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.
Sweetwater, 1877
Buck stood just inside the cemetery fenceline, his tears still wet on his cheeks, his own grief almost more than he could bear, watching the tiny woman kneeling at the side of the as yet unfilled grave pour out her grief. He let his eyes sweep over the headstones marking the final resting place of some of their closest friends, and closed his eyes in disbelief of how their lives had turned out.
Only three of them remained now, fate handing the cruellest of hands to the others. He cast his mind back to the day they had met, it seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only sixteen years. The day they all signed up to ride for the pony express, they had all been green, inexperienced orphans, eager to prove themselves and desperate to fit in From the moment they had arrived at this very town, they had begun to forge a bond that would seal them together as a family forever. Even as those bonds were being forged it seemed that outside forces were conspiring against them to tear them apart.
Ike had been the first to be taken. The memories of his first dear friend still brought a haze of tears to his eyes, shot protecting Emily Metcalfe, the woman he loved, had died honourably and whilst he was buried in an Indian ceremony, Teaspoon had insisted that they place a marker in the cemetery to give the all of the riders a place to grieve. Noah had been the next to be senselessly snatched from his young life, caught in the maelstrom of hostility and futility that surrounded the violent aggressions between the north and the south. His life had been needlessly stolen and not a day passed when they didn’t regret his death.
Five years ago, Teaspoon had been taken from them, not by outlaws or accident but by his own failing health, he had suffered a fatal heart attack on the day of his son’s birthday, a day that would now always be tinged with sadness for Rachel and their tiny son, the son that Teaspoon had not lived to see.
Almost two years ago, in what, until now, had seemed the cruellest blow, their family was ravaged by a cholera epidemic that had swept through the town like a wildfire. Tears flooded his eyes as his gaze rested on his wife’s headstone, she and one of their two children, his son, succumbed to the disease as did two of Kid and Lou’s three precious offspring. He looked at the graves of their sons, best friends in life, buried side by side in death, both he and Kid had never really recovered from the loss of their two boys, each losing their only son.
As if that wasn’t bad enough then came the blow that nearly broke the will of them all, word reached them that Jimmy was killed a little less than a year ago in a card game in Deadwood. They had all made the trip to his final resting place, to say their final goodbyes to him, but as had become customary on their return Kid erected a small marker in their cemetery for his once closest friend, somewhere where they could go and vent their grief. Often, he had come out to talk to his beloved Jennifer only to find Kid or Lou or sometimes even both of them sitting wordlessly at the side of the marker.
Feeling a gentle tugging at the sleeve of his jacket, he forced a slight smile to his lips and wiped the tears from his cheeks, as he knelt down to talk to the tiny little angel that had asked for his attention.
“Uncle Buck” she spoke softly even at four knowing that this was a solemn occasion, not quite understanding what was happening but seeming to understand that her young life was changing forever.
“When is Mama going to come back?’ she asked as she looked at her mother kneeling forlornly at the graveside, her tears dropping into the grave and mingling with the soil already on the coffin.
“She’ll be in soon darling she just needs a little time to herself.’ Looking up he beckoned with his eyes to his fourteen-year-old daughter Starr, who quickly came and lifted Lou’s only surviving child into her arms, carrying her quickly away from the cemetery. As Starr would have spoken, Buck shook his head, not wanting to talk to the children yet, not knowing if he could trust his voice to form the words that needed to be said. Watching them walk towards the house he realised now that it was time for Lou to leave the cemetery, so the undertaker could finish his job. Striding quickly to her side, he knelt beside her, his hands on her shoulders, shaking his head as he felt the silent but soul wracking sobs that continuously shook her body.
‘Lou honey, it’s time to leave now’ he spoke softly
“Buck I can’t leave him.’ She sobbed pathetically, her face swollen with her tears, her voice husky with grief.
“Lou you have to, he’s gone honey,’ Buck hated having to do this to her, but ever since she had received the news, she had been inconsolable, many times she had asked for her life to be taken as well, that she could not live without him, he was truly worried about her, frightened of what she might do if she sank any further into the pit of despair she was sinking into.
Buck pulled her tightly into his arms and held her as she sobbed against his chest remembering the fateful events of the past two days.
He had gone into town to pick up supplies, to visit briefly with Starr’s grandfather and to chat with Kid, his best friend and business partner, when a gun fight had broken out in town. Kid, now the respected town Marshall, and always the peacemaker, had quickly stepped into the fray and whilst trying to work a peaceful end to their dispute had been shot in the back. Buck had quickly realised that the wound would indeed be fatal and made his friend as comfortable as he could staying with him as he drew his final breaths. Promising him that he would look after the tiny woman who meant more to Kid than his own life, Buck had screamed for someone to ride out to their home and get Kid’s wife, as his friend had drawn his last breath cradled in his arms. Robbed of the chance of a long and happy life by a gunman’s bullet, the chance to say goodbye to the woman who held his heart stolen from him the moment that the trigger had been pulled.
Now his only problem was trying to draw her back into life and away from the abyss of self pity that she was seeking.
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