by Kim Roberts
© 2000
The beat of the drum is the heartbeat of the Earth . . . calling to her children . . . calling her children home.
With a slight movement of the reins Buck veered his horse off the compacted earth of the trail and headed across open prairie. There was just one more thing he needed to do. But before the animal covered more than a few yards, he reined her to a stop, realizing the needlessness of his actions. Buck breathed deeply, filling himself with the moist morning air then reached forward and gave an affectionate pat to his trusted mount. The animal shook her head and stepped impatiently as if displeased with her rider's indecisiveness.
It had taken time, but the icy coldness that enveloped him as he gazed upon the mound of earth rising up like a monument in the distance had finally mellowed to a bittersweet warmth. Buck intended to pay a final visit to the grassy knoll where Ike's ashes lay, but decided the white man's custom of visiting a loved one's resting place wasn't necessary. His friend wasn't there. Ike's remains lay scattered under a rug of dried grass and faded wildflowers, but his spirit floated free. Buck was certain of it. He had felt Ike's breath in the breeze that cooled his face on a hot summer day and in the whisper of the wind that turned the cottonwood's silvery leaves into a thousand tiny, shimmering mirrors. His gentle touch would be felt in every glistening snowflake that fell from above, blanketing the earth with a pure and perfect beauty. No, Ike wasn't on that hill. Ike would travel with him.
Buck would have preferred to cover the miles between Rock Creek and wherever he might find his brother's village in as little time as possible, but he no longer had a change of mounts every ten miles. The little mare beneath him begged to race but he held her in and they traveled at a slower pace than either of them wanted. The clay colored horse was a precious animal, a gift from Red Bear years earlier to carry him into the foreign white world. The animal was older now and Buck wouldn't risk her safety. She had carried him away from home. . . now she would carry him back.
He rode the familiar trails for a time until the open country called his name and Buck eagerly answered, urging the little horse into unmapped territory. The landscape enthralled him and he gazed upon the wonders of the season as if seeing them with new eyes. They traveled near a nameless river, partly because he and the horse needed fresh water and partly because he enjoyed the gurgling, almost giggling sound it made as the water tumbled merrily over rocks and tickled the riverbank with liquid fingers. The trees lining the river grew rebellious with the changing season and no longer were satisfied with the monotony of green. Touched by a brush of frost, they burst forth in individuality painted in a palette of scarlet, orange and gold in a final show of their finery before the nakedness of winter. Each color demanded his attention and Buck's pace turned almost leisurely as they followed the meandering path westward.
Buck kept his distance not wanting to startle the children playing in the yard. He knew Emma had sold the house to a young family, but he couldn't pass so close to the old station and not stop for a moment.
It really hadn't been so long ago that a bewildered group of orphans gathered in that yard and watched their new employer bathing in a horse trough. Buck smiled at the memory of the grizzly older man wiping his face with a horse's tail. He had to admit that for a moment or two, he had wondered what on earth Ike had gotten them into and questioned the sensibilities of the man with the strange name. But his doubts were quickly set aside, replaced with an intense respect for the colorful stationmanager. Surprisingly, Teaspoon seemed to understand from early on the pain he harbored deep in his soul. Buck remembered a night shortly after he joined the Express when an unexpected encounter at the saloon in Sweetwater opened up old wounds and sent him on a mission of revenge. Teaspoon had waited up half the night worrying about him. The older man's concern came as a surprise to Buck and for the first time in his life, he felt the love of a father.
His life had changed here and memories tugged at him like an old acquaintance. Ike had been his close companion for years and he felt fortunate to have such a friend. He fully expected that Ike would be the only friend he would ever have and a friend like Ike was plenty. But as the riders shared each other's lives and fought side by side, a bond greater than anything he could have ever hoped for grew between them and bound them together. Even though they waged occasional battles amongst themselves and petty jealousy reared its ugly head once or twice, he felt he was truly lucky to be a part of their family. The spirits had smiled upon him.
A pang of something Buck guessed must be homesickness crept up unexpectedly and settled on his chest. The feeling was somewhat uncomfortable, but he was hesitant to brush it away. He had been a part of something rare and wonderful and a voice inside urged him to turn around, go back and try to find that feeling again with what remained of his white family. But another, stronger voice demanded he listen to the cries of the small mixed blood boy that still echoed through his memory. After a quick glance back Buck turned his horse to continue on the journey. The love for his white family was still strong - but he needed to dry the tears of the child.
The little horse sensed the nearness of her birthplace as the land leveled into the high plains. The prairie stretched endlessly before them, amber grasses waving a welcome, bidding them to enter the wide flat land. The Indian pony begged to run and Buck finally loosened the reins. She surged forward, ears laid back against her head, nostrils flaring to breathe in the spirit of her homeland as the last miles disappeared beneath her hooves. There was something starkly beautiful in the emptiness of this place - a place where horse and rider lose their significance and become one with the land. Rather than humility Buck felt a sense of comfort in this union with the earth. It spoke to him in ancient voices that rose up from the dry ground and found flight in the autumn breeze. The young Kiowa dropped the reins letting the animal race to her goal and opened his arms wide to embrace the wind.
The grassland had welcomed him, but was fiercely loyal to its people and provided few clues to their whereabouts. The tribes of the plains were masters at simply vanishing and Buck's search for any sign of the Kiowa grew tedious. He didn't expect to find Red Bear's band in the hunting grounds, they would have moved to a more secure location by this time of year, but if he could find an old camp he was certain he could follow their trail. After five long days scanning the endless prairie for remnants of a camp, Buck was tired and frustrated. The hours of light grew shorter with each day and the cool night air demanded a fire but firewood on the prairie wasn't plentiful and at times he had to resort to burning dried buffalo chips instead.
Buck had purposely stayed away from towns and the snide looks and racial comments that waited for him there. It was just easier that way. But the provisions Rachel packed were nearly gone and he was developing an extreme dislike for the taste of rabbit. Buck could have located other game but it was more important to search for signs of a camp. Hunting took additional time he didn't have. He longed for a warm bed, a decent meal and a hot bath. A conversation with something other than his horse would be nice, too. Doubt assailed him and Buck began to think he should have listened to Kid and waited for spring when the village would be easier to locate.
He walked the endless stretch of prairie until his feet ached and his eyes blurred, searching for anything - a bone discarded from a meal, a patch of new grass that would betray a past fire, a tuft of buffalo hair removed from a hide - but found nothing. His frustrations blinding him, Buck didn't notice the hole hidden under the dried grass and stepped squarely into the obstacle, twisting his ankle as he fell unceremoniously to the hard ground. Cursing his clumsiness, Buck released his aggravation on a clump of grass. Rudely ripping the sod from the earth he heaved it mindlessly into the late afternoon sky, clods of dirt falling away from the roots of the grass, pelting the ground like brown hail. Feeling no better for the effort, Buck sank down wearily and withdrew his foot from the hole. Gingerly removing his boot he cursed aloud in Kiowa again, his ankle already beginning to swell. He didn't need this. Things were bad enough.
The disgruntled look he wore slowly gave way to a knowing smile as he inspected the hole more closely. Ignoring the nagging pain in his ankle Buck stood and hobbled through the tall grass. To his delight he found two similar holes spaced equally from the first one. These indentations might have gone unnoticed by an untrained eye, but Buck knew the three main support poles of a tipi had been placed in those carvings in the earth. Altogether, he discovered thirty or so such groupings of holes, indicating a village of thirty-some families. From what he remembered, only two of the six Kiowa bands contained that approximate number - the Kata and his band, the Sindiyuis - and the Kata generally kept to the northern region of the hunting grounds.
Feeling better about his situation than he had for a while, Buck hastily set up camp and limped off to locate the makings of a fire. A healthy stand of cattails marked the location of a water hole and Buck eagerly slipped his fortuitously injured limb into the welcome pool. He sat quietly and reclined back on his elbows, soaking up the remnants of afternoon sun while the cool water eased the swelling and the red horse thirstily drank her fill of the precious liquid. Painfully aware on one leg he would be no match for a crafty rabbit, Buck had to be satisfied with hard biscuits and beef jerky for supper but he didn't really mind. He'd eaten his fill of rabbit anyway. With any amount of luck he'd have a proper meal soon.
The night sky was calm and breathed easily, twinkling the canopy of stars overhead with each exhale. The air was brisk but the fire near him provided adequate if not comfortable warmth and Buck lay back on his bedroll, staring aimlessly into the night sky. He clasped his hands behind his head, breathing as deep and easily as the night sky did, finally able to relax. There were stories in the stars, though he hadn't thought of them for quite a while. The muted noises of the prairie night and the crackling protests of burning wood carried him back to an evening years before when the storytellers of his village recanted the tales of earlier days to a captive audience of Kiowa children.
The old one told of a place where no grass grew and the mounds of earth were painted dark colors. Buck had never seen this place, but knew that before finding their home under the prairie sun, the Kiowa had dwelt in the shadows of the black hills the story teller described. He told a story of eight children, seven sisters and their brother, who went to play at the base of a rock. Something strange happened to the boy and he was struck dumb. He began to tremble and move about on his hands and feet like an animal. His hands became claws and fur covered his body as the boy became a bear. The change in their brother terrified the sisters and they ran away from him, but the bear, their brother, chased after them. Searching for shelter, the sisters came upon the base of a great tree that spoke to them. "Climb upon me," the tree ordered and the sisters did as they were told. The tree raised them into the air safely out of the bear's reach. The bear angrily reared at the tree, scraping the bark of the tree with its claws. To ensure their safety, the tree bore the sisters high into the sky and they became the stars of the Big Dipper. From that moment on, the sisters have guarded their earth bound Kiowa kin from above.*
Buck smiled at the thought and pulled his blanket closer as muscles wound tight by the long journey began to uncoil. Locating the constellation in the dark sky, the weariness overtook him and he fell into a welcome rest, a look of something close to contentment on his face. The emptiness of the land around him was consuming and there wasn't another human being for miles in any direction, but Running Buck wasn't alone. He had family in the sky.
