Original photos used with the written permission of the owner.

DEMONS

by Kim Roberts

© 2000

CHAPTER 9

"Well, it's about time he got here!" Cody exclaimed at the sound of Teaspoon's boots on the porch steps.

"I can't hold 'em off much longer, Teaspoon," Rachel said, shooing the flies away from the platter of roast beef on the supper table. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted its way through the bunkhouse as Teaspoon closed the door behind him and assumed his place at the head of the table.

"Hold off who? The flies or this fine assembly of Express riders?" Teaspoon asked, stuffing his napkin into his collar.

"Both, I'm afraid," Rachel answered with a grin, waving her hand at the persistent pests.

"My, my, Rachel," Teaspoon said, gazing in awe at the bounty on the table before him. "This looks like a fine meal. Today a holiday I don't know 'bout or somethin'?"

Rachel smiled and shook her head, "No, it's not a holiday. It's not often that everyone is home at the same time, so I thought I'd make supper a little special tonight. The table's a bit crowded, but we'll manage." Taking her place beside Teaspoon, Rachel added, "There's cake for dessert, if anyone's interested."

"Well, let's dig in then, 'fore the buzzin' varmints carry it away!" Teaspoon exclaimed.

"Where you been all day, Teaspoon?" Jimmy asked. "Thought Barnett was upholdin' the law durin' the day."

"In your absence today, Teaspoon," Cody chimed in, "I took it upon myself to supervise and I must say, Jimmy don't work near as hard when you ain't here."

"Like hell!" Jimmy retorted, reaching past his adversary for the bowl of potatoes. "Somebody's gotta make up for your lazy butt."

"Now, Jimmy," Cody replied in mock seriousness and motioned to his injured ankle propped up on a chair. "You know I'm under a doctor's care. The healin' process can't be hurried."

Jimmy was about to state his view on Cody's 'healing process' when Teaspoon interrupted. "Sorry to disappoint y'all, but there was a matter of the law to attend to today."

"What happened, Teaspoon?" Lou asked, fighting for her space between Kid and Noah at the crowded table.

"Well, it seems Doc Barnes' office was broke into last night. Musta been awful late. Town was quiet when I made my last rounds at three o'clock."

Buck sat quietly at the far end of the table trying not to let his nervousness show. He knew Teaspoon would investigate the break-in and it would, most likely, be the topic of conversation around the supper table. He had hurriedly helped himself to the replenished supply of laudanum under his bunk to calm his fraying nerves before Rachel called them to the table, but it wasn't helping. Not wanting to bring attention to himself, he tried to show an appropriate amount of interest in Teaspoon's story.

"Did Doctor Barnes keep valuables in his office?" Rachel questioned. "Of all the businesses in town to rob, a doctor's office is a strange choice."

"According to Doc, only thing missin' is two bottles of laudanum," Teaspoon answered between bites.

"Why would somebody steal medicine?" Noah asked. Curious looks from the others echoed the same question. "If somebody needed Doc, why didn't they wake him up? He's probably been woke up in the night lots of times before."

"What's so special about laudanum, Teaspoon?" Kid asked. "Why take that and not somethin' else?"

"Well, since laudanum is used to relieve pain I reckon somebody mighta got shot up runnin' from the law and didn't want to make themselves known by gettin' Doc, but I ain't received no word of it."

"Don't make no sense then," Jimmy stated.

"I'm bettin' on somebody local, anyway," Teaspoon added. "The front window was busted in, but whoever it was used the key to get into the medicine cabinet. Somebody passin' through wouldn't have known where the key was. Can't imagine many local folk knew where it was, either." After another bite, Teaspoon continued, "Got himself cut up from busting out the window, though. There was some blood on the floor of the office."

Buck's back stiffened as he looked down at his hand. The cuts inflicted by the jagged edge of the glass as he reached through the broken window had, thankfully, not been deep enough to require much attention - it would have been a difficult injury to explain. He had tended to the cuts as best he could, but they were still visible. Buck glanced up to make sure no one was watching as he placed his fork in his right hand and dropped his left hand into his lap.

"Doc's got some suspicions 'bout why laudanum was taken," Teaspoon stated. "Seems that along with relievin' pain, it's got some qualities that other medicines don't. Evidently some folks crave it like a drunkard needs a bottle of whiskey."

"But it's medicine," Rachel said, perplexed at Teaspoon's explanation.

Teaspoon nodded his head and continued, "It's medicine, but a powerful one from what Doc says. Most folks use it for pain relief but, according to Doc, it can produce a feelin' sim'lar to being drunk. And, if you drink too much of it, a body develops what Doc called a 'need' for the medicine. Doc admits he don't know all that much about this, but apparently those poor souls who have this 'need' will do most anything necessary to fill it. That's why he don't give his patients very much. Anyway, he thinks that's why it was stolen."

Kid's fork stopped in mid-air at the reference to liquor. Only a few days before he had attributed Buck's odd behavior to drinking. He quickly glanced toward the end of the table for a reaction from Buck, but his head was bowed so low his long hair hid his face.

"Now that I think about it," Teaspoon said, scratching his chin, "I remember when I was in the Army, couple of fellas kept askin' for somethin' to relieve their pain long after their wounds had healed. I didn't give it much thought at the time, too busy fighting off Santa Anna's boys, I guess. But, I reckon somethin' like what Doc described coulda happened to them."

With each question and comment, Buck felt the carefully guarded wall of secrecy built around him begin to crumble. The others were showing too much interest in this subject. He would have liked to change the topic of conversation, but he spoke so rarely at the table anymore, it would be too obvious. Buck could hear the rapid pounding of his heart. He glanced up quickly to see if the others could hear it too, but they seemed too engrossed in Teaspoon's story to notice. He tried to concentrate on eating his supper, but an uneasiness in his stomach made each bite he swallowed bounce around inside him and he had to force the food to stay down. Attempting to take his mind off the queasy feeling, Buck fixed his attention on his plate and began to push the food around in intricate patterns.

"Hey, Buck," Cody said, addressing the quiet young Indian opposite him. "Doc gave you some laudanum when you got hurt. Did it make you feel like that?"

Focusing on the artwork his supper had become, Buck didn't hear the question until Cody repeated himself. "Oh, Bu-uck," Cody called in a sing-song voice, waving his hands wildly in front of Buck to get his attention.

Jolted out of his daze by Cody's theatrics, Buck felt a grip of panic seize him by the throat, threatening to choke him, as he looked up at the faces around the table staring intently at him. Why were they looking at him? Did they know?

"What?" he asked cautiously.

"You took laudanum when you got hurt, right?" Cody asked again.

"A couple of times," Buck lied as the grip on his throat tightened.

"How did it make you feel?" Jimmy questioned.

"Why?" Buck asked defensively.

"Just curious, is all."

Buck hesitated for a moment, trying to determine if he was stepping into a trap. "Makes you sleepy. That's all . . . just sleepy."

"You think it was those kids again, Teaspoon?" Lou asked directing the conversation to the opposite end of the table.

"Well, I did at first, but I questioned the ones I suspected and they all got rock solid alibis for last night. For the night of the fire, too."

Buck heard Teaspoon's comment, but as if from a distance, as the laudanum finally began to take effect. He was somewhat concerned that the pranksters could not be blamed for the fire, but the swirled design he had made in his mashed potatoes and gravy was suddenly more interesting.

Kid turned his eyes toward Buck again, hoping his growing suspicions were wrong. The sight of the heartbroken Indian at the end of the bench, picking at his meal, had become commonplace, but something was different with the picture. It took Kid a moment to realize what that difference was. Buck, being left-handed, usually sat at the end of the bench to prevent knocking elbows with a right-handed rider, but he was holding his fork with his right hand. Kid could think of only one reason why Buck would use his right hand over his favored one - it had been cut on the glass in the door of Doctor Barnes' office.

Kid's heart sank as the final pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Doc had prescribed laudanum to relieve the pain from Buck's broken ribs, but he had never stopped taking it. Buck had taken enough of the medicine to become one of the 'poor souls' who needed it. Kid tried to imagine a 'need' so powerful it could cause someone to steal, but it was beyond him. He tried to put Buck's face on that someone, but pushed the thought away - it was too disturbing. That wasn't the Buck he knew.

"Speakin' of that fire, Mr. Cody," Teaspoon said, "don't suppose you saw or heard anything unusual in the barn that night."

"Nothin' but some cats scrappin'," Cody replied.

"You know what I think?" Jimmy chuckled. " I think Cody and Lizzy had the loft so heated up it just burst into flames!"

Laughter and good-natured teasing over Cody's lack of discretion continued until Teaspoon felt the boy had been properly embarrassed. "Alright, that's enough," he ordered, trying to contain his own amusement over Cody's discomfort. "I spent all day thinkin' 'bout fires and robberies and foolishness. Don't wanna think 'bout 'em no more."

Teaspoon leaned back in his chair and surveyed his 'family', pausing on Buck's sullen figure. He felt badly for the boy, but had to admit, he was getting tired of Buck's melancholy mood. If he wanted to sulk, then he could sulk but it wouldn't prevent the rest of them from having a good time.

"We got enough things to take care of 'round here," Teaspoon began. "The lumber for the new barn oughta be here by week's end. Cody, regardless of what you say, I believe you'll be healed in a few days, and Buck will be ridin' again here real soon. Gonna get this place back to runnin' like the top-notch station it is. Now, Mrs. Dunne, you mentioned cake?"

The sound of laughter interrupted Kid's thoughts and he wondered how Teaspoon could be so blind to the obvious answer. Buck was in serious trouble, but Teaspoon just sat there teasing Cody and eating cake. Why couldn't he see it?

Deep disappointment filled Kid's heart as he cast a quick glance at the quiet figure at the end of the table. Buck had changed in a matter of three weeks from the honest, compassionate person he thought of as family, to a common thief. Kid was certain of it now and the knowledge hurt deeply. He began to understand Teaspoon's "blindness". It wasn't that Teaspoon couldn't see Buck's problem - he didn't want to.

"I've been wonderin' where you were," Rachel said disapprovingly as the bunkhouse door closed behind Kid. "Where'd you get off to this mornin'?"

"Needed to go for a ride. Had some thinkin' to do," Kid answered. "You plannin' on doin' some readin'?" he asked, motioning to the stack of books on the table.

Rachel chuckled at the thought that she might have time to read one book, let alone the stack before her. "Not any time soon. These were still in the spare room. I think Lou used 'em to press the wrinkles out of Ike's picture when it got wet that night. Worked nicely, too," Rachel said as she held up Ike's drawing.

Kid couldn't help but smile at the cartoon-like drawing. He missed that lop-sided grin. They all did.

"I'm gonna put the books away. I'm sure Buck would like the picture back, too. At least something was saved from the fire," Rachel said, laying the picture on the table. "So what did you need to think about? You and Lou havin' troubles?"

"No. Me and Lou are fine," Kid answered, somewhat embarrassed. He wondered for a moment how much Rachel knew about his relationship with Lou. Was she aware that he and Lou had spent some time in the loft, too? "I've just had somethin' on my mind."

"Get it sorted out?"

"I think so. Where is everybody?"

"Noah left this mornin' and I sent everyone else out to the Thomas place. They had a stallion go a little crazy and tore up the corral. Ned's still in St. Jo and Madeline can't mend a corral and keep track of that passel of kids." Rachel smiled and shook her head, "I do love children, but six of 'em is a handful."

"Is Cody here?"

"He went along to 'supervise' the others," Rachel said, amused at the notion of Billy Cody in charge.

"Did Buck go, too?" Kid asked.

"No, he ain't supposed to lift anything yet."

"Do you know where he is?"

Rachel thought for a moment, "He was in here but left when I came in to clean up."

"Was he acting strange?"

"No stranger than any other mornin' lately," Rachel answered, perplexed over Kid's questions. "Why all the questions, Kid?"

Kid hesitated for a moment before answering. He knew his suspicions about Buck were right, but he needed to prove them. "Where's the bottle of laudanum Doc left for Buck when he got hurt?"

Rachel's brow creased in confusion. "I put it in the cupboard. Why?"

"Can you show me where it is?"

Rachel didn't know quite what to make of Kid's request and started to question him, but the somber look in his face stopped her and instead she crossed the room and opened the cupboard door.

"It's right here behind the coffee and . . ."

Rachel began moving the containers of coffee and molasses around in the small storage compartment but the bottle was gone. "Well, it was right here."

"You sure it was this cupboard?" Kid questioned.

"Yes, I'm sure," Rachel answered, sorting through the containers one more time.

"Could Cody have needed it for his ankle?"

"Well, I s'pose, but he never asked me for it. I really don't think his ankle hurt that bad," Rachel replied.

Kid sighed heavily and sank down on the bench beside the table. He leaned his elbows on the table and ran his fingers through his wavy hair contemplating what to do. The bottle wasn't there because Buck had taken it. And when he finished that bottle, he had stolen not just one, but two more bottles of laudanum from Doctor Barnes. But he couldn't prove it. Kid considered confronting Buck with his knowledge, but he knew Buck would only deny it and the accusation would make him madder than he already was. Kid needed to find the laudanum.

Worried about his troubled friend, Kid had kept a watchful eye on Buck and knew he had not left the station since the day after the fire. The bottles had to be at the station, but where? Kid's first thought was that the original bottle had been hidden in Ike's trunk in the hayloft. Knowing how possessive Buck was about the trunk, no one would have disturbed it. He quickly dismissed that idea though - with a bunch of broken ribs, it would have been too painful for Buck to climb the ladder to the loft. Kid thought back on Buck's behavior and remembered how surprised he had been watching Buck barely able to move when he woke up, only to seem fine a short while later.

Deep in thought, Kid jumped at Rachel's hand on his shoulder. "Kid, what's goin' on?"

"Rachel, watch the door," Kid said, as he rose from the bench and started toward the bunks.

"What are you doin?" Rachel cried as Kid opened the wooden box beside Buck's bed and began rummaging through the articles of clothing inside. Buck's moccasins would make a perfect hiding place, but Kid quickly cast the soft leather boots aside realizing they didn't weigh enough to be hiding a bottle of laudanum inside.

"Kid, stop this right now! You can't just go through Buck's things!"

"Rachel, believe me. I can explain. Please just watch the door," Kid pleaded as he closed the box. Dropping to his hands and knees beside the bunk, he peered under the bed but found only Ike's sketch pad. Kid remembered Lou mentioning that Buck had placed it there after his argument with Emily. Reaching further under the bed, his hand rubbed against a piece of cloth hanging down from the wooden slats holding the mattress. Kid tugged at the fabric, but the weight of the mattress held it firmly in place.

Rachel stood at the foot of the bunk, astonished at Kid's intrusive actions. "Buck's gonna throw a fit if he finds out you've been in his things and I won't blame him one bit!"

"I've got a reason, Rachel," Kid assured the fuming housekeeper as he lifted the edge of the mattress.

"Then, I'd like to know what . . ." Rachel stopped in mid-sentence as Kid pulled a nearly full bottle of laudanum and a familiar blue shirt from under the mattress. A closer look revealed another full bottle of laudanum and an empty bottle wrapped in the shirt.

Stains from a dark substance marked the right sleeve of the shirt and Kid noticed the fabric was ripped in the elbow area. A closer inspection revealed a similar colored stain smeared across the bottom of the shirt front.

"He musta used it to wipe the blood off his hand," Kid said, fingering the stained shirt. "What have you done to yourself, Buck?" Kid whispered as he sat down on the floor and leaned back against the neighboring bunk, the heavy reality of Buck's problem falling like a rock into the pit of his stomach.

"It was Buck? Why?" Rachel asked in disbelief as she sank down on the bunk beside Kid.

"I knew somethin' was wrong, but you know how he's been since Ike died. He won't say nothin'."

"What are we gonna do?" Rachel asked, still trying to sort out the implications of Kid's discovery.

Kid thought he would feel better when the truth was known, but he didn't. Why couldn't one of the others have found it? he asked himself. Because you were so damned determined, that's why. He didn't want to get his friend into further trouble but Buck needed help and Kid knew he certainly didn't know how to offer it. Teaspoon knew about a lot of things but he didn't know about this. From the sounds of it, Doc Barnes didn't have much experience with this kind of problem either.

Deciding he had no choice, Kid rose to his feet and collected the bottles. "Stay here 'til I get back, alright? Buck won't come lookin' for these if someone's in here."

Rachel nodded her agreement as Kid placed the bottles and bloody shirt in a cloth bag, tied the top closed and headed out of the bunkhouse toward the Marshal's office.

Closing the door quietly behind him, Teaspoon stepped out of Doc Barnes' office and shook his head sadly at the temporary repairs made on the broken window in the door. The window had not yet been properly repaired and Doc had nailed a piece of wood to the door to cover the broken pane of glass.

Teaspoon walked across the sidewalk and leaned heavily on the porch post, watching the residents of Rock Creek as they carried out the simple acts of their ordinary lives - routine business transactions, meaningless social chatter, mundane tasks of everyday life. Although his life had been colorful, Teaspoon never felt it was very complicated, even with the baggage of six marriages. His life was simple and he liked it that way. Teaspoon's outlook on life was based on a few elementary principles: Never give less than your best, choose your friends wisely and your enemies with even greater care, and never do anything that would cause you to be unable to face the mirror in the morning. These rules had served him well his many years, and he hoped to instill the same guidelines in the rag-tag bunch of kids he gathered together a year earlier. They were good kids - he could see it from the beginning. Sure, they'd been in their share of scrapes, but they were young. It was to be expected and he tried to take their occasional lapses in judgment or impetuous actions in stride. Life didn't have to be hard. But in no more time that it took Kid to dump three glass bottles and a bloody shirt on his desk, life became very difficult.

Perhaps it was his desire to keep life uncomplicated that had allowed him to dismiss Buck's behavior as grief and not something more serious. As Kid emptied the contents of the bag in front of him, he had asked, "Do you believe me now?" Even while Teaspoon touched the dried blood on the shirt he had hoped for a plausible explanation, but the evidence was clear.

Teaspoon watched a group of boys pass him on the street and felt a twinge of embarrassment that he had questioned them and others all over town about the robbery, only to find the guilty party was under his own roof.

As if developing a dependence on a bottle of laudanum wasn't bad enough, now a crime had been committed to obtain it. What was next? The thought that one of his riders, the sensible one at that, was capable of such destructive behavior, both to himself and the property of others, distressed Teaspoon deeply. Buck was smarter than that.

But perhaps being smart didn't have anything to do with it. Doctor Barnes had explained the effects laudanum was capable of producing and it made sense that Buck could have fallen prey to the drug. Buck had discovered that not only did laudanum ease the pain in his chest but also relieved the ache in his heart.

Teaspoon wondered if the boy had any idea what he was doing to himself every time he took a drink, or was the relief so welcome that he didn't allow himself to notice his growing dependence? Why couldn't he have just said something? Was it his damned pride that kept him from admitting he needed help? Did he know what he had become and was too ashamed to reveal it? Or was it because the only person in the world he trusted enough to talk to was dead?

Teaspoon had gone to Doctor Barnes for several reasons. As Marshal, he had a duty to the citizens of Rock Creek and was obligated to report his findings about the robbery. But as station manager, surrogate father and friend, he needed to know how to help Buck. Admittedly, not well versed on the matter, Doc Barnes had initially suggested sending Buck to a hospital in St. Louis or Chicago where there were physicians with a greater knowledge of such things. One of his medical journals described new treatments involving a "galvanic bath"*, a "motion cure"** or the simple act of withholding the drug from the affected patient. Teaspoon flatly refused to consider sending the boy away - Buck was his responsibility. He knew nothing of the complex cures described in Doc's journal, but if depriving Buck of laudanum was all that was necessary to eliminate the "need" his body had developed, then that's what they would do. The journal indicated that the amount of time and difficulty in overcoming the dependence would hinge upon how much laudanum had been ingested. It concerned Teaspoon that Doctor Barnes remembered Buck asking for another bottle shortly after his accident almost three weeks earlier. Buck's excuse that he had spilled the first bottle seemed reasonable to the Doctor at the time, but they now realized it had been a lie. There was another bottle somewhere. What had he done with it? How much had he drank?

Teaspoon returned the full bottle of laudanum to Doc but kept the one Buck had been using. He looked at the seemingly innocent bottle of medicine in his hands with disgust and slipped it into his coat pocket. How could a life be so drastically altered by a simple bottle of medicine? Teaspoon felt a strange combination of disappointment, anger and fear as he stepped into the street and headed in the direction of the station.

Buck stared at the rubble for the better part of an hour before he summoned the courage to approach it. He hadn't intended to even look at the pile of charred lumber until the reflection of the sun's rays on a piece of metal caught his eye. He had made a point to stay as far away as possible from the site, fearing the burned out structure would come alive and pull him into the darkness where he belonged. But the piece of metal shining in the morning sun beckoned him and he felt compelled to answer its call.

Most of the large pieces of the barn that had not perished in the fire had been pulled down and hauled away, leaving only large piles of unidentifiable debris and burned lumber. But as Buck stepped through the ruins and located the piece of metal, he knew exactly what it was. The triangular shaped hinge was still attached to the splintered piece of wood that had once been a part of the back of Ike's trunk. The nails holding the hinge in place had been jarred loose by the impact with the ground and the metal hinge now clung to the wood by only one of the three nails that had originally held it in place.

Buck reached out cautiously toward the hinge as if it was capable of hurting him. He felt as if he was being watched and turned quickly to see who it was, but he saw no one - the yard was empty. Buck glanced around again, warily, before returning his attention to the hinge. He wasn't sure why he felt he had to touch it. Perhaps the hinge had called to him because it wanted him to feel the emptiness and destruction he had caused and he felt he deserved the punishment. He reached down to retrieve the metal piece. Its touch burned into him as memories of his failure flashed through his mind and he felt the eyes on him, again. Buck turned around quickly, nearly losing his balance in the pile of rubble looking for the eyes. He knew them. The eyes that had once projected such love and gentleness now hurled disappointment and anger at him.

"I'm sorry," Buck mumbled, trying to turn away from Ike's steely gaze. His efforts to avoid the dead man's stare proved futile as every time Buck turned away, the eyes followed. He continued to turn around rapidly, trying to escape the uncomfortable feeling, until he grew dizzy and stumbled into the pile of debris.

"I'M SORRY!" Buck cried as the damaged wood gave way under his weight and, as he feared, the blackened remains of the barn began to pull him in.

His apology had no affect on the intensity of the gaze, and Buck struggled to his feet, quickly escaping the clutches of the barn and the haunting stare. Reaching the safety of the bunkhouse, Buck sank down on the porch steps and tried to calm himself. What was he thinking? Eyes are attached to a person's head - they don't just float around in mid-air, waiting to attack. But Buck did feel as if he was under attack, not only by the imaginary eyes of his dead best friend, but by the questions at the supper table, by Kid's persistent presence, and by the demands of his own body. The bottle of laudanum might be the cause of those demands but it was also the cure.

Succumbing to his weakness, Buck lifted the mattress of his bunk and reached underneath for the familiar glass container - but it wasn't there. His puzzlement turned to panic as his hand roamed further under the mattress across the wooden slats supporting the bed. Buck's heart began to pound and the palms of his hands became wet with sweat as thoughts swirled rapidly through his mind. Perhaps the bottles had merely fallen to the floor. They would still be hidden under the bunk. There was no need to worry.

Quickly dropping to the floor, Buck peered under the bunk, but his frantic search revealed nothing. Buck fought back a sudden rush of nausea as he realized his secret had been discovered. Someone knew. Fear, anger and resentment converged in a violent storm of emotion as Buck jumped to his feet, viciously tore the sheet and blankets from his bed and threw them across the room. He had trusted the mattress to guard his secret but it had turned on him and allowed someone to enter his hiding place. Buck pulled his knife from its sheath and savagely plunged it into the traitor, ripping the cloth covering to shreds before tossing the mattress aside.

Buck stood in the midst of the battleground, his chest heaving from exertion and the rush of emotion, as Ike's stare of disappointment returned. "STOP IT!" he cried out into the empty room, dropping his knife to the floor as he searched for the eyes. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT! YOU DIED AND LEFT ME ALONE! I NEED YOU!"

A surge of suppressed animosity exploded from Buck as he ripped the bedclothes from Ike's bunk and tossed them on the floor. The pillow received no better treatment as he angrily hurled it against the wall. "YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO DIE!" he cried as he picked up the mattress from the bunk and heaved it across the room. "WHY WAS SHE MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME?"

Buck grabbed one of the wooden slats from the bed and broke it across his knee, tossing the pieces into the pile of bedding on the floor. Emotionally and physically spent, he leaned back against the post supporting the top bunk and drew a quivering breath. Buck knew he had to leave. He didn't know where to go, but he couldn't stay at the station any longer. He would get the other bottle hidden in the tree and just ride away - he didn't care where. Buck reached for his knife and replaced it in the sheath on his boot. After a few deep breaths, he felt a little calmer and stepped away from the battle zone.

A familiar piece of paper lying on the table stopped Buck as he headed for the door and his new life without the Express. Buck's resentment returned in full force as he picked up the drawing of Ike and stared back at the disapproving eyes of his best friend. "It's your fault," Buck said in a voice he didn't recognize as his own. In a final fit of anger, Buck wadded up the piece of paper into a tight ball and threw it into the mess on the floor of the bunkhouse.

Buck rushed out the door onto the porch but stopped, dead in his tracks, at the site of Teaspoon standing at the bottom of the steps.

"We need to have a talk, son," Teaspoon said, moving toward the bottom step.

Buck stood perfectly still, assessing his chances for escape as Teaspoon continued. "You lookin' for this?" he asked as he pulled the bottle of laudanum from his coat pocket.

"That's not yours," Buck answered in a low, threatening voice.

"Well, seein' as you stole it from Doc Barnes, it ain't yours neither," Teaspoon replied as he slowly moved up another step. "Buck, I talked to Doc and I understand what's happened to you . . . whether you do or not. You've developed a need for this and . . . "

"I don't need it!" Buck interrupted, lying to himself and Teaspoon. "It makes me feel better, that's all. You wanted me to feel better, didn't you?" Buck spat back at Teaspoon.

Teaspoon's heavy heart fell a little further as he watched the boy in front of him. How could he have changed so drastically? "I want you to feel better, Buck, but not with this . . . not like this. This ain't no way to live . . . needin' a bottle of medicine to get through the day."

"I told you I don't need it! I can stop anytime I want to!"

"Then you won't mind if I do this," Teaspoon said as he removed the cork and poured the contents of the bottle on the porch steps.

Buck gasped and his eyes opened wide in horror as he watched the precious liquid splatter against the wooden boards of the steps. "Thought so," Teaspoon said sadly and dropped the empty bottle to the ground.

Teaspoon hesitated for a moment before he continued in a soft, reassuring voice, "Now, Doc says all you gotta do to get over this, is just stop takin' it, so we're gonna go away for a little while. I figure we'll head out to that old cabin by the lake where Tom Johnson used to live. It's quiet, real peaceful. Private, too. We're just gonna stay there 'til this is over."

Buck felt panic building up inside him, threatening to overflow, as Teaspoon spoke. He had felt the effects that resulted from being deprived of laudanum before. . . and it wasn't something he wanted to go through again. Memories of the pain he endured the night he broke into the doctor's office to satisfy the greedy demands of his own body came rushing back with such force he stepped backward away from the man who wanted to inflict that pain on him again.

"And if I don't want to?" Buck asked jutting his chin forward as he tried to mask his anxiety with defiance.

"Buck, I ain't givin' you the choice," Teaspoon answered trying to keep his own emotions under control. "Now, I'd really prefer if you did this willingly, but, like it or not, you're comin' with me, and this is gonna stop."

"Why? Just because you say so?" Buck spat at the man in front of him. "You think that tin star pinned on your chest makes you so important, such a big white man. Throwin' your power around . . . do this . . . do that. Well, I've had enough of it! You're just like all the rest. . . just like the white government trying to force my people off their land . . . no different than the white bastard who forced himself on my mother. You can't force me to do anything."

Teaspoon shook his head sadly at the angry young man. This wasn't Buck. This was a frightened animal backed against a wall. "You broke the law, Buck, and this tin star gives me the authority to haul you to jail. Now, Doc Barnes, bein' the kind soul he is, don't want that and he ain't gonna press charges, 'less you don't cooperate. You fight me and you'll spend the next 30 days in a cell."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me."

Buck could no longer contain his nervousness. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively and began to shift his weight uncomfortably from one foot to another. "So that's what this is really about. You can't stand the fact that I never paid for killin' Neville. You wanted me punished, and this is how you're gonna do it."

Teaspoon hung his head in despair. What happened to this boy? "Buck, I ain't tryin' to punish you, son." Teaspoon took a step toward Buck but his advance only caused him to retreat further. "I couldn't love you more if you were my own. You're hurtin' yourself, and it's gonna stop."

Buck's head snapped toward Rachel's pleading voice as she appeared outside the railing at the end of the porch. "Please listen to him, Buck."

Startled by a voice behind him, Buck whipped around to face Kid in the doorway. "C'mon, Buck. It's time to stop." Kid had been waiting in the spare room and had been subjected to the sounds of Buck's violent outburst in the bunkhouse. The intensity of his friend's rage had shocked him - his face had yet to regain its color.

Buck began to feel very trapped - his enemies were closing in on him from all directions. Suddenly the need to escape overwhelmed him and he tried in desperation to run past Teaspoon but the older man anticipated his movements and blocked the path. Teaspoon reached out for the frightened boy, but Buck recoiled from his touch.

"Don't fight me, Buck," Teaspoon pleaded as he took another step.

Buck's chest heaved with panic as he tried to find a way out of the trap. He hung his head and hunched his shoulders forward, hoping the posture of defeat would make his assailants drop their guard.

"That's my boy," Teaspoon said, finally believing Buck had given in.

But his hopes were dashed as Buck capitalized on Teaspoon's relief, and bolted past him. Kid was after him in a heartbeat and before Buck could jump down the steps, Kid grabbed his arm and spun him around. Kid's fist connected with Buck's jaw with such force it lifted the young Indian off his feet and sent him crashing to the floor of the porch like a rag doll.

Teaspoon sighed heavily at the site of Buck's limp, unconscious body at his feet. "I was really hopin' that weren't gonna be necessary, Kid."

"I'm sorry, Teaspoon, but he wasn't gonna listen."

"I know . . . I know," Teaspoon said shaking his head sadly. "This didn't go as well as I hoped . . . not even close." The older man bent over Buck and examined his already swollen face. "Let's just hope you didn't break his jaw. You don't have to come, Kid. He's gonna be madder'n a wet hornet when he wakes up, and he's liable to hate me 'fore this is over. Don't want him hatin' you, too."

Kid glanced from his throbbing hand to the bruise forming on Buck's jaw. "I think it's a little late to be worried about that now."

* "Outlines of the Opium-Cure" by Fitz Hugh Ludlow, Harper & Brothers, Publishers 1868

"Another most important means of alleviation is the galvanic (i.e. to stimulate or shock with an electric current) bath. Many a sufferer who seems quite a discouraging subject under the dry method of administering galvanism responds to it at once transmitted through a bath, and in any case this is a no less beneficial way of using it. The skin is so much better a conductor when wet, and the distribution by water so uniform, that in most cases it may be pronounced the best way."

** "Outlines of the Opium-Cure" by Fitz Hugh Ludlow, Harper & Brothers, Publishers 1868

"He is stripped to his shirt, dressing-gown, and drawers, and laid on his back along a comfortable stuffed-leather settee, running quite through whose bottom are a number of holes about four by three and a half inches. These holes are occupied by loose-fitting pistons which play vertically up through the cushion -- lying level with it when at rest, and when in motion projecting about two inches above it; at the height of their stroke. Motion is secured to them by crank connection with a light shaft running beneath the settee, revolved by a band-wheel, which in its turn connects by a belt with the small engine outside the building. The patient is adjusted over the holes so that, in coming up, the pistons, which are covered with stuffed leather pads, strike him alternately on each side of the spine, from about the region of the kidneys to just beneath the shoulder-blade. The shifting of a lever throws the machine into gear, and for the next five minutes, or as long as he experiences relief, the artificial fists pummel and knead him at any rate of speed desired, according to the adjustment of a brake. This process over, if he still feels pain in the lower extremities, his foot is buckled upon an iron sole which oscillates in any direction according to its method of connection with the power, from side to side, so as to twist the leg about forty-five degrees each way, up and down, to imitate the trotting of the foot.