Original photos used with the written permission of the owner.

DEMONS

by Kim Roberts

© 2000

CHAPTER 2

“Rider comin’,” Jimmy announced, disappointment evident in his voice, as Noah’s figure came into view against the horizon.

Cody emerged from the barn leading his horse and joined the two riders waiting for Noah.

“You know boys, I could be persuaded to let one of you take this run,” he said, flashing an ornery grin before adding, “if the price was right.”

Kid and Jimmy looked at the cocky, blonde rider with contempt.

Cocking an eyebrow Cody continued, “Just how much would you pay to get out of Rachel’s spring cleaning?”

“Get goin’, Cody,” Kid said as Noah approached. “We’ll make sure we save some cleanin’ for you!” he shouted as Cody mounted, took the handoff from Noah, and spurred his horse into a gallop. The sound of his laughter floated back to the remaining riders on the spring breeze. Noah dismounted and brushed the trail dust from his clothes.

“So how was your ride?” Jimmy asked although the tone of voice didn’t express much interest in Noah’s answer.

“Same as always, long and dirty,” Noah replied.

“Couldn’t you have taken a little longer?” asked Kid.

“I’m right on time.” Confused by the question and the long faces of his friends, Noah asked, “You wanted me to be late?”

Kid and Jimmy nodded.

“Why?”

“’Cause Rachel wants to start spring cleaning soon as you get back,” Jimmy explained, causing Noah’s expression to turn as bleak as his own.

“Rachel, gimme one good reason why we need to do this,” demanded Jimmy, his arms folded across his chest in defiance.

“Because I said so,” answered Rachel, “and if you want supper tonight, you best get a move on!”

“But Rachel, we’ve moved the bunks three times already. What was wrong with where they were?” pleaded Noah.

“It’s just so crowded I thought you all might appreciate a little more room.”

Rachel was right, the bunkhouse was crowded. Seven bunks, an assortment of boxes and trunks, and a variety of miscellaneous belongings didn’t leave much space.

She surveyed the room, a plan forming in her mind. Thinking aloud she said, “We can scoot these bunks over a bit and these two a little further this direction if we turn them this way and move Ike’s trunk. Yes. It’ll work. C’mon boys, let’s do it!”

Rachel smiled her approval at the new arrangement as the three weary riders collapsed on the repositioned bunks after sweeping, mopping and dusting the cobwebs from the corners of the room.

“Are we done now, Boss?” Jimmy asked.

“Nope, not yet. Still need to move Ike’s trunk.”

Noah, Jimmy and Kid look at each other and breathed a collective heavy sigh before rolling off their beds and gathering around the large trunk.

“Where to Rachel?” Kid questioned.

“Well, it was important to Ike,” Rachel said, memories of the gentle rider floating through her mind, “I think it would be safe in the hayloft. It wouldn’t be damaged up there.”

The three boys looked at each other.

“Yes, Boss, anything you say, Boss,” said Jimmy.

“Good and please be careful with it. You finish up and I’ll go start supper. I promised Buck that pie,” Rachel remembered as she left the room.

“Pie?” Noah questioned. “Why does Buck get pie?”

Kid and Jimmy shrugged and turned their attention to the trunk.

Ike had been given the big camelback trunk by an elderly couple he had befriended in Sweetwater. He had found the couple’s dog while on his way home from a run, battered and bloody fighting with a wild dog. Ike recognized the animal; the dog accompanied his masters to town on many occasions and would sit patiently waiting for them on the wagon seat while they ran their errands. Ike broke up the fight and carefully lifted the injured dog onto his horse, returning him to his family. Over the next few weeks he visited the dog almost daily to help nurse him back to health. A friendship easily developed between Ike and the elderly couple and when their health began to fail and they decided to return to St. Louis to be
near their daughter, they gave Ike the trunk. It was big and heavy, too heavy for the frail old gentleman to move. The trunk was a possession Ike took great pride in and he insisted they haul it to Rock Creek when the riders moved to the new station.

“How are we gonna get this big old thing in the hayloft?” Noah asked raising up one side of the trunk estimating its weight.

“Well, I’m damn sure not carryin’ it all the way,” Jimmy stated emphatically. “I wasn’t real happy ‘bout movin’ it in here the first time.”

Kid thought for a moment before voicing his plan. “We can carry it out to the porch and back the wagon up to the steps. Then lift in on the wagon,” eyeing Jimmy he added, “it ain’t that heavy. Then we can move the wagon under the opening in the loft and use the pulley to raise it up there.”

“Oughta work,” agreed Noah.

“I’ll hitch up the wagon,” Jimmy grumbled.

Kid’s plan worked smoothly and soon the trunk was ready to be raised into the loft. Leather straps were fastened around it and attached to a large hook used to haul feed, tack and other equipment to the top storage area of the barn. A rope was attached to the hook and drawn across the pulley in the opening hanging down the other side to the ground. Kid and Jimmy stayed on the ground while Noah climbed into the loft, ready to pull the trunk into the barn once Jimmy and Kid raised it to the proper height.

“So where is everybody?” Noah asked, raising his voice loud enough for his two friends below to hear.

“Well, Lou ain’t back from Seneca yet, Cody just left, and Buck banged up his shoulder yesterday so Teaspoon’s lettin’ him take it easy today. That leaves us,” answered Kid as he and Jimmy began pulling on the rope.

“So is Buck hurt bad?” Noah asked watching the trunk move into the air.

“Didn’t look like it to me,” Jimmy answered. “Wouldn’t take much exertion to push around a dust rag anyway.”

“Then where is he?” Noah questioned, grabbing the rope to help guide the trunk toward the opening with one hand, holding onto the barn wall to prevent himself from tumbling out the opening with the other.

“Don’t know,” answered Jimmy, straining on the rope. “Ain’t my day to watch him.”

Buck spent the morning grooming the horses. With warmer weather coming on, they were losing their winter coats and in need of a good brushing. Although the Appaloosa was putting a little weight on her injured leg, and there was very little swelling, he still felt guilty about her injury and brushed her twice. Ike's horse received special attention, too, just because he was Ike’s horse.

The animal hadn’t been ridden much since Ike’s passing and needed exercise. He had a lonely look in his eyes that perhaps only Buck could recognize, it matched his own. He lead the animal from its stall and mounted bareback, using a bale of hay to help him as his shoulder was still too sore to simply swing onto the horse’s back.

The horse seemed grateful to be released from the confines of his stall, and after overcoming some initial stiffness, ran as if he was chasing the wind across the prairie.

As Rachel had commented the evening before, spring had definitely arrived. The landscape had changed from barren to lush almost overnight. Wildflowers burst from the ground, their bright blossoms opening wide as if suddenly awakened from a long sleep. The birds heralded the advent of warmer days with their medley of song. New life appeared everywhere.

Ike loved springtime. He found pleasure in the smallest details of the season. A blue robin’s egg held as much fascination as the earthworms that appeared after a thunderstorm. He loved the flowers most of all. Ike once told an unbelieving Buck that flowers were the earth’s way of smiling.

Buck hated spring. He found comfort instead in the long, cold winter months. He even enjoyed a good blizzard. Winter was a difficult time for the Plains Indians. All thoughts and energies were directed toward survival. No one had time to abuse the village half-breed in the winter, it was the only time Buck found any peace. To him, spring simply meant the insults and humiliation would return. Ike tried to show his friend the beauty of the season, but Buck’s feelings were too deeply ingrained to be changed.

Though the scenery brought Buck no comfort, the ride itself did. He enjoyed riding with no bridle or saddle. Riding bareback allowed him to feel the movement and power of the horse beneath him. A saddle didn’t allow that kind of closeness with the animal. Without a bridle and bit to guide the horse’s direction other means of communication had to be developed, means which required much greater skill. Riding like this reminded Buck of the happier days of his early childhood when Red Bear would toss him on his horse’s back and together they would race through the prairie grass.

He missed Red Bear deeply, especially now that his other ‘brother’ was gone. Moving from Sweetwater to Rock Creek was difficult for him. Although he had not seen Red Bear since Ike was taken captive, it was comforting to know he was close by. Now he was many miles away. The distance had not seemed
so great before Ike died.

It was hard for Buck to understand why, even though he was surrounded by Teaspoon, Rachel and the other riders, he felt so terribly alone.

“I think it looks right nice, Rachel,” commented Teaspoon, nodding his head in approval of the cleaned and rearranged bunkhouse. “Clean, too. See if you boys can keep it that way.”

“We ain’t doin’ this again any time soon,” Jimmy grumbled. “Supposed to be Express riders not housekeepers.”

“Well, you don’t need to live in a pigsty and since the mess was your own, why shouldn’t you clean it up?” Teaspoon asked.

All heads turned toward the sound of the bunkhouse door opening.

“Nice timin’, Buck,” Noah said with a hint of sarcasm. ‘You come home now that we’re done.”

“Why did you change it?” Buck asked, eyeing the rearranged room with suspicion.

“The place needed a good cleaning,” Rachel answered, brushing away a loose strand of hair from her face, “and with the bunks turned around like this you all have a little more room.”

Buck’s eyes continued to wander. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Rachel asked.

“The trunk.”

“Oh, I had the boys move it out to the hayloft. It took up a lot of space.”

Buck’s jaw dropped at Rachel’s answer. “You put it in the barn?” He’s barely gone and you throw out his things! It took up too much space? I can’t believe you would do this!” Buck searched the faces of his friends, couldn’t they see this was wrong?

Rachel, Teaspoon and the boys weren’t sure how to respond. Buck was overreacting just a bit in their opinion. They hadn’t thrown Ike’s trunk away, just put it in storage. How could that be wrong?

Finding no support, Buck turned quickly and headed out the door toward the barn, slamming the door on the way.

Rachel, stunned by Buck’s remarks, started after him, but Teaspoon grabbed her arm to stop her. “Let him go, Rachel.”

“Teaspoon, I need to apologize to him,” she said, almost in tears. “I never thought he would see it that way. I just wanted to make it more comfortable for everyone. I never meant to hurt him.”

“I know that,” Teaspoon reassured her. “Give him some time to calm down and he’ll realize it, too.”

Buck knelt on the floor of the hayloft in front of the trunk and ran his hands over the smooth wood contours of the camelback before slowly raising the lid. The trunk was large enough to hold a man inside. For a fleeting moment Buck considered simply locking himself away with Ike’s belongings, but quickly scolded himself for such a silly thought.

After Ike died, Rachel packed his everyday items in the trunk. Buck sifted through the articles of clothing, sketch pads and pencils until he found the items he sought tucked safely away in a corner of the trunk.

Ike didn’t have many personal possessions, but what few he did own were dear to him. One by one, Buck removed the precious items and laid them across the floor- Ike’s family bible, the book “The Littlest Cowboy” and a sketch of himself he had given his best friend. These same items Buck had used in his prayer circle the day Ike died.

He picked up the Bible letting it fall open in his hands. “Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes,” he read as he thumbed through the pages recognizing the words from years at the Catholic orphanage. Buck had been required to read these words, but they held no meaning for him. He continued turning the pages until he found the one he wanted, the McSwain family registry printed on the page in the form of a tree.

Buck read the names, birth dates and dates of death of Ike’s grandparents, parents and sister. After a few moments he allowed himself to look at Ike’s name, birthdate and, in his own handwriting, the date Ike died. He slowly ran his finger over the name. Kiowa custom prohibited him from speaking the name of the dead, but he knew no rule against thinking it.

Rachel finished setting the table, Kid, Noah and Jimmy already seated, tucking napkins into their collars.

“Kid, would you call Buck, please. Maybe if you ask him he will come in. I don’t think he’ll listen to me,” Rachel asked, regretting the earlier incident.

“Sure, Rachel,” Kid replied, placing his napkin back on the table.

“Thank you, Kid. And you boys really should move the wagon back into the barn.”

“Since we gotta pick up that load of grain in the morning, we thought we’d just leave it out,” Kid explained.

“Well, I suppose it’s alright,” Rachel said, looking out the window. “But the wind has changed and by the color of those clouds to the west, I think a storm’s comin’.”

“Suppose you’re right,” Kid conceded. “We’ll put it in the barn after supper.”

Kid walked across the yard to the barn and called to Buck. He knew his tormented friend was with Ike’s trunk in the hayloft. “Supper’s ready, Buck. Come down, alright?”

Buck placed Ike’s self portrait on the floor and walked to the opening in the loft. “Not hungry, Kid.”

Kid sighed heavily, wishing he could think of a way to reach Buck and pull him out of the state of depression he seemed to be mired in. He shook his head sadly and walked toward the bunkhouse. He shrugged his shoulders at Rachel, waiting expectantly on the porch, to indicate that Buck wasn’t coming.

Kid noticed a change in the air. Rachel was right, a storm was brewing. The wind had picked up and was now blowing from a different direction.

The pages of Ike’s Bible began to flip as if moved by the unseen hand of the wind as it blew through the rear opening of the loft escaping out the front.

Alerted by the sound of the Bible pages whipping in the wind, Buck turned to see Ike’s drawing skitter across the floor and become airborne as it reached the opening in the loft. Buck panicked at the thought of losing the portrait and quickly reached out to grab the precious item as it flew past with his left hand, holding onto the barn wall with his right. A sharp pain in his injured shoulder caused him to flinch and lose his grip on the barn.

From the porch, Rachel watched in horror as Buck lost his balance and fell from the loft, his body landing across the sideboard of the wagon below before tumbling onto the ground.

Kid stopped short as the sickening thud reached his ears. He spun around as Buck cried out in agony, then found his feet and ran to his friend, reaching him just as the clouds opened and the rain came. Kid knelt over Buck trying to shield him from the cloudburst. Buck lay beneath him curled in a tight ball, his face twisted in pain, struggling to regain the air that had been knocked from him by the impact of the fall. One hand clutched his broken ribs, Ike’s self-portrait firmly clenched in the other.

The gray haired physician, Doc Barnes, closed his bag and walked into the kitchen area from the small bedroom off the bunkhouse, which served as a sick room of sorts, to address the worried faces gathered there.

“Is he alright, Doc?” Rachel asked, unable to forget the terrible sight of Buck falling from the loft.

“Well, I don’t reckon he’d believe it right now, but he’s mighty lucky. Broke three, maybe four ribs, hard to tell. But, he could have hit his head on that wagon. A skull fracture doesn’t heal as easy as broken ribs. Could have easily broke his back, too, if he’d landed differently.”

“So, he’ll be alright?” Noah questioned impatiently.

The doctor nodded, “Providing there’s no internal damage. I don’t detect any, aside from some bad bruising, but won’t know for sure for a couple of days.” Turning to Rachel and Teaspoon he continued, “You need to keep him down for a little while, just ‘til I’m sure nothing else is wrong.”

Teaspoon nodded. “I’ll see you out, Doc. You boys best get back to your supper. Reckon it’s pretty cold by now, though.”

The station manager followed Doc Barnes onto the porch where they stood watching the rain. “Looks like you’re gonna get wet, Doc. Put this on our bill, will you?”

“I’ll say one thing for your bunch, Marshall, they keep me in business. Never would have expected an accident like this from that boy, though.”

“Well, Buck ain’t exactly been himself lately.”

“Still takin’ the mute boy’s death hard?” Doc Barnes asked, opening his umbrella.

“Mighty hard.”

“I left a bottle of laudanum with him. Don’t be bashful about using it. The boy’s in a lot of pain, he’s not gonna sleep tonight without it.”

Shaking his head Teaspoon replied, “He won’t take it Doc, tried once before.”

“Then force it down his throat. Looks like he could use a good night sleep. Honestly, looks like he could use more than one.”

Doc Barnes turned back to Teaspoon as he stepped into the rain, “Let me know if anything changes, otherwise I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

Rachel and the boys were seated around the table but no one seemed very interested in supper, although Rachel offered to warm it up.

“Did Doc say anything else?” Rachel asked anxiously as Teaspoon entered the bunkhouse.

“Can we see him, Teaspoon?” Kid asked. The look on Noah and Jimmy’s faces echoed the question. They may have been upset with Buck earlier, but it didn’t seem that important now.

“No Rachel, not much else and sorry boys, not tonight. Doc said he’s hurtin’ awful bad. Let him get some rest first. Doc left some medicine for him, it should help.”

Teaspoon walked into the spare room and sighed heavily at the sight of his young Indian rider propped up in the bed by a mound of pillows. His ribs were wrapped tightly in heavy bandages, a huge purple bruise, partially hidden by the bandage, ran across his chest and extended into his shoulder area. The boy was awfully pale, Teaspoon suspected it was caused by the shock of the accident since he had no blood loss.

At the sound of Teaspoon’s footsteps, Buck opened his eyes. Their glazed expression, his tightly set jaw, and his tight grip around a wad of the bed sheet assured Teaspoon that the doctor had not underestimated the amount of pain the boy was in.

Teaspoon took a seat on the chair near the bed, reaching forward to push a stray strand of hair from Buck’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Buck mumbled, an almost embarrassed tone in his voice.

Buck felt terrible. He had never experienced this much agony before. The slightest movement brought an explosion of pain throughout his upper body. Simply drawing a breath was torture.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, son. Accidents happen, though you are having more than your fair share lately.”

Teaspoon paused for a moment before continuing, “You’re gonna be laid up for a while is all.”

“The others are already upset with me,” Buck muttered through gritted teeth. “Don’t think I’m doin’ my share.”

“Well, I doubt that, Buck, but even if you’re right, I ain’t real worried ‘bout it now. I’ll get one of the local boys to fill in if need be.”

Teaspoon picked up the bottle of laudanum from the bedside table and removed the cork.

“I know you’ve got somethin’ against it, Buck, but I want you to take some of this,” Teaspoon said, pouring the dark colored liquid into a glass on the table. “I know you’re hurtin’ and there ain’t no need to be.”

Buck didn’t like the white man’s medicine and had strongly opposed taking any in the past. He preferred to practice traditional Kiowa medicine using herbs and healing chants when necessary, but that wasn’t possible right now. The pain was bad and the more he struggled against it the worse it became. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could handle it. Surely just this one time wouldn’t hurt.

After a moment, Buck nodded in agreement.

Teaspoon was pleased and a bit surprised that he didn’t have to force it on the boy.

“It’ll be better soon,” he assured Buck, raising the glass to his lips, but Buck turned his head away in disgust.

‘Smells terrible.”

“I know, and as I recall, it ain’t gonna win no taste test neither. But it will do the trick.”

Buck reluctantly drank the bitter liquid, swallowing it as fast as he could, trying to rid himself of the taste.

Teaspoon stayed with the boy until he saw his grip on the bed sheet loosen and his muscles begin to relax.

“Sleep well, son. I’ll check on you later,” he said quietly before turning down the lamp to a faint glow and leaving the room.

Buck lay quietly as the drug began to take effect, listening to the raindrops against the window, watching the shadows created by the flicker of the lamp’s wick.

A pleasant feeling of warmth began to spread over his body, dancing across his bones, caressing his aching muscles.

Slowly Buck drifted into a calm, relaxed state unlike any he had ever felt as the opium mixture flowed through his body. He held his hands in front of him in the dim light, certain that he could see the strange liquid pulsing through his veins, seeking out the emptiness inside him, filling that emptiness with a dark, misty promise of comfort.