THE CHRISTMAS GIFT

by Nesciri

© Nesciri 2000

Author's note: Thank you, Jill, for the inspiration!

The snow whirled around their feet as the group of people slowly made their way through the trees. It was cold and their breath showed around their faces as white clouds in the grey air. It was a small group, who had been forced to stay behind and were hurrying to catch up with the others, hoping to reach them before nightfall. The leader gazed up at the dusky sky only to see nothing more than snowflakes covering the area above him. Knowing that they would not reach their objective before darkness settled, he turned to look upon his small group. He had long ago given up his horse for the benefit of his wife, who dressed in a thick buffalo robe tried to keep herself and the tiny boy sitting in front of her warm. He offered a smile to his son, who steadily held on to the horse, waiting for his father’s decision. Behind them another small group of mostly women and children huddled together against the cold, some on horses and some on foot. They had tried to give everybody a chance to ride since there weren’t enough horses to go around, but their pace had steadily decreased as tiredness took over. The smallest of the children had been allowed to sit on the travois or the horses when they no longer could walk as the snow steadily reached higher. He looked with pride at his son seeing how the twelve-year-old boy had offered his horse to carry some of the less fortunate members of the group, who only had one horse. His son would grow up to become a great leader on day and the thought warmed the man’s heart.

”Are you tired?” he asked as he moved next to his son as the group once more begun to move, trying to ignore the tiredness and hunger that weakened their every step.

”No, father,” was the quick reply and his father smiled inwardly at the obvious understatement. ”Will we reach the others tonight?”

His father shook his head.

”Then we’ll reach them tomorrow,” the boy replied with the confidence of the young only to receive a weak smile from his father. It had been a hard journey to begin with and this winter had been harder on the tribe than usually. The hunts had not been as successful as they should as some of the winter’s stores were empty. They shouldn’t be moving at this time of year, but then had lingered on the plain longer in hope of more meat to fill their quickly vanishing supplies. Finally they had been forced to move and they already knew that the cold and dark months would probably take it’s toll among the sick and the elder this winter. With no food they would have a hard time, but they would survive s they had done years before. If mother Earth decided to strike them with a cold winter they would endure it and hope that their endurance would bring plenty of food in the coming spring and summer. Nature always returned what she took, and the Kiowa was well aware of that.

”Noo! Mommy!” The yell was filled with horror as the young girl watched her brother snatch the chocolate piece from her hand only for it seconds later to disappear in his mouth. The girl immediately got to her feet and run over to where her mother was keeping an eye on the stove filed with casseroles from which an enticing smell spread around the house.

”Mommy, Billy took my chocolate!”

”Stop yelling, Liz, and I’ll give you another,” her mother soothed her as she tried to keep the potatoes from boiling over. Not having the time to deal with the trouble, she sent a desperate glance over to her husband, who was enjoying talking with his brother who recently had arrived from a trip to Europe. The house had actually been calm for a while as her brother-in-law had entertained the children with stories of what he had seen, but she should have known better. The day her son could sit still for more than ten minutes would be nothing more than a miracle. Her husband smile at her and reached over to grab the troublemaker by the ear.

”Don’t fight with your sister, Billy, you hear - remember it’s Christmas. It ain’t the time for making trouble. Now you behave and stop giving your Ma so much trouble.”

”I am behavin’ - she said she didn’t want that chocolate,” the boy replied with a grin that immediately disappeared as his father twisted his ear slightly, just enough for him to feel it hurt.

”Remember what I said, Billy. I hate to have you punished on Christmas Day, but if you don’t start acting properly...” He let the threat hang in the air, content to see his mischievous son lower his gaze. ”Alright then, now apologise to your sister.”

Billy loathed to have to apologise. She had said that she didn’t want that chocolate and if she didn’t want it, then why couldn’t he have it? Muttering under his breath he strolled over to where his sister was sitting with a triumphant smile on her face, sucking on a new chocolate piece, which in Billy’s eyes seemed unfair. Mumbling an apology he resisted an urge to poke her in the side, knowing that it would only render him a harsh word from his father and then strolled over to the window where he perched himself on the sill, staring out into the dusky weather outside, the perfect image of indignation and hurt pride.

”Weren’t you a bit hard on the boy?” his uncle whispered to his father with a smile to his face.

”Billy? Doubt it,” his father replied with a laugh, ”there ain’t no way of keeping him pout of mischief how much I try. Besides he’ll have forgotten all about this when dinner’s ready.”

Billy ignored the voices behind him and peered out the window, as his imagination created the image of a hunter walking through the forest, daringly seeking out the danger and adventure. So vivid was his imagination that he actually thought he could see the man as a dark shadow against the tree, on horse and with a thick fur covering his body and the rifle barely visible on his back. It wasn’t until his imaginary figure turned at stared at him that he quickly removed himself from the window and turned to his father.

”Pa! There’s an Indian out there!”

The six-year-old leaned back towards the warmth of his mother’s body behind him. He would have preferred walking as his older brother, but as the snow reached his knees he found it difficult to keep up and had, much to his shame, being lifted up on the horse next to his mother. Not that it was too bad, at least it kept the icy chill away from his body except his feet that dangled below the robe. He tried to press them as close as possible to the horse but no matter how he tried there always seemed to be some part that was exposed to the cold and soon he gave up. He was hungry too and he could feel the hunger rumbling in his stomach, demanding food, but there was none to be had. The few supplies they had would had to last them for at least another day and he knew that they would not get anything to eat until they made camp. He secretly hoped it would be soon, so that he could still some of the hunger. He had never been this hungry before in his life even if this year had been a hard year for the tribe and hunger had never been far from them, there had always been something to eat. Now there was nothing. He closed his eyes and feeling the horse’s move beneath him he tried to think of the warmth of the fire in the camp and the stories that would be told by the elders during those long winter nights to keep his mind of the cold and the hunger. It was with surprise he noticed that they had stopped again and blinking he opened his eyes. The chief and his closest in command were talking in low voices as a young brave who had been scouting eagerly pointed towards the edge of the forest. The boy peered through the snow that hit him in the face and thought he saw a light behind the trees as his older brother walked up to them.

”Lone Wolf found a white man’s building,” he whispered as he took the reins of the horse and helped his mother down. The small boy followed and frowned slightly as his already cold feet buried themselves deep into the cold snow, sending it inside his boots. His brother swiftly took the horse back to his father. The small group waited as the discussion seemed to come to a conclusion. Without hesitation the three braves mounted and the mother worriedly clasped her youngest as her oldest walked over to them again.

”What will they do?” she couldn’t help ask her oldest, who reaching for his own horse prepared to follow his father.

”He will ask them to trade - some of our pelts for their food,” he explained and she sighed with relief.

”No fight then,” she whispered.

”No, we’re too weak,” the youngster explained using the same tone as his father had when delivering the decision. ”You’ll stay in the forest until it’s safe,” he added with a frown, acting out the role of leader to which he aspired one day to be true.

The mother still felt worried seeing her husband and son slowly moving towards the building that just barely was seen between the trees and as her youngest tried to squirm free from her grip to follow his brother she held on tighter.

”We will stay here,” she said firmly.

”I want to see,” the boy insisted, not wanting to be treated as a child. He was six summers old now and his mother’s supervision was a constant bother to him.

”We’ll stay here,” she repeated taking a firm grip on him when one of the other women walked up to her with her daughter in her arms.

”What are they doing?” she whispered as they stared into the snow, hoping to catch a glimpse on what was going on.

The commotion caused by the boy’s exclamation was silenced with a harsh command from his father. ”Everybody, calm down ,” he ordered and reached for the rifle that was hanging on a peg by the door, always easily accessible. ”You’ve got a rifle?” he asked his brother who nodded. ”Sarah, get the children over into the bedroom and stay there. Whatever happens, don’t show yourself until I say it’s all right.”

”I’m going with you, Pa!” the boy announced and avoiding his mother’s arm rushed over to his father. ”Please let me go with you,” he begged with eyes sparkling with anticipation. He’s never seen Indians before and now they were here, right outside his door! But his father’s strong hand around his arm stopped his rush.

”You ain’t doing nothing of the sort,” his father mumbled under his breath. ”You’re gonna stay in the bedroom with your Ma and sister until I say otherwise. Is that clear Billy?”

”But Pa...”

”No buts, Billy,” his father replied and shook him by the arm to make him understand. ”Do you understand?”

For the first time he saw the seriousness in his father’s face and a hint of fear showed in Billy’s face. Obediently he walked back to his mother.

”Be careful, William!” she called out as he opened the door.

Outside, on the yard, the two men with their rifles ready in case there were trouble, found themselves face to face with four Indians braves on horseback of which one was no more than a boy, although his statute and figure was as rigid and proud as the others. William and his brother watched them carefully.

”What do you think they’re doing here?” his brother whispered. ”This ain’t no Indian territory.”

”I don’t know,” William replied. ”Probably on their way to the winter camp. Do you see any more of’em?”

”Thought I saw a movement over by the forest, but I ain’t sure.”

“Keep an eye on that,” he whispered as he took a step forward.

“What do you want here?” he asked in a clear voice, staring the first man in the eyes.

The chief, or at least William assumed it was the chief, hold up his hands in front of his shoulder, his index finger extended and pointed to front and upwards, the other fingers and thumb closed before he moved his right hand to the left and then downwards on a curve, allowing the right hand to pass close to the left hand only to stop as the wrist crossed. After a short pause he brought the tips of the fingers of his nearly compressed right hand in front of his mouth, his fingers pointing towards the face and then moved the hand downwards close to the mouth. He then allowed his left hand to indicate towards one of the men in his company that held up a few pelts in his hand.

“What does that mean?” William’s brother whispered as he stepped up to his brother.

“I ain’t sure, but I think they need food,” William replied as his eyes wandered over the braves. They sure looked as if they could need some food and as he carefully scanned the forest edge he thought he saw a woman staring at them.

“How many are you?” he asked and pointed towards the wood and holding up his fingers, hoping that the chief know what he was talking about. The chief looked at him and then he repeated his request.

“I don’t think he’s gonna tell you,” his brother said softly.

“They can’t be that many,” William reasoned, “if they were more braves I’m sure they wouldn’t be standing here negotiating with us. They would have simply taken what they needed.” He turned around and called into the house. “Sarah, bring some food out here!”

Ordering her children to stay put, Sarah nervously walked over to the kitchen and bringing with her a sack of grains and some smoked meat she slowly walked out on the porch, carefully eyeing the Indians.

“It’s all right, I don’t think they mean any harm,” William said as he reached out for the meat. With a questioning look in his face he held it up for the chief to see. The chief nodded and urged the brave with the pelts forward. As he came closer he held them up for William to inspect.

Behind William Sarah nervously watched the approach and her husband must have sensed it as he turned around and looked at her.

“It’s all right,” he repeated, “I think they’re only interested in a trade. Take out a little more, but don’t take too much. We don’t want them to think we got too much.” As Sarah disappeared through the door he slowly approached the brave and selecting several of the pelts he held them up and pointed to the meat to get the approval. The chief nodded and then he dismounted, repeating the sign for food.

“How many are you?” William asked again and pointed, wanting to make sure what he was dealing with. This time the chief nodded and turned  the young boy who a second later disappeared only to emerge again with the remaining group. William saw that it consisted mostly of children and women and realised that these Indians meant no harm, at least not know. He relaxed some, but still kept an eye on the braves as more pelts were brought forward. Seeing it he shook his head.

“We ain’t go that much food to spare,” he said and held up his hand. The chief responded by indicating the group and then brought the lower edge of his extended right hand, back down, against his stomach, his fingers pointing left, and pressed the edge of his hand against his body then moving it from right to left and back again.

“What does that mean?” William’s brother whispered.

“I think he’s trying to tell us that they’re hungry. I don’t care – I ain’t gonna give away our supplies until they’re satisfied.” Once more he shook his head.

“Ma, can we come out now?” Billy stopped his mother on her way back to the supplies.

“No,” she stated firmly. “You get back into that room, Billy, do you hear?”

“But Ma…”

“Now Billy!”

Billy retreated defeated back to the bedroom where he sulking sat down on the bed, as he watch his sister play with the doll she had received for Christmas. Staring at the window he suddenly got an idea and with a look on the door he slowly edged himself closer to the window and opened it. He was just about to get himself out when somebody pulled his shirt and he found his sister looking at him.

“You can’t come,” he whispered, “this ain’t for girls.”

“I’ll tell Ma,” she stated with all the stubbornness that a five-year-old possessed and Billy sighed.

“All right, but don’t yell or anything,” Billy said and helped her out the window before he followed.

Sarah didn’t ponder the silence from the bedroom as she returned with some more supplies. She dropped them on the porch and as she looked up she saw the small group standing on her yard. There weren’t more than ten, maybe eleven people and some of them children. Their tired state and general look told more than words what they had sustained and still were going through.

“William,” she gasped, “they have children with them.”

“That makes no difference Sarah,” William said. “Bring out a few more supplies and that’s it. I just hope they accept that.”

“But they must be starving,” Sarah objected staring at the women and children who looked back at her with fear and wonderment. “William, we can’t let those children starve!”

“We need it ourselves.”

“Nonsense,” Sarah said, “we got more than we need. And besides it’s Christmas, William!” She placed her hands on her hips and looked at her husband, who hesitated only for a second.

“All right,” he mumbled, “since it’s Christmas and all. Take whatever you would like to give out here then. But don’t let them in the house. They can have the food but that’s all.” Old fears didn’t die easily.

“Thank you,” Sarah smiled and with a smile towards the women she returned inside, eager to give the people outside some of their abundance.

When the chief saw the food that was brought forward he called down the women to help them determine what they needed. He had no intention of getting more than necessary as the furs was needed as well to survive through the winter. But the knowledge that the trade would help them through the nearest day was satisfying and he felt good about the situation. The white didn’t appear as threatening as it had before and he even contemplated sharing the pipe with the white man when the trade was over.

When seeing her husband calling for her she reluctantly let go of her youngest son, who impatiently shrugged off her hands, eager to see more of the white’s building and to be close to his older brother. However, despite her husband’s apparent ease, his mother wasn’t as easily convinced and when he started forward to get a better look, she held him back.

“You will not go there. You will watch your cousin,” she said and the boy found himself, much to his dismay, keeping an eye on the girl two years younger than him. Pouting, he remained where he was, keeping an eye on the girl, who wide-eyed looked at the events before them.

“You want to see more too?” he asked her after a few minutes and as she turned her head and nodded, he grabbed her hand and whispered; “Come,” and silently crept along the edge towards the building. His mother had told him to watch his cousin, buts he hadn’t told him not to go near the house. Not really anyway, and besides he just wanted to have a look inside since he’d never seen anything like it before.

Without being noticed they reached the building with their hearts beating from the excitement and slowly they approached one of the windows. Slowly the boy rose up on his toes and by holding on to the sill he managed to peek inside. Wide-eyed he stared at the interior with the dinner table, the open fire and the candles and not to mention the Christmas tree. Why the white people had brought a tree inside and decorated it when there was so many trees outside was beyond him, but he couldn’t help thinking that it was beautiful. Remembering the girl, he let go and then lifted her up so that she could see it too. Letting her down, he quickly whispered to her that they should see what was on the other side.

As they turned around the corner they suddenly found themselves face to face with two other children, two white children. The Indian boy quickly stopped and pushed the girl behind him to protect her as he stared at the two children before him. The boy, blond and blue-eyed was his own age, maybe a year older and the girl, equally blond and blue-eyed a few years younger, didn’t look threatening and suppressing his first instinct to return to the tribe, he stayed.

Billy was as surprised as the Indian boy of seeing them there, but quickly regained his composure and the surprised look in his face gave place for one of genuine interest. He had never met any Indians before and the two children before him was captivating.

For a few minutes the children just stood there, watching each other and taking in the differences. But as children are most, curiosity soon took over. Liz still held her doll in her arms and ignoring the restraining hand, the Indian girl reached out to touch the brown hair on the porcelain doll.

“You wanna see her? Her name is Matilda. She’s from Europe,” Liz stated proudly and held up the doll for the other girl to see. As the girls occupied themselves with the doll as quickly as children do the boys was left still facing each other. Finally Billy couldn’t hold hid tongue any longer.

“I got a pocket knife. It’s the best knife in the world for carving.” The words that was meant to impress fell flat to the ground as the other boy simply frowned at him. Deciding that the only way to make the boy realise what he was talking about, Billy reached into his pocket and retrieved the pocket knife, a gift from his father.

“Here, see for yourself,” he stated and handed the knife over.

The Indian boy looked at it confused as he turned it around in his hand. Impatiently Billy reached for it and took it back.

“See?” he said as he showed how the knife was opened and finally he saw impression in the other’s eyes. “Told you it was special,” he stated proudly as the other carefully folded the knife only to open it again. Then a thought struck him.

“Do you want it?” he asked, not even thinking of what he was doing. It was Christmas wasn’t it?

The Indian boy looked up at his words and misunderstanding them he handed the knife back.

“No,” Billy said, refusing to accept it and feeling rather proud of his offer, “you keep it.”

The Indian boy stared baffled at the white boy before him. Was he giving him the knife? Or was there something wrong? Not completely understanding he once more tried to give it back only to have it refused again. Not being sure of what to do, he desperately tried to think of a gift that would equal that of the knife. He didn’t have much and finally he removed the necklace his brother had made for him with the bear claw they had found. It was the only thing he could think off although he hated parting with it – bear claws was rare to come by and the fact that he had one was special to him. Hesitantly he handed it over to the white boy, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Sarah smiled at the woman as she helped her to some of the meat she had saved for the day after Christmas. Not that it mattered, they would have enough to eat as it was and it felt good to know that these people wouldn’t starve on Christmas Day. Suddenly she realised that it was awfully quiet in the house and with a hint of worry she told her husband that she was going to check on the children. She hadn’t more than opened the door before she rushed back.

“Billy and Liz! They’re gone!” she shouted, causing a general alarm among the gathered.

“Take it easy, Sarah,” William said, afraid that the Indians would be upset and thinking that they were threatened. “They’re probably just around the corner.”

At the white woman’s hasty return, the chief’s wife looked over her shoulder to where she had left her youngest and to her horror he was nowhere to be seen, nor was his cousin. A soft cry erupted from her throat and suddenly the two groups were joined in a search for their missing children.

The frantic calls from their parents sent the children running back to their respective parents, all of them knowing that their absent wouldn’t be overlooked and that some scolding was to be expected. The trade that had been interrupted was quickly finished and soon the small group was on their way again, leaving the white family to continue their suddenly interrupted Christmas dinner. “If there was any food left,” William muttered to his wife as he carefully hung the rifle back at its place.

“It’s Christmas, William,” his wife objected. “It’s the time for sharing and giving.”

“And when Dad found out I had given away the pocket knife,” Cody smiled ruefully at the memory, “I swear I couldn’t sit on a week.”

“Why?” Kid asked as he finished the last of the Christmas dinner. “What was so special with that knife anyway?”

Cody smiled sadly. “It was my grandfather’s and he had given it to my father for Christmas and he thought it was the right time to give it to me. I swear I never seen him as mad as that.”

“I think it was a nice gesture,” Lou said as she moved aside to give room for Buck that was returning to the table after excusing himself to fetch something from his bunk.

“Well, I doubt that I’ll ever see that again,” Cody admitted with a smile. “I have told you about…”

 “Do you want it back?” the question interrupted Cody who suddenly found himself staring with an open mouth at an object that was held out to him. There, in Buck’s hand, lay the pocket knife, the surface smooth from years of being handled, but still the same pocket knife that he so readily had given up almost ten years earlier.

“How? Why?” Cody stuttered as he reached out and carefully studied the knife as if he had never seen it before. The others stared at Buck and then at Cody and then back at Buck.

“It was you?” Kid managed to ask, saying what was on everyone’s else mind.

“I didn’t realise it until Cody mentioned the knife,” Buck explained a bit embarrassed. He rarely spoke of his childhood and the story had stirred up memories that he had forgotten or chosen to forget. Suddenly Cody seemed to recover from the surprise.

“Here,” he said and handed the knife back, “I gave it to you, so you keep it.”

“No,” Buck insisted. “You didn’t really wanted to give it away. It belong to you. It ain’t your fault your tongue is faster than your mind.”

The laughter broke the silence around the table as Emma asked them to help clean it off, as she said, to make room for the dessert. It was Christmas Day and all runs had been cancelled in order for the riders to have some well earned rest, which they had done heir best to enjoy. During dinner the subject of worst and best Christmases had been brought up and it was in that aspect Cody had told the story that had strung a cord in Buck’s memory. As he thought back on the incident he suddenly saw the likeness between the boy and the young man sitting across the table at dinner.

“All right, there are some chores to be done before the dessert is ready,” Emma stated which brought forward a collective groan from the boys. “And no moaning,” she smiled, “so get on, get out of here – remember no dessert until there are more wood chopped and the horses have been fed.”

Dismissing the riders she proceeded to start with the dishes before setting the table for the Christmas cake as Teaspoon excused himself. Emma smiled at him as she knew that the older man was going to sneak over to his shed for a nap after dinner.

As Buck was about to leave to feed the horse wit Ike, Emma managed to drag him aside. “It was a nice thing you did, giving that knife back to Cody. It must have been special for you, keeping it after all those years,” she smiled.

“Not as special as it was for Cody,” Buck replied silently before he walked out the door. As he passed Cody on the porch he couldn’t help but asking.

“You never kept he necklace, did you?”

Slightly embarrassed, Cody shook his head. “I had it for a while,” he admitted, “and then I guessed it disappeared.”

Buck nodded and followed Ike over to the barn as he remembered what had happen after they had left the farm.

“What have you got there?” Red Bear asked as they halted for the night, pointing at the small object in his brother’s hand. Running Buck looked down at the object, still uncertain of its value.

“A knife,” he said.

“That’s no knife,” Red Bear objected. “It’s too small and where’s the blade?”

“It is a knife,” Running Buck insisted and showed his brother how the knife was opened. “See,” he said with just a hint of triumph of knowing something that his brother didn’t. Red Bear picked up the knife and examined it, trying not to show his impression, but Running Buck had already seen it, which made him feel better about the whole exchange.

“What’s this?” the voice of Red Bear’s father interrupted their further examination of the knife.

“Running Buck got a knife,” Red Bear explained, while Running Buck lowered his head. Although he lived with the man all his life, he was only too aware that it was Red Bear’s father and not his.

“How did you get this?” the chief asked as he looked at the knife.

“I traded for it,” Running Buck said carefully, scared that the man would disapprove of his trade

“With what?”

“My necklace.”

“Your necklace.”

The chief examined the knife. It was too small to be useful in his opinion, but it didn't cause any harm either. Besides the trade had left them with more food that they had hoped for and he was in a good mood. Smiling he handed the knife back to the boy and out of a sudden feeling of generosity, he affectionately patted the boy on the head.

Buck could still remember that feeling. It was a feeling of being accepted and even appreciated and that was the reason he had kept the knife. But he still felt good about returning it. It had belong to Cody’s family much longer than it had belonged to him. And the memory would still be his.

Cody watched until Buck had disappeared into the barn before quickly returning to the bunkhouse.

“Cody! I thought I told you to help out with the chores,” Emma scolded as he returned.

“This is more important Emma,” he said as he kneeled next to his bunk and removed his trunk. Emma shook her head.

“What is it this time, Cody?”

“Remember what I told you about my uncle being there?”

“The one that had travelled across Europe? Doubt that any of us missed that,” Emma smiled.

“Well, he’s a photographer, or was, rather, since he’s dead now. He gave me all his photos, telling me that I could use them as illustrations for my books one day. He had bought one of’em new portrait cameras in Europe."[1]

“And?” Emma asked.

“I ain’t sure,” Cody replied, “but I’m quite sure that he took photos of those Indians that night. They were reluctant at first, but when he offered them food for it, they agreed. They should be in here somewhere.” Cody removed a box from the trunk and placed it on the table. Intrigued, Emma, stopped what she was doing, and walked over to the table where Cody was rummaging through the photos. Emma picked up a few of landscapes and smiled.

“These are beautiful, Cody, she said and picked up another, this time portraits, although the image was rather blurred.

“Is this you Cody?” she asked with a frown.

“Yeah, or it’s supposed to be.”

“Why are they blurred?”

Cody sighed. “Do you know how long you have to sit still to have your photo taken?”

Emma laughed silently, clearly seeing Cody as a child before her.

“This is some treasure you’ve got here, Cody,” she said as she looked through a few photos.

“I know it!” Cody cried triumphal and held up a few photos. “Here they are.”

Emma reached over and took the photos from him. They were all portraits of Indians and the first thing that struck her was the weariness that she saw in their faces, a weariness that however could not take away the pride and strength. Without comment she carefully studied the photos until she came upon one of two boys, apparently brothers. There was something familiar over one of them and she couldn’t hide a smile when she realised that she knew the younger of the two.

“Have you seen this?” she asked Cody and handed it over.

Cody shrugged and looked questioningly at her.

“Take a look at the younger one,” Emma requested.

Cody looked again and the he turned to Emma with eyes wide with surprise. “Buck?”

“I would say so,” Emma smiled. “You should show it to him. The other one must be his brother, what was his name again?”

“Red Bear.”

“That’s it.” Emma looked through the others, slowly realising what this could mean for Buck. The photos was of his family and friends. The thought remained with her as she got stuck at a photo of a woman. She stared at the image for the longest time and then picking up a few others, she compared them.

“Cody,” she said slowly, “have a look at this and tell me if you see what I think I see.”

Buck had just finished the last of the chores in the barn when the door opened. Thinking it was Ike calling him inside, he called out.

“Be right there, Ike, just a minute.”

It wasn’t until somebody cleared his throat next to him that he looked up and realised that it was Cody that was standing next to him, with a strange smile in her face and his hands behind his back.

“What is it?” Buck asked, slightly suspicious of the strange look on Cody’s face.

“I just wanted to say thank you for the knife,” Cody said, “and since, well, it is Christmas, I thought I’d give you a gift as well.”

Now Buck was open suspicious. “What kind of gift?” he asked.

“Well, remembering what I said about my uncle? Emma and I went through some things that he left me and - well, here it is.” Cody handed him a small parcel and Buck slowly opened it as he tried to make some sense into Cody’s explanation wondering why he was nervous about.

“Well, the frame is from Emma and…we’re not sure it’s the right person or so, but we thought…”

Cody silenced as he saw Buck expression as the photo came into view. He was just gonna ask him again if Emma had been right in her suspicions when he realised that he didn’t have to ask. But he still needed to have it confirmed.

“It’s her ain’t it? Your mother?”

All Buck could do was nod and without a word Cody turned around and left, not so much knowing as sensing that Buck could use a few minutes alone. When he met Ike at the door he grabbed his arm and told him that Buck would be in a few minutes.

Buck sank down on a bale of hay, unable to take his eyes of the photo. It was a bit blurred and one edge was rasped from something but it didn’t change the fact that the photo was of his mother. Although the memory of her still lived on in his heart her image had slowly been blurred by the years until her features weren’t more than a hazy vision. He slowly let his index finger trace her delicate features as he remembered her looks. Suddenly the memory of the crazy white man that had traded food if they would have themselves exposed to a sharp light and an explosion. Red Bear had stated that he wasn’t afraid and had dragged him with him. Buck hadn’t been aware of cameras back then and hadn’t thought of it since. He remembered that they had laughed at the white man who gave away food for nothing, but at this moment it didn’t seem so laughingly. He remembered his mother’s hesitation when the man had asked her and it was only the presence of her family that made her agree – that and the prospect of more food for her family. He could see the hesitation in her eyes, but there was something else there. She was looking beyond the photographer her eyes on something slightly to the left of him and Buck know that it was there he and Red Bear had been standing as if she was afraid that it would be the last time she laid her eyes on them. Suddenly he felt tears well up in his eyes and he angrily wiped them away. He didn’t want to cry over his mother. She wouldn’t want him to cry over her. And he didn’t need any picture to remember her as he carried her memory in his heart, he pondered. Even so, he couldn’t help feeling grateful to have the image to remember her by. He wondered if Cody comprehended the impact of the gift, but realised that that was probably not the case. Never the less it was a unique gift and he was grateful that Cody had saved it. Collecting himself he carefully re-wrapped the photo and rose to get back to the bunkhouse.

As he entered the bunkhouse the others turned around and smiled at him and he frowned at them, wondering what was going on. Lou rose from the table and held up another photo for him to see.

“That is you, ain’t it?” she beamed as Buck found himself staring at the photo of two boys, two Indian boys. He looked up to see the others looking expectantly at him. Smiling sheepishly he nodded and looked at the image again. He hadn’t really thought of how he had looked at the age of six, since mirrors wasn’t exactly common in the Kiowa village and he hadn’t really looked at himself.  But was more amusing was not the image of him, but the image of the other boy, his brother. Even at the mere age of twelve he held the disposition of a chief and Buck smiled at the photo.

“That’s the photo of your mother?” Lou asked and Buck realised that Cody had told the others.

“Yes,” he admitted and slowly handed it over to Lou, who passed it around among the others.

“She was beautiful,” she said silently to Buck as he took his seat next to her at the table. On the table lay several others photos, some of landscapes and a few more portraits and Buck looked questioningly at Cody.

“My uncle,” he said and shrugged as Emma brought the dessert and he forgot about the photos. Buck carefully reached for them and went through them. Lou watched him as he carefully looked at them now as she realised how much the only photo she had ever owned meant to her. She had paid for it herself at one of her visits to the orphanage as she had taken Jeremiah and Theresa into town and now it hung among a few other memory items above her bunk. She glanced over the others as she pondered the magic of photography. It was an expensive luxury, and yet so many offered their savings on saving their images for the future. And it was a good memory, she pondered and glanced over to the Kid. She wouldn’t mind having Kid’s photo, but she hadn’t dared to ask, fearing that he would think it was a waste of money. But it would be nice, she thought to herself as she listened to the others talking as she continued to wonder over photos. She only had the one of her siblings and she knew that Kid had one of his family, that he kept hidden in his trunk, rarely looking at it. Lou always figured it had something to do with his father being in it. Jimmy kept a photo of his mother in a soft leather bag under his bunk and she had seen him look at it on more than one occasion after lights were out. Ike had his mother’s engagement photo hanging above his bunk and Lou thought that it was the only photo he owned. Cody apparently had more photos than he needed his uncle being a photographer and all, but Lou couldn’t remember seeing any of his family though. The last person she expected to ever have a photo from his past was Buck and now he seemed the richer of them all, thanks to a event of fate ten years earlier. Well, she thought, if anybody deserved photos as reminders of the past, it was Buck.

Cody looked at the photo of the Christmas tree and turned it over looking at the year that was neatly printed on the back.

“Hey Buck,” he called out in the dark bunkhouse where the riders were trying to get some sleep.

“Yes,” Buck mumbled with his back against the room.

“How old did you say you were that Christmas?”

Slowly Buck turned around and stared across the room. “Six summers,” he said with a frown. “Why do you ask?”

Cody smiled to himself. “Ain’t Indians supposed to respect them older than themselves?”

The frown on Buck’s face deepened. “Yes. What are you aiming at, Cody?”

“Will you stop playing twenty questions, Cody,” Jimmy muttered, “and go to sleep?”

Lou looked over the edge of her bunk and peered at Cody, she too puzzled by Cody’s line of question as Cody’s smile broadened.

“Well, Buck” he said pulling on the word, “seeing as I’m one year older than you, I think you should do my chores tomorrow. Just out of respect, that is.”

“It ain’t the years that counts,” Buck replied with mocked sincerity, “it’s what you learned from them. And seeing as you haven’t learned anything yet, maybe you’re the one that should do all the chores.”

At the protest from Cody a soft laughter erupted in the bunkhouse and smiling Buck turned around again trying to get some sleep. As he did he glanced up at the photo he had hung by the bunk as the soft light from the fire illuminating it and he had a comforting feeling of being surrounded by family, all of his family, regardless of colour or race. And it felt good. Closing his eyes he let the feeling float through him as he pondered the events of the day, prompted by the unexpected gift of a pocket knife several years earlier.

THE END