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The sky was just beginning to lighten from the deep blue of night to the purplish-gray of predawn when Buck returned to Rock Creek. He had left Rock Creek at five o’clock the previous afternoon on a run to Cottonwood. The run normally took three hours to make either way, and should have allowed him to arrive back in Rock Creek by eleven o’clock. The ride into Cottonwood had been uneventful and he had arrived in on schedule. After handing the mochila over to the next rider, he had decided to get a bite to eat in the hotel dining room before heading back out.
Within an hour’s time he was on his way back to Rock Creek. He had been
on the trail for barely an hour, when he became aware of someone following him.
It took him only a few moments to realize that his pursuers were Indians like
himself. Another moment of using his keen Kiowa senses and he guessed that it
was the same band of Apaches who had attacked and killed Ben Stead out of Rock
Creek. He had kept Racing Moon at the same pace for several miles, while trying
to figure out a plan of action.
Realizing that he didn’t have any other options but to flee, he had spurred Racing Moon into a faster gallop. The moment he had changed his pace, loud cries had erupted from his pursuers as they gave chase. His instincts had taken over, causing him to move from side to side as arrows whirred past him. He had started to think he wasn’t going to make it back to Rock Creek alive, when he had remembered the bag of tricks that Teaspoon insisted all the riders carry on their runs. He had quickly pulled the strand of firecrackers out of her saddlebag, lit them and tossed them over his shoulders. He hadn’t waited around long enough to find out how the braves had reacted to having the firecrackers thrown at them.
He walked Racing Moon into the yard and wearily dismounted in front of the barn. He opened the door and led his tired horse inside. He lit a lantern and quickly unsaddled Racing Moon, put him in his stall, then fed and watered him. It wasn’t until he was walking back down the aisle after putting his saddle in the tack room, that he noticed that Lightning wasn’t in his stall. Concern filled him as he blew out the lantern and headed toward the bunkhouse.
