Original photos used with the written permission of the owner.

DEMONS

by Kim Roberts

© 2000

CHAPTER 1

Buck slowly moved to a sitting position in the dirt and dust of the creekbed gingerly touching his shoulder. He slowly rotated the shoulder joint and attempted to move his arm. Much to his relief, everything appeared to be in working order, painful, but working.

Buck scanned the area. He recognized the creekbed and was surprised that he was so far off the established Pony Express trail. Turning his attention to the appaloosa, he drew a heavy sigh upon noticing the elevated leg. “Please, don’t be hurt,” he pleaded of the mare as he slowly rose to his feet, throwing a handful of dirt against an unknown target in frustration. Buck breathed a sigh of relief as a closer examination of the spotted horse’s leg showed there was no break. She would probably heal nicely with an application of Teaspoon’s famous liniment and rest.

Buck felt badly that his lack of attention had lead to the animal’s injury and knew that carrying his weight could add additional injury to the leg. He retrieved the mail pouch that had been thrown from the mare’s back and patted the horse’s neck affectionately, as if to apologize, before he picked up the loose reins and began the five mile walk back to the station.

Buck knew he had been lucky. This was the second accident he had been involved in since Ike’s death nearly a month before. The earlier incident had not been serious either, but he had promised Teaspoon that he would be more careful. Teaspoon’s brief lecture reminded him that Pony Express horses were valuable and needed to be handled with care to avoid a costly injury. Teaspoon had, also, tried to impress upon the young Indian that he was more concerned about injury to the rider, but that point seemed to be lost on Buck.

The death of the gentle, silent rider had been taken hard by everyone at the station, but after a brief time the others seemed ready to put their grief aside. Buck simply could not. He had a difficult time concentrating on anything since Ike’s death. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always returned to that terrible day when Ike was taken away.

Buck and Ike had been so close it seemed that they were almost an extension of each other. Now that Ike was gone, Buck felt as if he was no longer whole, that pieces of his spirit, mind and body were missing. Teaspoon, Rachel and the other riders had urged him to move on but they did not understand. How could he move on when pieces of him were missing? He could no more move on with his life than a man could run on one leg.

It bothered him that the others were able to get over Ike’s death so quickly. Certainly, none of them had the same type relationship that he had with Ike, but still they had lived together and trusted their lives to each other for a year. Didn’t Ike deserve more than a week or two of long faces?

To make matters worse, Teaspoon’s words of warning that someday what he had done to Neville would catch up with him kept Buck looking over his shoulder. The riders had been witness to how fast news, bad and good, traveled throughout the territory after the story about Jimmy had been published
bringing more and more would-be gunslingers to Rock Creek intent on calling out the newly famous fast draw. Although, Neville didn’t seem the type of man who had a good many friends, the thought that someone might come looking to avenge his ‘murder’ weighed on Buck’s mind. ‘Murder’ was the term used for intentionally killing an unarmed man.

Buck had been in such a state of shock and grief at the time he really hadn’t consciously ‘planned’ to kill Neville. He didn’t remember coming back to town that morning. But suddenly he had found himself waiting in the street for Neville and when the man appeared he reacted in a way that seemed to fit the circumstances, never giving a thought to the repercussions of his actions. He owed it to Ike to exact justice on Neville and he did not feel the slightest bit guilty for what he had done. Ike would have done
the same for him. But the part of him that knew right from wrong insisted that killing an unarmed man was wrong. He should feel something. Buck felt guilty for not feeling guilty.

“Cody! If you ain’t gonna watch what you’re doin’ then give me the hammer!” cried Kid quickly moving his hand to avoid Cody’s misdirected aim. Cody seemed to be more interested in Miss Lizzy Jackson’s coquettish smile as she looked his way from across the street.

Rachel had instructed the two riders to replace a rotting board on the bunkhouse porchsteps. The task seemed simple enough until Cody took possession of the hammer and the lovely Lizzy took possession of Cody.

“Ain’t she somethin?” Cody thought aloud as Lizzy daintily stepped off the boardwalk and into the street, raising her skirt to reveal a little more ankle than a proper young lady should, before casting him a final glance and turning away.

“Cody.”

“Did you say somethin’, Kid?” responded the blonde rider, his attention clearly fixed on Lizzy’s swaying hips beneath her blue cotton skirt.

“Cody! Can we finish this please before you drool all over yourself?” asked Kid impatiently.

“Sure, Kid, you can finish it yourself. If you don’t need my help, I’ll be goin’ now,” replied Cody handing Kid the hammer, anxious to follow the young lady.

Kid stood and shook his head in exasperation. Cody had a way of getting out of almost any chore around the station. Kid decided it would be safer to finish the job by himself and stepped aside to let the infatuated rider pass but grabbed Cody’s arm to stop him as a solitary figure leading a limping horse toward the station caught his eye.

“Cody, better get Teaspoon while you’re following Lizzy. Looks like Buck had trouble again.”

“Well, don’t appear to be too serious,” announced Teaspoon after a thorough examination of the mare’s leg. “ Kid, bring me a bottle of that liniment over there,” he instructed, pointing in the direction of a shelf on the wall of the barn which held a variety of Teaspoon’s remedies.

“Be good as new in no time,” the station manager predicted after applying a liberal amount of the rather foul smelling cure to the animal’s leg. “Now, what about you, Buck? You alright?” Teaspoon asked, addressing the rather haggard looking rider.

“I’m alright,” the boy answered quietly from his position outside the mare’s stall.

Teaspoon looked at Buck with skepticism. “Appear to be favorin’ that shoulder. You sure?”

Buck didn’t really want to talk about his carelessness but couldn’t avoid the question. “She rolled on it when we went down. It’s just sore,” he said slumping down on a hay bale.

“Kid, you head on in to supper. Tell Rachel we’ll be along in a few minutes,” instructed Teaspoon wanting to discuss the accident with Buck privately.

Kid looked at Teaspoon and then at Buck, his eyes downcast, looking more like a whipped pup than an Express rider. Kid did not understand the depth of Buck’s grief, he had lost Jed, his own flesh and blood brother, and not grieved so long or hard. Still, he knew his friend was hurting and hoped Teaspoon would not be too hard on him.

After Kid left the barn, Teaspoon moved from the mare’s stall to a position directly in front of the hay bale where Buck sat. “What happened, son?”

Buck drew a deep breath before answering, certain that his employer would not be pleased with his response. Without looking up he answered, “I wasn’t paying attention, I guess. I’m sorry about the horse.”

“Buck, it ain’t the horse I’m concerned about. I can replace a horse if need be. It’s you I’m worried about. Next time you might not be so lucky as to come out of it with only a sore shoulder.” Teaspoon’s words of concern seemed to have no impact on the boy.

“Look at me, Buck.”

The depressed young man slowly raised his head, his eyes meeting Teaspoon’s gaze. Dark circles under his eyes had become a permanent feature on Buck’s face, evidence of many sleepless nights. He had lost a good ten pounds since Ike had died and it showed in his face. His entire countenance had changed since the loss of his friend. His eyes were always downcast and his shoulders slumped forward as if the weight of the world was carried upon them. Teaspoon couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy and was at his wits end trying to help Buck feel better.

“You sleepin’ any, son?” he asked.

Buck turned his head away, uncomfortable with the personal questions. He simply shrugged his shoulders and replied quietly, “A little.”

“You think some time off would help? Take a few days, go to St. Joe maybe. Hear they got a new hotel there that’s real nice,” suggested Teaspoon.

Buck appreciated Teaspoon’s attempt but knew that going to St. Joseph, or anyplace else for that matter, would not change the way he felt. If anything it would probably make matters worse. Buck never told the others how many times available rooms had suddenly become unavailable when he tried to register at a hotel. Rather than face the humiliation of being turned away, he would instead simply make his bed on the cold, hard ground. The thought of lonely nights with nothing but the moon and stars for company wasn’t terribly appealing.

“I’ll think about it, Teaspoon,” Buck answered, his voice empty, his eyes downcast, again.

Teaspoon looked at the boy with concern. Drawing a sigh, he placed his hands on Buck’s shoulders. “It’s gonna get better, son. I promise you it is.”

Rachel cleared away the supper dishes, noticing that Buck had not eaten, again, but only moved the food around on his plate. She shook her head, wishing for an answer as she scraped the uneaten food off the plate.

Once the table was cleared, Kid, Cody and Jimmy settled in for a game of five card draw. “C’mon, Buck, I haven’t won any of your money for a while,” said Cody dealing the first hand.

Buck simply shook his head “No” and went to lie down on his bunk.

“Suit yourself. Might do you good to have a little fun, though,” replied Cody.

Buck was tired, his shoulder hurt and he really wanted to try to get some rest, although he knew, even before his eyes closed, that the dream would come again.

It was the same dream every night. Buck sat beside Ike’s bed, each of them realizing the end was near. Buck reached for his Ike’s hand, but an unseen force pulled him away, kept him from touching his friend. Slowly Ike’s body began to fade away, growing transparent and finally disappearing, leaving
only a blood stain on the white sheet. Buck tried to call to Ike, but he had no voice. Buck would then find himself standing in the street, watching Neville fall to the ground. Buck could see a dark mist moving toward him. He felt the intense need to move away from the mist, but he could not move. The mist moved around him slowly, as if in a dance, snaking around his ankles, teasing him. Suddenly he felt the fingers of the mist grab his leg and begin to pull him down into its darkness. Buck tried to scream, but he had no voice.

The dream always ended there and Buck would awaken, trembling. It seemed so real he could almost smell the gunpowder in the air, could feel the cold chill of the mist enveloping him. Quietly, in the stillness of the bunkhouse, he would test his voice to make sure it had not left him.

The conversation around the poker table grew louder as Cody insisted on bragging about the “come hither” looks he had received from Lizzy Jackson earlier in the day while Kid and Jimmy tried to get him to shut up. One good-natured insult lead to another and another until the room was filled with laughter. Buck could not understand how they could act this way, as if nothing was wrong. It seemed to him that they had forgotten Ike altogether.

Unable to listen to their carefree banter any longer, Buck rose from his bunk, walked across the bunkhouse and out the door without a word.

“When is he gonna get over this?” asked Jimmy, growing exasperated with Buck’s melancholy mood. “He’s been moping around here for a month!”

“Go easy on him, Jimmy,” said Kid . “He knew Ike a lot longer than we did. They go back a long way.”

“I understand that, but still. There comes a time to put it behind you and go on,” insisted Jimmy.

“Ain’t so easy sometimes, Jimmy,” stated Teaspoon. “Grief turns loose when it’s good and ready. He’ll come around. Needs a little more time is all.”

“Well, I hope it’s soon. He’s gonna make himself sick over this,” said Rachel, wiping her wet hands on a towel. Glancing through the window at the lonely figure on the porchsteps she added thoughtfully, “I thought I was gonna drown in my sorrow after Henry died. But it got better. I’m gonna talk to him.”

Buck knew it was Rachel by the sound of her footsteps. Rachel gathered her skirt around her and took a seat beside him on the porchsteps.

Rachel closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the night air before beginning, “Beautiful night. Spring has always been my favorite season. You can almost see the grass turning greener, the leaves unfurling on the trees. Everything comes back to life.”

“Everything comes back to life.” Rachel was unaware how painful her last comment was to Buck. “But Ike’s never coming back,” he thought.

They sat in silence for a time until Rachel began again.

“Buck, I know how difficult it is to lose someone you love. I thought my life was over after I lost my husband, but it does get better. Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“I can’t, Rachel.”

“Why not? I’m sure it would help,” Rachel insisted.

Buck sighed heavily, knowing she would not understand. “It is the Kiowa’s belief that if you talk of the dead it will disturb their rest.”

“I see. Do you really think Ike is resting easy watching you torment yourself?”

Buck looked at Rachel in surprise. She intended the comment to show her concern for Buck, but he took it as criticism and it hurt. Was Rachel insinuating that he was willfully keeping Ike from eternal rest?

“I think it would help if you tried to think about the good times, remember the ……”

Rachel continued talking but Buck stopped listening. He didn’t want to be told what he should do, or what to think about. He just wanted to be left alone.

“…….and I’ll make an apple pie. I know it’s your favorite.”

“What?” Buck asked trying to make sense of her last statement.

“You need to eat something or you’re gonna wither away. I said I’ll make an apple pie tomorrow since it’s your favorite,” Rachel repeated as she rose to her feet to go back inside the bunkhouse.

He knew Rachel was trying to help, but it just wasn’t working. “Thanks, Rachel.”

Buck slowly leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, supporting his head in his hands. Why couldn’t they understand? His best friend in the world was gone. It should not have happened. Buck was angry with the others for not understanding and angry at Ike for dying and leaving him alone. His death had ripped Buck’s heart in two and no amount of poker games, time off or apple pies was going to make it whole again.