Five Horses’ life continued its spiral of change after the birth of Running Buck.  As the wife of White Eagle she held a position of respect and authority in the village social system, retaining it even after his death.  By keeping Running Buck, she had gone against the Kiowa’s established code of conduct and her position in Kiowa society changed.

Friends once close to her now kept their distance, including her in their conversations rarely and never in their activities.  Five Horses did not understand how a small child could have so much influence over people’s actions and thoughts.  She looked at her son and saw a beautiful innocent child.  The Kiowa saw the same child as an enemy capable of destroying their culture.  The isolation imposed upon her was hard to accept but in the choice between appeasing her people or loving her son, Five Horses gladly chose the latter.

It would have been common practice, after a suitable period of mourning, for the elders of the village to arrange a marriage for Five Horses.  Because of her white child, none of the braves in the village would have her.  That was fine with her.  Life would have been easier for Five Horses and her sons if she had a new husband to provide for them, but she did not wish to remarry.  She would not wed out of necessity and knew she could never love another man.  White Eagle held her heart and always would, in this world as well as the next.

Red Bear, forced prematurely into manhood by the death of his father, quickly became a skilled hunter supplying his family with deer meat and hides.  Five Horses, with Running Buck cradled on her back, gathered herbs, fruit and nuts from the land around the village, always mindful of venturing too far by herself.  At first she was afraid to gather food alone, remembering earlier tragic consequences, but she refused to let the past control her.  Her children needed her to be strong.   Between mother and son the family was fed and clothed.  Five Horses held her head high as she walked through the village determined to show that they needed no help.

With Red Bear holding his small hands, Running Buck learned to walk, then, living up to his name, began to run.  Five Horses kept a watchful eye as Running Buck toddled through the village.  The little boy could not understand the animosity in the eyes of those watching him, but his mother did.

Black Water Woman no longer appeared to be a threat to Running Buck’s safety.  Her anger seemed to have eaten away at her mind and she spent each day in her own world, talking to people who weren’t there.  Five Horses felt pity for her now.  Her actions had been driven by the intense grief of losing a child.   Although Five Horses could not bring herself to forgive Black Water Woman she no longer hated her.  Grief was a powerful thing. 

As Running Buck grew older it became more difficult to keep constant watch of his whereabouts.  Five Horses worried there were others waiting for the opportunity to rid the village of its enemy.  Red Bear thought his mother was very over protective by insisting Running Buck never be out of their sight, but he complied with her wishes and allowed his little brother to tag along after him.  Running Buck adored his older brother and soon became his shadow, following Red Bear wherever and whenever possible.  Though the age difference was great, Red Bear began to actually enjoy the youngster’s company.  He had often wished for a brother and now seemed to be making up for lost time.  Together they would ride for hours across the open prairie on Red Bear’s horse.  With his brother’s arms protectively wrapped around him, Running Buck sat astride the animal, smiling broadly as his outstretched arms tried to capture the wind as they raced through the tall grass, their laughter echoing across the prairie.

There were times that Running Buck could not accompany Red Bear and he would try to play with the other children of his age in the village.  The children, still young enough to have not learned the prejudice of their parents, were more than willing to play.  But as soon as their mothers saw their companion, the children were quickly lead away leaving a bewildered Running Buck wondering why his playmates had left.  The boy would return to his teepee, his head bowed in disappointment, to wait for his brother’s return.  At the first sight of his hero, Running Buck would run across the village and throw himself into his brother’s arms.  All disappointment disappeared as Red Bear picked him up and raised the boy high into the air.

Five Horses sat across from her sons in their teepee watching Running Buck’s dark eyes shine with adoration as he listened to Red Bear tell stories of the deer and buffalo hunts of the summer.  As her sons talked, Five Horses’ mind began to wander.  After almost six years she stilled missed White Eagle terribly but the memory of his death wasn’t as painful now.  They had shared a great love in their short time together and Five Horses found comfort in that.  Her life had not turned out at all as she expected and she wondered what her life would have been had she not wandered to the far side of the lake that afternoon years ago.  White Eagle would not have sought revenge against the white man and would be here with her.  But Running Buck would not.  She loved them both deeply, it wasn’t fair to be allowed only one or the other in her life. 

Brushing an unwanted tear from her eye, Five Horses refused to dwell on things that could not be changed.  The sound of laughter bringing her back to the present, Five Horses watched her sons as their story telling turned into a mock battle.  Red Bear always let his little brother win but retaliated by tickling Running Buck until the boy squealed with laughter.  Five Horses smiled at her son, enjoying the sound, for she knew his laughter would not come as easily in the years ahead.

Six Years Later

“Let me past, Raven Wing,” Running Buck demanded of the older boy blocking his path. 

The three older boys who stopped Running Buck began to circle slowly around him, blocking his exit.  Running Buck had been gathering firewood for his mother and was on his way back to their teepee when the boys decided to have some fun at his expense.  This was nothing new.  While most of the tribe tended to keep their distance from the boy, these three delighted in doing everything possible to make Running Buck’s life miserable.  As children of the highest class in Kiowa society, they felt it their right to degrade those of lesser classes.  Running Buck, as a half-breed, held the lowest class possible and to the other boys, was fair game.

“I said let me past!” again demanded Running Buck.

“Did you say something, White Face?” asked Raven Wing tilting his head to the side with an inquisitive expression on his face. Clearly the leader of the three, he continued, “I think the white boy said something to us my friends,” 

Dark Feather and Gray Wolf chuckled at their companion’s comments and continued to circle around a fuming Running Buck.  He knew his anger would have no effect on the older three.  The confrontations were always the same.  The boys would taunt him mercilessly with their insults and then practice their fighting skills on him, leaving him with a bloody nose or blackened eye.  Once his finger had even been broken when Dark Feather stomped on his hand as Running Buck tried to push himself off the ground.

Red Bear, as a dutiful older brother, had taught Running Buck to defend himself.  Even at a young age the boy was skillful and could probably have held his own with any one of the three older boys, but they never came at him only one at a time.

“You do not have the right to speak to us, half-breed,” spat Raven Wing.  “Get on your knees and apologize.”

A glance to either side confirmed there was no escape from his three tormentors.  Running Buck held his head high already knowing the outcome of the fight but refusing to be defeated easily.  Glaring into the eyes of Raven Wing he squared his shoulders readying himself for the onslaught of insults to come. 

“Get your filthy, white eyes off me, White Face!” demanded the older boy as the three began to close in around Running Buck.

“I look where I want,” replied Running Buck in a steady voice his eyes never straying from Raven Wing.  His heart was pounding inside his chest but Running Buck knew he could not show fear.  That is what the boys wanted most. 

His eyes squinting with the intensity of his hate Raven Wing leaned forward into Running Buck’s face.  “You do not speak to me! You do not look at me!  You do not have the right to walk on the same ground as me!  You are nothing!  You were a mistake, White Face!”

Running Buck continued to hold his head high through the force of the insults.  He had heard them before, but it still hurt.  He knew from experience the insults would continue for a while longer, then they would beat him and leave him bleeding in the dirt as they continued in their carefree lives of privilege.

Gray Wolf, not wanting to be outdone by his companions, entered the attack with a new insult.  “White Face, I don’t think your mother was raped.  I think she laid down and gave it to the white man!”

Running Buck’s head snapped around to face Gray Wolf, an intense fury building inside him.  Insulting him was one thing but to say such a thing about Five Horses was intolerable.  He dropped the load of firewood in his arms and lunged forward at the older boy knocking Gray Wolf backwards.  Landing on top of him, Running Buck began to avenge the attack on his mother’s dignity with well placed blows to Gray Wolf’s head and chest.   His sudden outburst of hostility surprised the older boys, allowing him to vent his anger on Gray Wolf’s nose before he was roughly pulled off by Raven Wing and  Dark Feather.  Raven Wing grabbed Running Buck’s wildly swinging arms and pulled them behind his back while the boy struggled to break free.

Gray Wolf rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his nose.  “You should not have done that, White Face,” he said, his voice low, seething with anger for the half-breed boy who had just humiliated him in front of his friends.

As if instructed by an unheard signal, the three older boys converged upon Running Buck at the same time, their fists connecting with his face and chest.  Running Buck tried desperately to stay on his feet but the onslaught was too much and he dropped to his knees in the midst of his attackers.  Sensing victory, the three decreased the intensity of their battle and stepped back, only Dark Feather remained close to the boy, holding Running Buck’s arms behind his back. 

Running Buck held his head low, his eyes downcast in anger and humiliation, blood beginning to pour freely from his nose and mouth.  “Some day,” he promised himself.  “Some day I will win.”

“Apologize to us you half breed, white faced bastard!  Apologize for being born!” demanded Raven Wing.

Raising his head slowly to meet the gaze of his enemy, blood streaming down his face, Running Buck calmly replied, “No.”

Infuriated by Running Buck’s defiance Raven Wing abruptly brought his knee up under the boy’s chin, the force of the blow sharply snapping his head backward.   In an instant, the three bullies were on him again, pinning Running Buck to the ground under their weight.

Breathing heavily from the exertion, Raven Wing taunted, “My father said that whites have short hair.  I think White Face should have short hair.”

Dark Feather and Gray Wolf, trying to catch their breath, nodded heads in agreement and laughed at their friend’s idea. 

Running Buck struggled with all his might to free himself but knew it was no use.  Raven Wing sat astride his back while Gray Wolf and Dark Feather held the boy’s arms and legs tightly against the ground.  Raven Wing grabbed the hunting knife from the sheath on Gray Wolf’s belt, twisted Running Buck’s long hair into a tight coil and began to cut into the dark mass wound together at the base of Running Buck’s neck.

When the act was finished the three jumped to their feet, Raven Wing proudly holding up the bundle of hair for his friends to see.    Together they danced victoriously around a degraded Running Buck, emitting war cries and displaying the hair as if it was a scalp taken in battle.

Running Buck had endured countless attacks of cruelty from these three as well as some from others in the village but nothing had assaulted his dignity this badly.  The Kiowa took extreme pride in their hair.  To have his cut off in such a manner was the ultimate form of degradation.  Running Buck remained motionless on the ground, his eyes closed tightly trying to will the attackers away.  Satisfied with their victory, the three boys turned to leave.  Gray Wolf, needing to exhibit his superiority to the younger boy, stopped long enough to place his foot on Running Buck’s face and drive it further into the ground, mixing dirt with blood. 

“Remember this, White Face.  Next time we take your scalp, too.”

Five Horses waited for Running Buck to bring the firewood and knew when he did not return promptly something was wrong.  Running Buck was an obedient boy and would not keep her waiting.   There had been trouble, again.  The scattered firewood and signs of a scuffle confirmed her suspicions.

She knew where to find him.  As many times before after a fight, he retreated to a secluded area amidst a grove of trees not far from the village.  A small clearing was hidden behind a dense growth of trees and brush.   Here Running Buck would go to nurse his wounds and try to regain his pride.

Five Horses entered the clearing and found her bruised and battered son leaning against the gnarled trunk of a cedar tree, his face buried in his hands.  Sensing her presence he looked up at his mother, wiping an unwanted tear from his eye.  Kiowa warriors did not cry.  But then Kiowa warriors had long hair.

Five Horses’ heart broke for her son as he raised his head and she saw the length of his hair.  Sighing heavily, she sank to the damp ground before her son and pulled him to her gently caressing his shorn head.

Running Buck allowed his mother to comfort him as he leaned his forehead against her shoulder.  “I hate them!” he began.  “I hate all of them!  I do nothing to them and still they treat me like this!  Animals are treated better than this!  I try to be one of them!  All I have ever wanted was to be Kiowa!”

Five Horses knew the pain in her son’s heart.  He did try hard.  There were many rules in Kiowa society and Running Buck was careful to obey them.  He rose early in the morning so the sun would not think he was a lazy child.  He spoke with respect to his mother and would show the same respect to other adults in the village if he ever got the chance.  He learned the legends of the Kiowa and honored the spirits, praying to them every day.  Running Buck was a model Kiowa child in every way but his skin color.

Running Buck pulled back from his mother to look in her eyes, “They will never accept me.  It will always be this way,” he added, the anger in his voice now replaced with sadness.  “I asked Red Bear to make them stop but he does not believe me when I tell him these things.”

“I know, my son.  Red Bear wants you to be accepted so he tells himself it is so.  He sees with his heart and not his eyes,” replied Five Horses her hand reaching out to gently touch Running Buck’s bruised and swollen face.

“Will he not see this?” asked Running Buck grabbing what was left of his hair.

“Do not be angry with your brother, Running Buck.  He is a good man.  He loves you very much and is blinded by that love.  He will still not believe.”

 Red Bear would most likely pass the incident off as a child’s prank. Running Buck nodded his head in agreement. He understood.

“Mother, I am so tired of living this way.  I have done nothing wrong.  Why can they not accept me?” pleaded Running Buck.

“They do not know any better,” answered Five Horses.

Running Buck looked at his mother with a puzzled expression as Five Horses continued.

 “The Kiowa have been taught for generations to fear the white man.  The white man is unknown to them and they fear what they do not know.  Because you are half white, they fear you, too.  To change what has been taught for many years is very difficult, Running Buck.  You must be patient and wait for a time to prove yourself as Kiowa.  That time will come and you will have your chance.  Then you can make them change.”

“It is hard to be patient, Mother, when they do this.  How can I be Kiowa with short hair?” he asked, his humiliation evident in his eyes.

“Do you really think that makes a difference?” questioned Five Horses.  The look on Running Buck’s face clearly indicated that he did think so.

Hesitating for a moment, Five Horses reached for the hunting knife her son carried on his belt. 

“Mother, no!” Running Buck cried in horror as Five Horses sliced through her own long ebony colored braid with one swift motion of the knife. 

“Look at me Running Buck.  Am I a different person than a moment ago?”

“Of course not, Mother!” Running Buck answered, astonished by her actions.

“Then neither are you.  A Kiowa warrior is known by the strength of his spirit and the courage in his heart, not by the length of his hair.  They cannot take your spirit from you unless you give it to them.  You are Kiowa, they cannot change that.  Do you understand?”

Running Buck nodded his head.

“They are your people, my son.  They just do not realize it yet.  Some day they will.”

Running Buck looked at his mother with skepticism.  He very much wanted to believe her, but it was hard.

“Do not let your heart be filled with hate, Running Buck.  Do not despise them for their actions, but pity them for their ignorance,” she added laying her hand on his arm and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Five Horses began to rise to her feet as Running Buck grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.  “Mother, was I a mistake?”

Five Horses looked deep into her son’s dark eyes as she sank back down to the ground.  Forming her thoughts carefully before she began Five Horses spoke softly, “The memories of how your life was created still frighten me.  The loss of White Eagle still weighs heavy in my heart.  But you, my son, were a gift from the spirits to lessen my sorrow.  I looked into your eyes when you were born and came to know that love has no color.  Loving you as I do, how could you possibly be a mistake?”

The winter winds shook the Kiowa village with a vengeance bringing an abundance of ice and a thick blanket of snow.   Although the Kiowa, themselves, found safety and shelter in their warm teepees, their herd of horses required constant care.  It was a daily struggle to find shelter, food and water for the animals but it was a necessary battle, the Kiowa could not exist without their horses.

Red Bear, now married and the father of two small daughters, had taken his rightful place as war chief and, befitting his important status, had accumulated a large number of horses.  Each day, he and Running Buck, wrapped from head to toe in thick buffalo hides, ventured into the frozen wilderness to lead his herd to the ice covered lake where they would chop holes in the ice allowing the animals to drink.  They would then lead the animals back to the shelter of the timber surrounding the village, provide them with dry grass that had been cut during the summer and check each animal for injury or ailment.  After a long day in the frigid conditions, the brothers returned to their homes, exhausted by their efforts. 

Though the work was hard, Running Buck did not mind.  The Kiowa were busy tending to their own responsibilities.  No one had the time or energy to torment him.

Five Horses saw the weary faces and tired bodies of her sons.  They clearly needed help.  Refusing to allow them to wage this war against the weather by themselves and knowing Red Bear’s wife needed to stay with their children, she insisted on helping herd the animals.  Three could surely do the work faster than two.  Both Red Bear and Running Buck initially refused to accept their mother’s offer but Five Horses was determined.  The brothers knew better than to cross their stubborn mother.

For weeks they worked together waging battle against the snow and severe temperatures.  Five Horses began to feel tired, very tired.  She dismissed the pain in her chest as aches and pains from the strenuous work.  She would not abandon her commitment.  Her sons needed her.  Returning to their teepee at the end of the day, Five Horses  prepared an evening meal for Running Buck and then, exhausted, would seek warmth for her shivering, aching body under the heavy buffalo robes which served as her bed.

Five Horses woke to the mournful, howling sound of the winter wind.  Though the fire in the teepee and the heavy buffalo robes provided much warmth she was still shivering with cold.  But this cold felt different.  Rather than a feeling produced from the outside elements, this cold came deep from within her body.  She reached for another buffalo robe as a cough rose from deep in her lungs, shaking her small frame.

Running Buck woke to the early morning light and the sound of his mother’s coughing. 

“Mother, are you ill?” he asked, concern evident in his voice.

“No, Running Buck, I am fine,” his mother lied.  “I will prepare our morning meal and then we will go to the herd.”

The family trudged through the deep snow gathering the horses as they had so many times before as a new storm approached from the west.  Bowing their heads against the wind, Running Buck and Red Bear continued forward not realizing their mother had fallen behind.   After a moment, sensing  she was no longer with them, they turned in unison to see Five Horses collapse in the snow.

The smell of herbs and the chants of the medicine man filled Five Horses’ teepee as she lay shivering with a high fever before her sons, violent coughs shaking her body.  The ancient medicine man, Cloud Walker, knew the illness.  He had seen it before.  Passing an eagle feather over her body he implored the spirits to take the fever and relieve the coughing, but knew his efforts were most likely futile.

Darkness fell on the village as a distraught Red Bear sat at his mother’s side, his head in his hands, aware that Five Horses’ illness had come from her desire to help him.  Running Buck sat opposite his brother, Five Horses’ body between them, slowly becoming aware of the severity of his mother’s illness.

Five Horses felt a deep stabbing pain in her chest that increased with every breath she drew.  The constant coughing only made her pain worse.  She could feel her strength fading away.  Through fever glazed eyes she saw a darkness hovering over her, growing closer, threatening to engulf her.

“Please, just a little more time,” she bargained with the darkness.

Turning to Red Bear, she spoke to her eldest child.  “I am proud of you, my son.  You are a strong man and a powerful warrior.  Lead your people with pride, think twice before you act in haste.  Take care of your brother.  I love you, Red Bear.  You have made your father proud.”

Red Bear looked into his mother’s loving gaze, unashamed of the tears overflowing from his eyes, and nodded his head in acknowledgment of her request.

Turning to Running Buck, Five Horses gathered her remaining strength and through her tears began, “You were a precious gift to me, Running Buck.  I have loved you with all my heart.  Do not let your spirit be filled with anger.  You will find your place in this world, my son.  Do not be afraid to look for it.”

Unable to hold back the flood of tears, Running Buck cried, “Mother, please do not leave me!” as his one true ally on this earth closed her eyes and went to join White Eagle waiting patiently for her in the land behind the sun.
 

Chapter Five

1 ½ years after Five Horses’ Death

Running Buck lay awake in Red Bear’s teepee listening to the sounds of the night - the gentle rustling of the summer breeze through the leaves of the cottonwood trees, the melody of the cricket’s song, the call of the bullfrogs.  Peaceful sounds.  Running Buck wished with all his heart that his soul could find a moment of such peace.

Sitting up on his bed Running Buck surveyed the interior of his brother’s home.  After adjusting to the dim light, his eyes rested upon Red Bear’s daughters sleeping with the innocence of childhood on their pallets.  “Such lucky children,” he thought to himself.  Red Bear was a good father and he was envious of the little girls.

His eyes moved to Red Bear and his wife, Wind Dancer, sleeping peacefully entwined in each other’s arms.  Running Buck wondered sadly if he would ever find that kind of love with a woman.  “Probably not,” he answered himself.  “Who would want me?”

A great sweeping sadness overcame Running Buck as he remembered the events of earlier in the day and similar incidents in the months since Five Horses’ death.  His shoulders hunched forward and his head hung low like a wounded animal as the memories weighed heavily upon him.  He could take no more.

Running Buck continued to be the victim of jokes, insults and physical abuse after his mother’s death.  He felt the suspicious eyes of the Kiowa on his every movement.  Even Red Bear’s wife, Wind Dancer, looked at him with distrust.  She had made a place for him in their home after Five Horses died, but it was clear to Running Buck she was uncomfortable with his presence there.

While Five Horses was alive Running Buck could confide in his mother and she shared in his despair.  Five Horses understood her son’s misery, the Kiowa showed her no kindness, either.  Now that she was gone, Running Buck had no confidant.  Little Bird, a white girl taken in a Kiowa raid on a passing wagon train, had filled the void in Running Buck’s life for a short while.  But she had been returned to the white world leaving Running Buck alone, again.

The boy tried to talk to Red Bear about his life in the village but his tormentors were careful to inflict the worst of their punishment when his brother was away.  Red Bear honestly didn’t see the most severe abuse.  The minor bruises he did see were simply dismissed as the rivalries of adolescent boys.  He knew some of the adults in the village did not approve of Running Buck’s presence but, in general, Red Bear felt his little brother was overreacting.  The chief’s eyes could not be opened to the truth. 

Since no one would listen, Running Buck simply stopped talking about the difficulties in his life.  Instead, he held his pain and anguish deep within himself, swallowing more and more anger and humiliation until it began to eat at his insides.  Lying awake at night, curled up in a tight ball, he fought the burning sensation and pain in his stomach that would not allow sleep to come.

At thirteen summers old, Running Buck’s primary responsibility in his brother’s household was to care for the horses.  He had a quiet way with the animals and they responded well to him allowing him some much needed self-confidence in his abilities, but tending the horses, also, brought back the painful memories of Five Horses last days with them. 

Next summer he would be old enough to accompany the adults in raiding or hunting parties, although even then, a boy’s duties consisted of caring for the horses and tending to the animal carcasses taken in the hunt.  Running Buck dreamed of doing something important in a raid or dropping a mighty buffalo with one well placed arrow from his bow.  The men would be impressed and he would be able to prove himself Kiowa.  He looked forward to next summer.  But until then, he tended Red Bear’s horses.

Sliding off the back of his mount Running Buck quickly scanned the herd and accounted for each animal as they began to drink from the lake.  Satisfied that all were present, he took a seat in the cool grass and leaned back against a large rock at the water’s edge watching the animals as they began to graze in the tall prairie grass. 

Running Buck leaned his head back against the cool surface of the rock allowing the summer sun to warm his face.  It felt good, almost relaxing.  He had not slept well the night before and was tired.  Closing his eyes, listening to the hypnotic sound of water lapping against the rock, he promised himself he would rest for just a moment.

Raven Wing, Dark Feather and Gray Wolf had been rabbit hunting and were returning to the village when the spotted Running Buck asleep against the rock.  They had intended to take a dip in the lake to escape the summer heat but tormenting the half-breed would be more fun.

The three troublemakers quietly approached the sleeping boy and knelt down in the grass beside him, motioning to each other to be quiet.  Raven Wing pulled a blade of grass from the earth and began to brush it across Running Buck’s face.

“Wake up, White Face,” Raven Wing teased as he continued to tickle Running Buck’s face with the grass, quickly removing it as the boy tried to brush it away in his half-sleep.

Squinting in the bright sunlight overhead, Running Buck opened his eyes to see the familiar forms of his tormentors hovering over him.

“You should not be asleep, White Face.  What would our war chief think if he knew his horses were cared for in such a careless way?” taunted Raven Wing, shaking his head in disapproval.

Running Buck, clearly at a disadvantage with his back against the rock, tried to get to his feet, but was roughly pushed back to the ground by Gray Wolf and Dark Feather.

Raven Wing continued in his string of insults. “White Face, you spend so much time with horses you smell like one!”

Leaning forward into Running Buck’s face he sniffed the air and then quickly turned his head away.  In mock disgust, he waved his hand back and forth under his nose.  “White Face, you stink like a horse’s rump.  You need a bath!”

The three older boys grabbed Running Buck’s arms and legs and carried him into the water, clearly amused with the struggling boy.  Running Buck twisted and kicked at his captors with all his strength, but could not break free.  Swinging him through the air, the boys threw him into the water, laughing with glee as Running Buck splashed unceremoniously into the lake.

Running Buck quickly gained his footing and stood in the waist deep water glaring with anger filled eyes at Raven Wing and his friends.  He tried to gather his dignity and began walking toward the shore as the boys gathered around him.

“You are not clean, yet, stinking half-breed.  We will help you,” offered Dark Feather with feigned sincerity.

Lunging forward at Running Buck they pulled him further into the lake where the bottom dropped off sharply and pushed his head under, holding him just beneath the surface.  Unprepared for the dunking, Running Buck took in water and began to choke as the air left his lungs.  The boys released their hold and allowed Running Buck to raise his head above the surface gasping for air.  Escape was impossible as the three boys surrounded him.

“My mother said Black Water Woman tried to drown White Face when he was born, but this evil white bastard took her mind and made her crazy.  I think we should do it for her,” stated Gray Wolf with a malicious tone in his voice.

“Great,” thought Running Buck as the boys pushed him under the surface again.  Now he was being blamed for Black Water Woman’s insanity.

Struggling against the pressure on his head and shoulders Running Buck began to panic.  As he used the last remnants of air in his lungs, the boys released their hold and allowed him to break through the surface, his mind dazed, his body pleading for air.  Somewhere in the distance he heard the sound of laughter. 

The boy’s game was quickly becoming something much more dangerous.  Running Buck genuinely began to fear for his life as the three pulled him under again.  Fighting desperately against the hands holding him down, his lungs began to scream, his heart pounded as it threatened to explode from his chest.  Darkness began to overtake him as he felt himself beginning to slip away.  This was not how he wished to die.

Red Bear was returning to the village from a visit to a neighboring band of Cheyenne with a new mare.  He had bargained back and forth with the Cheyenne chief for weeks until they agreed on a price for the animal.  She was a strong, gentle creature with excellent conformation, her coat the color of red clay.  Red Bear was delighted with his new prize and was certain she would serve as a trusted mount and excellent breeding stock, supplying the Kiowa with generations of fine horseflesh.  He was anxious to show the horse to his brother and was fairly certain he could find Running Buck at the lake with his other animals. 

Gray Wolf spotted the approaching war chief and alerted his companions.  They released their hold on Running Buck and quickly swam to shore greeting Red Bear as they emerged from the water.

“We were swimming with your brother.  I think he got a cramp.  It is a good thing we were with him,” stated Raven Wing, completely comfortable with his lie.  The other boys shook their heads in agreement.

Red Bear eyed the boys with suspicion, not quite believing their explanation.  With a nod of his head he ordered them to leave. 

Released from his watery grave, Running Buck fought his way to the surface with the small amount of strength left in his body, dazed and gasping for air.  Regaining his senses, he realized his enemies were gone and slowly moved toward the shore wondering why they had let him live. 

Unaware of what he had just interrupted, Red Bear stood on the bank waiting impatiently for Running Buck.  The exhausted boy pulled himself from the water and staggered onto the bank, collapsing in the grass breathing heavily and coughing up water. 

“Thank you, Red Bear.  They were trying to kill me,” Running Buck muttered as he rose to a sitting position understanding that his brother’s appearance had prevented his death.

“It was just a boy’s game that got out of hand,” rationalized Red Bear as he walked toward his brother.

Running Buck looked at Red Bear in disbelief.  “A game!” he shouted in amazement.  “They want me dead!”

“Running Buck, why would these boys want to harm you?  They are good boys.  There is no reason for such accusations.”  Pausing for a moment Red Bear continued in an authoritative voice, “Perhaps you should try harder to make friends, not spend so much time alone. ”

Running Buck jumped to his feet.  He could not believe his ears.  “How can you be so blind!  I want to stay away from them!  Every time you go away they hurt me!  Have you not seen the scars?”

Clearly injured by his brother’s disbelief, Running Buck continued, “They hate me!  All the Kiowa hate me!  I will never be accepted and you will not see that!  When they kill me will you then understand?”

Running Buck had never shouted at his brother before but could not hold back his frustration and anger any longer.  He nervously paced back and forth before Red Bear, his arms firmly crossed over his heaving chest.

Trying to calm a clearly agitated Running Buck, Red Bear reached for his brother’s shoulder, “I know at times it is difficult for you, brother, but when you are older…”

“If they have their way, I’m not going to get any older!” Running Buck interrupted, angrily pushing Red Bear away.  Too hurt and angry to continue the conversation, Running Buck turned and stormed away.  For the first time in his life he was angry with his brother.

Gathering his few belongings Running Buck quietly rose from his bed.  He silently made his way across the teepee and stopped at the opening, a hard lump forming in his throat.  Drawing a deep breath he turned to look at the man he loved so dearly.  That love was no longer enough.  It was time to leave.

Running Buck emerged from Red Bear’s teepee and let his eyes wander across the slumbering Kiowa village.  He had spent his thirteen years among these people.  He knew their names.  He watched as they celebrated the births of children and grieved for departed loved ones.  But always forced to watch from outside their circle.  All he had ever wanted was to belong.  If any one of these people could have given him the smallest indication he was welcome among them, it would have been enough.  Five Horses had told him not to be afraid to look for his place in the world.  Sadly, Running Buck was certain he would not find his place here.

He walked away from the village to Red Bear’s horses searching for the gray gelding that was his usual mount.  A pang of guilt began to settle upon him as he realized if he left, there would be no one to care for the horses.  How could he leave when Red Bear needed him?  Running Buck began to have second thoughts about leaving. 

He grew nervous as thoughts whirled through his mind.  He knew next to nothing about the world beyond the village.  Where would he go?  Little Bird had taught him some of the white language, but would it be enough?  Maybe this was a mistake.  Red Bear was a powerful chief.  He could make the Kiowa listen.  He could make them change.  Things could be different if…..

Running Buck frowned as he realized he was fooling himself.  How could Red Bear make the Kiowa listen when he would not listen himself?

He found the gelding and started to swing onto the horse’s back but stopped.  The horse belonged to Red Bear, not him.  It would not be right to take it.  Patting the trusted animal’s neck Running Buck bid the gelding “goodbye” and began his walk to the white man’s world.

Red Bear woke early intending to speak to his brother.  They had never before argued or even spoken a cross word to each other and their quarrel bothered him.  Running Buck had gone to bed early without saying another word or even looking at Red Bear.

Running Buck had grown sullen and moody since Five Horses’ death.  Having lost his own father at thirteen, Red Bear felt he understood the boy’s grief.  He tried to be both brother and parent but had to admit much of the time he simply didn’t know how to deal with his younger brother.  Red Bear did not know exactly what he had done to upset Running Buck so, but he was anxious to try to make things right between them.  If he could find him.  Red Bear grew worried as he noticed Running Buck’s belongings were gone.  Had his brother been that angry with him?

Red Bear was startled to find Running Buck’s familiar footprints leading away from the teepee, through the horses and into the prairie.  “Have I taught you no better than this?” he wondered to himself.  Red Bear had spent a great deal of time teaching his brother to track and the necessity of covering your own.  It disappointed him greatly that Running Buck had not paid attention to the lessons, until it dawned on him that his brother wanted to be found.

Red Bear easily followed Running Buck’s tracks through the day and into the evening.  It had not taken long to catch up to the boy since he was on horseback and Running Buck was on foot but Red Bear stayed out of sight, not showing himself until night fell when his brother would be tired and ready to go home.

“You must remember to cover your tracks, little brother,” advised Red Bear as he entered Running Buck’s camp.  The boy had built a small fire and was roasting a jack rabbit on a spit over the flames, watching the juices of the meat drip into the fire and sizzle as they danced on the hot coals.

Running Buck was not at all surprised by his brother’s appearance and did not look away from the rabbit until Red Bear stood directly in front of him.

“I am sorry we argued, Running Buck.   Come.  It is time to go home.”

Not yet wanting to look directly at his brother Running Buck cast his eyes downward and mumbled, “I’m not going back.”

Becoming a bit exasperated Red Bear tried again.  “I apologize, brother.  Please do not be angry with me.”

Running Buck raised his head and looked at his brother pausing for a moment before he spoke. “I am not angry with you, Red Bear.  Not anymore.  But I am not going back.” 

Red Bear drew a deep breath and looked back at the boy.  “Why was he being so difficult?” he wondered to himself.  He was tempted to throw his brother over his shoulder and haul him back to the village kicking and screaming but the sincerity in Running Buck’s voice and the desperate look on his face that told of his need to be understood made Red Bear reconsider.  Sighing heavily, he took a seat on the ground beside Running Buck and finally began to listen.

Running Buck was aware that at long last he had his brother’s attention and hesitated before speaking, searching for the words to make him understand.  Drawing a deep breath he turned to face his brother and began.

“Red Bear, I have tried for so long to make you realize how hard it is for me to live with the Kiowa.  They do not trust me.  Their eyes follow me with suspicion as if at any moment I could bring the white man upon them.  I have never even seen a white man.”

Running Buck stopped for a moment to make sure Red Bear was listening.  “I am insulted, humiliated and beaten for their amusement.  If it rains too much, it is my fault.  If it does not rain enough, it is my fault.  If the buffalo are scarce, it is my fault.  I have done nothing wrong but to be fathered by a white man.  They do not accept me and they never will.”

“You are Kiowa!” broke in Red Bear.

“Red Bear, please listen!  To you I am Kiowa, but to the others I am nothing more than the bastard son of a white man and always will be.  I despise that white man and if I was ever to find him, I would kill him a thousand times.”

Running Buck stopped to try to gauge his brother’s reaction.  Speaking slowly to emphasize the importance of his words he continued, “I need to find a place where I belong.  I can no longer live this way.  My spirit dies a little more every day and I do not wish my life to end this way.  Red Bear, I will love you until my heart no longer beats, but I cannot go back.” 

Red Bear did not know how to respond.  Could his brother’s life really be as miserable as he described?  Needing a moment to think he diverted his eyes from his brother, looking at the ground, a tree, the fire, anything but the hopelessness in Running Buck’s face.  Deep furrows formed on Red Bear’s brow and his eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of the boy’s words.

Grasping at the first idea that presented itself he offered, “I will speak to the fathers of the three boys who torment you.  Everything will be fine then.”

Running Buck was amazed that his bother could be so naïve.  Five Horses had been right, he only saw what he wanted to see.  As a war chief, Red Bear was well known for his ability to plan and carry out a large scale attack.  He had never lead the Kiowa into a fight without first assessing all sides of a situation and taking precautions for any possible counter measures.  How could a man so capable of seeing all things at once not see this?

Running Buck smiled briefly at his brother’s attempt.  “It is not only Raven Wing and his friends, brother.  No one wants me there.  Not even your own wife.”

Taken back by the comment Red Bear reacted strongly, “That is not true!  Wind Dancer loves you as I do!”

“No she doesn’t, Red Bear.  She tolerates me because of you.  That is all.  When I was gone this morning was she concerned?”

The question surprised Red Bear, causing him to think for a moment before answering.  Lowering his head slightly he answered quietly, “No.”

A silence fell between them as Red Bear began to allow himself to believe that perhaps there was some truth in Running Buck’s words.  Slowly and sadly he resigned himself to the fact his brother would not be returning home.  Finally, Red Bear asked, “How will you live?  You are too young to be on your own.  Where will you go?”

“I have my bow and my knife,” responded Running Buck confidently, motioning to the large hunting knife that had been a gift from Red Bear to commemorate his thirteenth summer.  “I will not be hungry.”

“Little Bird told me of the villages of white men where there are places to learn the white language.  Surely I can find such a place.”

Red Bear shook his head in disapproval of the boy’s plan.  “I fear for your safety, little brother.  The whites are evil.  Remember your father, Running Buck.”

“Little Bird told me not all white men act as my father did.  If all whites were bad then Little Bird would have been bad, too, and she was not.”

“Little Bird was different,” rationalized Red Bear.

“How was she different, Red Bear?  She was white,” questioned Running Buck.

Red Bear evaded the question for which he had no answer.  “Your father’s people will not see you as white.”

“And my mother’s people see me only as white.  Red Bear, I know the life I will have if I stay.  Perhaps I will find something better if I go.”

Reluctant to give up, Red Bear placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and made another plea.  “Please return with me, brother.  I will help you to find your place with our people.  Please reconsider.”

Answering Red Bear was the hardest thing Running Buck had ever been forced to do.  “I cannot, Red Bear.  It is too late.”  The look of disappointment in his brother’s face was almost too much for Running Buck to bear.

Realizing he would not win this battle, Red Bear rose to his feet and turned away as if to leave.  Running Buck was not ready for him to go.  They had not said goodbye.  Hurrying to his feet he started after his brother.  “Red Bear…” 

“Wait.”

Red Bear disappeared into the trees surrounding the small camp and returned leading the gray gelding and his red mare. 

“It is a long walk to the white world, Running Buck.  You will need a horse,” he said handing the reins of the red mare to the boy. 

Shaking his head Running Buck refused to take the reins.  “No, brother, she is yours.  I cannot….”

Holding his hand up to silence the boy Red Bear continued, “She is a strong horse.  She will serve you well.  Take care of her.”

“Red Bear, I cannot take her.”

“Treat her well.”

Running Buck nodded his head in affirmation.  Emotions that he did not wish to deal with began to surface as he took the reins from his brother.  “Thank you.”

Red Bear drew a deep breath.  “Go if you must, little brother, but remember, when the white world turns you away there is a place for you in my home.”  Hesitating for a moment he added quietly, “You will always have a place in my heart.” 

Red Bear removed one of his matching silver bracelets and slipped it on Running Buck’s wrist.  “My father, White Eagle, and I wore these bracelets as a symbol of the bond between father and son.  I removed it from his body the day he died and have worn them both since.  Now they are a symbol of our bond as brothers.”

“No, Red Bear.  You should save it for your own son.”

Chuckling for a moment in an attempt to lighten the somber mood Red Bear replied, “Wind Dancer gives me only daughters.”

Tears beginning to stream down his face, Running Buck firmly embraced his brother.  Fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to overtake them both, Running Buck managed to whisper, “I love you, Red Bear.”

Holding his brother tightly in his arms Red Bear silently cursed the Kiowa beliefs that were driving his brother away from him.  He feared greatly for Running Buck’s safety among the whites and was certain  the boy would find no better treatment among them, but he had to let him go.

Reluctantly Red Bear released Running Buck from their embrace.  The war chief and the half-breed each stood silently looking into the face of his brother allowing their eyes to speak the “good bye” neither of them could voice.  Without another word and with a heavy heart, Red Bear mounted the gray gelding and returned to his people.

Running Buck settled down by the fire for his first night on his own, dreaming of a better life . . . praying to any spirit who would listen.
 

Chapter Six

Sweetwater, Wyoming Territory, June 1860

“C’mon, Billy, if we’re goin’, let’s go!” Kid urged impatiently, watching Cody smooth down his blonde hair for the umpteenth time.

Cody gazed into the slightly cracked mirror hanging over a wash basin on the bunkhouse wall and smiled back at his reflection with satisfaction.

“Now, Kid, a man needs to look his best when seen in public.  Never know who might be waitin’ for us in Sweetwater.”

“If we ever get there,” grumbled Kid growing more impatient by the minute.

Finishing the supper dishes, Emma dried her hands on a dish towel and surveyed the two boys.  “You both look just fine.  I’d say we’ve got the handsomest bunch of boys around.  What to you think, Mr. Spoon?”

Teaspoon sat at the table intently cleaning the firing mechanism of his gun, but glanced up at the mention of Emma’s nickname for him.  “I think just ‘cause it’s payday, don’t mean you need to spend it all in one night.”

The riders at the Sweetwater station had been employed by the Pony Express for two months.  None of the boys had held down a permanent job for any length of time before, so the idea of a regular payday was exciting.  Ike, Lou and Jimmy were away on runs leaving Cody, Kid and Buck at the station with Teaspoon and Emma.  Two of the three riders remaining at the station were anxious to get to Sweetwater and spend some of their earnings. 

Kid looked across the bunkhouse at the half-breed rider reclining on his bunk, reading.  “Sure you don’t wanna come, Buck?”

“Why don’t you go, Buck,” suggested Emma.  “The chores are done and it’s a beautiful evening.”

Buck looked up from his book, unconvinced.

“Emma’s right, Buck.  No need to stay around here, lessen of course you want to get started muckin’ out them stalls.  I was waitin’ to have you start on that in the mornin’, but if you’d rather stay here, you could start on ‘em now,” Teaspoon added in his Texas drawl.

Teaspoon understood Buck’s hesitancy to go to town.  Many of the fine residents of Sweetwater had questioned the hiring of an indian by the Pony Express and were less than cordial to Buck when he accompanied the other boys to pick up supplies at the general store.  However, in Teaspoon’s opinion, if the boy was to live in the white man’s world, he needed to find a way to make the townspeople change their opinions about him or learn to ignore them.  He couldn’t accomplish either one tucked away at the station.

Teaspoon hoped to create a family of sorts out of this rag-tag bunch of riders.  In the short time they had been together a bond was growing between the boys and he was pleased.  Each of them had disclosed enough of their lives before the Express to illustrate that no one had led a charmed life.  Never having spent time with an indian, the other boys were intensely curious about Buck’s past.  Clearly uncomfortable with the inquisition, Buck quietly replied that his mother had been raped by a white man and he left the Kiowa for his own reasons.  Cody, certain there were exciting stories of buffalo hunts, raids on white settlors and scalpings in Buck’s past, pushed for details but a stern look of disapproval from Ike stopped his prying questions.

At first, Teaspoon thought the bald mute and Kiowa half-breed were an odd combination, but after observing the two for a while, he realized they complimented each other perfectly.  The fact that Ike couldn’t speak and relied only on sign language to voice himself mattered little.  They communicated on a level that didn’t require words.  Buck was clearly more comfortable when Ike was with him and seemed a little lost when his friend was away.  A bond as strong as theirs, developed over years spent side by side, was a rare and envied thing.  But Heaven help the survivor if anything ever happened to one of those boys.  An Express rider’s life was not without peril.

It seemed to Teaspoon that the riders had paired off, somewhat.  Ike and Buck of course.  Lou and Kid, Jimmy and Cody.  He hoped all his boys would learn to appreciate and trust each other.  Their lives might very well depend upon it some day.  A little social time together was a fine start.

“Aw, c’mon, Buck,” urged Cody as he walked to Buck’s bunk.  “Sweetwater’s bound to be more excitin’ than…,” twisting his head sideways to read the title of the book, he sounded out, “He-len of Troy.”

“Troy,” Cody thought for a moment.  “Ain’t that in Missouri?”

Buck looked at Cody, so sincere in his statement, and had to laugh.  The blonde rider clearly needed an education in geography.

“Buck, the Sweetwater Saloon has got to be more interestin’ than readin’ ‘bout some farm girl named Helen from Missouri,” stated Cody with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice.

Cody’s good mood was infectious.  “Alright, alright, I’ll go.” conceded Buck, swinging his long legs over the side of the bunk.  Marking his place in the book he placed it carefully under his mattress and grabbed his hat from the peg rack over the bunk.

“That’s fine,” said Emma a smile crossing her freckled face.  “You boys have a good time and be home before too late.”

The trio was out the bunkhouse door and headed across the yard to the barn as Teaspoon barked out his orders.

The Sweetwater Saloon was full of activity when the three riders arrived in town.  A hazy curtain of smoke hung over the room as Cody, Kid and Buck entered through the swinging doors and made their way to the bar.  Cody summoned the bartender and proceeded to break Teaspoon’s first rule.

“Whiskey, my good man,” he ordered with a wide smile.

“Make that three sarsaparillas, please,” Kid corrected.  “ You know the rules, Cody.”

“Aw, Kid.  You just ain’t no fun,” whined Cody.

The bartender readily placed the drinks on the counter in front of Cody and Kid but hesitated before serving Buck.  The bartender started to make a comment but was interrupted by Cody.

“My friend is thirsty, too, mister,” Cody said, conspicuously waving a handful of bills in front of the saloon owner prompting him to change his mind.  The bartender placed the drink on the counter just slightly out of Buck’s reach and walked away.

It was rumored around town that the Express riders made damn good money.  It would not be in his best interest to offend them.    He would serve the indian, but he didn’t have to like it.  He only wished they would drink something other than sarsaparilla.

Buck tried to suppress the all too familiar feelings, but the look of humiliation on his face gave him away.  Noticing their friend’s distress, Cody and Kid turned him away from the bar and focused their attention on the sights and sounds of the saloon.

There were five or six games of poker in progress.  Men from all walks of life sat at the round tables scattered around the room, glasses of whiskey in their hands and saloon girls in colorful low-cut dresses at their sides or on their laps.  The boys recognized many of the men from town, but others were unfamiliar.  Most likely drifters just passing through.  In the corner a piano player plinked out a lively tune on the tobacco and whiskey stained keys, although no one seemed to be listening.

Cody, anxious for some excitement, spotted an open chair in one of the card games and quickly invited himself to join.  Kid and Buck took places behind the poker players to observe the game.  Buck started to relax a bit and even began to enjoy watching the cocky blonde rider lose hand after hand.

“You better quit now before you lose it all, Cody,” advised Kid.

“Nope, I can feel a change comin’ on,” proclaimed Cody holding his hands in front of him, shaking them slightly as if they were tingling.  “I’m too good lookin’ to have bad luck!”

Kid and Buck looked at each other and rolled their eyes at Cody’s comment.  Neither of them had ever known anyone with a streak of vanity quite as wide as William F. Cody’s.  Certainly it would get him into trouble some day. 

Waiting for the next hand to be dealt, Kid went to the bar for another drink and Buck turned his attention to the table directly behind him.   A good deal of liquor had been consumed and the men at the table were growing drunk and loud.  It was a rough bunch of men, drifters and trappers.  Men obviously not accustomed to manners or bathing.  Buck had little use for alcohol and less for those who indulged in it.  He grew disgusted and turned away as their conversation regarding female conquests grew loud enough to be overhead.

Buck tried to shut out the men’s voices and raucous laughter to pay attention to Cody’s next losing hand, but the volume of the voices at the table behind him kept increasing as the bar maid served another round.  The men seemed intent on impressing each other with their sordid tales, each story bawdier than the last.

A voice behind Buck bragged, “You know boys, the funnest time I ever had, though, weren’t  with no white woman at all.  Yes sir, had many since and many before but none so entertainin’ as a little red bitch ‘bout eighteen years or so ago.  Had me some fun, I did.  When that Kiowa whore had the nerve to spit in my face, I cut her good.  Left a scar from cheek to chin just so she’d remember me.” 

Buck spun around so quickly he nearly lost his balance in search of the voice behind him, the color draining from his face.  Breathing in short gasps, his palms growing moist with sweat, he found the source of the voice.

The trapper appeared to be in his early fifties, balding slightly with a growth of whisker stubble across his face.  He was of average build but his belly hung over the waistband of his trousers as evidence of too much liquor.

Buck grew numb as he stared at the trapper, the words “scar from cheek to chin” repeating over and over in his mind.  Closing his eyes tightly for a moment he pictured Five Horses’ disfigured face.  He heard the sound of laughter from the other men at the table encouraging the trapper to continue his story.

The trapper glanced around the table at his companions to confirm their amusement at his tale.  Feeling Buck’s eyes upon him, he looked up at the boy staring at him from across the table.

“What you lookin’ at, boy?  Heh, bartender, you allow red skins in here?” the trapper bellowed.

Buck continued to stare at the trapper in shock and disbelief.  He felt as if he was paralyzed, unable to move or to speak, even if he knew of something to say.

“You want somethin’ of me, Injun?” demanded the trapper, leaning forward in his chair.  The other men at the table turned toward Buck clearly irritated that he had interrupted their conversation.

Buck felt his heart beating so hard and loud he was certain everyone in the room could hear it.  A slight dizziness came upon him and he grabbed the back of the chair in front of him for support.  The occupant of the chair took offense to Buck’s movements and pushed him away.

“Get your filthy red hand off me!”

Buck began to feel a tightness in his chest as the room grew smaller, the walls closing in on him, squeezing him until he could no longer breathe.  If he didn’t get out of that room he feared that he would die right where he stood.  He quickly turned and darted away from the table, the men’s comments and laughter following him.

“Who let the breed in here anyway?”

“Ought not be allowed in a respectable white establishment.”

“Ignorant injun, oughta kill ‘em all!”

Buck pushed his way across the saloon heading for the door and fresh air.  In his haste, he bumped into Kid returning to the table from the bar sending the sarsaparilla in his hands up into the air, drenching the front of Kid’s shirt.

“Heh!  Watch it, Buck!  What’s the hurry?” Kid chastised.  His tone changed once he saw the look on his friend’s face.  “Buck, you alright?”

“Sorry,” mumbled Buck, almost incoherently, as he continued his retreat, nearly stumbling over a chair in his path. 

With a bewildered look on his face, Kid watched him leave the saloon, then turned to Cody for an explanation.  Cody, engrossed in his first winning hand, simply shrugged.

Buck stumbled through the swinging doors onto the covered porch of the saloon into the cool evening air.  He grabbed hold of the porch rail for support, holding it so tightly the knuckles on his hands turned white while he fought back the urge to retch.

After drawing several breaths of fresh air his heart rate slowed and the turmoil in his stomach began to calm somewhat.  Questions began to creep into his mind.  Could that trapper really be the man who raped his mother?  Had he just looked into the eyes of his father?

Buck had learned long before to brace himself emotionally for indignities forced upon him by the Kiowa and now by white men.  The insults still hurt, but not as much as when they came at him unexpectedly.  But this, this came with no warning, no time to prepare himself.  “Calm down and think,” he ordered. 

The sounds of music and laughter emerging from the saloon were too loud.  He needed someplace quiet to think and gain control of himself.  Pushing himself away from the porch rail on unsteady legs he moved toward his horse tied at the hitching rail.  Buck fumbled with the reins as he tried to untie the leather straps from the rail and nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Buck, you alright?” Kid asked, concern for his friend’s unusual actions evident on his face.

Cody emerged from the smoky saloon and in a disgruntled voice asked, “What’s goin’ on, Buck?  I was finally winnin’.”

Buck didn’t know how to react.  This was a part of his life he simply didn’t want to discuss.  It was much too painful.  He leaned into the red mare and rested his head against her neck as Kid once again, but gently this time, placed his hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“Buck, what happened?  Maybe we can help if you tell us,” Kid offered trying to sound reassuring.  He glanced at Cody who was just as perplexed with Buck’s behavior.  This was quite a change from his usual composed countenance. 

Buck turned to face his two friends.  He wished Ike was there, Ike would understand.  He wasn’t sure that Kid and Cody would.  No one but Ike had ever offered  to listen before, though.  Could he trust them with something so deeply personal? 

Deciding to take the chance, Buck drew a deep, quivering breath as he found his voice and began to explain.  “I  heard a trapper at the next table talk about raping a Kiowa woman about 18 years ago.”  His voice beginning to shake, Buck continued so softly that Kid and Cody had to strain to hear him.  “I think it was my mother.”

Kid and Cody looked at Buck with skepticism written all over their faces.  Kid, thinking in logical terms replied, "Buck, there were probably lots of Kiowa women raped by white men.”  The pained expression on Buck’s face instantly told Kid that he had said the wrong thing.

Before Kid could apologize for his lack of sensitivity, Buck ,growing frustrated and a bit irritated, cried out, “You don’t understand!  My mother’s attacker left a terrible scar on her face!  That trapper bragged about cutting the woman’s face! It’s him!  That man is my father!”

Cody and Kid looked at each other as the words began to take hold, neither of them knowing what to do or say to ease Buck’s obvious suffering.

“I’ve wanted to kill him for so long.”

Surprised by Buck’s statement, Cody broke in, “Buck, you ain’t even sure it’s him!  That was a long time ago and you ain’t never even seen him before!”

He had been wrong to trust them.  Buck looked at Kid and Cody in disappointment as he jerked the reins free from the hitching post and quickly mounted the red mare. 

“Where you going, Buck?” demanded Kid as Buck turned the horse away from the two riders and kicked her into a gallop leaving them standing in a cloud of dust.

Alerted by the sound of approaching horses, Teaspoon and Emma looked up from the log book that contained the schedule of Express runs as Kid and Cody burst through the bunkhouse door. 

“We didn’t expect you boys back this soon,” said Emma with a quizzical look on her face.

“You boys look like the house is a’fire!  Slow down!” commanded the stationmanager.

Kid ignored Teaspoon’s comment.  “Is Buck here?” he asked trying to catch his breath.

“Ain’t seen him.  He’s supposed to be with you.  Somethin’ happen in town?” responded Teaspoon, his expression growing serious.

“Well, I’d say so,” quipped Cody as he took a seat on the bench next to Emma and threw his hat on the table.  “This sure ain’t how I wanted to spend my evening.”

“What happened, boys?” asked Emma, growing impatient with Cody’s sarcasm.  “Someone in town givin’ him a hard time?”

Casting a hard glance at Cody to silence him, Kid began, “Worse.  Buck overheard some trappers in the saloon talking ‘bout…” glancing uneasily at Emma, Kid searched for the appropriate words and continued, “’bout having their way with indian women.”

Emma nodded her head at Kid in appreciation of his attempt at discretion.  “Go on, Kid,” she prompted.

“Well, evidently the trapper said something that made Buck think the woman was his mother.  He’s convinced the trapper is his father and he got real upset.”

“Ain’t never seen Buck like that!  Ran outta that saloon like a crazy man!” interrupted Cody, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Teaspoon looked at the dramatic Mr. Cody.  He was never sure if he could believe what the boy said. 

“He’s right, Teaspoon,” Kid added in agreement.  “Buck was really shook up.  Talking crazy, too.”

“Like what?” questioned the stationmaster, concern evident in his voice.

Kid hesitated for a moment turning his hat over and over in his hands, “Said somethin’ ‘bout wanting to kill him.”

“Lordy Lord!  What are the chances of this happening!  You boys try to calm him down?” 

“We tried to tell him it might not even be the same man, but he wouldn’t listen,” added Cody defensively.

“Don’t much matter if he’s the same man or not, Cody, long as Buck believes he is.”  Pausing for a moment Teaspoon continued, “No idea where he went?”

“He headed north out of Sweetwater. We tried to follow, but lost him.  He was ridin’ pretty wild.”

“We need to find him.  Hearing that story must have been a terrible shock,” said Emma, her maternal instincts showing in her voice.

“I agree, Emma, but I don’t think we’re gonna find Buck ‘less he wants to be found.”  Teaspoon thought for a moment before continuing. “You boys get a look at this trapper?”

‘Not really,” Kid answered.  “There was a bunch of ‘em.  Why?”

“Our best chance of keeping Buck from doing somethin’ foolish may be gettin’ to this man before he does.  We find this trapper, most likely, we’ll find Buck, too.  Hopefully, we can calm him down, talk some sense into him before he makes a big mistake.”

Pushing himself away from the table Teaspoon stood and ordered, “C’mon boys, we’re goin’ to town.  Emma, if Buck turns up you do whatever necessary to keep him here. We’ll be back soon as we can.”

Buck headed out of Sweetwater on the road north of town but soon turned the mare into the open prairie.  The mare seemed to sense her rider’s need to escape and once Buck let her have her head, she ran at full speed through the tall grass.  Good sense soon prevailed as Buck realized he could seriously hurt the beloved animal.  Although the three-quarter moon and a canopy of stars illuminated the prairie, rabbit holes and prairie dog burrows were hidden under the grass.  The mare could easily break a leg if she stepped into one at this speed. 

Buck slowed the mare down and reined her to a stop.  The horse pawed at the ground as he leaned forward resting his head against her neck, hiding his face in her thick mane as waves of memories he had tried to push aside came flooding back.

He had not thought of his father for a long time.  There had been a period of his life at the end of his time with the Kiowa when plotting revenge on this man was a daily occurrence.   Once he left the tribe just getting through each day with enough to eat and a safe place to sleep were his only thoughts.  At the mission, his energies were spent on learning the ways of the white man and defending himself from the white bullies who were as intent on humiliating him as Raven Wing was. 

And then he found Ike.  A true friend who seemed to understand all the pain and frustration, all the hidden fears and self-doubt that he kept locked up tightly inside.  Together they forged a firm bond and vowed to find a better life than either of them had previously known. 

They had found hope for the future in the people of the Pony Express. Buck was not completely comfortable with all the riders yet.  He knew they were not totally at ease with him, either.  He liked the stationmaster and felt he was a man to be trusted.  Emma reminded him a little of his mother, a compassionate but strong woman.  They had not turned him away because of the color of his skin.  That was a start.

It wasn’t that Buck had forgotten this despicable man or the hatred he felt for him.  Thoughts of his father had just been pushed to the back of his memory, a place that was too painful to go.  Hearing the story of his mother’s rape hit him like a hard slap in the face.

Buck raised his head and looked into the night sky wishing with all his might he could simply disappear into the darkness.  Unwanted memories began to spin through his mind with such force he was certain his head would explode.  He could almost feel the Kiowa beating him, spitting on him.  He felt the hatred in their eyes as they watched him, or saw their indifference as they looked through him as if he didn’t exist.   He saw the people of Sweetwater moving to the other side of the street as he approached them,  heard their hateful comments.

“Stop it!” Buck cried out pressing his hands to his head, ordering the onslaught of memories to cease.   He drew several deep, controlled breaths and began to regain his composure.  Letting himself get carried away like this would accomplish nothing.  In the quiet of the night, his thoughts began to clear.  Rather than causing anguish, Buck allowed the pain of the past to strengthen him.

The man responsible for the injury and embarrassment he had endured his entire life was sitting at a poker table in Sweetwater.   Buck turned the mare back toward town.  He knew what he had to do.

Kid and Cody stood at the door of the saloon with Teaspoon, their eyes searching the smoky room for the men Buck had referred to.  Kid shook his head to indicate he did not see anyone who fit Buck’s vague description.  Teaspoon approached the bartender who proved to be of no help.

“Lots of folks come through here in a night, Hunter.  Can’t keep track of ‘em all.”

“What now, Teaspoon?” Kid asked as the left the saloon.   “Can’t find him, won’t be able to find Buck.”

“I don’t know, boys.  This ain’t good.  Best we let Sam know what’s happened.  He can keep a watch on things here, and I reckon we head back to the station to wait.  Maybe Buck will come to his senses and head home.”

Teaspoon and the boys headed to Marshal Cain’s office, unaware that the trapper had not left the saloon but merely gone upstairs with one of the saloon’s prostitutes for an hour of her undivided attention.  Nor did they notice the young indian, his mind set on revenge, waiting in the shadows outside the saloon.

The trapper emerged from the saloon shortly after midnight.  Buck followed him to his small camp a few miles outside Sweetwater and waited in the darkness for the man to settle in for the night.

The trapper sat on his bedroll near a small fire, pulled off his mud crusted boots and began to count his poker winnings.  He had enjoyed himself in Sweetwater.  The poker game had been profitable, the whiskey drinkable and the whore entertaining.

His memories of the evening were interrupted by the feeling of eyes upon him.  Slowly the man looked up from his profits and stiffened at the sight of a young indian watching him from the other side of the fire, his face expressionless, his gun drawn.

The trapper quickly dropped the money in his hands and reached for his rifle.

“Don’t,” ordered the indian.

The trapper complied and picked up his winnings, offering them to Buck.  “Here, it ain’t that much but it’s yours.  Take it and go.”

“I don’t want your money,” Buck replied, his voice eerily calm.

“Then what do you want?”  The trapper took a long look at the boy.  “You’re that injun from the saloon.  What you want from me?”

Buck paused for a moment before speaking the words that began to cleanse his soul. 

“I heard your story in the saloon.  That Kiowa woman you raped was my mother.  That makes you my father and I have looked forward to killing you my entire life.”