
Buck gaped for a moment, watched how the man speaking slowly pulled out a gun.
"Boys, men. You don't have to do this. Just return to your tents, sleep it off and I won't let your superiors know," Ben said, nodding at them one at a time.
"Sorry, old man. My fingers are just itching so bad I couldn't sleep!" the man with the gun laughed, pointing his weapon at Ben.
"Please, don't destroy yourselves with this. Forget all about tonight and put away the gun," Ben pleaded with a still calm voice.
Buck had seen the look on the soldier's face before. He knew that gun would not rest until it's keeper had had his fun. As he saw the finger close around the trigger, he jumped for Ben.
The sound as the gun went off echoed for a long moment. Buck and Ben tumbled on the ground, the soldiers laughing like never before.
Ben rose, angry eyes at the bluecoats on the other side of the fence.
"Put away the gun, your days here are already over!" he spat, a burning look flashing from his eyes.
Buck felt the bullet in his abdomen, anted to cry out, but couldn't find his breath again. He knew he had to get up or all would be lost, so he scrambled for his feet, left hand covering the wound in his stomach.
Cody heard the gunshot as he sat in his tent, trying to figure out how to save his friend. He stood at the alarming noise, walking outside with a questioning look on his face. Though it was the Independence Day of his country, he couldn't see why there had to be any shootings on that side of the Fort. The booze was sold on the east side, this was the west.
Walking a few steps toward the noise, he realized it came from the dying prisoners' quarters. He started to half-run across the dust, thought he saw his friend Ben in the crowd by the fence.
"Aren't you giving up yet, Injun?" the man still holding the gun asked, Ben taking a step closer.
"It's enough! Walk away and leave this all behind!" he demanded, reaching for Buck's arm, hearing the sound of the gun reloading.
Another bullet flew in the air, Buck falling to the ground once again.
"No!" Cody screamed from a distance, running faster as he realized what was happening.
The second bullet paralyzed him, but he didn't feel any greater pain. He tried to move, eyes closing despite his efforts to keep them open. He saw Ben leaning over him, heard the laughter and screams of the crowd. Soon he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and he was just faintly aware of Ben collecting him into his arms.
Cody immediately yelled at the soldiers to stop laughing and get the hell out of there, then crouched by Ben's side after leaping over the fence.
The older Indian felt Buck's neck for a pulse, Cody holding his breath until he looked up. Ben looked straight into Cody's eyes, a darkness in them he had never see before.
"He's dead."
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