Chapter 6

Sweetwater, Wyoming Territory, June 1860

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Buck looked up from his book, unconvinced.

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

Teaspoon understood Buck’s hesitancy to go to town. Many of the fine residents of Sweetwater had questioned the hiring of an Indian by the Pony Express and were less than cordial to Buck when he accompanied the other boys to pick up supplies at the general store.

However, in Teaspoon’s opinion, if the boy was to live in the white man’s world, he needed to find a way to make the townspeople change their opinions about him or learn to ignore them. He couldn’t accomplish either one tucked away at the station.

Teaspoon hoped to create a family of sorts out of this rag-tag bunch of riders. In the short time they had been together a bond was growing between the boys and he was pleased.

Each of them had disclosed enough of their lives before the Express to illustrate that no one had lead a charmed life. Never having spent time with an Indian, the other boys were intensely curious about Buck’s past. Clearly uncomfortable with the inquisition, Buck quietly replied that his mother had been raped by a white man and he left the Kiowa for his own reasons. Cody, certain there were exciting stories of buffalo hunts, raids on white settlers and scalping in Buck’s past, pushed for details but a stern look of disapproval from Ike stopped his prying questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t be spendin’ every cent you got just ‘cause you got it! Cody, you still got some unpaid debts from last month as I recall! You know my rules, no whiskey and NO women!”

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

Cody summoned the bartender and proceeded to break Teaspoon’s first rule.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cody, anxious for some excitement, spotted an open chair in one of the card games and quickly invited himself to join.

Kid and Buck took places behind the poker players to observe the game. Buck started to relax a bit and even began to enjoy watching the cocky blonde rider lose hand after hand.

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

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

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

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

He grew disgusted and turned away as their conversation regarding female conquests grew loud enough to be overhead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get your filthy red hand off me!”

Buck began to feel a tightness in his chest as the room grew smaller, the walls closing in on him, squeezing him until he could no longer breathe. If he didn’t get out of that room he feared that he would die right where he stood.

He quickly turned and darted away from the table, the men’s comments and laughter following him.

“Who let the breed in here anyway?”

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

“Ignorant injun, oughta kill ‘em all!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sounds of music and laughter emerging from the saloon were too loud. He needed someplace quiet to think and gain control of himself.

Pushing himself away from the porch rail on unsteady legs he moved toward his horse tied at the hitching rail. Buck fumbled with the reins as he tried to untie the leather straps from the rail and nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The two remaining riders looked at each other in complete amazement as Cody questioned Kid, “Well, now what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kid and Cody stood at the door of the saloon with Teaspoon, their eyes searching the smoky room for the men Buck had referred to.

Kid shook his head to indicate he did not see anyone who fit Buck’s vague description. Teaspoon approached the bartender who proved to be of no help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t”, ordered the Indian.

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

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

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

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

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