Despite Teaspoon and Kid’s urging, Buck refused to leave his post at the window, steadfastly guarding his view to the world outside  - and his silence.  He hadn’t uttered a word since the argument with Teaspoon that morning and didn’t intend to.  His anger was well beyond words. 

The uneasiness he had felt throughout the day had steadily increased and found its way to his stomach.  Buck stared out the window watching day give way to night, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, now and then wiping the sweat from his hands on his shirt.   Although darkness had fallen, he didn’t want to leave the window – the knowledge that there was still a world outside the cabin made him feel a little better.  Growing weary, he leaned his throbbing forehead against the cool glass and tried to focus his concentration on anything but the intense need growing inside him.  He tried to envision the new life he would have when he was released from this prison – imagined himself mounting the nearest horse and riding away from those who had held him captive without a word or a look back.  The thought pleased him, comforted him a little.

Buck tried not to give in, but the craving was overwhelming.  His hands moved restlessly. He rubbed his fingers against his palms, longing for the feel of the smooth glass bottle against his skin. He touched the cool, welcome windowpane, and began to move his hands across it, almost convincing himself the smooth flat surface against his fingertips was the contoured bottle he longed for.  His weakened body ached for the smell, the taste, the sweet numbness that the warm liquid in the bottle provided.  For a brief moment, Buck imagined the drink in his mouth but when he swallowed it was nothing more than his own spit.  Buck scolded himself.  If he was going to get through this, he had to be stronger.  Staring outside at the freedom he was denied, imagining something he couldn’t have was useless.  Determined not to show such weakness again, he left the window and made his way to the bed.

He was tired and hoped for a little rest, but found none.  His increasing restlessness preventing him from lying down for very long and instead he spent most of the night sitting cross-legged on the bed, arms folded protectively across his sore chest, rocking back and forth nervously to a beat pounding in his head. Despite the cool night air, he was bathed in sweat, his body alternating between chills and fever.  It infuriated him that he could no longer hide his discomfort. 

Soon the rocking did little to alleviate his restlessness and Buck began pacing the floor. Over and over again he crossed the kitchen – seven steps, turn, seven steps, turn, seven steps, turn. 

At Teaspoon’s insistence, Kid settled down on his bedroll near the fireplace for a few hours sleep and Teaspoon sat at the kitchen table playing a game of checkers by himself, watching his troubled rider wear down the floor boards.  Teaspoon Hunter considered himself to be a patient man, probably more patient than most, but the stubborn young Kiowa seemed intent on testing him.  It frustrated him greatly that Buck would not speak to him.  Teaspoon didn’t find the boy’s game very amusing and Buck’s incessant pacing was making him nervous as well.  He knew the boy was hurting, but Buck refused to let him help and that maddened him, too. The site of his normally calm and collected rider nervously pacing the floor like a caged animal, obviously in pain was hard to take.  But lack of sleep and his frustration over the entire situation had left him irritable and his tolerance for Buck’s silence wearing thin.

“Buck, will you please sit down!” Teaspoon barked, more exasperation showing in his voice than intended.  Buck continued pacing as if he hadn’t heard.  “What is so all fired special ‘bout seven?  Why not six or eight or twenty-two?” 

Buck heard Teaspoon’s complaints through the pounding in his head, but paid them no mind.  It fact, it pleased him some.  The old man deserved to feel a little stress.  After what he had done to him, Buck felt he deserved it.  He had entertained notions of trying to get away during the night, but Teaspoon and Kid read his intent and blocked every available exit with pieces of furniture to hamper his efforts in the event he did try to escape. He had hoped his guards would grow tired and perhaps doze off at the same time providing him an opportunity, but it didn’t happen, and he finally came to the distressing realization that he was stuck there.

“Son, it would do us both good if you would just sit down for a while.  You’re wearin’ yourself as thin as the floorboards and you’re ‘bout to drive me to drink!  C’mon over here and play some checkers with me.  I’m pretty good, but I bet you can beat me.  Here, you be black and I’ll be red.”

Buck glared at Teaspoon in disgust through weary eyes.  The last thing he wanted to do was play a stupid, white man’s game. It had been a very long time since he last took laudanum and it was all he could do to keep from screaming. Everything inside his body was moving too fast.  Although he was exhausted, the only thing that seemed to help at all was to keep the outside moving at an equal pace to the inside.  He continued pacing, seven steps in one direction, seven steps in the other.

Undaunted, Teaspoon set up the game board and made his first move.  “It’s your turn son.  C’mon, make your move.”

Buck merely glared at the man and clutched his stomach tighter. 

“Alright, I’ll make your move for you then.” 

Teaspoon continued to move the game pieces around on the board making his moves as well as Buck’s.  Buck tried to block out the noise but each sound of the wooden checkers dropping on the board shook the room and echoed off the walls like a clap of thunder and added to the storm already raging in his head.

“Now, son, that was not a smart move,” Teaspoon said as he intentionally moved Buck’s checker into a vulnerable position.  “Just look what I can do now,” he added and began to jump his red checker over three of the opposite color game pieces.

Unable to dodge the painful sounds any longer, Buck broke away from his well established pattern on the floor and flew at the table where Teaspoon sat.  He grabbed the checkerboard and hurled it across the room.  The board slammed against the wall behind Teaspoon while the individual game pieces clattered to the floor around him.

Teaspoon sat back in his chair, drew a deep breath and let it out very slowly while he contemplated his response as the boy glared at him from across the table with wild, animal like eyes.  Well, if nothing else, at least Buck had acknowledged him. That was a start. 

“Son . . . I believe it was my turn,” he said flippantly, hoping to taunt Buck into breaking his silence.

But Teaspoon’s provocation had the opposite affect.  Rather than voice his anger, Buck allowed his actions to speak for him as he picked up an empty chair at the table and smashed it against the floor with all the force he could muster.  The release of his hostility only fed his frenzy and Buck turned toward the kitchen in search of his next victim.  Teaspoon jumped from his chair, knocking it over backwards in his haste, and started after Buck but not before the angry young man grabbed the coffeepot on the stove and sent it airborne across the room.   Kid awoke and slowly rose to his feet, trying to rub the remnants of sleep from his eyes, wondering what all the noise was about.  The grogginess cleared quickly as the coffeepot flew by his head and smashed against the wall, the hot liquid spewing like a geyser from the pot.

“That is enough!” Teaspoon shouted as Buck scanned the kitchen area for another unwitting target.

“You already done tore up the bunkhouse, you ain’t gonna do it here, too!” he shouted again and grabbed for Buck’s arm as he picked up a crock from the top of the cupboard. 

“Put it down, Buck!” Teaspoon ordered as he spun the angry stranger around to face him.  “Enough!”

Buck looked Teaspoon squarely in the face with eyes that could kill and defiantly threw the crock against the floor breaking it into jagged shards of pottery.

Kid wondered for a moment what had happened during his short nap that had caused the two to face off like prize-fighters.  He hurried toward the combatants, but froze as Teaspoon finally lost his temper and backhanded Buck across the face.  The force of the blow sent the stunned boy stumbling backward. 

The shock in Buck’s eyes matched Teaspoon’s own as the older man watched an angry red blotch mark the imprint of his hand on Buck’s face. 

“Buck . . .I’m . . .I’m sorry . . .” Teaspoon stammered, breaking the uneasy silence in the room.  He had never raised a hand to any of his riders before, no matter how upset he had been with them.  His hand had flown so rapidly, it was as if it had a mind of its own and he had been unable to stop it. 

Fearing Buck would retaliate, Kid quickly stepped between the two, but his preventative measures were unnecessary.  Buck stood there dumbly, overwhelmed with pain and disbelief. His already sore and swollen face was on fire and the sharp, stinging pain traveled to his eyes, making them water.  Feeling tired and insulted, he lowered his eyes to avoid making contact with either Kid or Teaspoon, slowly dragged his aching, exhausted body to the bed and curled up in a tight ball, clutching the feather pillow close. 

Teaspoon hung his head and prayed to God that he could turn back time.  How could he have done such a thing? This boy was suffering and needed his help but he had only succeeded in adding insult to injury.  He started toward the small figure on the bed but Kid’s restraining hand stopped him.

“Why don’t you get some rest, Teaspoon? You ain’t gonna do him no good like this,” Kid said quietly. ”I’ll clean this mess up.”

After a moment, Teaspoon slowly nodded in agreement.  “I reckon you’re right.”  He suddenly felt old and tired.

It angered Buck that he couldn’t rid himself of the feel of Teaspoon’s hand across his face.  He hated the man, he was certain of it.  Why should it matter to him?  Buck had been struck a good many times in his life, but something about Teaspoon’s blow was different.  He couldn’t understand it and the confusion bothered him all the more.  If Teaspoon hit him in the face, why did he feel it in his heart?

Buck closed his eyes, his body finally allowing a fitful rest to come. 

He stood in the middle of the street outside Teaspoon’s office, a smoking gun in his hand and Neville’s lifeless body a few feet away.  A dark mist rose up from the ground and snaked around his ankles.  Buck recognized the unfinished dream.

He had taken Neville’s life and felt no guilt in doing so, but the gambler’s death didn’t lessen his sorrow.  The strange, black fog applauded his courage and strength, and praised him for killing the man.  The mist rose higher around his legs but he wasn’t afraid.  It felt warm and safe and he knew it meant him no harm. 

The mist rolled and churned like a thundercloud, finally taking the form of a beautiful creature robed in black silk and disappeared beneath the ground, bidding Buck to follow.  “Come with me,” it whispered softly.  “I will take your pain away.”  Awed by its magic, Buck took its hand and allowed it to lead him away to another place – a place far from common understanding. 

They walked on a path covered by the same mist that had created the creature.  Buck couldn’t see the path, but he felt it, firm and solid, under his feet.  As they walked, the creature moved its slender hand from side to side, pointing out untold mysteries and never before seen wonders.  Buck was amazed by its knowledge.  This beautiful being knew the truth.  He enjoyed its company and the way it made him feel. 

Buck saw a toll gate ahead and questioned why the payment of a fee was required to continue their journey. The creature merely smiled and assured him there was no reason for concern.  Buck reached into his pockets but they were empty – he had no money to pay the toll.  He was ashamed and hung his head in disappointment - he wanted to see what lay beyond the gate.  The creature lifted his chin with a long finger and stroked his neck with a loving touch, assuring him a trade could be made.  Buck bargained with the gatekeeper and offered himself in payment of the toll.  The collector looked him over closely, estimating his worth.  Satisfied with the value he raised the gate and allowed Buck to enter. 

The land behind the tollgate was more beautiful than Buck could have ever dreamed.  He gazed upon the landscape and memorized its every detail.  It was a place of pristine beauty and virgin thought.  A place holding answers to questions not yet asked.  Buck saw the beautiful creature before him, swaying in the dark mist as if blown by the breath of heaven.   Mesmerized by its mystical nature, he entered its homeland and devoted himself to the creature. 

The dark beauty pulled Buck to its breast and held him tight - their souls melding together in a pledge of fidelity.  With a touch of its hand, the creature offered sensual and sensory pleasures beyond the scope of his imagination and he accepted them willingly.  Buck breathed the creature’s sweet scent, tasted its luscious, smooth lips and they danced as lovers.

The creature pulled away from their embrace and moved further down the path, bidding Buck to come further.  They came to a door and Buck eagerly followed the black robed creature into its parlor.  The mist grew thicker and rose to his waist, but Buck wasn’t afraid, he had felt the mist before.  He lost sight of the magical beauty and searched the darkened room for his love.  Buck heard footsteps and followed them in the direction of the door, but when he reached the opening it was locked. 

Buck knocked at the door and called to the creature.  The mist around him grew colder and heavy.  He didn’t like this room and wanted to return to the beautiful land, but the door remained locked.  Buck began to search for another exit and walked along the hidden pathway further into the dark place.  His footing on the path wasn’t as secure as before and he slipped occasionally.  But he wasn’t afraid.  His love was near – hiding somewhere in the mist.

It grew steadily darker and Buck began to worry.  He needed the creature.  This place seemed so far from home and he wasn’t sure where he was anymore.  He turned around and around in the mist looking for something familiar but succeeded only in disorienting himself.  Realizing he was lost, Buck felt a flush of embarrassment color his face.  He always knew where he was.  He was Kiowa. He was a tracker.  How could he be lost?

A sudden movement in the mist startled Buck and he watched in surprise as figures rose up from the mist and began moving in slow circular patterns.  At first, Buck thought they might be magical, too, but as he watched he realized they were only men – no more special than he was.   Buck was strangely pulled to these men.  They were dirty and unkempt – offensive – but there was something about them that he understood.  They seemed so sad and alone.

As Buck wandered through the sea of abandoned lives his eyes were drawn to the weary faces - so void of emotion or intellect.  His heart went out to these pitiful souls.  Where were their families?  Why had they been left there?

The clanging sound of metal beneath the mist provided his answer.  Although Buck couldn’t see the leg irons, he knew by the noise that the men wore shackles.  He understood – the men were prisoners.

Buck wondered how long they had been there – they looked so old and ill.  Many suffered from open, festering wounds – full of infection.  Some of the wounds looked serious, but with the proper attention, Buck thought they might heal.  Others were beyond all hope of healing – their bodies were blackened and rotten.  The stench of gangrenous flesh turned Buck’s stomach and he was forced to move away.  They would die soon.

Buck shivered at a cold chill in the air.  The men jerked their heads up suddenly like wild animals catching a scent in the wind.  The expressionless faces began to show fear and the men cowered down in the mist.

Another creature rose from the darkness.  It wore a black robe similar to the lovely one, but the likeness stopped there.  This dark being had a sinister soul so unlike the loving, sweet spirited creature he sought.  Buck noticed a ring of keys hanging from its robe and he understood the new creature’s purpose – it was the guard.

With a wave of its long talon-like hand, the guard demanded the men continue.  The movement of its claws in the breeze sounded like the crack of a whip and Buck jumped at the noise.  He felt sorry for the prisoners no matter what their crimes had been.  It was obvious this guard was a tough taskmaster.

Fear spurred some of the men to move faster in their habitual patterns, anxious to please the guard.  Others tried to hide from it only to receive a lash of its hand to penalize their attempt.  A few of the men tried to escape and pulled at their shackles.  One of them rubbed against the iron bands so furiously the metal cut into his flesh and blood spurted freely from the wounds.  Buck heard the man cry out, but it was a cry of joy rather than pain as the metal band sawed away at the bone and the leg irons slipped off his ankles.  The freed man ran, but his grotesque stumps left a bloody trail in the mist and the guard found him easily. 

Buck started forward to help the fleeing prisoner, but his fear of the guard stopped him.  Perhaps it was better not to interfere – after all they were prisoners.  With a single slice of its clawed hand, the guard brought the man down.  It became apparent to Buck that once put into bondage there, no one escaped and evidently, no one was set free.  The guard returned to the other prisoners, stopping before each one of them, dangling its keys in their faces.  Buck wondered why the guard carried keys if no one was ever released. 

The guard grew tired of tormenting its prisoners and turned to Buck.  Reaching out its hideous hand, it motioned for him to come forward, but Buck was frightened and refused.  He tried to step backward but the mist had risen up behind him and turned solid, blocking his retreat.  Trembling with fear, Buck watched the guard advance toward him.  It stood inches away examining him with its hidden eyes.  With a quick slice of its claw, the guard ripped open Buck’s chest and abdomen, creating a gaping wound.  Buck gasped in pain as the guard pried him open and inserted its hand into his body.  It clawed at Buck’s insides and pulled him open further to take a good look while the terrorized Kiowa writhed in agony against the wall.  Buck hit and kicked at the dark being trying to break free from its clutches, but the guard continued to search until it finally found something that suited its purpose.   The guard withdrew its hand and smiled at what it found within Buck.  Yes, these would work nicely - they always did. Guilt and fear were very strong. The guard quickly wove together Buck’s weaknesses into a strong cloth and gagged him, silencing his cry for help.

Buck tried to run, but he was weak and couldn’t move through the mist.  The guard suddenly disappeared and he searched frantically for the maniac.  Fearing for his life, Buck tried desperately to scream but the gag of weaknesses prevented it.

Buck flinched as a cold metal band closed around his ankle.  He felt the clawed hand of the guard on his other leg beneath the mist, and kicked furiously at the jailer.  Why was this happening?  He had only wanted to explore the beautiful land the creature had showed him.  He wasn’t like the others.  He was only an observer.  Summoning all his remaining strength, Buck broke free of the guard and ran for his life but the loose shackle flying around his feet tripped him and he fell.  Buck felt a tug on his free leg and the cold touch of the metal band sealing his fate.

He was pulled to his feet, but rather than the hideous guard, he saw the dark beauty he sought standing before him.  At last help had arrived - surely the creature would be his salvation. It loved him – it had told him so.  Buck started to speak as the lovely one reached out and removed the gag, but it placed a finger gently over his lips to silence him.  It brushed its soft hand over Buck’s eyes and he closed them under the feathery touch.  Buck felt its sweet breath as the creature came close and waited expectantly for his release.  The dark creature whispered his name - claiming him for its own.  It leaned over him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips . . . then threw its head back against the darkness . . . and laughed. 

Buck woke from his nightmare delirious with pain and fear.  The creature had been inside him.  It ripped him open and tore at his insides.  Buck’s stomach began to churn at the thought and felt something very foreign inside him - something very wrong.  It was still there.  Buck bolted upright in bed and ripped his shirt open.  He looked down at himself, expecting to see the large wound the creature’s claws had made, but saw nothing more than smooth skin.  The wound had healed with the creature still inside. 

He cried out in agony as the monster inside him grabbed at his back and twisted it in unnatural ways.  Bolts of pain shot through his lower back and exploded into his legs as the imagined enemy tried to pull his spine apart.

Buck felt hands on him, trying to hold his legs down, but he kicked them away fearing the leg irons.  He felt the claws moving inside him, shredding his body to pieces as the creature searched for the way out.  Buck knew it would kill him soon.  He pulled frantically at the skin on his chest and abdomen but the wound wouldn’t reopen – it had healed so well there wasn’t even a scar.

The guards tried to hold him down, but Buck pushed his way past them and crawled to the edge of the bed.  He tried to stand but his shaking legs wouldn’t hold him and he fell with a thud to the wood floor.  The guards rushed to him and he felt their hands again but he kicked and hit at them until they backed away.  He could feel the hideous claws reaching into his legs, squeezing the muscles until they tensed in rigid cramps.  It had to be the creature – nothing natural could hurt that badly. 

Buck began to tear at the skin on his abdomen, scratching fiercely with his fingernails until bright red streaks appeared.  But it wasn’t working – he needed something sharper. 

His eyes flitted rapidly across the room and finally fell on the broken pieces of crockery Kid had left on the kitchen cupboard.  Buck grabbed at the side of the bed and struggled to his feet while a baffled Kid and Teaspoon watched his strange actions.  Although angry and upset, he seemed to have his senses about him when he fell asleep, but terror now filled his wide eyes.  Kid looked at Teaspoon for an answer, but the helpless expression pasted on the older man’s face told him he didn’t have one either. 

Buck gained his footing and clumsily made his way to the kitchen cupboard.  Since he had reacted violently to their attempts to restrain him, Kid and Teaspoon thought it best to let him do what he wanted - until he snatched up a piece of the jagged crockery and his intent became clear. 

Kid rushed across the room and grabbed at Buck’s arm, knocking them both to the floor. He tried desperately to wrestle the weapon away from Buck, but the confused young man was intent on freeing himself of the creature trapped inside him.  Teaspoon held Buck around the waist while the delirious boy thrashed wildly against them.  For a moment, Kid thought that Teaspoon would have to slap Buck again to bring him to his senses.  But the older man had no intention of striking the boy again and instead wrapped his arms tighter and pulled Buck toward him, cradling him like a frightened child, rocking him gently back and forth while he struggled to free himself of the hold.

Buck feared for his life and continued to battle the enemies both around and inside him, but something was different.  Something felt warm and comforting – safe. 

Kid made a move toward the weapon and breathed a sigh of relief as Buck allowed him to open his hand and remove the sharp piece. 

Buck drew a quivering breath as the pain tore through his back again, still trying to sort out dream from reality. He looked up at the faces hovering over him, expecting to see the laughing faces of his guards, but they weren’t laughing – they were just as terrified as he was.

He lay in Teaspoon’s arms, drawing air in ragged breaths and allowed the man’s touch to calm him. 

“You won’t leave me there, will you?” Buck asked, his voice shaking, barely above a whisper.

Teaspoon didn’t have a clue where “there” was, but it was obviously a place where Buck didn’t want to be.  He pulled the boy tighter to him and to his joy, Buck neither flinched or pulled away. 

“No, son.  We ain’t gonna leave you there.”
 

Chapter 12

Teaspoon Hunter was not an openly religious man, certainly not the church going type.  He would have been hard pressed to remember the last time he sat through a Sunday morning service.  But in his own way, he believed in a higher power and the guidance and healing that was given to those who asked.  And he did ask, many times, as Buck waged war with the enemy he had created inside himself.

Although Buck had been schooled in a Catholic mission, he knew the boy wasn’t a Christian.  His Kiowa religion was, or at least at one time had been, important to him.  But Teaspoon didn’t think the good Lord would hold it against the boy.  Buck certainly needed more help than he and Kid could offer.  Whether it came from the Kiowa spirits who dwelled in the earth and air around him or from God in Heaven really didn’t matter. Teaspoon figured they were really all the same anyway – it just depended on what you had been taught to believe.  Sitting in the quiet, dimly light cabin, watching the boy sleep, Teaspoon closed his eyes and offered a silent thank you for answered prayers.

He and Kid would have gladly joined in Buck’s battle, had they been able, but it was his fight.  The most they could do was keep him safe and offer encouragement through the long torturous hours. 

During the early hours, Teaspoon sat with Buck, his arms wrapped protectively around the boy leaning back against his chest, spinning tall tales of his days as a Texas Ranger. He could feel Buck’s body tense and his breathing grow labored as cramps twisted his stomach like a wet dishcloth.  Teaspoon was able to occupy the boy’s thoughts with grandiose stories that put Cody’s colorful yarns to shame and Buck even posed an occasional question or two.  Teaspoon knew Buck didn’t really believe a word of the daring exploits he described, but having something else to think about seemed to help for a while.

The enemy he battled was fierce and unwilling to give up without a fight.  Teaspoon was amazed by the power of this strange and frightening opponent.  On more than one occasion, he questioned whether his actions had been the right ones.  Certainly there were others more qualified than he and Kid to see Buck through this ordeal.  But as he watched Kid sitting with his sick friend, gently rubbing Buck’s back as his nausea won out, Teaspoon realized that the touch of a friend was more important than any amount of medical knowledge. 

Kid sat with the troubled rider for hours, tirelessly rubbing away the cramps in Buck’s legs and back. Buck tried valiantly to maintain his pride and not give in to the pain, but as the war raged on it became nearly impossible.   Pain flew at him from more directions than he could count and his determination to win the battle faltered.  Forced to put his dignity aside by the demands of his own body, Buck pleaded with Teaspoon, begging for the drug.  He promised it would be the last time and he would never do it again - he just needed a little bit.  It nearly tore the older man’s heart in two but he looked into Buck’s dark eyes, full of desperation and pain, and answered, “No”. 

After hours of muscle spasms, cramps and convulsions, Buck lay in Teaspoon’s arms, exhausted, scared and hurting, insisting he couldn’t go on.  But Teaspoon refused to allow the boy to give up and simply held him tighter, reassuring him of how strong he was until the demon inside him finally grew weak from starvation and surrendered.

As Teaspoon watched Buck stir in his sleep he couldn’t help but notice how young he looked.  Kid, curled up in his bedroll by the fireplace, did too. Teaspoon realized that in spite of their heroics, all his riders were very young.  They were just kids struggling to find their way in the world.  Each of them was special to him in their own way.  They were the children he never had – his family.  Losing Ike nearly broke his heart and knowing how close he had come to losing another child - not to death, but something equally unforgiving - made him shudder.  This wayward one hadn’t completely found his way home yet, but he was out of danger.  In the quiet of the night, Teaspoon bowed his head and offered up another prayer of thanks, just to make sure the good Lord knew how very grateful he was. 

Buck had grown accustomed to sleeping with the aid of laudanum.  Out of sheer exhaustion he had fallen asleep but awoke in the middle of the night unable to remember how to rest on his own.  His muscles ached, reminding him of the long hours of abuse they had endured, and he still felt shaky.  Whether it was from exhaustion, nervousness or something else, he didn’t know.  He just wanted it to stop. 

Kid had stretched out on the floor and slept with such a look of contentment on his face that Buck was certain his dreams were pleasant ones.  Teaspoon hadn’t intended on falling asleep but he was resting soundly also, although his slumped position in the chair next to the bed didn’t look nearly as comfortable as Kid’s.  Buck would have appreciated a little company but he didn’t have the heart to wake them.  The past several days had been hard on them, too. Instead, he lay awake in bed, the gentle sounds of slumber in the cabin reminding him of the countless sleepless nights he spent in the bunkhouse before discovering the magical powers of laudanum.  He had traveled a long and twisted road only to end up back where he started. 

Finally giving up on sleep, Buck sat up and moved toward the edge of the bed.  He had been too tired to undress completely before falling asleep and still wore his buckskin trousers but couldn’t remember where he had left his shirt.  Glancing around the darkened room he finally found it at the foot of the bed.  He slowly slipped into the shirt but made no attempt to button it.  His head swam as he rose and he felt very heavy, but he had been shut up in the cabin for too long.  He needed to make sure there really was a world outside.  After a few minutes he felt a bit better and slipped out of the quiet cabin to wait for the morning.

The heavy morning dew clung to his bare feet as he made his way through the grass and found a seat along the rocky bank of the lake.  It had been quite some time since he had seen a sunrise.  Young Kiowa were taught to wake early so the sun wouldn’t see them sleeping and think them lazy or bad children.    As a child, Buck had taken great care to impress the fiery ball in the morning sky.  Life in the village was difficult enough without offending something as important as the sun.  Buck wondered as streaks of pink and gold dislodged the darkness from the sky, after all he had done, what the sun thought of him now.  He certainly didn’t think very much of himself. 

“You’re up mighty early.” Teaspoon commented, approaching the hunch-backed figure tossing pebbles into the water.  “Mind if I join you?”

Buck sighed heavily at Teaspoon’s voice.  He knew this was coming and he really didn’t want to talk.  He wanted to curl up somewhere and hide.  Teaspoon wanted answers and Buck wasn’t sure he had any, but he would try - he owed the man that much.  He owed him a lot more than that.  “I don’t mind,” he answered quietly, his eyes focused on the ripples created in the water as the pebble broke the surface.

“Well, that was a nice sunrise.  Gonna be a purdy day,” Teaspoon remarked as he lowered his stiff body to the ground beside Buck and turned to look at the boy in the early morning light. 

Teaspoon cupped his hand under Buck’s chin and turned the boy’s face toward him.  He was tired, that much was obvious.  His eyes were shadowed in dark circles and contained more than just a hint of sadness, but they were Buck’s eyes and not those of the stranger who had taken his place. The bruise on his face from Kid’s fist and Teaspoon’s knuckles was fading from purple to a sickly shade of yellow. Others might have made excuses but Teaspoon couldn’t condone what he had done in a moment of uncontrolled anger.  He brushed his thumb across the mark on Buck’s face, half expecting the boy to reject him, but to his surprise Buck leaned into his touch, resting for just a moment.

“I’m sorry I hit you, son.  I had no right.”

“I deserved it.”  Buck replied sadly as he turned back to the water and tossed another pebble. “I deserve worse.”

“You remember much about all this?”

Buck drew a deep breath and thought for a moment.  He remembered nearly forgetting his best friend and pushing his family away.  He remembered exchanging his faith for a bottle of lies and insulting the man who was the closest thing to a father he ever had. Yes, he remembered – much more than he wanted to.

“Enough to feel pretty ashamed of myself.”  His words came with difficulty, but needed to be said.  “I did some bad things, Teaspoon.  Said some terrible things.”  Buck hesitated for a moment as the weight of his actions settled upon him.  “I’m so sorry.”

“It weren’t you, son.  It was that poison you were swallowin’.  I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner.  Kid tried to tell me somethin’ was wrong.  Guess I just didn’t want to believe you would hurt yerself like that.”

“I didn’t know what was happenin’, Teaspoon.”  Buck closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to talk about what he had taken such care in concealing.  “I had terrible dreams.  It hurt to be asleep . . . hurt to be awake.  I just didn’t want to hurt anymore.  It was so easy.  Just a little drink and I felt so good.  It was nice to feel good for a change.”  Buck gazed across the water remembering the powers of the magical medicine with a wistful, longing look in his eyes that concerned Teaspoon.  “I saw the most amazing things, things I never knew existed. It was so beautiful.”

Buck hesitated as his face twisted into a frown.  “But after a while . . .  something changed and it wasn’t beautiful any longer.  It didn’t make me feel good. I just had to drink it so I wouldn’t feel bad.  And the more I drank  . . . the more I needed  . . . and I couldn’t stop.”  Buck propped his elbows on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair.  “Teaspoon, I’m so confused.  So much happened but . . . I don’t know what was real and what I made up.”

Teaspoon wrapped his arm around Buck’s waist and gave him a reassuring squeeze.  “Buck, I’d be willing to venture a guess it was just your imagination running wild.  Seems whatever’s in that medicine is awful powerful.”

Buck thought for a moment and realized he felt a little bit better.  There had been times he was certain he was going crazy, but he wasn’t. The drug had been playing with him—making him see things.  Teaspoon was right.  He had been poisoning himself with something very dangerous. But at least he wasn’t outright losing his mind.

“I messed up pretty bad, didn’t I?”

“You made a mistake, son.  But . . . if we had paid more attention to how bad you was hurtin’ rather than expectin’ you to grieve on our time table, maybe you wouldn’t have gone lookin’ for help elsewhere,” Teaspoon admitted. 

“So . . . when do we have to go back?” Buck asked, dreading the answer.

Teaspoon reclined back on his elbows and stretched his stiff legs. He knew Buck was afraid of returning home, but wasn’t going to allow him to hide either. “Depends on what you feel like doin’.  We can head back today or wait ‘til tomorrow if you’d rather.  You decide.” 

Buck felt an uncomfortable tightness around his chest as Teaspoon offered his options.  The cabin was quiet and secluded, far away from the prying questions of the other riders and the townspeople’s curious looks.  He felt almost safe at the cabin and wasn’t at all sure what to expect when he returned home. 

“Do the others know?”

“We left b‘fore they got back from the Thomas place so I ain’t said nothin’ to ‘em,” Teaspoon answered.  “But . . . I’m sure they know somethin’s wrong. I reckon they’re mighty worried ‘bout you, too.  Just how much Rachel told ‘em, I can’t say.”

“I’ll tell them,” Buck said uneasily, cringing at the thought of revealing to his friends what he had done.  But, he had behaved badly and they deserved to know why. 

“Ain’t nobody gonna think any less of you, son,” Teaspoon stated, noticing the apprehension in Buck’s voice. 

Teaspoon sounded confident.  Buck wished he could be so sure. “Tomorrow,” he said quietly.

The older man nodded in agreement.  “Tomorrow will be just fine.”

After a few minutes of companionable silence, Teaspoon reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a neatly folded piece of paper.  “Rachel asked me to give you this.  She found it when she was packin’ up some things for us the other day after you . . . rearranged . . . the bunkhouse.”  Buck’s pale face turned a shade lighter as Teaspoon unfolded the paper and smoothed out the creases.  “She was hopin’ you would want it back when you felt better.”

Teaspoon thought twice about forcing Buck to confront his grief again, but his inability to deal with the loss of the boy in the picture set him on the dangerous path that could have destroyed him.  Until he was able to come to terms with Ike’s death, Teaspoon couldn’t feel certain it wouldn’t happen again.

“It’s a nice picture, son,” Teaspoon said softly, offering the portrait to Buck but he lowered his head, refusing take the piece of paper from the older man.

“Buck, we need to talk about this.” 

“Kiowa law says I can’t talk about him or even say his name but you and Rachel insist I must,” Buck replied, his discomfort with the situation clear in his voice.  “Everyone else just wants me to get over it.”

“You’ve told me what everyone else wants,” Teaspoon stated and knelt down in front of Buck so the boy couldn’t avoid him.  “What do you want?”

Buck swallowed hard and raised his head to meet Teaspoon’s gaze.  Taking laudanum had numbed his memories and he had nearly forgotten his best friend for a while.  He didn’t want to forget Ike, but it hurt too much to remember. 

“I want him back,” Buck said quietly. Fully aware of the futility of his statement, he threw his hand full of pebbles into the water. “I want Ike back.” Buck knew he broke the rule by saying Ike’s name, but he wanted to.  He missed the sound. It flowed off his tongue and floated on the air, wrapping itself comfortably around him.  But the acknowledgement of his friend also brought back the heartache he had tried to run from. 

“I failed him, Teaspoon.  He’s disappointed with me.”

“Son, why would Ike be disappointed with you?” Teaspoon asked, clearly surprised with Buck’s statement.

“We made a promise when we left the mission to always protect each other and I didn’t do my part.  I knew he shouldn’t have gotten involved with Emily, but I didn’t stop him.  I should have known what he was gonna do or should have run faster or should have . . . “ 

“Whoa there, Buck,” Teaspoon said, interrupting Buck’s list of failings.  “Ike died because it was his time.” 

Buck started to object to Teaspoon’s fatalistic philosophy, but the older man continued before he could speak.  “We all got only a certain number of days on this here earth.  I know it don’t make no sense that some scoundrels get such a big number and a sweet soul like Ike got so few.  I s’pose that’s not for us to understand. Ike died honorably, protectin’ someone he loved.  When my time’s up, I hope I’ll go the same way.”

“Teaspoon, he knew her for a week.” Buck protested, not trying to hide his animosity for Ike’s new found love.  “He died for her.  Emily took him away from me.” 

Teaspoon began to understand.  It wasn’t just that Buck held Emily responsible for Ike’s death but he felt she had taken his rightful place in Ike’s life. 

“Son, there was enough room in Ike’s heart for the both of you.  Buck, just because Ike loved Emily don’t mean he loved you less.”  Buck frowned and looked away, but Teaspoon turned the disbelieving boy’s face back toward him, making him listen.  “That’s the remarkable thing about love.  It don’t get divided, it multiplies.” 

“If you feel Ike’s disappointed with you, Buck, don’t you think it might be ‘cause of what you done to yourself, “ Teaspoon asked, placing another cog in Buck’s twisted way of thinking.  “I reckon Ike’s been awful worried ‘bout you.” 

Buck didn’t know what to think.  His thoughts hadn’t been his own for such a long time.  He drew a deep breath and slowly reached for Ike’s abused likeness, fearful of what he might see.  But there was no anger or disappointment in Ike’s expression. Instead, he saw the same compassionate face of his dear friend – the only person who had seen something worthwhile in him as an angry, foreign outcast years earlier.

Buck sat quietly tracing Ike’s penciled features with his fingertip, reacquainting himself with the boy in the picture.   His mind wandered back to a stifling hot classroom in a dilapidated orphanage.  Buck saw himself dressed in uncomfortable, ill fitting clothes - his hair cut embarrassingly short - trying to maintain his dignity while a iron handed Catholic sister forced him to speak a language he didn’t understand. Peals of laughter from the white children rang in his ears as sharp and cutting as if he was still there amongst them.  But the boy in the picture didn’t laugh at him.

“I had a hard time learnin’ English, Teaspoon.  It’s a difficult language.  I would say the wrong word or pronounce it wrong.  Everyone made fun of me.  But it didn’t matter to Ike.  Somehow he just knew what I meant.  After a while, it didn’t matter if I couldn’t say them right and Ike couldn’t say them at all.  We understood each other without sayin’ anything.  I’ll never have that again.”

Buck shifted uneasily as the finality of his words settled upon him.  His throat felt tight and unwanted tears began to form.  “I don’t know what I would have done without him.  I’d been told how bad and worthless I was for so long I believed it.  But Ike was the most gentle, caring person I’d ever known and if he loved me, I couldn’t be that bad.”

“He was a part of me, Teaspoon and now there’s a big hole there.  What am I gonna do without him?”

“You’re gonna learn to accept what you can’t change, Buck, and stop blamin’ yourself for what you had no control over.” Teaspoon pulled the heartbroken young Kiowa toward him, speaking softly as he stroked Buck’s mass of dark hair.  “You gotta go on livin’ and one day, I promise you, you’re gonna understand how lucky you are.”

“Lucky?” Buck asked in astonishment as he straightened and met Teaspoon’s eyes.  He could imagine feeling a good many things, but lucky wasn’t one of them.

“Most folks never know a bond like you and Ike had,” Teaspoon explained to the startled rider.  “I never have.  It’s a truly rare thing, son.  Some day you’ll cherish those memories of Ike instead of lettin’ them tear you apart.  No matter what you want, Buck, Ike ain’t coming back.  I know it’s hard.  But it’s gonna hurt ‘til it don’t need to no more.”

Buck still looked unconvinced. Grieving for Ike hurt so much, he wasn’t sure he would ever feel anything else.  “Your chest still hurt?” asked Teaspoon.

“Some, not too bad,” Buck answered, perplexed over Teaspoon’s sudden change of topic.

“Those broke ribs hurt awful bad at first though didn’t they?”

Buck tried to remember his fall from the loft.  It seemed like such a long time ago - so much had happened since then.  He nodded.  Yes, the pain had been nearly unbearable.

“But the bones have started healin’ and now it don’t hurt so bad.  Grief is a wound, too, Buck.  Ain’t no different.  It will heal in time.  But you can’t hurry it up, or hide from it in a bottle of laudanum.  Understand?”

Though it was hard to accept, Buck knew Teaspoon was right.  He had tried to hide from what was too painful to face and the results of his cowardice were more terrifying that what he had run from in his first place.  Buck nodded again – he understood.  He wouldn’t run anymore. 

He settled back against the rocky ledge, feeling more like himself than he had in a long time.  It felt good to have everything out in the open. Buck folded Ike’s picture carefully, intending to place it in his medicine bundle, but stopped himself.  It wasn’t there.  He had thrown it away, like everything else important in his life.  He had been so certain his guiding spirit had betrayed him, but to believe the fire had been his punishment for make believe crimes against the Kiowa seemed pretty far-fetched now.

“Teaspoon, the fire was my fault,” Buck admitted, wiping his slate of guilt clean.

The older man started to get up to stretch his legs, but stopped and sank back down to the ground, surprised by Buck’s confession.  “Just how did you accomplish that, Buck?  Cody couldn’t even wake you up that night.”

“I left a lantern in the barn . . . I guess it got knocked over somehow.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“I see,” Teaspoon began with a hint of disapproval in his voice.  If he’d told them once he’d told those kids a thousand times to be careful.  But his tone softened as he considered the amount of blame Buck had imposed upon himself for the loss of Ike’s possessions and endangering Cody and the girl.  “Well, I reckon it was an accident, and you didn’t mean no harm.  But breaking into Doc Barnes’ office, my boy, is another matter.”

Buck sighed heavily as his list of responsibilities grew longer.  One more person he needed to apologize to. 

“You know anything ‘bout buildin’ barns, son?”  Teaspoon asked, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“Not much,” Buck answered, a brief smile passing his weary face.

“Well, you are ‘bout to get the opportunity to learn,” Teaspoon stated as he lifted his stiff body off the ground.  “And, when you’re done puttin’ in a day’s work for me, you’ll be doin’ a little over-time for the good doctor just to show your gratitude for his kind nature.”

Surprisingly, the thought of a hard day’s work felt good to Buck.  He actually began to look forward to being useful and productive again.  He’d been idle much too long. Maybe his friends would understand.  Maybe he could start riding again soon, too.  He missed the freedom that riding a swift horse across open territory created.  Perhaps he could get through this after all. 

“Teaspoon, I want to go home today.”

Buck’s simple words spoke volumes, filling the Marshal’s face with a smile and his heart with relief.  “You sure? “

“Yes.”  Buck pushed himself off his rocky perch, noticing he didn’t look very presentable.  His clothes were dirty and his hair hadn’t been combed in longer than he could remember.  “I need to get cleaned up first.  I don’t want to go home lookin’ like this.”

“It’s good to have you back,” Teaspoon said as he helped Buck to his feet and wrapped his arms around the young man in a fatherly embrace.  “You gotta promise me, if you ever feel the need for that poison again you’re gonna tell me  . . . tell somebody.“

A wave of relief washed over the older man as Teaspoon felt Buck’s nod of agreement against his shoulder.  “I am proud of you, son.”

Buck pulled back and gave Teaspoon an incredulous look.  “For bein’ weak enough to do something so stupid?”

Teaspoon pulled the boy tightly to him again and smiled.  “No, Buck.  For bein’ strong enough to admit that you did.”

Buck intended only to wash up while Kid and Teaspoon packed the wagon, but as he splashed the cool lake water on his face, he felt the urge to cleanse himself completely.  He stripped off his clothes and waded into the lake, enjoying the feel of the sand between his toes.  The water had not yet been warmed by the sun and was cold – under normal circumstances it would have been uncomfortable, but to Buck, it felt good.  It felt real and honest against his skin.  He hadn’t felt anything real in a long time.  Every sensation, every thought had been artificially created. 

No longer able to touch the bottom, Buck began to swim with cautious strokes.  He was tired, sore and still felt himself shaking a bit.  But the need to reach for a bottle of laudanum to relieve his distress was gone.  The aches and pains didn’t bother him quite so much, either.  They weren’t just sore muscles, but battle scars of a hard fought victory - a victory he was proud of.  His confidence increased, each stroke becoming stronger than the last as the crystal clean water washed away his deceit and deception. He felt lighter than he had in some time – free of the guilt he had carried. 

Thinking of Ike still hurt.  He wasn’t sure he could accept Teaspoon’s rationalization that it had simply been Ike’s time to die.  His death seemed like a senseless loss of life.  He still felt some bitterness toward Emily, too.  It was an honest emotion and he wouldn’t deny it.  But maybe, in time, he could accept Ike’s passing as fate and forgive her.  He hoped so. Ike wouldn’t want him to be angry with her.  Ike had loved Emily, but Ike had loved him, too.

Even though he had gone through the physical motions of setting Ike free, Buck realized he hung onto Ike’s soul tight, afraid to let him go, afraid of what he would be without him.  The hands he fought against in his recurring nightmare of Ike’s death bed weren’t those of some supernatural force prohibiting him from touching Ike and saying good-bye.  The hands were his own, holding him back from something too frightening to accept.  Laudanum had prevented Ike’s bloody form and disappointed eyes from haunting his sleep, but he no longer feared the visions and doubted they would return.  Maybe now they could both rest.

He and Ike had shared an extraordinary bond – he was lucky.  Anything less than an extraordinary amount of grief at his death wouldn’t do Ike justice and that understanding seemed to make the depth of Buck’s mourning a little easier to accept.

Buck turned onto his back, floating effortlessly across the glassy surface and let the life renewing rays of the morning sun warm his bare body.  He wasn’t embarrassed by his nakedness – it felt appropriate.  He had nothing left to hide – no more secrets, no more lies.  His head was clear and it felt good.  He had said Ike’s name, and that felt good, too.  Buck felt the heaviness in his soul lighten a bit and the healing began as the grief in his heart moved over making room for a little touch of peace. 

Teaspoon pulled back on the horses, bringing them to a halt and applied the wagon’s brake as they reached the specified location.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” Buck said as he stepped down from the wagon seat.

“You take as long as you need, son,” Teaspoon replied.  “We’ll be right here.”

“Do you want one of us to go with you?” Kid asked as he reined Katy to a stop beside the wagon.

Buck smiled at his friend and shook his head.  No, he needed to do this alone but he appreciated the offer. Kid had thrown him into a lake of fire, but Buck new it was only to save him from a worse fate.  Rather than watch him pick his way through the hot coals alone, Kid had jumped into the flames with him, making sure he found his way to the other side.  The southerner on the painted mare would never replace Ike, but he was a good friend and a good friend was no small thing.

Teaspoon noticed that Buck seemed a little taller as he walked away from the wagon to the place where the riders had bid Ike farewell.  And although his steps were still a bit wobbly, there was a purpose in his stride. 

It hadn’t really been that long since Buck had been there, but it looked different.  The grass had grown taller and it took him a while to locate the object he sought.  But after a diligent search he found his way back to it and retrieved his medicine bundle from beneath the grass where it lay patiently waiting for his return.  Buck opened the precious bundle and carefully placed the folded piece of paper inside.  Then he placed the cord around his neck returning his faith, his heritage and his best friend close to his heart, back where they belonged.

The tree had hidden its young friend’s secret, as Buck had asked, in its own wound – unable to object.  Relieving the tree of its unwanted responsibility, Buck reached into the hollow in its gnarled trunk and withdrew the bottle.  He held it almost fearfully, watching his former love swirl hypnotically, attempting to lure him back with promises and gifts. The call was strong and a part of him still wanted the pleasures it brought – the contentment that washed over his body and calmed him like a warm bath, the visions and music that had excited his dulled senses.  But they weren’t really the generous gifts of a friend or lover.  They carried a hidden cost. 

Worry for his weakened rider filled the lines of Teaspoon’s face as the temptation in Buck’s hands caught a ray of sun and announced the whereabouts of the last bottle.  But his concern turned to admiration as Buck summoned his will and hurled his enemy against a nearby rock, shattering the glass container.  The liquid lies sparkled momentarily but quickly lost their luster when exposed to the truth.

It had been a long search, but Buck felt he had found himself again.  He wasn’t quite the same – but perhaps would be a better person because of his journey.  He dropped to his knees in the lush grass marking the resting place of Ike’s remains and ran his fingers through the thick, living carpet.  In a voice stronger than he expected, he was finally able to finish what for so long, he had been unable to do.

“I love you, Ike.  I always will.  But I’m gonna let you go now.  Tryin’ so hard to hang on to you, I nearly lost myself.  You don’t need to worry about me any more, Ike . . . I’m gonna be fine.”

My heartfelt thanks to Mary Ayers and Nesciri.  Mary, the incredible amount of support, time and energy you gave to me and this story is greatly appreciated.  Nesciri, thank you for the perfectly timed messages of encouragement and assistance in researching this topic.
 

Authors Note:  An article entitled “Nineteenth-Century America – a Dope Fiend’s Paradise” written by Edward M. Brecher describes the problem of drug abuse in early America.  Opium, often dispensed in the form of laudanum (a mixture of opium and alcohol) and later morphine were used for the relief of pain with little knowledge of their addictive qualities.   Both men and women, from all walks of life, innocently enough used these drugs for the relief of pain from injury or illness and unknowingly became dependent upon them.  Civil War surgeons, both Confederate and Union, often rubbed pure opium into open wounds, sending many soldiers home hopelessly addicted.  Their habits could be easily maintained, though.  At one time there were more than 600 easily and legally obtainable products containing opium on the open market.  These medicines could be purchased at the local druggist, general store or even by mail order.  In 1914, the Harrison Act was signed into law, restricting the sale of such products.   However, the opium poppy was legally cultivated in the United States until 1942.