Prologue

 
Chapter One
 
    Buck folded the letter quickly and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt. He was too late, though. Lou had seen it.
    "You got a letter?" she asked as she stepped up on the lower rail of the corral fence. She hooked her arms over the top rail and looked up at him with those big doe-eyes.
    "It happens," Buck said, trying to throw off her curiosity.
    "I didn't mean it like that," Lou said, and Buck almost felt sorry that he'd snapped at her. "It's just you don't get them that often."
    Buck sighed at her understatement. He'd only ever received one letter since joining the Pony Express. Or before that.
    "Is it from Camille?" Lou asked, prying again.
    "No," Buck replied, hoping to leave it at that.
    "Aw, come on, Buck," Lou pleaded. "I don't exactly get a lot of mail either."
    "It's personal," Buck told her before he jumped down off the corral fence and headed for the bunkhouse. He'd come out here to read the letter in private, but he should have known just having a letter at all would bring questions from someone. And given Lou's new status as wife and ex-rider for the Pony Express, her boredom just made the letter too tempting.
    "Can't you at least tell me who it's from?" she tried, chasing after him. "I'll do your chores."
    "My chores are done," Buck answered. Lou, however, remained on his heels, like one of the dogs in the Kiowa village after a successful hunt.
    "Tomorrow then?" she offered again.
 
    Lou followed after him, silently cursing the skirts that slowed the movement of her legs. Buck was so much taller. He could cover ground much faster than her. But she stayed with him. Lately, Buck was the one thing that kept her from sliding into the despair of total boredom.
    It wasn't that she was unhappy being married to Kid. She wasn't. She loved him. But it was a big change going from Pony Express Rider to wifely duties. She'd gotten used to the excitement of the speed, the danger of riding. Cooking and cleaning just couldn't compare. Especially when Kid was off on a ride and she was stuck at the station.
    She'd watched Buck grow more and more sullen after Ike's death, especially as the Express started to wind down and the war back East to wind up. They'd lost more friends, to the war or to death. And the foundation, the glue that had brought the rest of them together, was beginning to wear out. They all knew the end of the Express was coming. They just didn't know when.
    Lou had had a lot of time to think lately--she'd found housework to be quite conducive to thinking. Everyone else had something or someone. With the Express business dwindling, Teaspoon was spending more time marshalling. Rachel had the school and helping other ladies around town. Jimmy spent all his off hours with Rosemary. Kid had Lou and the Express. Lou only had Kid and Buck only had the Express.
    So Lou had decided, for each of their sakes, that she and Buck should also have each other. She needed a confidant and Buck had always been a great listener. He needed a friend, a close one, like Ike had been. So Lou had taken upon herself the task of loosening the armor Buck kept around him. She knew there was a lot more to him than he let them see, like an iceberg that lets only its tip float above the surface of the water and keeps its bulk below the waves.
    "How about it?" she asked, reminding him of her offer.
    He stopped and turned toward her. "Why is it so important to you?"
    She searched his eyes carefully to see if he was angry, but she didn't see any suspicion there. "I wanna be your friend," she answered, realizing too late how silly that sounded, like a school girl wanting to play after the bell rang.
    "You are my friend," he told her. "But that doesn't mean you have to read my mail."
    Lou sighed. He was going to be hard to crack. But then, she'd known that before she started. "I want to be more of a friend."
    Buck sat down at the table and took off his hat. "The kind that reads my mail?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in mock confusion.
    Lou couldn't help but chuckle. At least he wasn't mad. Yet. "No," she told him, forcing herself back to seriousness. "The kind that you talk to. The kind that knows what's going on in your life."
    Now he sighed and looked down at the table. "You do know what's going on in my life. I ride the mail. I do chores. What else is there?"
    Lou retrieved the plate of sandwiches she'd made earlier from the counter by the sink and sat down across from him. "Plenty," she replied. "I hardly know anything about you from before the Express. Like how you grew up or where you learned English. You never tell those things. I think Ike knew though."
    Buck had started to eat one of the sandwiches, but now he tossed it back onto the plate and stood up. Lou knew she'd pushed too hard. "You can't be a friend like Ike," he snapped. Then he added, in a softer voice after he'd turned away, "No one can."
    Lou got up and rushed to where he was looking out the window. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to replace him. But I want to know why he was special to you. Why you meant so much to him. I want to know you like he did."
    Buck didn't turn back to her. His voice was quiet, unsure. "None of that is in this letter."
    Lou watched him carefully, to see if he'd stiffen or move further away. "No, but whatever is in that letter made you happy. I could tell."
    Buck's shoulders softened and he turned around, leaning back on the window sill. "You're going to pester me all evening, aren't you?"
    Lou realized that, by giving in, he was really putting her off. Still, she'd pushed too hard already. She was grateful for even this small tidbit. "I've got nothin' better to do and no one to stop me," she teased back. Kid was delivering a special pouch to Fort Kearney and wouldn't return for another three days. Jimmy was off on a run. Teaspoon was in Seneca for a trial, and Rachel was helping Mrs. Nelson with her new baby. Lou was the only one at the station, except Buck, and he had a run the next day.
    With a flourish, Buck pulled the letter from his breast pocket and handed it to her before retaking his seat at the table.
    Lou was suspicious. He'd given it up too easily. Still, she was curious. She opened the letter carefully and focused on the words. And they made absolutely no sense! "What is this? Kiowa?" she asked, assuming Camille had written out the Indian words with English letters.
    Buck shook his head. "Lakota."
 
    Lou was frozen for a moment, and he knew he'd surprised her. She finally moved, walking slowly over to the table where he was. Her mouth still hung open, all of her playfulness gone. Buck wasn't sure why he'd given in. It really wasn't just to stop her pestering him. Telling her the language would only make her more curious, not less.
    But, to be honest, he had missed having someone to talk to--to really talk to--now that Ike was gone. And Lou was maybe the one that could understand him best, stuck as she was in a man's world that wouldn't allow her to play an equal part and still be herself. This letter, then, would be a test. He still didn't feel ready to open up every secret, but her reaction would tell him how far he could go in trusting her.
    "Eagle Feather?" she breathed as she sat down, and Buck liked that she hadn't said 'Jenny Tompkins'. Then the shock on her face disappeared into a dazzling smile. She handed the letter back to him. "What does she say? How is she?"
    "She's unhappy," Buck told her, carefully choosing his words. "Her aunt is trying to force her to change. She's going to leave."
    Lou's smile left and she now looked concerned. Except that there was a certain gleam in her eye that he couldn't quite figure out. "Where will she go?"
    Buck took a long breath, trying to prepare himself for whatever reaction Lou might have. "She wants to come here."
    "To live with her father?"
    Buck watched her closely. He shook his head.
    It took a moment but Lou's eyes grew wide. She took a quick breath in surprise. "Here here?" she asked, pointing down hard on the table.
    Buck nodded and left it at that for now. Her reaction would not only tell him about her, but it would also give him an idea how the others would take the news. If indeed, he decided to bring Eagle Feather here.
    Lou started to stand up in her excitement. "That's wonder--" She stopped and dropped back into her seat. She folded her hands on the table and forced the excitement out of her face. Buck appreciated that. "When is she coming?"
    Buck took another deep breath. "She may not come at all."
    Lou's shoulders sagged. "Why not?"
    "Because it's up to me," Buck told her. "I'm supposed to meet her stage in St. Joe tomorrow afternoon. If I'm not there, she'll find a place for herself somewhere else."
    Lou reached over and took his hand. "But you'll be there, right? You were happy to get the letter. You liked her. She can appreciate you, all of you. Why wouldn't you go?"
    Buck stood up and walked back to the window. On the one hand, he felt just like Lou said, and he was encouraged that she hadn't teased him or balked at the idea. But, as usual, things weren't always as easy as one wanted. "It's not that simple, Lou. I hardly know her. She only knew me for what? A week? And what would the others think? The townspeople? Tompkins? She's his daughter and you know what he thinks of me."
    "The townspeople don't matter," Lou said, jumping up behind him. "And Tompkins can go to hell. The others will be happy if you're happy. She's leaving her aunt one way or the other. If she comes here, you'll get a chance to know each other, see if it will work. If she goes somewhere else, you'll never know."
    Buck wanted to negate all his arguments as easily as she did. He hadn't wanted Eagle Feather to leave when she had. He'd felt a connection with her. And Lou was right. While other white women ignored him or turned away from him in disgust, Eagle Feather had appreciated him, Indian half and all. She loved her people like he loved his. How many chances did he have with a woman like that? But his fears didn't fall away as easily as that. Buck was careful to try and avoid trouble when he could. It found him easily enough on its own. But this would just be asking for trouble. Tompkins would be beside himself, and the rest of the town would back him. And Teaspoon, Rachel, and the others might see it as too forward. It generally wasn't the white way to go about things, though it wasn't unheard of in the Indian world.
    "I have responsibilities," he said as an excuse, though he also hoped Lou would shoot it down as she had his other arguments.
    "I can do your chores," she offered quickly. "It's nothing I didn't do before I was married."
    Buck turned around and met her gaze. She was sincere--he could tell by her eyes, the energetic way she stood there, like a rabbit waiting for just the right moment to bound away. "I have a run tomorrow."
    "I'll take it!" She had barely let him finish his sentence. "Buck, you've got to do this. You deserve a chance to be happy. I'll take the run. I miss it, anyway."
    Her excitement was starting to spill over into him. Maybe it would be like she said. It didn't have to mean love forever. It could be a chance though, one he'd hoped to have back in Sweetwater before Eagle Feather had rode away on the stage.
    But there were still obstacles. "What about Kid?"
 
    Lou felt her face flush hot. "I'm not some fragile China doll!" she snapped and held up her left hand. "I didn't forget how to ride or shoot just because I put this ring on."
    She let out her breath slowly. It wasn't Buck's fault Kid was so irritatingly over-protective. "Besides," she said, more calm now, "Kid's not here. He won't even have to know. If you leave right away, you can meet the stage and be back by Saturday." Her mind had been racing since he first mentioned the stage, working out just how it could be done. "The run will put me back here Sunday morning. Kid won't be back until that afternoon."
    "What about Jimmy?"
    He was stubborn, but he had hesitated in speaking just then. She could see it in his eyes, a glimpse of the vulnerability he hid so well. He was arguing, but he wanted to believe it could be done. And she wanted to help him.
    "Jimmy is blind to everything around him these days," she reminded him. "We have to remind him when he has a ride. And don't worry about the others. Teaspoon's not due back until Sunday either, and Rachel was gonna be gone at least that long. It's just you and me. Until you get back with Eagle Feather, of course."
    He sat down on one of the bunks and clasped his hands together. "You really think this is a good idea? That it could work?"
    Lou plopped herself down beside him. "Not if it was just you," she teased as she took his arm. "But with me as your co-conspirator, nothing can go wrong!"
 
Chapter Two

    Buck readied his horse, still unsure, but excited now about the trip and seeing Eagle Feather again. He tightened his saddle and then led the horse out of the barn. Lou was waiting for him with some provisions which she tucked into his saddle bags. "You sure you don't need the buckboard?"
    Buck shook his head. "It'd be too slow. Besides, she can ride. I'll pick up another horse in St. Joe."
    Lou stroked the horse's neck. "Okay. Be careful. You know there's been trouble lately."
    "I know," Buck sighed. Indian trouble. It tore him in two every time he heard those words. A couple of farms had been attacked recently by the Arapaho, who had apparently decided that they had a golden opportunity to get rid of the whites while the Army was busy back east. "You, too. You're the one riding right through Indian territory. I'm going east, remember?"
    She smiled. "I remember. And I'm looking forward to seeing her again, so I'll be sure to get back here safe and sound. 'Sides, I don't want Kid nagging at me any more'n you do." She patted the horse. "Now get goin'. You got a stage to catch." She reached up for his shoulder. Buck tried not to laugh as she had to go up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek.
    It was about two in the afternoon when he left. The sun was high, just over his shoulders, warming the back of his coat a little. Winter would be coming soon. He could feel it in the air that rushed by his face and hands as the horse charged across the plains. She loved to run and he loved to let her. But they had a fairly long trip to make and with the exception of a camp for the night, they'd be riding straight through. He didn't want to overwork her and wear her out. He kept her at a steady, swift pace, but below the real speed he knew she was capable of.
    The sun moved away from him as he rode, beyond his shoulders to his back. The sky above deepened and the air grew colder. Buck knew he'd have to stop for camp in an hour or so.
    He slowed the horse as he approached a shallow stream and then stopped her so she could drink. He slipped off her back and decided he was thirsty as well. He pulled his canteen down and took a drink. While he waited for his horse, he took in his surroundings. The Kansas plains were flat and stark for the most part. But near the stream there were plenty of trees whose leaves had now dried and turned shades of red, brown, and yellow. The wind blew softly, rustling the drying leaves, loosening some of them from their branches' hold. Soon these trees would be bare, the grass brown and withered. Another year was moving toward its end, its death. Buck swallowed a pang of hurt with that thought. Ike's face had met him in the leaves just then.
    He turned from the trees and focused on the trickling water. The stream babbled and trickled on, oblivious to the change of seasons. Only winter could catch its attention, freezing it in its journey until spring set it free once more. He thought of his own journey and what awaited him in St. Joe. A woman, but not just any woman. A woman who shared his heritage, who could understand him and accept him as he was. There was still enough risk to worry him. She may not love him or him her. But it was a chance, and that was more than he usually got. The colors of the leaves he turned from were reflected in the glistening stream as it flowed, and he was reminded of the circle that life was. Yes, there was death. But there was also life, and life, like these autumn colors, could be beautiful. These were the colors of his people, of the Indians of the Plains, the colors he remembered from his mother's village. The colors and the memories comforted him.
    He almost wished it was later in the day. He would have liked to camp here in this peaceful, untroubled place. He reached over to replace the canteen, but it flew out of his grip as he felt something hard and fast pull back on his right shoulder. He fell slowly, like in a dream, and became aware of the pain and heat before he hit the ground. Only then did his mind tell him he'd heard a shot.
    I've been shot! his mind screamed as time rushed to catch up with him again. The second shot came right before he could get his gun out of his holster. The horse, agitated already, became frantic, rearing up and stomping nearly on top of him. He saw red on her neck, and she stumbled and fell, collapsing to her knees on his left hip and chest. Her weight pinned his gun down, with his hand still on the handle. Warm, dark blood spilled onto his chest as the mare struggled to get up. Each movement crushed him beneath her. He felt his ribs crack and move and found it hard to breathe. He tried to push her off with his right arm, but it wouldn't move where he wanted it to. His left wrist snapped with a sharp pop, but he couldn't even get enough breath to scream.
    Another shot rang out, followed by a sickening thud, and the horse stopped struggling and fell over. Buck was able to roll just in time to keep from getting caught beneath her. He heard laughter and tried to get his gun free. But he couldn't close his fingers around it. His shoulder burned beneath him, and he fell back again into the bloodied pebbles that lined the stream.
    It had happened so quickly, he'd barely had to time to realize what had happened at all. "Don't move, Injun," someone sneered. The voice had come from the direction of Buck's feet. He tried to look that way, but his head felt heavy, and his chest hurt when he tried to lean up.
    "That second shot was meant for you," the voice continued. "The third, well, I couldn't leave the poor creature to suffer, could I?"
    Buck tried to listen past the pounding of his heart that echoed in his skull. He stopped struggling with his breath and concentrated on the babble of the stream. It sung to him, like his mother's lullabies when he was a child. Time slowed again and he could feel the footsteps in the pebbles as the man approached. The leaves cried out beneath the man's feet, until finally Buck's eyes could see him.
    "You're not all Indian, are ya?" the man asked, but the sound of his voice floated beneath the surface of the stream. "Half-breed, I bet. I bet you told 'em where we was so they could find us. You speak English, half-breed?"
    Buck tried to take the breath to answer, but the air resisted his efforts. "I ride--" he gasped out, "for the Pony Express."
    The man looked over at the horse lying dead half in the water. "I don't see no mail bag."
    There wasn't one, of course. "Special pick-up," Buck told him, not quite lying, "in St. Joe." He turned his head toward the horse. "Branded," he said, hoping the man would understand.
    He did. "Ya prolly stole that horse."
    "No," Buck choked out before another wave of pain shook through him. He couldn't think clearly enough to come up with another argument or piece of evidence to show the man he was being truthful. But then, Buck was fairly certain by now that the man had no real interest in the truth. He still trained his gun on Buck, though Buck was lying prone on the ground beside his fallen horse. Buck knew he was helpless. Neither of his arms would cooperate to hold a weapon, and the man had not even tried to take Buck's gun or knife.
    Buck wanted to let unconsciousness take him, but he forced himself to look at the man. He was of average height and had a stocky build. But his arms, bare as they were to the shoulders even in this crisp weather, were muscular. His shirt, no more than an undershirt, was dirty with sweat and soot. He sported a short, unkempt beard and a loose wide-brimmed hat. He wore a Colt on his hip and carried a long musket in his hands.
    Buck wondered why the man didn't just finish him off like he had the horse. "What do you want?" he asked, though by now his mouth felt like cotton, and it was hard to form the words.
    "What do I want?" the man repeated. He stepped closer and knelt down at Buck's side, finally taking the gun from Buck's holster. Buck gasped as the movement brushed against his arm. "I want every blasted one of you to burn in hell, that's what. I want you to suffer like I did after you Indians slaughtered my family."
    The sun was setting behind the man, its last few rays sprinkling in through the leaves on the trees. To Buck's pain-clouded mind, he looked evil, bathed in dark shadows and lit by red light. Buck felt his skin prickle with cold and fear. "Arapaho," he tried to argue. "I'm Kiowa."
    "Indian is Indian," the man spat back. "And there ain't no good one 'cept a dead one."
    He holstered his own gun and reached over to get Buck's knife from the sheath on his boot. Buck thought of trying to kick the man, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Where would he go even if he could manage to get away? His horse was dead, his ribs were broken, and his arms were practically useless.
    The man got up and walked around Buck to his horse. He used Buck's knife to cut the reins off the bridle. That done, he apparently had no more use for the knife, because he threw it down on the ground.
    Buck knew what was coming next. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the stream, listening desperately for the water and its soothing song. He felt fire in his shoulder as the man moved his right arm, putting a strain in his shoulder. Buck clenched his teeth to keep from screaming, but he couldn't stop the moan that escaped his throat. He forgot to breathe when the man lifted his left arm.
    But that was nothing compared to the tying. The man hesitated a moment at Buck's left wrist and then tied the leather rein above the wrist, just over the break. After pulling the leather strap tight. Buck's voice pushed past his pride and ripped through his throat.
    "Don't die on me yet, Injun," the man told him, but Buck could barely hear him.
    The man grabbed Buck by the collar and pulled him to a seated position. Buck cried out again as jagged bone pushed into his side.
    "On your feet!" the man ordered. Buck heard his voice but the words made no sense. His head dropped back and he saw the dark blue sky past the shadowy leaves of the trees. And then he saw nothing.

******

    It was dark when Buck woke again. Either that or his eyes wouldn't work. He shivered, feeling the cold creep up under his coat. It found the wet places on his chest and shoulders and slipped inside him. It forced him awake, lifted his thoughts past the pain to where he was.
    It was dark, but not so dark that his eyes couldn't adjust. He was lying on the ground. He could feel the dirt against the side of his face. His shoulder was caught beneath him. His other hand throbbed below the leather strap that kept his arms together.
    If he laid still, did nothing but breathe lightly, the pain in his ribs was bearable. But he couldn't be still. What had happened was still fuzzy to him, but he remembered enough. And his bound hands were enough to remind him that he was in trouble. He closed his eyes again and listened carefully.
    Crickets. All around him. Beyond them was the wind. It whistled lightly, close by, but he couldn't feel it. He was in some sort of structure, something small. Past the wind. Footfalls, distant, not coming closer. A whinny. Horses. In his mind he heard the gunshots again, saw his horse stumble. His ribs hurt where she had crushed him.
    He pushed the memory down. He needed to get away. He waited a few seconds more, listening for the man who had shot him and killed his horse. But there was nothing beyond the horses he heard.
    It hurt, but Buck bit back the pain. He held his breath to keep from making a sound as he pushed himself up by his elbows. His head swam when he sat up, and he had to wait again, releasing his breath slowly through his mouth. He needed to cough but he resisted.
    He sat back on his ankles and waited. The pain stilled back down again. Except for his hand. That was constant.
    He could better see where he was now. He was in some sort of shed. There were boxes around him and a bench to his right. He couldn't see a door, but there had to be one. Maybe it was behind him. There had to be a barn, too, or a stable. There were horses. At least one. If he could get to it, he could get away.
    He looked down at his hands. Could he even get on a horse? He had to try. Using the workbench and his elbow, he stood, fighting away the dizziness and swallowing the pain. He kept his breath shallow, to keep the pressure off his ribs as much as to keep quiet.
    He turned and slowly, carefully, made his way past the boxes. He could see a sliver of moonlight on the floor. The door. He stepped up to it and listened again. Without meaning to, he leaned against the wall. It creaked as it gave way, and he cursed the sound. No time now. He had to go.
    Buck pushed the door open, releasing a much louder noise from the tin shed. He could see the dark silhouette of the barn only a few yards away. Forgetting noise, he hurried to it, anxious to get to a horse.
    He used his left elbow to edge the door open enough that he could get through it. He hesitated though, having noticed the house behind him. He turned, watching it, expecting the man to come charging out the door. But nothing happened. No sound, no lights. Nothing.
    As he turned to go into the barn, the darkness inside became brighter. Buck turned toward the light. A lantern hung from a post near one of the horses' stalls. And the man stood beside the lantern with a pistol in his hand. Buck's pistol. He cocked it.
    "Now ya fixin' to steal one of my horses, Injun?" the man asked. He was disheveled. Bits of straw clung to his clothes and hair.
    Buck didn't reply. That had been his plan, but he felt it was justified. The man, whoever he was, wasn't likely to feel the same.
    "I figured you might try somethin' once ya woke up," the man went on, ignoring his own question. "So I slept here in the barn." He stepped closer. "You're a crafty one. I didn't think ya had it in ya to stand after what I done. But now, I reckon I ain't done enough."
    He lowered the gun and Buck almost hoped the man would let him go despite his words. But then he saw the man had something in his other hand.
    The horses bucked in their stalls at the impact. Buck fell again as his right knee buckled and exploded in pain. His hands brushed against the door before he hit the ground, and his broken ribs pushed the breath from his lungs.
    He heard the man though. "Now ya can't stand no more. Maybe you'll stay put so's I can get a decent night's sleep."
    Again, Buck couldn't see. The pain in his knee, his arms, his ribs, flashed so brightly that he was blinded. His whole leg felt like it was on fire.
    "Ya can't stay here," the man said. He sounded distant again. But his hands felt too close when they reached under Buck's shoulders and lifted him off the ground. "You're disturbin' the horses."
    Buck fought to keep his one good leg under him, if only to ease the pain in the rest of him, but it was no use. The man dragged him too fast. He dumped him unceremoniously back onto the dirt and Buck, somehow, knew he was back in the shed.
    "All that restin' must've given you some strength back," the man was saying. Buck thought he sounded foreign, and he was surprised to understand the man's words. "We can take care of that."
    The man was back at his hands and for a moment, Buck felt relief wash down his right arm. But his left was still tied tightly and now it was yanked, twisting him around even as the man lifted him up again.
    Buck was pushed back against something hard and the man went for his right arm again. Only the man's fist wrapped around his collar had kept him from dropping to the ground again, but now that was gone and Buck collapsed.
    His arms hit the surface of the workbench and he screamed. He felt as if he'd been struck by lightning. His arms, hitched up behind him, kept him from reaching the relative comfort of the dirt floor. The electric pain sped from his hand and shoulder across his chest and up into his throat.
    He pulled his legs back, both of them, and there was pain there, too. He forced himself up on his knees, and tried to keep his weight on his left leg. But it was hard. He had no strength anywhere else.
    The man's voice was close and clear, even through the pain. "Now you ain't gettin' no rest."
Chapter Three
    Lou woke up early, almost forgetting that she was alone at the station. She remembered, though, when Kid was not beside her on the bed. That realization made her miss him, but it also excited her. She had a run today.
    She made herself some breakfast of scrambled eggs and bread and then got dressed. She had kept her "man" clothes even after her wedding, storing them in a trunk under the bed. She was glad she had kept them. She was so excited that she almost forgot to wear long johns under her trousers. So, when she saw them under her shirt and jacket, she had to take off the trousers and start over. She slicked her hair back on the top and pushed the sides behind her ears. She slipped into her boots and placed her hat on her head. Glasses were next, and lastly, her gun belt. She paused long enough to load her pistol and then headed out to the barn to prepare her horse.
    When the rider came, she had been sitting on the bunkhouse porch for fifteen minutes, just waiting. She jumped up and ran to the middle of the yard to intercept him.
    Instead of the usual pass-off, the rider, Ben Freely, pulled up short. "Lou?" he asked, his brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought you was--"
    "I'm doing Buck a favor," she interrupted. She held out her hand for the pouch.
    Ben hesitated, looking toward the bunkhouse as if he were hoping for help from there. "Ben Freely," Lou said, using her sternest tone, "this is nothin' new. I started ridin' with the Pony Express even before you did. Now you hand over that mochilla or you can keep right on riding that same sorry horse and see what the company says when the mail is late."
    Ben's mouth turned up on one side. "Same old Lou," he grunted as he handed her the pouch.
    She gave him a smile before running to her horse. "There's some eggs in the bunkhouse," she called back. "Help yourself." She started her horse off and then jumped, using the momentum to swing herself back over the horse. As if he knew this was secret signal, the horse opened up and tore out of the yard, heading out across the prairie and racing the rising sun. Lou hoped Buck was having as much fun.
 
    Jenny Tompkins felt her stomach tighten as she climbed aboard the stage coach again. Today was the day. He'd be there or he wouldn't.
    She hoped he would.
    "What brings you out west?" one of the other passengers, a dapper young man who'd just joined the stage at the last stop, asked, tipping his hat to her. "You wouldn't be one of those mail order brides. You're too pretty for that."
    "No," Jenny said, hoping to leave it at that. She felt no need to explain herself to the man.
    "It's dangerous for a woman to be traveling alone," he said, not taking the hint. The other two passengers, an elderly couple, watched the exchange from across the way. The woman smiled softly at Jenny.
    "I'm not expected in St. Joe for another two days," the young man went on. "Perhaps I could accompany you to your destination. Where did you say you were going?"
    "I didn't," she told him. She didn't want him to know where she was going anyway. "And thank you, but I'll be fine."
    "The West isn't a tame place, Miss. . . ." He leaned over to her, and she knew he was waiting for her to fill in the rest.
    "Why is that?" she asked. She knew she shouldn't. It was still half a day's travel to reach St. Joseph. It wouldn't do any good to get kicked off now.
    "I don't mean to frighten you, but there are Indians out there," he replied, "savages who'd take a pretty thing like you and do unspeakable things."
    Jenny fumed and felt her face grow hot.
    The young man must have mistaken the blush in her face for flirtation or fear, because he seemed encouraged now. "I wouldn't be any kind of gentleman if I didn't offer to protect you. I'm Jonathan Twyler and I'm at your service." He bowed for her, as much as he could while sitting beside her on the cramped stage. He took her hand to kiss it. "I didn't catch your name."
    Jenny didn't pull her hand free, though she was angry with him. Her people were far less savage than some of the things she'd seen or been subjected to in the white man's world. "Eagle Feather," she answered sharply.
    The smile fell away from Mr. Twyler's face and he dropped her hand. "I'm--I'm sorry," he stammered, "but that's an unusual name."
    "It's Lakota," she told him. "And my people are not savages."
    Twyler sat back in his seat and averted his eyes. The old woman now looked at her with scorn, but Jenny tried to ignore it. As long as they didn't kick her off the stage, she'd rather finish the trip in silence.
 
    Buck was shaking when the man came back. He'd watched the morning come sometime earlier. He didn't know how long it was. He only knew it was day when before it had been night.
    "Good, you're awake." The man knelt down in front of him and lifted Buck's head by the hair. "You're gonna tell me where your friends are so's I can tell the army after I'm done dealing with you."
    Buck understood the words but he couldn't piece together what the man was talking about. He remembered some of it: the shooting, his horse, the barn. But it didn't make sense to him. "What friends?" he asked, wondering why the army would want the other riders.
    Buck's head dropped and the weight pulled on his arms. The man and everything else disappeared for a moment until the blackness faded from his eyes. "The savages that killed my family."
    "I don't know," Buck told him through clenched teeth, "anything about that."
    The blow he received moved his arms in a different way. It left him dizzy. He would have fallen if not for the table.
    "Sara was only six years old!" the man bellowed, striking him again. "Caleb was only nine and Jacob was fourteen. Elizabeth was a good woman, a good mother and you slaughtered her!" Each name brought another blow, but Buck had ceased to feel them. Each one was just a continuation of the agony he felt flowing from his arms, filling his chest, coursing through his legs.
    His head jerked up again though he did not feel the hand in his hair. He couldn't even see the man anymore. There was only the pain.
    "Where are they?" the man screamed and Buck vaguely heard the words, like a howling wind far over the plains.
    "Who?" he breathed, and the pain flared again, blinding him.
 
    St. Joseph was so different from St. Louis. St. Louis was settled and civilized--at least in the white way--all brick and white picket fences. St. Joe was settled, but it was still wild. Jenny turned her back on the stage and faced the plains, her home. If she narrowed her vision, she could forget the town behind her and follow her heart to where her brother and her father--her Sioux father--lived free still. She wished once again she'd never been found by the Army and returned to this white world. Her mother would still be alive. Her brother would grow up with a sister who loved him and she would have a father who accepted her as she was.
    But she wouldn't have Buck. Buck was the one good thing to come out of the breaking of her family. She walked around the stage, scanning the faces, looking for his long black hair, the knife in his boot, anything to identify him among the strangers here. Twyler stepped back, giving her a wide berth as she passed, but she ignored him. His disdainful look was nothing new to her. The others from the stage backed away, too, and the whispers started when the gathered townspeople asked the passengers why. The whispers didn't matter either. She didn't care what any of them thought of her. Only Buck's opinion mattered.
    And her heart ached in her chest when she couldn't find him. She stood still a moment, letting the reality sink in. He didn't want her. Tears threatened to fill her eyes, but she pushed them away, punishing herself for raising her hopes. She'd been foolish to ask him. She'd been too forward. They hardly knew each other. He had no obligation to her. No reason to come to St. Joseph on such short notice for a relative stranger.
    No, not a stranger. They'd known each other. Perhaps it had only been a short time. And perhaps she was to blame for shortening it further because of her initial anger. But he'd stayed with her patiently, trying to help, until she let go of the anger and saw him for who he was. He hadn't left her. He'd waited.
    She would wait, too. He could simply be late, she argued. He could have been delayed.
    She brushed the hair back from her face and marched back to her one and only bag. There was a bench outside the stage office and she sat down, turning toward the open prairie west of the town. That was the way he'd come. If he came. The doubt still plagued her, and the worries crept back into her thoughts. Where would she go? She'd left Aunt Sarah and had no intention of going back, but without Buck, she'd have no one. She wasn't fit to work in the white world. She couldn't read or write well enough to be a teacher. Her skills weren't needed here. She could sew leather and sinew, tan hides, cook buffalo and cure meat. She could put together a tepee, build a travois. She could be a trapper's wife perhaps, but the thought of those smelly, hairy men disgusted her.
    Dust billowed up in the distance and Jenny sat up straighter and held a hand over her eyes to shield the sunlight from her gaze. A horse and rider, coming fast. Her pulse sped with the horse as it approached. Let it be him, she prayed silently. She wasn't sure what she'd do if he did come for her. The Pony Express wouldn't outlast the telegraph. He would be lost in this world, too. But she wouldn't worry if she were with him. They'd find something. Even if they went to the mountains to become trappers themselves. Buck wasn't like the hairy men. He was kind and gentle, strong and honorable, handsome and clean. He was Indian.
    As the rider came closer she noted the shape of his hat, the color of his clothing. It wasn't what she remembered, and the hurt returned. The rider slowed as he entered town and she knew for certain it was not him. He trotted the horse past her without even a glance.
    "Is there something I can help you with, Miss?" a man's voice pulled her away from the rider. She turned and saw a paunchy man in a worn suit. He probably ran the stage here.
    Jenny shook her head. She had no money left. This was it, and she didn't know what to do. She didn't know what to say. She had no where to go from this place, from this very bench.
    The man looked up past her as a hand tapped her shoulder. Jenny started, wondering why she hadn't heard anyone approach her. She turned around and looked up, blocking the sun again, so she could see clearly.
    He smiled at her and she knew him. He removed his hat, revealing a smooth head covered in a red bandana. Stuffing the hat under one arm, he moved his hands and she understood, the signs as familiar to her as the Lakota her mind still spoke. He was Buck's friend. Buck wanted to come, he told her, but he was held up. Ike had come in his place. He replaced his hat after tipping it to the stage manager and lifted her bag from the ground. Then he crooked an elbow and held it out to her.
    Jenny felt the wind rustle the hem of her skirts and felt she could soar if he'd asked. She smiled back at him and took his arm. "Ike," she remembered.
    He nodded and led her away towards the hotel. Tomorrow, he explained, she would leave for Rock Creek. He had a run to make so he couldn't go the whole way, but she wasn't to worry. She'd be in Rock Creek by Sunday afternoon.
    He paid the clerk for a room and signed her name. He gave her some money for dinner and said he'd be back in the morning. "I can't take your money," she told him. But he shook his head and said it wasn't his. It was meant for her. "Won't you stay for supper?" she asked him, but he smiled and shook his head. He had things to do.
    "Rest well," his hands told her. "It will be a long ride."
    The hotel clerk cleared his throat to get her attention. He held out a key to her. "Number six, second floor on your left. Dinner's at seven sharp."
    "Thank you," she said, taking the key. When she turned again, Ike was gone. She hadn't heard him step away.
 
    As the light faded, the heat began to fade as well. Sweat soaked Buck's clothes, mixed with the blood, entered the cuts and stung his eyes. He couldn't close them. If he closed them, he would sleep, and if he slept, his body would fall. If his body fell. . . . He didn't want to think about that. It hurt enough as things were. He swayed on his knees no matter how hard he tried to stay still. The ropes bit into his wrist and arm. He couldn't feel his hands below the ropes. He vaguely wondered if he still had hands. Maybe the man had cut them off. He couldn't remember.
    He was thirsty. His thirst had managed to gain his attention through all the pain. The sun had baked the tin shed until the air had become thick and heavy with the heat. His coat stifled him; his shirt choked him.
    But now he could feel the breeze, just a wisp of it now and then, like cool water on his skin. But not in his mouth. He'd long lost his ability to speak or even to scream. Each breath brought new fire to his parched throat. He needed water.
    Water was his only thought then, his obsession. It outweighed the pain, the discomfort, the heat. Water. He remembered the stream where this had started and he didn't think of the man, of his horse, of his own wounds. Only the water. The sweat still clung to him, teasing him with its wetness when he couldn't drink.
    As the sky grew darker, the breezes blew stronger. His wet clothes chilled him and he began to shiver. He didn't notice. Night came, and he thought of another river, long ago, and a beautiful woman kneeling on the banks, her long blond hair brushing against the doeskin dress she wore. She held a feather in her hand.
 
    Lou woke early, eager to get back to Rock Creek. The Kid would be returning the next day. She was enjoying the run, the speed and freedom, but she missed him dearly. And she missed Buck. She was excited for him, even though she knew he was a bit fearful of the whole situation. She probably would be, too, in his place, but she loved him as a brother and wanted him to find happiness and love like she had with the Kid. He deserved so much better than he usually got.
    She brushed her horse down one more time and then saddled her. She heard the station master call "Rider comin'!" just as she finished checking the last buckle. She led the horse out into the yard and turned west to watch the rider come in. The horse pawed at the ground and lifted its head to sniff the wind. It seemed she was just as anxious as Lou.
    "You be careful out there, son," the station master told her. "Keep yer head down and ride hard."
    "Yes, sir," she told him. She could hear the pounding of the rider's horse as it bore down on her. She let her own horse go then, with just one foot in the stirrup. She used the horse's momentum to throw her up onto its back just as the other rider passed. She caught the mochilla and settled it beneath her. The other rider reigned in, but she gave her horse a soft kick. The dirt and grass beneath them became a blur as they raced away from the station.
    Lou missed this. A woman couldn't ride like this with all those skirts on. The weight of all that material alone would slow the horse, she mused. Not that she hated the dresses. She remembered the first one she'd bought with her Pony Express pay. She'd felt like a princess wearing it after so many weeks in the course britches she wore. It had felt good to be a girl again, to have gentlemen tip their hats to her, to look at her reflection and see herself for a change. But now that she wore dresses all the time, she missed the pants. Now that she was always home, she missed the travel, no matter how tiring or dreary the long runs had been. Someday, she dreamed, women would be able to wear whichever they preferred and have exciting jobs and still be wives and mothers.
    By late afternoon she was on the last leg of the run for the day, heading toward the next way station and another fresh horse the following morning. She wondered how Buck and Jenny were faring, there at the station all alone together.
 
    Jenny carefully folded the blanket back over the bed, just as her aunt had taught her. She knew she didn't have to, but she was anxious and had nothing else to do. She'd finished getting ready a half an hour ago. She'd saved a bit of money from the night before to buy a simple breakfast which she'd eaten in her room. Then she'd packed up her bag and waited for Ike to come for her. And as she waited, she doubted again. Yes, Ike had come for her, sent by Buck. But still, it would be awkward. Maybe he'd only sent for her to help her, knowing she had nowhere else to go. He might not want her for himself. She was fluffing the pillow when the knock came at the door.
    Jenny rushed over and opened the door. Ike grinned at her, greeting her with his hands. He looked past her to the bed and asked if she'd slept alright. She nodded and told him she was fine. His grin widened after a few moments and he motioned into the room.
    "Oh!" she exclaimed, realized she'd been rude. She held out her arm to show him in. "I'm sorry. I'm just nervous, I guess." She rubbed her palms on her skirt.
    Ike found her bag and started for the door again. "Have you eaten?" he asked with his free hand.
    She nodded again, and held out the last bit of money she had left over.
    He shook his head and closed her hand around the coins. He led the way into the hall, but Jenny found herself still standing in the doorway. She wanted to follow after him but her feet refused to move. It had all seemed so certain and easy when she'd left her aunt. But now that she was here, leaving for Rock Creek, she was struck by the uncertainty of it all. Ike turned to her and waited. And then she blurted out her fears. "He does want me to come, doesn't he?"
    Ike set the bag down and faced her directly. His smile was soft and his hands danced in graceful movements. "More than he even knows."
 
    The cold of the night had given way to warmth with the first sunlight of the morning, but the sun had kept climbing and the shed was once again heating up. And yet, Buck was still shivering. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he didn't even blink. He'd forgotten his thirst. No thought at all came to him, though he was awake. He still couldn't sleep, couldn't let his body relax. There was still the pain.
    He had thought of Jenny during the night, and it was just another ache added to his wounds. He'd missed her. He hadn't been sure anymore what day it was but he knew he'd missed her in St. Joseph. She was gone now, gone to somewhere else. He would never know where. She would think he'd rejected her and move on to find her place in the world however she could. He might have loved her. She might have loved him. Now they'd never know.
    But even Jenny was removed from him, leaving only the regret. His mind was a slave to his body now which only thought of pain and how to avoid it. Thus he stayed on his knees, occasionally shifting his weight to try and ease the muscles only to shift back to ease his injured knee. He lifted his head only to allow his breath to come a little easier within his chest. He remained careful not to move his arms or jar his shoulders. He only existed, beyond hope of any decrease in agony and only fearful of any increase in it. He sucked in another heavy breath and didn't even hear when the door screeched open.
 
Chapter Four
 
    Jenny awoke with the dawn and found Ike awake and poking at the fire. She stood and stretched and wished she could rid herself of the confining layers of cloth she wore. A simple doeskin dress and mocassins were so much more sensible for traveling. She looked at her shoes with their many eyelets and laces. They scrunched her toes and made her arches and heels ache by the end of day. She decided moccasins would be a priority when she reached Rock Creek, as soon as she could get her hands on some deerskin or leather and some rawhide. She could bother with the beadwork later.
    As they shared a simple breakfast of bacon and coffee, Ike told her about Rock Creek and some of the changes in the station since they had moved from Sweetwater. Lou was really Louise and she and the Kid were now married. Jimmy was interested in an abolitionist's widow. Cody had joined the Army as a scout. That upset her, even though Ike explained he'd joined up for the war, not for going against the Indians. She remembered, though, how Buck had told her he'd gone with the Army that day because he didn't want someone like Cody to do it.
    But she kept those thoughts to herself for now. She wanted to look forward to seeing Buck again, not dread meeting his friends.
    She mounted the horse behind him, and as the rode, she told him about life in the city. The better parts anyway, the foreign parts that were different from anything either of them had grown up with. She told about the tall buildings, the theatres, the telegraph. He seemed to sag a bit at the telegraph, but he kept his hands on the reins and didn't say anything.
    Jenny enjoyed the ride. She was at home on these plains, on a horse with the sky above her and the grass below. The trees spoke to her of their freedom, and their fragrance lifted her spirit from the mire it had been in since her mother had died and she'd gone east.
    The horse trotted easily, covering the miles at a quick but leisurely pace. Jenny--Eagle Feather--wished that she had the reins. Though she did not begrudge Ike his help or company, she wanted to share in the freedom around her. She wanted to race the wind.
    But she did not ask it of Ike. The horse, carrying two, would tire too quickly. She could hold her feelings for another day and ask Buck if they could go for a ride later. The Kiowa were horsemen; he'd understand her desires.
 
    Lou reigned in her horse and led it into the barn while Ben sped off into the east. She took her time rubbing him down. It was early still. Buck may have slept in. Lou wished she had. She was tired from the run, but it was a good tired. It was the tired left over from hard work, not the boredom she sometimes napped to in the afternoons at the house while the boys were finishing their chores.
    She put fresh hay into the trough and closed the stall. She lifted the chain from her pocket until she felt the weight of the watch in her hand. She checked the time as she stepped out into the sunshine outside the barn. Nine thirty. The Kid wouldn't be back until that evening. She had plenty of time to get cleaned up. She couldn't help but smile as she reached the porch. Jenny might be sleeping in, too. She was anxious to meet her again and excited for Buck. She opened the door quietly and glanced around the front room. Nothing was out of place and nothing new was there. Maybe she didn't have much, Lou reasoned. Jenny had run away from her aunt. She probably hadn't packed more than a bag or two. Lou poked her head into the kitchen, but that, too, was empty and just as she left it. She crossed to the hearth and noted that there was no heat at all. Not even an ember from the night before.
    She took the stairs quickly, not bothering to keep her steps quiet. A few minutes later, she stomped back down them. She'd checked every room, but there was no sign of Jenny. Buck was too much a gentleman to put her in the bunkhouse when the main house was available. Wasn't he? She stepped outside, and marched to the bunkhouse. She was about to knock when she remembered Ben. Ben had come from the bunkhouse. He would have said something if Buck had brought a girl home. And Ben couldn't cook and there had been no fire. With no one here, he'd probably taken his breakfast in town.
    Lou threw open the bunkhouse door and scanned the room. Buck's bunk was made and his hat and coat were missing. He hadn't returned.
    Lou stood in thought for a few minutes. Jenny hadn't arrived and Buck hadn't returned. Jenny would have reached St. Joe Friday afternoon. Buck would have arrived soon after. They could have left that day, camped for the night, and still made it back here the night before. Or they could have left in the morning, but then Buck risked arriving after Teaspoon, the Kid, and the others returned. No, something had happened.
    Lou ran back to the house and scratched out a quick note telling the Kid or whoever found it where she'd gone. Then she made her way back to the barn. She was glad this was a Pony Express station. Everyone was out but there was still at least one fresh horse.
 
    The man hadn't returned since before the cold and the dark of night. Now there was, once again, heat and dim light to mark another day, though Buck was oblivious as to how many it had been since . . . he couldn't even remember that. Sometimes his mind swam in dreams and memories even though his eyes remained open and his body tense. If his mind ever latched onto a thought for his present situation, it was only "Do not fall!" Everything else was lost in fog.
    He did not remember where he was or why he hurt so much. His dreams, when they came to him, were of memories of his life, but always, there was a storm. Wind shook his brother's tepee, or thunder rattled the bunkhouse windows. Rain drenched him, soaking his clothes and chilling his skin.
    He shivered in spite of the heat that made the air feel thick and heavy. His position only made it harder to pull breath into his lungs. His eyes were open but he had long since ceased to see clearly. He spoke, though he wasn't really aware that he was whispering. He prayed, asking the Great Spirit to free him from the pain.
    But the Great Spirit, as He had so often in his life, had other plans. The pain stayed, and so did Buck, though by now he wished for death. For not the first time he considered that he was being punished for the deeds of his father. He was created through violence and pain, and so he was doomed to live in violence and pain.
    Thunder rumbled in the distance of his mind and the winds swirled around him. He thought of Jenny and knew that he'd missed her. Even if he survived and went to St. Joseph it would be too late. She'd be gone; she probably already was gone. But he didn't expect to survive; not this time. Would she even know that he had tried? They might have found some happiness together, or at least a peace in this hard world. He hoped she still would. Little Bird had.
    Rain poured from the sky, as he and the other hunters crested the hill. The village became visible below them, but the tepees were broken. The men urged their horses to a run and raced down the hill. Buck could smell the stench even through the storm. He called out for Little Bird even as he heard other voices over the howling wind as each of the hunters called out to their families.
    With Little Bird, Buck had come to a new time in his life with the Kiowa. In accepting the little white girl, his people begun to see that there was some Kiowa in him. He was allowed to participate in games and contests. The elders included him when they taught the other children. And Little Bird herself had looked at him with kindness. She accepted him and never questioned his heritage. He had come to care greatly for her, and was happy when they were promised to each other, even though those who promised them did so for practical reasons: they were both white. Still, for the first time, Buck had started to feel like he belonged. When he was asked to join the hunt, he could not possibly refuse. Little Bird begged him not to go and now, he'd returned too late. She didn't answer his calls, but neither was she found among the dead in the days to come. The survivors told him that his kind--the whites--had taken her back with them. Little Bird was gone, and his people were, once again, reminded of the evil of "his" kind.
    Little Bird had eventually found him again, to tell him of her upcoming marriage, and, while she did not blame him, she seemed happy with a man who detested the "heathen" ways of the Indians.
    The rain turned to hail and he was forced inside. A bright fire warmed his brother's tipee and he moved to step close to it. But a hacking cough tried to draw his attention away. He knew who it was and he refused to look that way. She'd insisted on helping her sons with the horses, in spite of the weather and the cough she'd woken up with. Buck and Red Bear had caught on too late, after she had collapsed in the snow. This was his most painful memory, and his heart was crushed once again as he watched his mother die.
    Lightning flashed and the roar of thunder became the sound of gunfire. Ike fell to the sidewalk, a dark red stain spreading across his white shirt. Too late, Buck reached him. Ike was already dying. Buck had tried to talk to him, to tell him what he meant to him. Ike had become his family, and had understood him in ways Red Bear never could. While Ike was alive, Buck was never alone, and a piece of his spirit had been ripped from him when Ike died.
    Beyond his awareness, the door of the shed screeched open again and the storm reached out for him.
 
    Lou was getting hungry but she didn't want to stop. Besides, she had left so quickly that she hadn't thought to pack any food. She had even forgotten to refill her canteen. She knew there was a stream up ahead though. She'd manage with just the water until she found Buck.
    She saw the trees that marked the stream about a half hour later, just as the sun was reaching its peak in the sky. Her horse was thirsty, and apparently knew the area as well as she did. It sped up and she didn't try to rein it in. Just as they reached the trees though, her horse stopped and resisted her efforts to force it forward. She could not see what might be spooking the horse but she could smell it. Something had died there.
    She dismounted and tied the horse to one of the trees then pulled her gun from its holster. She cautiously stepped past the trees to the stream, and, looking left, she could see the source of the stench. A horse, eviscerated and half eaten by wolves or other scavengers. But she recognized it anyway.
    She moved closer, covering her mouth and nose with one hand. It still had its tack: saddle and bridle, but no reins. She knew the saddle like she knew the horse, and she knew now her worry was well-founded. This was Buck's horse. She backed away, searching the area for some clue. She found his knife and hat not far from the horse and picked them up. There was blood in the rocks by the hat. Too far from the horse to be the horse's, she hoped it was too little to be a sign of Buck's death. He was wounded. She could accept that. She would find him and the doctor back in Rock Creek could tend his wound. She wished Kid was there. He'd been learning from Buck how to track, and right now she needed to track. She thought there might be a set of footprints in the rocks and decided to follow those.
    Remembering her need for water, she returned to her horse to get her canteen. She put the knife in a saddle bag and tied Buck's hat to the saddle. He'd want them back when she found him. She untied her horse, intending to lead it upstream of the dead one for a drink before she set again to finding where Buck had gone.
    The horse didn't fight her too much, as she'd skirted widely around the carcass. She filled her canteen and watched the horse drink for a bit. She thought again about the tracks she'd seen. They were near the horse and the blood stain that was by Buck's hat. Could it have been Buck? She tried to paint a picture in her head of what might have happened. Buck, even wounded, would have tried to see to his dying horse, but why would he have wandered about the area so much? If the blood was from a leg wound, why had his hat fallen so close? If from an arm or shoulder, why were the footprints near where his head would have been? Why had his horse died at all? Then there was the knife. She could not shake the feeling that maybe those were not Buck's prints, but someone else's. And that someone else had killed the horse.
 
    Teaspoon was glad to see the station up ahead. It was good to see Rock Creek and his office again, but the station's bunkhouse was home to him more than the town. His family was at the station. Or rather, what was left of it was. Noah and Ike were gone now, Cody had joined the army, and Jimmy was hardly to be seen these days. Kid and Lou were married and would soon need a place of their own. Rachel and Buck were still there, though Rachel had enough prospects ahead of her that she too might leave once the Express finally closed down. Buck, though. . . . Teaspoon did not know what would become of Buck, and that worried him.
    He passed the barn just as the Kid came out leading Katy. Teaspoon remembered that Kid had been out on an unusually long run. He wasn't even due back at the station for another hour or two. Why was he leading his horse out of the barn instead of in? "Where you off to?" he asked when Kid looked up.
    "I'm going after Lou," he answered and then handed Teaspoon a folded bit of paper. "She's gone after Buck."
    Teaspoon read the note then folded it again. "What was he doin' goin' to St. Joe? He had a run in the other direction."
    "I don't know," Kid said, clearly aggravated. "She left that part out."
    Teaspoon sighed. "Well, whatever the reason, she thinks he's in trouble. He should have been back by now."
    The Kid nodded. "And if he is in trouble, she might need help gettin' him out of it."
    "I reckon so," Teaspoon agreed. "Maybe even more than just you. Hold off a bit Kid. Let's get word to Rachel and then we'll both set out. Run down and give this note to Barnett to take to her. I'll gather some supplies." He handed the paper back to Kid. The younger man nodded and then mounted his horse. Teaspoon went into the house. They were both ready to depart five minutes later.

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