Jonathan Wyatt had only just stepped off the stage in Sweetwater when the trouble started. Six years had passed since the fortuitous day when a cavalry unit had found the young white slave hiding in the trees to avoid yet another beating by his Kiowa captors. They had taken the terrified boy with them to Fort Laramie where he had been reunited with his family back East. In the intervening years, Jonathan hadn’t been West of the Mississippi until company business had sent him to Sweetwater. Had he known what this journey would bring him, Jonathan Wyatt would have quite probably have stayed home.
As he waited for the driver to throw his single valise from the luggage rack, Jonathan took a moment to look around. There wasn’t much to Sweetwater, he decided. He could only hope to be able to complete his errands here and be ready to leave when the stage made its return trip to St. Joseph the following Tuesday. The next five days were going to be long, hot and dusty, if the “main street” was any indication of Sweetwater’s attractions.
A ruckus from across the street drew his attention to a young man who was helping a woman carry packages from the general store to a waiting wagon. The Easterner’s casual glance became a stare as a chill went through him—he would have recognized that profile anywhere.
“It can’t be!” he murmured.
Though dressed in white man’s clothes, there was no denying that the young man was of Indian heritage. Jonathan stepped into the street, trying to get closer—trying to confirm his suspicions. The man laughed at some comment his companion made, then turned to go back into the store.
At that moment his head turned enough that Jonathan could see the decoration that dangled from his left ear. An intricate bone carving attached to a single sliver of wire was all Jonathan needed to verify that this was indeed the man he had known—and feared—so many years before.
Leaving his bag where the driver had dropped it, the Easterner strode across the dusty street, advancing on his unsuspecting victim. With a strength born of long repressed anger and hatred, Jonathan grabbed the other man by the arm, spinning him around.
The first indication Buck Cross had that he was under attack was a hand clamping down on his arm and a fist connecting with his unprotected jaw. The Kiowa fell back to land hard in the dirt. His brain had barely registered the pain from the first blow when the man who had thrown it was on top of him, pummeling his face and upper body.
Reacting instinctively, Buck blocked as many of the blows as possible and fought to throw off his opponent. The pair rolled back and forth as both struggled to gain control. Jonathan was heavier than Buck by several pounds and was using the extra weight to his advantage when a lucky move by the smaller man caused him to lose his balance.
In a flash Buck had the Easterner on his back. Straddling the man’s chest, the Kiowa tried to pin his attacker’s arms to the ground. He had almost succeeded when he felt hands grabbing him by the arms and lifting him up and off the other man. Breathing heavily, Buck struggled against Tompkins and the other man who were holding him.
That small advantage was all Jonathan needed. Rolling to get his legs beneath him, he uncoiled like a released spring. Buck’s angry protest ended abruptly as the Easterner’s shoulder caught him in stomach, driving the air from his lungs.
The pair staggered back and to the ground once more. This time Jonathan had a definite advantage. He grabbed a handful of Buck’s shirt and began throwing punch after punch into the Indian’s face. By the time Tompkins and the second man comprehended that Buck was the one being attacked, the rider was limp and bleeding.
“What’s the matter with you, boy!” Tompkins shouted as he broke Jonathan’s hold on Buck’s shirt and pulled him away from the barely conscious rider.
“HE MURDERED MY FAMILY!” Jonathan screamed, trying to break away from the merchant.
Only Marshal Sam Cain’s arrival kept Tompkins from turning Jonathan loose to finish the job he had started on Buck. “I knew that heathen was no good!” the storekeeper muttered angrily to anyone who would listen.
The lawman barely had time to do more than glare at the man before Jimmy, Ike and Lou charged up and he had his hands full. Ike looked from his friend’s battered face to the still struggling Jonathan, then, growling inarticulately, started toward the latter.
Sam stepped forward quickly to block the mute rider’s path. Keeping a firm grip on the angry young man’s arm, he ordered, “Hickok, go get the doctor!” Turning to Tompkins, he added, “Get him inside and get him calmed down.”
The merchant did as he was told—reluctantly. As Lou passed him carrying a bucket of water and some cloths, he muttered, “You’ll be paying for those!”
Lou ignored the older man as she moved to kneel beside Emma who was already tending to Buck. By the time the doctor arrived, bag in hand, the two women had cleaned most of the blood from their friend’s face.
The doctor’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of the injured man incited Ike to renew his attempts to break Sam’s hold and get inside the store.
Sam tightened his grip and gave Ike a hard stare. “Settle down,” he ordered.
“Ike,” Emma said softly. “Let Sam handle it. You come and help us get Buck over to the doctor’s office.”
The bald rider paused, obviously torn. Finally, sighing softly, he moved to do as he was told. Sam knew for certain, if anything happened to Buck, he would have his hands full. And, judging from the look on Hickok’s face, he reckoned Ike would be the least of his problems.
“Cain, how many times do I have to tell you that injun is nothing but trouble!”
Sam sighed inwardly. Tompkins had begun to rant the minute the lawman had walked into the store. In contrast, the object of Sam’s interest sat, hands between his knees, totally silent.
“I’m telling you now, we can’t have a murderer running around free,” Tompkins continued. “You need to do something and, if you won’t, I will!”
“Shut up, Tompkins,” Sam growled quietly. “Or you’re the one who’ll be going to jail.”
“On what charge!” the storekeeper roared indignantly.
“Obstruction of justice,” Sam said absently. Turning to the stranger, he ignored Tompkins’ red-faced sputtering. The man—boy, Sam corrected himself, he couldn’t have been much out of his teens, if that—hadn’t looked up once. “I need to ask you some questions, son,” Sam said as gently as possible. “Why don’t we just step over to my office?”
Jonathan rose obediently to his feet, still not looking Sam in the eye. Tompkins began to follow them out the door but Sam stopped him. “I’ll call you if I need you, Tompkins,” he said firmly.
“You just better not let that injun get away with this, Cain,” Tompkins called after him. “I’ll go to the governor on this if I have to!”
Sam pointed at a chair next to his desk and Jonathan sat much as he had in Tompkins’ store.
“Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Sam asked pleasantly. “What’s your name, son?”
“Jonathan Wyatt,” the other man replied, suddenly becoming animated. “And I’m not your son. My father is dead and that bastard killed him!”
“All right, slow down, Jonathan,” Sam cautioned. “Why don’t you tell me everything? Take your time.”
From the moment he’d been manhandled into Tompkins’ store, Jonathan had listened to the storekeeper go on and on about how the marshal wouldn’t be able to protect his “pet injun” this time. If what Jonathan claimed was true, Tompkins had promised, the “dirty, thieving redskin” was going to hang and having Marshal Sam Cain as a friend wasn’t going to help him none, neither. Looking at the man now he wondered how much weight his word would have.
“What difference does it make?” he asked wearily. “You’re not going to believe me anyway.”
“Look, Jonathan,” Sam replied. “Whatever Tompkins may have told you, you’ll find, if you’re telling the truth, I’ll listen. How am I going to judge if you don’t say anything and all I have to go on is what the people out there told me?”
Several people had stepped forward—and Sam was sure Buck would be surprised to hear that they had—to tell him that the attack on Buck was totally unprovoked. That, coupled with Wyatt’s attitude, was telling. Sam had a feeling that, whatever was going on, things weren’t going to be easily swept away.
For the first time, Jonathan looked him directly in the eyes. The marshal could tell the stranger was trying to decide if he could be trusted. Apparently he passed the test, because the man sighed and began to speak.
“My family had a small farm just outside Louisville, Kentucky,” he said, relaxing ever so slightly as he fell into the memory. “When I was eight, my father decided to try to make his fortune out West. We packed up all our belongings and joined a wagon train out of St. Joseph.”
Sam nodded encouragingly. This was a common enough story to this point.
“We had been traveling about a month when we were attacked by a band of renegades,” Jonathan continued. “My father and mother, even my older sister, and the rest of the adults tried to fight them off, but we were outnumbered. The savages killed all of the men and older boys and took the rest of us captive. My two sisters and I were taken to a camp, and for the next four years, we were little more than slaves. Then one day a cavalry troupe rode into the encampment and set me free.”
He paused then, as if that was all Sam needed to know. “What has that got to do with Buck?” the marshal asked finally.
“Is that what he goes by now?” the Easterner asked absently. He stood then to pace back and forth to the window. “I remember the battle at the wagon train as if it had happened yesterday instead of ten years ago. The savages just kept coming and coming—no matter how many rounds we fired. They circled the wagons just out of range and let the men waste their ammunition. Then they closed in.”
Jonathan’s pacing became more frantic as he spoke. His eyes darted back and forth as if he were watching the attack and looking for a place to hide.
“My mother told my sisters and I to hide under the wagon and not to come out, no matter what,” he continued. “I couldn’t do it though, I had to try to help. I told my little sisters to stay put and crawled out just in time to see a boy not much older than I was shoot my father with a bow and arrow.”
Sam started at his words. He knew the Kiowa were some of the most savage people on the plains but he had never heard of them allowing children to go into battle. He supposed it was possible—but there had to be more to this story than he was hearing.
“I remember hearing my mother scream and looked around to see her trying to protect my older sister by covering her with her own body. The savages . . . they . . .” Jonathan hesitated as the painful memory washed over him. “They rode their horses right over the top of my mother and sister. They were both trampled to death.”
His voice became icy cold as he finished his story. “The boy who shot my father jumped from his horse and pulled a knife from his belt. He scalped my father and my mother and sister and he enjoyed doing it! I’ll never forget the look on his face. He enjoyed what he was doing!”
“Ten years is a long time, Jonathan,” Sam said quietly. “People change—especially children. Things get confusing when you are in the middle of something like that. How do you know—“
“It was him!” Jonathan interrupted emphatically. “I spent the next four years as a slave to him and his people! He’s still wearing the same earring! It was him!”
The Easterner agitation was growing as he spoke. The man Tompkins was right, he decided. This lawman wasn’t going to do anything and that murdering savage was going to get away with what he’d done. Well, by God, he wasn’t going to let that happen, he vowed silently.
As Sam watched, Jonathan did a complete about face. His anger faded and he once again became the quiet, almost docile. The lawman eyed him carefully and didn’t like what he thought he saw.
“Barnett!” he called. The deputy must have been sitting outside the door because he appeared instantly.
“Yeah, Sam?”
“Why don’t you take Mr. Wyatt here over to the hotel and see that he gets a room?” Sam ordered.
“Sure thing,” Barnett agreed. “Right this way, Mr. Wyatt,” he added, picking up the valise that someone had brought in from the street.
“What happens now?” the Eastern asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam answered honestly. “I need to talk to Buck and get his side of the story—“
“You expect him to tell you the truth?” Jonathan interrupted incredulously.
“It’s not my job to decide what’s true and what ain’t,” Sam told him. “For now I just ask the questions and get the answers, then let the judge handle the decision making.”
“So you will take it to a court?” the other man asked.
“Well, since I don’t figure you’re going to back down—“ Sam looked at the man hopefully and got the glare he expected in response. “—I have to at least present the information to the judge.”
“Good!”
“In the meantime,” the marshal continued, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave town.”
“Don’t you worry about that, Marshal,” Jonathan said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until justice is served!”
Tompkins accosted Sam before he made it half way across the street. “What are you going to do about that savage?” the storekeeper demanded.
“Right now I’m going to go find out if he’s even alive,” Sam said quietly.
“He’s not going to get away with it this time, Cain,” Tompkins vowed, blocking the lawman’s path.
“That’s not for you to decide, Tompkins,” Sam replied, stepping around the man and continuing on his way.
“I’ve sent for the circuit judge,” Tompkins called after him. When Sam turned on him, an angry look on his face, the man continued, “Someone has to make sure you don’t let your being friends with that injun get in the way of doing what’s right!”
Several townspeople had stopped to watch the exchange. Sam noted that more than a few of them seemed to be in agreement with the merchant.
”You do what you think you have to, Tompkins,” Sam said in a deadly quiet voice. “But you make sure you stay on the right side of the law while you’re doing it.”
Leaving the threat hanging, the lawman turned and walked straight-backed to the doctor’s office.
Sam wasn’t all that surprised to see that Teaspoon had joined the group in the small waiting room of the doctor’s office. If anything he was surprised that Kid and Cody hadn’t gotten there yet.
“How is he?” the lawman asked.
“Doc’s still with him,” Teaspoon replied. “He says it don’t appear that he’s got any broken bones.”
“Well that’s one good thing,” Sam offered.
“Sam, what’s going on here?” the older man asked. “The boys tell me that Buck was just helping Emma with supplies when this dude came out of nowhere and started beating him?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out, Teaspoon,” Sam replied. “There are witnesses that are saying pretty much the same thing.”
Ike impatiently stepped between the two men. Where is the man who attacked Buck? he signed angrily.
“I had Barnett take him over to the hotel,” Sam answered in response to Lou’s translation, then braced himself for the explosion he was sure to come.
He wasn’t disappointed.
“THE HOTEL! ” Jimmy and Lou roared as one, crowding in with Ike. Sam didn’t need an interpreter to know that the mute was signing the same thing.
“Barnett will keep an eye on him,” he told the trio firmly. “And until Buck presses charges, I got no reason to lock him up.”
“You don’t call assault and battery on Buck ‘reason’?” Jimmy argued. “Or is it because the guy doing the assault is a white man and Buck isn’t?”
The room immediately grew quiet as Sam favored Jimmy with an icy stare. “You know better than that, Hickok,” he said quietly.
The lawman turned then and went into the room where the doctor and Emma were tending to Buck.
Of the five people in the room only Teaspoon had said nothing. A former lawman himself, the older man was the only one to understand what Sam was going through.
“He’s just doing his job,” he told the three riders.
He’s not doing it very well! Ike signed furiously.
“I reckon he’s doing what he has to do, Ike,” Teaspoon countered. “For the sake of the town—and for Buck.”
“What are you talking about, Teaspoon?” Lou asked trying to remain calm.
“You were telling me about Tompkins’ reacting to what happened, Lou,” Teaspoon explained. “I’d be willing to bet a month’s pay that he’s already out stirring up trouble.”
“So?” Jimmy argued. “Who cares what Tompkins is doing?”
“Teaspoon’s right, Jimmy,” Emma said, coming in from the other room. “The last thing Buck would want is to have the town up in arms over this.”
“The man attacked Buck on a public street, in broad daylight, for no reason!” Jimmy challenged. “If it had been the other way round, Buck would be in jail—if not hung!”
“That’s not true!” Emma replied, eyes flashing in anger. “And you know it, Jimmy Hickcok!”
“Everybody just calm down!” Teaspoon said, stepping in to put an end to the argument. “Sam’s doing the job as best as he knows how. If he hasn’t locked up the dude, then odds are there’s a darned good reason. And it’s not because Buck is Kiowa.”
He met Jimmy’s angry look with one of his one—and held the other man’s gaze until Hickok finally gave way. “Now, let’s us all just wait and see what he finds out from Buck before we go making accusations.”
It better be a GOOD reason! Ike signed before turning his back on the rest of them.
Sam waited until the doctor finished washing his hands before stepping away from the door. He’d overheard everything that was said in the other room and knew it was likely to get a whole lot worse before it got better.
“How is he, Doc?” he asked the weary looking man.
“He’ll live,” the doctor replied. “He’s pretty banged up. I want to keep an eye on him in case he’s got a concussion, but other than a couple of small cuts on his chin, he’s just bruised.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Don’t see why not, if he’s up to it,” the doctor replied. “But don’t expect too much right now. If he has got a concussion, he’s not going to be thinking too well.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Sam said, stepping around the curtain.
Sam’s first thought when he saw Buck’s face was that if this was “just bruised,” he would have hated to see Doc’s idea of “seriously hurt.” One eye was completely swollen shut and his lower lip was at least twice its normal size.
“Do I look that bad?”
The words were a bit slurred but understandable. The one eye Buck could get open was watching him and seemed to be alert.
“I’ve seen you looking prettier,” Sam admitted. “But think of it this way, the women folk will be falling all over themselves to make you feel better.”
Buck started to grin, then moaned as the movement reminded him of his bruises. “Don’t make me laugh,” he mumbled. “Hurts.”
“Sorry,” Sam apologized. “You feel up to talking?”
“Guess so,” Buck replied, shrugging carefully.
Sam pulled a chair away from the wall, turning so he could straddle the seat and rest his arms on the back. “What can you tell me about a man name of Jonathan Wyatt?” he asked.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Buck replied after a moment’s concentration. “He the guy?”
“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “He tells me he was a captive of your tribe for about four years back almost ten years ago.”
“He have a Kiowa name?” Buck asked.
“Not that he mentioned. Why?”
“We wouldn’t have used his white name.”
“He says his wagon train was ambushed about ten years ago and everyone was killed except him and two of his sisters,” Sam offered.
“Happened a lot,” Buck replied non-committally. “I was just a kid, Sam. Kids weren’t told much.”
“That’s what’s different about this one, Buck,” Sam said carefully. “According to Wyatt, you were part of the war party the attacked the wagon train.”
Buck’s eye widened in disbelief, then a look came over his battered features that told Sam he was remembering something.
“I don’t know a lot about the Kiowa, Buck,” the lawman admitted. “But I do know that they wouldn’t have let a kid the age you would have been back then go out on a raid like that.”
“It wasn’t a raiding party.” Buck’s mumble had become even more slurred.
“What?” Sam asked.
Emma interrupted them then. “He needs to rest, Sam,” she said firmly.
“Emma, I need some answers,” Sam protested. “It’s important that Buck tell me what he knows as soon as he can.”
“Well ‘as soon as he can’ will be in a day or so,” Emma countered. “He can barely keep his eyes open now. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, it hurts for him to talk.”
Sam looked at the injured man and realized that what Emma was saying was true. “All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I think it might be a good idea if I posted a deputy.”
“You’re arresting him?” The three Express riders were crowded in the doorway staring at Sam incredulously.
“I didn’t say that!” Sam told them sharply. “I’m putting him in protective custody.”
“We’ll give him all the protection he needs!” Jimmy said adamantly.
“Sam,” Teaspoon interrupted before things escalated. “One of the boys can stay here, no need for you to bring on a deputy to do something we’ll do anyway.”
Sam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Teaspoon was right. It wasn’t likely that Buck was going to be left alone. Judging from the way the others were crowding around, he’d be lucky to get a moment’s peace.
“All right,” he agreed. “But under one condition.” Making sure he had their attention, he continued, “No matter what happens, you all stay away from Wyatt—and that goes for Cody and Kid when they get back too. If he comes here, you send for me—understood?”
The young people hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Understood,” Lou and Jimmy said together, while Ike nodded his agreement.
Sam nodded, then looked at Emma and Teaspoon. “That goes for you two, too!” he ordered.
Sam checked back in at the doctor’s office several times during the day, to find one of the boys in constant attendance and Buck asleep each time.
“He needs his rest,” the doctor informed the lawman.
“You’ll let me know when he can talk some more?” Sam asked.
“I will when he feels up to it,” the doctor replied.
Knowing that was the best he could hope for, Sam continued making his rounds of the town. The attack was the topic of discussion just about everywhere he went with the prevailing sentiment that Buck deserved what he had gotten—and more—if what the dude was saying was true. At least most were putting that “if” into it and Sam was grateful that Tompkins wasn’t making more inroads than he already had.
Stopping at the restaurant for lunch, the lawman found the storekeeper sitting at a table with Jonathan Wyatt and a third man who had his back to the door. The three men were deep in conversation, but Tompkins looked up to scowl as Sam entered the room.
“What can I get for you, Marshal?” the waitress asked.
Sam briefly considered getting a meal to take back to the office, but then his stubborn streak kicked in and refused to let Tompkins run him off. “I’ll take the special and the biggest cup of coffee you have,” he told the woman with a smile.
“Sure thing, Marshal,” she replied, returning his smile.
Lunch should have been a nice calm respite for Sam Cain—too bad fate seemed determined not to let that happen. He’d barely begun to eat his meal when Jimmy, Ike and Cody entered the restaurant. The trio acknowledged Sam but made for a table near the back of the room.
Tompkins chose the precise moment the three passed his table to remark, “At least the circuit judge knows how to deal with murdering savages.”
Sam sighed softly as the boys stiffened. The lawman waited for one of them to retort but to his surprise the boys continued to their table and, when the waitress arrived, placed their order as if nothing had happened.
“I’ve been trying to tell people about the murdering ways of injuns like him for almost a year now, but they always said ‘Buck Cross is different. He’s not like the others.’,” Tompkins continued, his voice rising to carry back to where the Express riders were seated.
To everyone’s surprise, especially Tompkins, the riders did nothing. From his angle, though, Sam could see that Cody had a firm grip on Ike’s arm. He caught Cody’s eye and nodded his appreciation.
“What I don’t understand is why Cain ain’t doing nothing!” The third man at the table with Tompkins and Wyatt had his back to Sam and judging from Tompkins’ reaction, hadn’t seen the marshal come in. “The injun should be locked up—if not hung for what he done!”
Tompkins hushed him with a nod over the man’s shoulder. The man, Oscar Randall, turned in Sam’s direction and grew pale knowing he’d been overheard.
Sam’s food had lost its taste but he forced himself to finish what was on his plate slowly and deliberately. The three men finished their meals quickly and left the restaurant. As soon as they were out the door, the three riders got up and brought their plates to where Sam sat.
“Mind if we join you?” Cody asked pleasantly.
“You should have done that in the first place,” Sam told them.
“It was a lot more fun watching Randall bury himself,” Jimmy said with a wry laugh. “Too bad Tompkins didn’t let him know you were there before he shot his mouth off.”
“I appreciate you boys not getting into it with Tompkins,” Sam said. “That’s what he wants you know?”
“Yeah, we know,” Cody replied. “We won’t do anything stupid Sam, you can count on it.”
“Good,” the marshal said. “As long as all they’re doing is blowing off steam, I say let ‘em go. If they try anything more than that, then I can do something.”
Like go after Buck? Ike signed.
“That’s why I want someone with him at all times,” Sam answered.
“Don’t worry about that either, Sam,” Cody said confidently. “We got it covered.”
“It wasn’t a war party,” Buck said softly. “And we didn’t ambush the wagon train.”
Two days had passed and Emma had finally given Sam permission to talk to the rider. Buck was definitely stronger and his speech was clearer now that the swelling had gone down in his lip. The extra time had another advantage, the lawman soon discovered—Buck had used the time to gather his thoughts.
“You’re right, the Kiowa didn’t and don’t let kids go out with raiding parties,” Buck confirmed. “But as soon as we were old enough to string a bow on our own we could go out with the hunting parties—especially if food was in short supply.”
Sam nodded his understanding. He settled into the chair in front of the fireplace, waiting for Buck to tell his story in his own way.
“I think I’d just turned nine the first time I was allowed to go with the men. Red Bear promised our father he’d look after me so they let me go with a bunch of the older boys and young men. We had a good hunt, I’d even managed to get a small deer.”
Buck smiled briefly at the memory. He had been so proud of himself. Even Red Bear had complimented him on his skill with a bow.
“On our way back to the camp, we passed one of our sacred burial grounds. Normally we would have taken the long way round but this time we were all kind of anxious to get back to camp—to show off I guess—so the leader decided to ride through the grounds. He figured we could offer our thanks to our ancestors for their help in the hunt.”
Sam nodded a second time. So far what Buck was telling him jibed with what little he knew of the Kiowa culture and tradition.
“Even from a distance, we could tell something wasn’t right,” Buck continued, his voice growing even softer, to the point where Sam had to strain a bit to hear him. “The graves were all messed up, like someone had been going around tearing them apart, looking for something. Things like jewelry and weapons were missing from the graves and in some cases the stones had been moved, leaving the bones showing.”
“Damn,” Sam muttered softly. To most native tribes, the burial grounds were as sacred as a church would be to white men. To have someone destroy the graves would be sacrilege.
“Red Bear and the others got really upset,” Buck continued, oblivious to Sam’s muttering. “They found some tracks leading away from the site—wagon tracks—and decided to follow them.”
He paused for a moment, then continued in the in a stronger voice. “Red Bear tried to send me back to camp but I got stubborn. I told him if he didn’t take me along, I’d follow them anyway. He knew I meant it so he finally gave in.”
Red Bear had been angry with him for being stubborn but he had been proud of his half-brother too. The others had gained a little bit of respect for the half-breed that day.
“We followed the trail and caught up with the wagon train a couple of hours later,” Buck remembered. “One of the boys spoke some English so he started to ride up to the wagon master. All we wanted was for them to give us back the stuff they’d taken.”
The man fell silent then. “What happened?” Sam prompted gently.
“They didn’t even let him get close to the wagons,” Buck said softly. “The wagon master pulled out a shotgun and killed Brave Otter before he could even say a word.” His voice grew quiet again. “That was the first time I’d ever seen anyone killed. And the blast blew Brave Otter in half.”
“So your group attacked the wagons,” Sam said with certainty.
“Things just went crazy,” Buck explained. “The boys were screaming and shooting their arrows at the settlers and the settlers were firing back. We wouldn’t have stood a chance against the long rifles and the shotguns if . . . “
“If?” Sam urged.
“There were two other hunting parties in the area,” Buck told him. “They heard the gunfire and came running.” He hesitated, then continued in a rush. “These were men not boys and some of them had rifles. It turned into an all out massacre.”
“What about Wyatt’s family?” the marshal asked.
“At one point, Red Bear ordered me to go for help,” Buck responded. “I started off but looked back in time to see a man with his rifle aimed at Red Bear. He had him dead to rights, Sam. I didn’t even stop to think. I just pulled my bow and shot in the direction of the man. I figured I might get lucky and at least draw his attention.”
The Kiowa shifted uncomfortably, then glanced at Sam. The look on the lawman’s face was one of understanding not condemnation, giving Buck the courage to continue.
“My shot was one in a million,” he said. “I was at least fifty yards away and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d be able to hit him—let alone kill him.”
“But you did,” Sam finished.
“I did,” Buck confirmed. “It was the first time I’d ever killed another human being.”
“Wyatt says after you shot his father, you scalped the body and then his mother and sister too,” Sam told him.
“I didn’t!” Buck denied firmly. “My tribe didn’t believe in it, no matter what the settlers might think.”
“He says he saw you do it,” Sam persisted. “I don’t know who or what he saw, but, Sam, I didn’t even get off my horse,” Buck protested. “I couldn’t. I think I was in shock. All I could do was sit there and watch the bloodbath. Red Bear finally came and led me back to our camp.”
He looked at the man who, in a very short time, had earned as much trust as Buck could give any white man aside from Ike. “At the time, I was proud of what I had done—I saved Red Bear’s life. I’m still proud of what I did. It was the settler or my brother. Would you have done any different?”
“Can’t say as I wouldn’t have,” Sam agreed. “I just wish there was some way of proving what you’re saying.”
“You believe me don’t you?” Buck asked.
“I do,” Sam said immediately. “The question is will the circuit judge?”
“Is it going to go that far?” Buck asked worriedly.
“If Wyatt and Tompkins have anything to say about it, yes,” Sam replied. “It’s your word against Wyatt’s.”
“You may as well hang me now,” Buck said bitterly.
“Tompkins hasn’t been giving you any trouble?” Teaspoon asked in disbelief.
They had gathered in the small room at the back of the doctor’s office where Buck had been moved. Sam had suggested it would be better for all concerned if Buck stayed in town—but out of sight at least until the judge arrived. Grudgingly, Buck had agreed, but as time passed and his bruises healed, it was becoming more and more difficult for him to stay cooped up.
“No,” Sam replied. “And I think that bothers me more than if he was out stirring things up.”
“Yeah, he’s up to something,” Teaspoon agreed. “What about Wyatt?”
“He’s keeping pretty much to himself,” Sam told them. “I’ve seen him out and about—usually with Tompkins or Randall.”
“There’s another one we need to keep an eye on,” Hickok mused. “Probably more than Tompkins.”
“He’s probably waiting for the circuit judge to get here,” Lou commented.
“I’m glad Tompkins sent for him,” Buck said quietly. When the others looked at him in surprise, he explained, “You don’t have to stay in a little room with only one window.”
The others nodded sympathetically. They had all tried to make his stay more comfortable but knew that a man like Buck wouldn’t be happy about being closed in.
“Well, you’re going to get your wish real soon,” Sam told him. “The judge just rode in.”
Tompkins and Randall met Judge Virgil Newell before he even had a chance to get off his horse. By the time Sam reached the judge, the two shopkeepers were demanding that he convene a trial immediately. Newell, know for his tough but fair approach to most legal matters, wouldn’t be bullied.
“I am going to check into the hotel, take a long hot bath and clean up,” he told the townsmen firmly. “Then I intend to talk to Marshal Cain and the two principles. I’ll decide if a trial is necessary or even possible after I’ve heard their stories.”
“What do you mean, ‘if a trial is possible’?” Randall demanded.
“Exactly what I said,” the judge replied. “After I received your summons, Tompkins, I did a little checking. I’m not sure I have the authority to do anything, even if I have the desire.”
“But you’re a territorial judge!” Randall protested. “Why wouldn’t you have authority?”
“You didn’t tell me exactly where this alleged massacre took place,” Newell said calmly. “I have no idea if it was within my jurisdiction or not. Not to mention, matters dealing with the Indians usually come under the jurisdiction of the military tribunal—not a civil court.”
Randall opened his mouth to protest further but Newell stopped him. “I do not intend to debate the matter with you in any case. If you have something to say, you will have your opportunity when I call the court to order—after I have my bath.”
Turning to Sam, the judge nodded his acknowledgment. “Marshal Cain, I assume you can have both principles in my usual office in, say, one hour?”
“Yes, Sir,” Sam replied.
“Good. One hour then.” Ignoring any further protests on the parts of Randall and Tompkins, the judge stepped into the hotel.
Exactly one hour later, Judge Newell walked into the office that was used as a courtroom when he was in Sweetwater. His eyes narrowed momentarily as he saw the crowd of people who were standing at the door waiting to be let in.
“I wish to speak with Mr. Jonathan Wyatt and Mr. Buck Cross alone,” he told Sam. “If at the end of our conversation, I decide further action is warranted, I will convene a legal court.”
“Yes, your Honor,” Sam replied. “I think it might be best if you saw the boys one at a time.”
“Given what I’ve heard of the actions that precipitated my being summoned here, I agree with you, Marshal,” the judge said. “Why don’t I meet with Mr. Wyatt first?”
“He’s just outside, Sir,” Sam replied, motioning for Wyatt to step into the room. “Buck will be available when you are ready for him.”
Two hours passed while Newell interviewed first Jonathan and then Buck. Sam wasn’t happy about the fact that several people muttered angrily when Buck was escorted from the doctor’s office but no one did anything more than mutter, so he did nothing.
Finally the judge called for Sam to come back into the office. The man in the robes wore a look even angrier than the few townspeople.
“Were you aware that this entire case rests upon the recollections of a man who was at the time of the alleged massacre only eight years old?” Newell asked.
“Yes, you Honor,” Sam replied.
“Were you also aware that the man being charged with the crime was at the time just nine years old?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Then what the Sam Hill am I doing here, Cain?” Newell all but roared. “Assuming the witness wasn’t so badly traumatized that he would actually remember what happened with any degree of clarity, assuming the witness would be able to identify the perpetrator who has aged ten years since the time of the alleged massacre, even if the accused admits to taking part in the alleged massacre, assuming the alleged massacre were within my jurisdiction and that I had the authority to pass judgment on the alleged perpetrator, I would be a total fool to hold a man responsible for something he did as a child!”
”To be honest with you, Judge,” Sam replied honestly. “I’m not real sure why you were brought into this either.”
“Get Tompkins in here, now!” the judge ordered.
William Tompkins stepped into the office, his hat in his hand. He swallowed hard at the look on the robed figure’s face.
As much as Buck wanted to watch Tompkins get what was coming to him, the rider decided that discretion was the better part of valor and moved back outside to stand with his friends. Most of the people had heard Newell’s raging at Sam and many had decided they had more important things to do elsewhere. As the judge’s voice droned on behind the closed door, the rest began to leave as well until only the riders, Teaspoon, Randall and Wyatt remained.
Sam came to the door several minutes later and indicated that they should come in. A much-embarrassed Tompkins stood to one side, his hat twisted into an almost unrecognizable mass.
“Mr. Wyatt, Mr. Cross, please step forward,” Newell ordered. “There is a legal term that applies in a case such as this. It’s called the ‘age of reason’. In most circumstances, the courts deem children under a certain age incapable of making a determination of what is right and what is wrong. In most courts that age is seven years.”
Randall started to protest, “The savage was over—“
“Shut up, Mr. Randall,” Newell commanded. “I said in most courts the age is seven years. I personally tend to judge each case as they are presented. In this particular instance, I firmly believe that Mr. Cross acted out of instinct and fear—not from a conscious decision to kill. He acted to save his brother’s life and as a result he took a human life.”
“But the savages, they teach their kids how to—“ Randall attempted.
“I said, shut up, Mr. Randal, or I will hold you in contempt!” the judge roared. “I am well aware of the Kiowa culture and the fact that Kiowa children are treated differently. I am also aware that children under the age of twelve are never taken with war parties! I do not believe that Mr. Cross was doing anything more than what he claims to have been doing—participating in a hunt for food.”
Standing, Judge Newell, picked up his gavel before continuing. “Mr. Wyatt, you have my deepest sympathies with respect to the death of your family. However, I cannot and will not hold Mr. Cross responsible for actions that took place when he was a mere child.”
“I thought you said he was fair!” Randall hissed at Tompkins.
“Marshal Cain, Mr. Randall is now in contempt of court,” Newell said calmly. “I fine him thirty dollars or thirty days in your fine jail.”
“But—“ Randall sputtered.
“Care to make that sixty dollars or sixty days?” the judge interrupted. The other man became immediately silent. “Good!” Newell commented. “As for you, Mr. Cross. I do believe you have a case for assault and battery should you choose to pursue the matter?”
“I don’t think I want to do that, your Honor,” Buck replied instantly. “I’d just like to see this thing over and done with.”
“Very well,” the judge declared bringing the gavel down on the table with a bang. “Court is adjourned.”
As his friends crowded around Buck to congratulate him, Tompkins stepped up to Sam. Taking a worn wallet from his pocket, he pulled a handful of bills out and all but threw them in the marshal’s direction. Turning sharply on his heel, the shopkeeper stalked back to stand, arms crossed next to Wyatt.
Sam fought to keep a smile from his face as he turned to Randall. “You can bring the money by my office this evening—if you don’t have it with you now.”
“I have it!” the other man snarled as he pulled some coins from his pocket and intentionally tossed them on the floor. He then joined his two confederates, and as one, they left the office.
“What was that for?” Cody asked, indicating the bills Sam still held in his hand.
“Randall wasn’t the only one the judge found in contempt,” Lou guessed with a laugh.
“So how much did he fine Tompkins, Sam?” Kid asked.
“Enough to pay for Barnett’s salary for a few months,” Sam grinned.
“Ain’t that something?” Cody mused. “Here you figured you get hanged for what you did because it was your word against a fancy Eastern dude. Instead the judge gave you a chance to put him in jail.”
“Yeah, Buck,” Jimmy agreed. “How come you let him get away with what he did?”
“He’s suffered enough,” Buck said simply. “I reckoned, if it had been me in his shoes, I’d most likely do the same thing.”
The others nodded in understanding. “So what was it like talking to the judge?” Cody pried. “What kind of things did he ask you?”
“Mostly he just said to tell him what happened,” Buck told him. “So I did. He asked a few questions, like how old was I and what I was doing out with the hunting party. And . . . “
“And?” Lou prompted gently.
“He asked me how I had felt when I realized the settler had died because I shot him,” Buck said quietly.
“What’d you tell him?” Cody asked.
“I said I got sick and threw up,” the Kiowa answered.
Randall, Wyatt and Tompkins were getting not so quietly drunk.
“I still can’t believe that Newell would take the word of a stinking injun over a white man!” Randall moaned for the fiftieth time.
“Well, he did,” Wyatt said angrily. “And the savage is going to get away with what he did to my family!”
“He doesn’t have to,” Tompkins suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“The judge ain’t the only law in the territory,” the shopkeeper explained. “We could go to the army or even the governor if we have to!”
“You think it’ll make any difference?” Randall asked, a hint of hope in his voice.
“I’ll be willing to bet twice what I had to give that bastard Cain that the army wouldn’t be too keen to find out they have a murdering Kiowa half-breed walking the decent streets of Sweetwater,” Tompkins vowed. “And I’ll bet Russell, Majors and Waddell won’t like the fact that they got one working for ‘em neither.”
“So what’re we gonna do?” Randall asked.
“Tomorrow morning, first thing,” Tompkins said rising unsteadily to his feet. “I’m gonna ride to Fort Laramie and talk to the commanding officer. If he won’t help, then I’ll ride to see the governor—and maybe send a telegram to the Pony Express offices. Heck, I may even do that anyway.”
“This ain’t over, Wyatt!” Randall crowed. “You just wait and see. That savage will pay for what he done! You just wait and see!”
Jonathan smiled. Randall and Tompkins grinned stupidly at each other, thinking the Easterner was happy with their plan.
True to his word, even with a hangover, William Tompkins rode off towards Fort Laramie early the next morning. A note on the door of the general store said to contact Oscar Randall if it was an emergency.
I don’t like it, Ike signed as he, Jimmy and Lou rode back to the station empty handed.
“Don’t worry, Ike,” Lou said. “If the judge didn’t do anything, it’s not likely anyone else will either. That’s why they hired Newell.”
That’s not what I meant, the mute explained. I don’t like how Wyatt has taken this so easily.
“I know what you mean, Ike,” Jimmy offered. “He nearly beats Buck to death on the street and then just backs off like nothing happened? Somehow I don’t think just because the judge said it wasn’t a crime that he’s going to give up on a grudge he’s had for ten years.”
“You think he’s going to try something?” Lou asked, concern written all over her face.
“I figure it might be a good idea for someone to keep an eye on Buck for a while,” Jimmy said.
I do too, Ike agreed.
“You know he’s not going to like that,” Lou commented.
“So who said we’re going to tell him?” Jimmy replied.
Someone was keeping an eye on Buck—and he would have liked knowing that even less. Jonathan Wyatt had found a spot not far from the station where, with a spyglass he had “borrowed” from Tompkins, he was keeping a very close eye on Buck and the others.
Randall had told the Easterner that it would take Tompkins almost a week to get to Laramie and back. Wyatt didn’t really care how long it took or even if the trip would serve any useful purpose—he had no intention of waiting around to find out. Leaving his position only long enough to perform necessary functions, he was soon able to determine the pattern to life at the Sweetwater Pony Express station and to find a window of opportunity to put his plan into action.
Each morning, Buck was up early to feed the horses. Once the bald-headed rider was with him, but on the other days Wyatt had been watching, the Kiowa spent at least an hour alone in the barn before the rest of the occupants of the station woke and went about their business. Wyatt’s plan hinged on getting in and out in that hour before anyone would know that their friend was missing.
The time and place of the start of his revenge set, the angry young man now set about finding a place in which he could finish what he had started. He’d considered an abandoned homestead just a few miles from the station but decided that would be too easily found. On his third day of watching, the perfect place came to him. It was so perfect, he knew no one would ever think to look there.
He smiled as he realized his new “friends” would probably take some of the heat for what he was about to do. Long past rational thinking, Jonathan Wyatt didn’t care.
Buck sensed something wasn’t quite right the minute he entered the barn, but the nagging feeling wasn’t strong enough to stop him from doing his morning chores just as he had for the past six months. Early mornings were a favorite time of the young man’s. He relished being alone—just him and the animals he tended. The time had become even more precious this past few days.
The fact that the other riders were keeping an eye on him hadn’t escaped the Kiowa’s eye. While he appreciated their concern—and in fact shared some of the same concern—he was getting tired of not being able to be alone. No matter where he went or what he did, someone was always there. Buck was beginning to feel claustrophobic.
Only in the very early morning, when he fed and watered the station’s horses, was he unescorted. Usually, after tending to the rest of the horses, he would spend a little extra time with his personal mount. Any way he could extend his momentary freedom from his “watchers” was preferred to going back to the bunkhouse where the others would be waiting.
This particular morning the horse was acting a bit skittish. “What’s the matter boy?” Buck asked as the gelding sidestepped away from him. Reaching out to comfort the animal, he felt rather than saw a movement behind him. He turned quickly, but not quickly enough. The edge of the rifle stock connected with the side of his head before he could raise a defense. He saw stars, then nothing, as he slid to the ground, unconscious.
“Anyone seen Buck this morning?” Cody asked as they cleared the table for breakfast.
“Not since he got up to go do his chores,” Lou said with a yawn. “Why?”
“I was just down at the barn,” the blond rider replied. “He wasn’t there.”
“Maybe he went for a ride?” the girl offered.
“His horse was still there,” Cody countered.
They both started as Ike suddenly rushed out of the bunkhouse. The mute was back a few minutes later, signing frantically. Something’s happened to Buck!
“Now, hold on, Ike,” Teaspoon drawled trying to remain rational. “He could’ve just decided he needed to be by hisself for a while.”
NO! the bald rider signed, waving some straw around in front of the others.
“What’s that?” Jimmy asked.
Straw from Buck’s horse’s stall. Ike told them. It’s got blood on it!
Teaspoon took the evidence from Ike’s hand and confirmed it truly was blood that colored the golden strands. “It don’t mean it’s Buck’s blood,” he told Ike. “Or maybe he cut hisself on something.”
The horse isn’t hurt. The blood is fresh, Ike countered. If Buck had cut himself he would have come here to get cleaned up. He’s not here!
“All right,” Teaspoon agreed. “Everyone spread out and start looking. If you find him and he seems to be all right, just leave him alone and come back to tell the rest of us.”
An hour passed before the group decided that Buck was well and truly missing. “I found some tracks out back of the barn,” Cody told them. “But I lost the trail on the road to town.”
“They were headed to town?” Teaspoon asked.
“Yeah, seemed to be,” Cody replied.
“How many horses?”
“Just two.”
“None of ours are gone, ‘cept for Katy,” Lou said.
Ike started towards the barn but Teaspoon stopped him. “You can’t just go off half-cocked, Ike,” he told the rider. “Buck might have a good reason for leaving without telling anyone.”
“And he might not,” Jimmy countered. “It’s not like Buck not to at least say something.”
“And if it was that important,” Lou agreed, “he could have just yelled. He knew we’d be up and about.”
“Lou you’ve got a run this morning,” Teaspoon reminded the small rider. “You boys come with me. We’ll go let Sam know something’s going on.”
A throbbing pain in his head brought Buck around but opening his eyes did little to confirm that he was really awake. The room—if it was a room—he was in was pitch black. Either he’d been unconscious for the entire day—or someone was going to great pains not to allow any light to show.
He tried to move, only to discover three very important things. First off, he was securely tied between two very sturdy poles, his feet tied tightly together at the ankles. Secondly, he had something in his mouth that prevented him from yelling, even in pain. And the final important fact was that movement of any kind hurt like hell.
Inhaling against the pain, the young man tried to pull free of his bonds, only to moan aloud when the pain in his wrists traveled up his arms to his shoulders. The throbbing in his head increased until he thought he was going to pass out again.
A match flaring in the darkness was the first indication that Buck wasn’t alone. The dim light produced revealed a figure sitting at a table but the face was in the shadows so the captive couldn’t see who the other man was.
“So you finally decided to rejoin the living?” a voice asked.
Buck’s eyes widened, revealing his surprise. If he hadn’t known it before, he knew now that he was in serious trouble. Ignoring the pain it caused, he struggled even harder to get free.
Jonathan ignored the other man as he lit the lantern that sat on the table. “I thought for a moment I had hit you too hard,” he continued pleasantly. “That would have been such a waste and would have spoiled all my fun. I’m glad your head was as hard as I thought it was.”
Buck mumbled something, trying to speak around the gag but no intelligible words came out.
Standing the Easterner walked over to where Buck was tied. Reaching behind the bound man’s head, Wyatt checked that the gag was good and tight. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full?” He laughed at his own joke. “No of course she didn’t, a heathen like her wouldn’t know anything about manners.”
Buck’s eyes darted around his prison, looking for something, anything, that would help him escape. Wyatt was so lost in his reverie that he failed to notice the look.
“I really wish this gag wasn’t necessary,” he said. “It would be so nice to hear you beg for your life, the way my mother begged for hers. But, unfortunately that’s impossible. While we are safe here, I don’t wish to be overheard—not even for that.”
His words gave Buck some hope. If they could be overheard, they couldn’t be far from people. If only he could make enough noise, someone might get to him before this madman could do anything. And there was one thing of which he was absolutely sure—Jonathan Wyatt was mad.
“He’s not in his room,” Cody told the others. “No one’s seen him since early this morning.”
The riders hadn’t waited for Teaspoon to get back with Sam. While Ike and Jimmy had checked the stables for Wyatt’s horse, Cody had checked the hotel for any sign of the Easterner.
“His horse is in the barn,” Jimmy related. “Looks like he’s been rode hard though. The stable boy saw him leave this morning but didn’t notice when he came back.”
Sam listened to what the younger men had to say, then made a decision. “Split up and check any place you can think of. Teaspoon, why don’t you check with Randall? If Wyatt confided in anyone, it was probably him or Tompkins. Maybe he has some idea where they would have gone.”
“Where is Tompkins?” Cody asked.
“Don’t know, but he’s been gone for three days,” Sam responded. “I don’t think he has anything to do with Buck’s disappearance anyway.” At the looks of disbelief from the others, the lawman continued. “Tompkins may be stupid, but he’s no fool.”
Cody snorted at the thought but said nothing more.
After listening to Wyatt drone on for almost an hour Buck was to the point of wishing the man would just do something. The Easterner was becoming even less coherent as time passed. But the advantage to his ranting was that he was actually paying very little attention to his captive.
Buck had been discovered that his feet, while bound together were at least not tied to the floor—and there was a floor beneath his boots. Turning his head slowly as if to watch the man who paced back and forth in front of him, the bound man was able to see that the windowless walls on either side of him were lined with shelves, all of which were well stocked with canned goods and other items.
The Kiowa could only think of a couple of places in town that would have a room like this. A thought struck him but he immediately dismissed it. As much as he hated Indians, there was no way Tompkins would be involved in his kidnapping! The man was a respected, for the most part, businessman. He wouldn’t risk his life in Sweetwater to help a crazy man commit a crime . . . would he?
Still, the storeroom in the back of Tompkins’ general store would be set up similar to this one. And, with the proprietor out of town, it wasn’t likely anyone would be snooping around close enough to overhear much. Even more damning was the fact that Wyatt would probably know where Tompkins had gone and would therefore know how long before he got back.
If it were true, then there was a chance. The general store was beside the bank, so, judging from the position of the only door he could see, the wall to his right would be the common wall between the two. In back there was an alley and beyond that the dressmaker’s shop and a lawyer’s office. Since the building was the last on the block, there was an open—and busy—street to his left as well as to the front.
All he would have to do is make a lot of noise at a time when someone would be around to hear him. His heart sank a bit as he realized that he had no clue what time it was. He didn’t know if he’d been unconscious for a few hours or a day. If he took the chance and was able to make noise when the people of Sweetwater were in bed . . . odds are Wyatt would be just crazy enough to kill him.
Chances were he was going to be killed anyway. The way the man was ranting on and on about how Buck had destroyed his life, there really wasn’t a lot of hope that he would suddenly see the error of his ways.
It didn’t take the bound man long to decide he wasn’t going to die without a fight—hopefully, enough of a fight that he wouldn’t die at all.
With each negative report from the returning riders, Sam Cain’s concern grew. Teaspoon’s rather colorful revelation of his talk with Oscar Randall did put him a little more at ease. At least Randall and Tompkins weren’t directly involved in whatever happened to Buck. The lawman experience a brief moment of disappointment that the pair wasn’t involved. He would have loved to have been able to charge them in some way.
“So what’ll we do now?” Jimmy asked.
“Let’s just think this out,” Sam suggested. “We know Wyatt was in town earlier, we know his horse is still here and that no one has seen him leave. He has to be somewhere. And where ever he is, he’s probably got Buck with him.”
“There ain’t that many places to hide here in Sweetwater, Sam,” Cody argued. “Not that wouldn’t have people in them most of the time.”
“It has to be someplace Wyatt’d know,” Jimmy said.
“Unless he’s already killed Buck and took off somewhere,” Cody offered reluctantly.
“We’ll just have to hope he ain’t done that yet,” Teaspoon said firmly.
“I don’t think he has,” Jimmy agreed. “I think he’s gonna want to make Buck suffer a little before he kills him.”
“Then it’d have to be someplace out of the way,” Sam decided. “Someplace where he could do what he thinks he has to do without anyone hearing him.”
“All I know is we gotta find ‘em fast,” Cody declared. “Any man who’s crazy enough to kidnap another man is crazy enough to do something really ugly to the other man before he kills him.”
“Is this the knife you used to scalp my family?” Jonathan asked, holding Buck’s knife as if it were something sacred.
Still gagged, Buck could only shake his head. Wyatt moved to stand in front of him, then, grabbing a handful of Buck’s hair, pulled his head back and placed the blade at his throat.
“Maybe I should just kill you now,” the madman growled.
He pressed the knife even closer until it broke the skin and a thin trickle of blood spilled across the shiny blade.
As suddenly as he had put the knife to Buck’s throat, he pulled away. “No,” he lamented. “That would be too easy for you. I want you to feel the pain I’ve been feeling all these years. The pain you caused.”
Buck fought to control his rising panic. He’d never considered himself a coward but there was a big difference in facing a man on equal terms and facing a man tied and unable to act. As Wyatt moved away, the rider looked frantically about, hoping to find something with which he could alert the town.
His eyes fell on a stack of cast iron skillets sitting near the edge of the table in front of him. With his arms still tied tightly, he had no hope of reaching for them, but maybe, just maybe, he could catch the leg of the table with his feet. If he didn’t break both arms in the process, the pans falling on the wooden floor should make quite a racket.
All he had to do was wait for the right moment. He prayed that moment would come soon.
“I went back to talk to Randall some more,” Teaspoon told Sam and Jimmy when they met on the street. “He said he hasn’t seen Wyatt since the night before Tompkins rode out. Said something about them getting drunk over at Tompkins’ place.”
“You mean the store? Or his house?” Jimmy asked.
“Randall said they were in the storeroom over at the general store,” Teaspoon responded.
“What difference would that make?” Cody asked as he joined them. “The general store’s been locked up since Tompkins left.”
“So?” Jimmy countered. “As flimsy as that lock is, it’s amazing Tompkins hasn’t been robbed blind.”
Sam decided he really didn’t want to know how Jimmy had come to know this piece of information. “Find Ike and meet us over at the store,” he ordered.
“You know what’s really funny?” Wyatt asked. He had been wandering around the storeroom muttering to himself for close to an hour, every once in a while coming back to taunt Buck a little. “Well, I’ll tell you anyway. Tompkins has gone to the army for help with my problem. The funny part is, if it weren’t for the army, there wouldn’t be a problem!”
He uncorked a bottle of whiskey he’d found on a shelf and took a long swallow. Buck found himself hoping the other man would get drunk and pass out, but from the level of liquid in the bottle, that wasn’t likely to happen.
“The army freed me from your people—they killed a lot of you savages that day too but not nearly enough, by the way,” the man continued. “They couldn’t free my little sisters though, you savages killed them long before the army arrived. They were too small and you heathens worked them until they dropped and then beat them when they couldn’t do anything more.”
Buck shook his head. He knew that wasn’t true. If the girls had been young enough, they would have been adopted by one of the families of the tribe.
Jonathan’s hand whipped out to slap Buck across the face. Fortunately for the bound man, the gag absorbed much of the blow but the force drove his head around so that his neck cracked.
“I know what happened to my sisters!” Wyatt roared. “I was there! I saw them beaten, just like I was.”
His tone changed eerily as he went back to the original subject. “The army freed me from you savages only to send me to a place far worse. They thought I’d be better off with my aunt and uncle but it wasn’t true. My uncle hated me because I reminded him of my father and my father got his sister killed.”
The man stepped so close to Buck that the rider could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Do you know there were times when I actually wished I was back with you savages?” He laughed maniacally, then continued. “I would rather have been with you bastards from hell than with my own family! That is funny, isn’t it?”
When Buck didn’t respond immediately, the madman hit him again. The bound man’s ears rang and he saw stars. He thought for a moment he was going to pass out again but stayed conscious through shear will power.
“Of course it’s funny,” Wyatt told him, backing away. He took another drink from the bottle, draining it dry, then scowling at Buck, threw the bottle at him.
Wisely, Sam Cain decided he also didn’t want to know how Jimmy had learned to pick locks. Instead he motioned the others to silence and pulled the door to Tompkins’ General Store open as quietly as possible. He cringed as the door creaked hoping that, if there was someone in the store, they were too far away to hear the noise.
Gesturing to Cody to take one side of the store, Sam and Teaspoon moved with Ike and Jimmy to the other side. Pointing to the door that led to the upper level, he indicated that Ike should check out the stairwell with Jimmy to back him up.
The store was empty and looked as if it had been for several days. Cody joined the older men letting them know with a shake of his head that he had found nothing. When Ike and Jimmy rejoined them minutes later, also indicating that nothing had been found, the five men moved towards the only door that held any hope.
Wyatt had gone silent as he searched the shelves for another bottle. Buck was breathing hard through his nose—not an easy feat given that Wyatt’s last blow had brought about a nosebleed.
The Kiowa stiffened as he thought he heard a noise. He strained to hear more and swore he heard footsteps on the floor of the room above. He felt his hopes rise as he heard yet another sound—this one so quiet he could almost believe he had imagined it.
Realizing the chance he’d waited for had finally come, Buck decided it was now or never. Inhaling against the pain he knew was coming, the rider stretched as far as he could in one massive effort to kick at the table—and the pans perched so precariously on its edge.
Wyatt whirled as the sound of the cast iron hitting wood reverberated throughout the tiny room. Striding over to where Buck hung, exhausted from his effort, the Easterner screamed, “You fool!” His fists shot out, catching Buck first in the stomach and then in the jaw, knocking the defenseless man unconscious.
The men on the other side of the door ducked for cover as first the noise of the pans and then Wyatt’s scream reached them.
“Guess we found ‘em,” Cody whispered, earning him a glare from Sam and Teaspoon.
Ike started for the door only to have Teaspoon hold him back. “You want to get Buck killed?” the older man hissed.
Sam motioned for the group to move back out of immediate sight from the door. The five men ducked behind the counter with only seconds to spare as Wyatt eased the door to the storeroom open and looked around. The Easterner looked around quickly, then nodding in satisfaction, moved back into the little room and closed the door.
“Did you see him?” Jimmy whispered in Teaspoon’s ear. “Buck is in there.”
“I saw him,” Teaspoon replied in the same low tone. “The problem we got now is how do we get him out?”
“There ain’t any windows in the storeroom,” Jimmy told them after they had moved back outside the store. “And only one door.”
What are we going to do? Ike signed impatiently.
“The one thing we ain’t gonna do is go in there half-cocked, Ike,” Teaspoon answered. “It’s a sure way to get Buck killed—and maybe some of us too.”
“What the devil’s going on here?”
The group whirled as one at the sound of the voice. Only Sam’s quick reflexes kept Jimmy from pulling his pistol.
“Nothing important,” Cody quipped. “Just that lunatic Wyatt kidnapping Buck and holding him in your storeroom!”
“WHAT!” Tompkins roared.
The girl who had been standing anxiously behind the storekeeper put her hand to her mouth and cried, “Oh my!”
Tompkins started to bull his way past Sam but the lawman stood firm. “Stay put!” he ordered. “You go in there like that and Buck is a dead man!”
The look on the merchant’s face said “So what?” but to his credit he didn’t press the issue. Instead, to the surprise of all the men, the girl stepped forward. “Let me try,” she suggested.
“Who are you?” Sam asked trying hard to keep the irritation from his voice.
“My name is Patricia Sullivan,” the girl informed him. “It used to be Patricia Wyatt. Jonathan is my brother.”
Stunned, Sam could only stammer, “He said his family was dead!”
“That’s a very long story, best saved for another time,” Patricia replied. “Right now, I suggest we see what we can do about saving your friend’s life.”
Sam nodded his agreement but motioned to Jimmy to stay close. If things went wrong, he wanted the best shooter to be there.
The girl walked into the store making no attempt to remain quiet. Striding up to the storeroom door, she proceeded to knock as if she were at someone’s house for afternoon tea.
Inside the storeroom, Buck was slowly regaining consciousness. He heard the knock, the winced as Wyatt grabbed a handful of hair pulling his head back and jamming a pistol into his temple.
“Go away!” Wyatt yelled.
“Jonny?” a woman’s voice called.
“I said go away!” the man growled a second time. “I’ll kill him if you don’t go away!”
“Jonny, it’s me Patsy!” the voice responded.
“Patsy’s dead!” Wyatt roared. “This savage and his people killed her!”
“That’s not true, Jonny!” the girl insisted. “Let me come in and I’ll explain.”
Wyatt hesitated just long enough that Patricia opened the door and slipped in, closing the door behind her—much to Jimmy’s and Sam’s dismay. In the moments it took for her eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior, Buck felt the grip on his hair loosen just a bit. He couldn’t see the man behind him, but he could hear him inhale sharply.
“Mommy?” the man said in a childlike voice.
“No Jonny, it’s Patsy,” the girl replied. “I know I look a lot like Mommy but I’m Patsy, all grown up.”
“NO!” Wyatt snarled.
Buck gasped as his head was jerked back again.
“Jonathan Marcus Wyatt! You stop that this minute!” the girl commanded. In a softer voice she continued, “You’re hurting him, Jonny. Please stop.”
“He killed Father!” Wyatt argued, but Buck could hear the doubt beginning to creep into his voice. “He killed Mommy and he killed yo—“ His voice trailed off as the girl shook her head firmly.
“Mommy and Father are dead,” she confirmed. “But this boy didn’t kill them.”
“I saw him!” Wyatt protested.
“You may have seen him shoot Father, Jonny,” Patricia countered, moving slowly closer, her eyes never leaving her brother’s face. “But Father didn’t die that day. He was badly wounded and he did die but from the wound—and bad doctoring—not because of this boy.”
“If Father didn’t die that day, why didn’t he come after me?” Jonathan cried. “Why didn’t he stop them from sending me to Uncle Russell’s?”
“By the time we were able to do anything at all, the Indians were gone and had taken you and the girls with them,” Patricia answered. “I was never told that you had been found or I would have had you come to me. Please, Jonny, put the gun down and we’ll go somewhere to talk about this.”
Reaching out, she put her hand on the barrel of the pistol and gently pushed it away from Buck’s temple.
“Please, Jonny, I have so much to tell you!” she pleaded. “I’m married now and I have a baby boy. You have a nephew, Jonny. And Elsbeth and Barbara are still alive, Jonny! They were found about a year ago!”
She continued to ramble softly, until the man began to sob uncontrollably. “I named my son Jonathan after you, Jonny! Please don’t make him lose his uncle before he has even met you.”
Taking the weapon from Wyatt’s now limp hand, she lay it on the table, then turned to gently disengage his hand from Buck’s hair. Smiling apologetically, she murmured, “Your friends will be here soon.”
“What’s going to happen to Wyatt?” Buck asked.
Five days had passed since his rescue by the young woman. The rider had spent some of that time at the doctor’s office recovering from the injuries he’d suffered at the hands of the other man. He was still moving slowly and his shoulders were still bruised but he had recovered enough to go back to the station. His friends had arrived to make sure he made it safely.
“Patricia has arranged for him to be treated at an institution in St. Joe,” Sam told him.
“Hopefully he’ll get the help he needs,” Emma sighed.
“Makes you wonder,” Cody said, then added as the others stared at him. “Makes me wonder at least. Jonathan Wyatt went through hell watching what he thought was his parent’s and sister’s murder, then spending four years as a slave to the Indians—“
“He wasn’t a slave,” Buck corrected. “He was probably treated better than I was.”
“In his mind, he was a slave, Buck,” Cody argued. “But whatever, even when he’s rescued, he gets sent back East to live with people who hate him almost as much as he thought the Indians did.”
“He thinks he’s all alone in the world except for an uncle who beats him all the time and an aunt who pretended he didn’t exist,” the rider continued. “I have to wonder how I would have turned out if I’d been stuck in those circumstances.”
The others were quiet for a long time as each pondered the possible reactions had it been them in that position.
“And now!” Cody continued, breaking the silence. “He finds out not only is one sister still alive but that all three of his sisters are!”
Patricia had informed the group that her younger sisters had been found alive and well at another camp. Jonathan had assumed they were dead when they had been taken away, but they had been adopted by an Indian family and were happy and healthy.
“I just hope it isn’t too late for him,” Lou commented. “He’s done some pretty ugly things all in the name of revenge.”
“A lot of what he did, he did because he believed he had been abused by the Kiowa,” Sam told them. “The doc says most likely, after he was rescued, he heard stories of brutality from other rescued captives and decided, if it happened to them, it must have happened to him too.”
Like the scalping? Ike signed.
“Yeah,” Buck confirmed. “I’m not saying that none of the Indian tribes scalp their victims, but most don’t, except to collect bounties offered by the white man.”
“Really?” Cody asked incredulously. “I always thought it was the Indians took scalps to prove how manly they were.”
“Nope,” the Kiowa told them. “We never took our enemy’s scalps until the white man came. They offered money and whiskey for scalps to prove that Indians were dead. Only problem is they usually couldn’t tell the difference and ended up getting as many white scalps as Indian from the white bounty hunters. To the best of my knowledge my family never scalped anyone.”
“I’m sure a lot of what Jonathan believed was due to shock and being alone in a strange place with no one to help him adjust,” Emma offered.
“I really don’t remember him much,” Buck admitted. “He was taken in by another family in our group and we didn’t mix much. Three Eagles didn’t have much use for whites, not even children.”
“I still can’t believe you’re going to let him get away with what he did to you, Buck,” Jimmy said, bringing them back to the present.
“Wyatt is sick, Jimmy,” Buck countered. “Punishing a sick man wouldn’t make a lot of sense.”
“You’re more forgiving than I am!” the other man replied.
“Well, my past isn’t exactly perfect either, “ his friend said quietly.
“Nobody’s is perfect,” Teaspoon agreed. “We just do the best we can and hope it’s good enough.”
Rising stiffly to his feet, Buck started toward the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Emma asked.
“Got something I gotta do,” the man replied. Grinning impishly, he added, “This oughta be fun!”
“What are you going to do?” Emma demanded.
“The way Sam told it, if Tompkins hadn’t gone to Fort Laramie and brought Patricia back with him, I’d probably be dead,” Buck said, still grinning. “In my mind, that makes Tompkins a hero.”
As he opened the door, he continued. “He saved my life—the least I can do is thank him properly!”
Cody and Jimmy paused for a fraction of a second, then started to follow their friend.
“Where do you two think you’re going?” Emma asked.
“This is an historic event, Emma,” Cody replied. “Tompkins getting thanked for doing something nice for Buck?”
“Cody’s right, Emma,” Sam agreed with a mischievous look of his own. “It’s not something we’re going to see happen again for a while I’m sure.”
“Could even be a once in a lifetime thing!” Cody added.
“All right,” the woman sighed dramatically. “Let’s go.”
By the time the small group got to the general store, Buck was already inside, trying to get Tompkins’ attention. The shopkeeper was studiously ignoring the rider as he assisted a young customer who was taking his time choosing penny candies from the rows of colorful jars.
Finally, purchase completed, the older man turned to face the younger. “What do you want?” he growled. “Unless you’re here to buy something, I’m busy!”
“Well, actually I’m here because I owe you something,” Buck replied.
“You owe me?” Tompkins said, puzzled.
“Yes, I do,” Buck answered. “That guy Wyatt probably would have killed me if you hadn’t brought his sister back from Fort Laramie. I figure that means I owe you my life.”
“You know why I went to Fort Laramie in the first place, don’t you?” Tompkins asked. “It sure weren’t to get you any help!”
“I know that, Mr. Tompkins,” Buck responded. “But in the end you did help me and I’m grateful.”
“Yeah, well,” Tompkins muttered. “Once that guy’s sister found out he was here, she didn’t give me much of a choice. If I’d’a had my way you’d be in jail right now.”
“Still,” Buck persisted, “your bringing Patricia back to Sweetwater saved my life. I’m not going to forget that. Thank you.”
Tompkins muttered something under his breath.
“’Scuse me?” Buck questioned.
“I said, ‘You’re welcome’!” Tompkins said in a louder voice.
He grabbed a rag from behind the counter and began to wipe at imagined dust on the shelves. After a few minutes, he looked up to see Buck still standing there, smiling.
“Look, injun,” the storekeeper grunted. “I have a store to run. If you’re not going to buy something then get out!”
Buck laughed, then joined his friends who were gathered around the door watching the exchange.
“You think maybe I oughta tell him the rest of it?” Buck asked the others.
“What ‘rest of it’?” Jimmy asked.
“There’s a tradition with my people,” Buck explained. “If someone saves your life, they are responsible for you for the rest of your life.”
“I think you might want to wait to pass on that little tidbit,” Teaspoon suggested. “Unless you want to die real quick.”
The others laughed, then the small group started the trip home.
The End