by Kim Roberts
© 2000
The beat of the drum is the heartbeat of the Earth . . . calling to her children . . . calling her children home.
"Kid, I think you might be better off just burnin' it down and startin' over," Buck suggested a bit uneasily as the two friends stood on the roof of the old house surveying the damage caused by time, weather and neglect.
Kid knelt down on the battered shingles and peered into the gaping hole in his roof. The empty attic space grabbed at his words and threw them back slightly muffled. "I know it ain't the best but we can't afford to start over." Kid straightened as he withdrew several tree branches that had been deposited in the dark cavity by some long forgotten storm and pitched them into the growing pile of debris in the yard. "Besides, Lou says the house has 'charm'. She likes it."
Buck looked at Kid doubtfully, cocking an eyebrow to accentuate his skepticism. "Well, maybe so. . . . but it also has a good sized hole in the roof, a porch 'bout ready to rot off and a half dozen or more broken windows."
"Yeah, it'll take a little time," Kid acknowledged, sliding to a sitting position on the sloped roof. The young man looked upon his property with pride - dreams of the future dancing brightly in his eyes. "But. . . I figure time's what we got the most of."
The Emerson place was, in deed, in poor condition. Lou's comment that the house needed "a little work" turned out to be quite the understatement. Still, the young couple, anxious to embark on a new life together, seemed oblivious to the peeling paint, missing stairsteps and sagging porch. Somewhere underneath the layers of grime hid the home Lou and Kid envisioned, but Buck secretly wondered if his friends had taken on too much. The barn was in only slightly better condition and all that remained of the chicken coop was a heap of brittle lumber covering a bed of straw turned gray and rotten with mildew, and a pile of dirty feathers. Still, he couldn't help but envy them and the future they would have at the homestead.
Kid wasn't entirely deceived by the enormity of the task before him but hopes for their family strengthened his resolve to turn the dilapidated farm into something more than either he or Lou had known as children. Having Buck as a partner in the operation would be the finishing brush stroke to his perfect picture.
"The middle of the month's comin' up pretty quick, Buck," Kid said, tossing a loose shingle into the pile of trash below. "You decided what you're gonna do?"
Buck shook his head and sank to a sitting position on the opposite side of the hole. "No," he answered with more frustration in his voice than was intended.
"There's a place for you here, you know. There's plenty of room in the house for now and once we start makin' some money maybe we could build another one." Buck nodded, acknowledging the possibility but the look in his eyes betrayed his feelings and Kid knew the hopes of a partnership would not come to fruition. "This isn't what you want though, is it?"
Buck inwardly cringed at the disappointment in Kid's voice. Kid would never be able to take Ike's place in Buck's life and he never tried to, but the two had become fairly close since the mute rider's death. Kid had been a good friend when he needed one and Buck, didn't want to offend him. He had put off declining Kid's offer for as long as possible hoping that perhaps if he waited long enough the idea of farming might become appealing. "No. I appreciate it, but . . . I don't think farmin's right for me."
"I understand," Kid conceded, not really surprised by Buck's answer. "If it feels wrong then it's wrong. Simple as that."
Buck gnawed on his bottom lip for a moment, squinting in the afternoon sun. "Problem is . . . I don't know what is right for me."
"Buck, I don't think anybody really knows. You just gotta take a chance on what feels right and don't give up on it. Take me and Lou for instance. Lovin' Lou felt right and after a while I was certain of it. It wasn't easy, I'll admit that. But I didn't give up and now I've got everythin' I ever wanted." Kid pushed himself up from the roof and faced his friend. "Maybe you just need to take a chance, Buck."
Buck snickered at the thought and looked at Kid as if he was spouting nonsense. He certainly didn't consider himself the 'chance taking' type.
"Well, you got a little time left. I'm sure somethin' will come to mind. I'm gonna go get some more lumber. I don't think we got enough to cover this hole."
Buck watched Kid pick his way across the damaged roof. He disappeared down the ladder but his words lingered behind. "Take a chance, Buck." Buck grabbed his tools and tried to direct his energy to the roof repairs, scolding himself for the crazy ideas running around in his head. But try as he might, they wouldn't leave him alone. They bounced through his thoughts and took deeper hold with every strike of the hammer. Any of the offers before him would provide a decent living . . . but that wasn't enough. He wanted more than food and shelter. He wanted what Kid had. He wanted permanence and a sense of purpose in his life.
A sound rising up out of the plains interrupted Buck's thoughts and he turned his eyes toward the empty expanse of sky, trying unsuccessfully to locate the source of the low, distant rumble.
"Somethin' wrong, Buck?" Kid asked as he reappeared atop the roof with a supply of new lumber.
"No," Buck replied slowly, still scanning the horizon. "I thought I heard somethin'. Thunder I guess."
Kid looked doubtfully at the sheet of blue hovering over them. "You must be hearin' things, Buck. There ain't a cloud in the sky."
Buck's look of puzzlement remained as he fixed his gaze on the grassy plain leading west, the distinct rhythm still present. "Maybe so."
It couldn't have been a more perfect day if Buck had plotted it, detail by detail, on paper. A turquoise sky played host to featherbed clouds, creating a serene, almost picturebook setting that invited him to lean back, relax and reward himself for a job well done. Kid had urged Buck to 'take a chance' and after careful consideration of his options, he took the position with the Territorial Governor's office. Much to his surprise, Buck found he had a talent for negotiation. His sincere desire to create a lasting peace was evident to all parties. Buck's even temper and innate sensibilities held back the animosity and mistrust that often turned the treaty process volatile. Compromises on both sides had been made and a fair agreement reached. With a new found confidence in himself, Buck watched chiefs from the six Kiowa bands appear on the horizon and approach the meeting area. Pride in his heritage swelled within him as the colorful parade of chiefs, resplendent in flowing headdresses of eagle feathers passed by. The small wooden table displaying the treaty sat unevenly on the ground and wobbled slightly as each leader made his mark on the piece of parchment that would secure the future of the Kiowa.
Although a solemn occasion, Red Bear's admiration for his younger brother shined brightly in his eyes and erased any doubt in Buck's mind that he had made the right decision regarding his future. He finally had his brother's respect - something Buck had wished for his entire life. He was no longer an outcast little boy but a man capable of creating change, correcting past wrongs. Rachel had been right, he was doing something important and it felt good - very good.
A long line of government officials approached from the opposite direction. Donned in impressive attire Buck couldn't help but think they looked quite out of place on the dry patch of prairie designated as a neutral site. They had no knowledge of this place or its people - but he did. Protecting the Kiowa's rights as well as ensuring the safety of white settlors passing through Indian lands was his responsibility.
Buck breathed a deep sigh of relief as the last official approved the treaty with an arrogant flourish of the pen. Two lines of leaders - one red, one white - faced each other and with a respectful nod of the head signaled their business was finished. Buck watched the delegations turn in their respective directions, the look of pride and contentment on his face turning to horror as the white leaders suddenly drew pistols hidden in their long coats and fired on the trusting Kiowa.
Buck rushed forward pleading the white men to stop in a mixture of Kiowa and English - uncertain which language was his. But his cries fell on deaf ears. The unarmed Kiowa leaders lay dying, the word "traitor" forming on their gray lips, the thirsty earth drinking up their blood. Buck ran to Red Bear but the life had left his brother's body. "WHY?" he screamed at the white men as he clutched Red Bear's limp form to his chest, his hands stained with his brother's blood.
The white man in charge simply shrugged and brushed the dust from his fashionably cut coat. "We changed our minds."
Buck bolted upright in bed, the dream so vivid he could still feel the wet stickiness of Red Bear's blood and he hastily wiped his hands on his blanket to rid himself of his sin. Coming fully awake, his pounding heart slowed and his fears began to fade. It had been a dream, nothing more. Still, the vision of mass murder haunted him and the quiet of the bunkhouse was disturbing. Although Cody's late night ramblings had been annoying at times, he would welcome the tow-headed rider's tall tales over the silence. But there would be no heroic stories and no snide remarks of disbelief from the other riders to fill the emptiness. The quiet keeping him awake, Buck pulled the blanket from his bunk and left the room, taking a seat on the porch to watch the night sky and ponder his future instead.
Buck wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and leaned back against the porchpost, shifting until he found a comfortable position. The fall air was crisp and full of the new season. The passing of summer was complete and autumn owned the calendar. The residents of Rock Creek seemed to take little notice. The cooler air simply meant an additional layer of clothing, but it was an important time for the Kiowa. Their dependence upon the buffalo for their livelihood kept the Indians on the move through the warm months following the giant herds that roamed the plains. But when the air changed bringing the promise of razor sharp winter winds, the nomadic plains tribes left the hunting grounds for sheltered locations in the hidden valleys that dotted the foothills. The Kiowa were a summer people - strong and confident, empowered by the sun - and looked upon their annual migration and the gray, sunless days ahead grudgingly.
He wondered if the summer had been good to them and in the same thought, asked himself why he should care? Why should he care if the buffalo had been plentiful or if the uneasy balance with the encroaching white man had shifted? They had never wasted a moment concerned with his welfare. Most simply looked through him but others had been intent on ridding their village of the unwanted half white and made his life so miserable they succeeded. Even so, and for reasons he didn't understand, Buck still felt a tie to the people who had ostracized him. Rather than turn his back on them in similar fashion, he repeatedly went out of his way to protect them, often bringing the wrath of the white man upon himself. The move to Rock Creek had taken him far away from his people. The Kiowa were "his people". The ritual he had endured when Ike was captured had confirmed to the non-believers - and to himself - that his spirit was Kiowa. Perhaps if Red Bear had not released him from his promise he would have been accepted by his mother's people and the wish of a lonely little boy would have finally been granted. At the time, though, his desire for acceptance was out weighed by his love for his new white family - a family now gone its separate ways as Red Bear had predicted. A good deal of time had passed since then. Would the Kiowa still be willing to accept him or had his only chance come and gone? To be accepted was the only thing that battered little half-white boy had ever wanted and the desire still burned in the heart of a strong young man.
Buck picked himself up and returned to his bunk, ready to rest, his decision made. The future still held uncertainty, but his life couldn't go forward unless he went back.
