When Words Fail

The sound of the door slamming cuts through the icy silence of the bunkhouse like a knife, but no one moves to utter a complaint as Buck stalks in and maroons himself on his bunk, his whole body screaming to be left alone. Only Cody, Kid, and Jimmy are in the small room and they're perfectly happy to let him be, each boy aware of the tension lacing the air, and each equally sobered by thoughts of their injured friend. Finally, the awful stillness becomes too much though, smothering the life out of the room and it has to be broken.
"So, Buck, how is he?" Kid questions hesitantly, afraid of the answer and almost afraid of the person he's asking.
Buck glares at Kid for intruding into his gloom and shrugs stiffly. Then realizing that the others are just worried about Ike too, he adds to his answer, "About the same."
"His fever down any?" Cody joins in, truly concerned. Only an hour before he'd ridden into the station and been informed of Ike's condition, and he's still reeling from the shock.
"No."
"Don't worry, Buck, he's strong. He'll pull through," Kid tries to offer comfort and support, but Buck doesn't even acknowledge him. For a few moments, silence descends again, then Cody speaks.
"Guess it's a good thing Jimmy got him home as fast as he did," he says, hoping to help.
Suddenly, Buck's head snaps up, his eyes fixing a stone hard glare on Jimmy who lays absolutely still on his back, starring at the bunk above.
"If it weren't for Jimmy, Ike wouldn't be in this mess!" he spits.
The words hang in the stillness for what feels like an eternity before Jimmy slowly sits up and glances mournfully at the angry young Indian, but the normally hot-headed boy doesn't utter a word. His silence pushes Buck past the boiling point. Jumping up off his bed, he approaches his friend, seething.
"Aren't you gonna say anything!?! You bring Ike back from a run looking like that and then you just sit there!?!"
"Calm down, Buck," Kid urges quietly, but Buck doesn't even hear him.
"It's yer fault!! It's all yer fault my best friend's nearly dead!!" Buck seethes at Jimmy and Jimmy finally looks him in the eye, a few sparks flaring, but still he says nothing.
"Buck, ya know it ain't Jimmy's fault!" Cody tries to reason, Kid and him standing up in alarm, but Buck's beyond listening.
"It is too his fault and he knows it! If it ain't, how come he ain't defendin' himself?!?" Buck steps closer to Jimmy, his hands unconsciously balling into fists. "You were supposed to look after him! Keep him safe! Not bring him home in pieces!!"
Jimmy's anger finally manages to fight it's way past the overwhelming guilt he's nursing and surfaces at Buck's last comment. He rises, facing off squarely to his friend.
"Ike don't need nobody to take care of him!" he shouts back, "He's just as good as any of us! He can take care of himself! I thought you of all people would know that, Buck!! He's got more guts than the lot of us lumped together!!" Images of Ike silently bearing the torture flash through Jimmy's mind as he flings out these words.
"You ain't even known him a month!! What would you know about him!!!"

"Well, maybe if you listened more to what he's tryin' ta tell ya instead a hearin' what YOU want..." Jimmy's tongue gets away from him and the words are out before he even realizes he's thought them, and this time he's gone too far. The next thing he sees are stars in the air as Buck's fist connects with his face, throwing him off balance.
Like a waiting bear trap, the emotions Buck has been carrying all day finally snap and he jumps on his friend, words he doesn't really mean tumbling out. "It shoulda been YOU!! Why wasn't it you instead of Ike?!?!?!" Wallowing in guilt or not, Jimmy's not one to just sit there and take a beating, and soon the two are pounding the tar out of each other. Headless of furniture, dishes, walls, or even Kid and Cody, the two turn the clean bunkhouse into chaos.
BANG!
The gunshot erupting from Teaspoon's pistol freezes all motion in the small building, except for the puff of smoke that drifts almost lazily up through the sudden stillness.
"Stop it right now er I'll shoot every last one of ya, no questions asked!"
At any other time the riders might have laughed at a comment like that from the unpolished old man, but not now. Right now he's dead serious.
"Jimmy, Buck, outside!" he growls and then marches out, leaving the boys to follow or else. Hearing the menace in the station master's voice, they disentangle themselves from the broken mess and without glancing in each other's direction, storm out after him. Stopping before him, they are quite a sight, with rapidly blackening bruises and blood smeared in various places. For the longest time, Teaspoon doesn't say a thing, just nails them with a gaze as hard a coal. Finally, he finds his voice and it sputters as he tries in vain to contain his anger.
"I thought the two of you had more sense than this!! You do a man's work, I thought ya knew how ta act like one!! An' here I find ya at each other's throats like children!!"
"Teaspoon, it's Jimmy's fault Ike's..." Buck starts to protest, his anger getting the better of him.
"SHUT UP!!" Teaspoon bellows, startling both riders with his rage. "I can't believe this!! One of yer friends, yes BOTH of ya's friend, is lyin' in there fightin' fer his life and you two are STILL out for blood!! You think that's helpin' Ike, by beatin' each other?!? Ya think that's what he wants?!?"
The terrible wrath starts to seep out of the two young men as Teaspoon rails on them, guilt and shame taking it's place.
"I don't wanna hear or see another problem from either of ya or, so help me heaven, I'll lock the both of ya up and throw away the key! Yer exhausted, worried sick, an' sayin' things ya don't mean, so just cool it or I'll do it for ya. Do you understand?!?"
Reluctantly, the boys nod.
"Now git in there and git ta bed!" Having said this, Teaspoon storms off the porch, leaving them alone.
Both too prideful to admit they're sorry and were wrong, they turn and enter the bunkhouse without speaking and seclude themselves in the safety of their own bunks, each lost in his own somber thoughts again.

Slowly, Ike's mind crawls through the darkness that has hold of it and starts to clear. At first he feels nothing, almost as though he has no body at all, and he wonders if perhaps he's dead. Then, as the numbing blackness recedes a little more, he's hit by a brick wall of pain so intense it almost knocks him back into unconsciousness. Only by shear willpower does he hang on against the overwhelming anguish coursing through his body and continue to fight his way back to the land of the living. It feels like an anvil sits on his chest, trying to crush the life out of him, and his breaths are shallow and ragged, each one costing him dearly. His head, his face, his shoulders, his whole body aches, but all this is nothing compared to the pain in his back. He's now completely sure he knows exactly what lying on a bed of nails feels like, and the pain is like a river of molten lava that runs through him, the anguish so extreme it's undescribable. Struggling to open his swollen eyes, he feels the sweat running down his forehead, coating his neck and chest, and he knows his body is burning up with fever from his injuries. Finally, he succeeds in opening his eyes slightly, and though exhausted from the battle, attempts to makes sense of his surroundings.
His first thought is that he's no longer on the cold, hard ground, but is now lying in a bed of some sort. The room is warm, too warm, and someone has covered him with a soft quilt up to his chest. A fire crackles somewhere in the room and except for it's faint glow, the room is dark and still. It's only as his eyes clear a bit more that he notices a woman resting in a chair next to him. Just then, another spasm of pain grabs hold of him, and it's several more moments before he realizes the woman is Emma.
'Then I must be back at the station,' Ike thinks with difficulty, still shaking and struggling for each breath. 'But how did I get here?'
Glancing back at Emma to see if she can answer his questions, he finds she's asleep. Out of instinct, he moves to touch her with his hand and wake her up, but his arm and hand refuse to respond other than to send more tongues of fiery pain shooting through his fingers and wrist and up his arm. Something is still binding his wrists, making them immobile and too heavy for him to lift, and even though he can't raise his head enough to see them, he's sure his fingers are tightly wrapped as well. Knowing that Emma would never leave him tied up, he reasons the bindings must be bandages of some sort, but in his anguished haze he can't remember why he needs them. Defeated, he lets his head fall back on the pillow.
For the second time in his life, he's completely helpless, and not only that, he's been sent back to time from his past that still gives him nightmares. He has no choice but to just lie there, questions eating at his mind with no way to get anyone's attention and no way to ask them if he could. Thoughts of 'How did I get home? Where is everyone else? Is Jimmy alright?' run through his feverish brain and the longer they remain unanswered, the more his panic increases and the harder it is to breathe. Attempting to calm himself, Ike looks around. He notices a pitcher of water on the table and realizes how thirsty he is, his lips puffy and cracked, but there's nothing he can do but wait for Emma to wake. He hopes she does it soon, the battle to stay awake is getting harder and harder against the overpowering pain.
Emma is dreaming. It's not a pleasant dream, but one filled with sorrow and hurt. She keeps seeing Ike lying there, his back all red and bloody, his boyish face so battered, his gentle hands limp and tortured. Moaning, she shifts in her sleep, waking slightly. Suddenly, chills shoot up her spine as she's struck with the feeling of being watched intently. Instantly alert, she sits up straight and opens her eyes to find Ike gazing at her through his pain glazed ones. With a heavy heart she remembers her nightmare is reality.

"Oh Ike, yer awake!" she exclaims, immediately by his side. She picks up a damp cloth and smooths it across his forehead, her heart breaking as she sees the perspiration running down his face as he stubbornly struggles to breathe and fight the pain. His fever is just as high, she notes with worry, and she wonders how long he can last if it doesn't go down soon, but she tries not to let her concern show and instead speaks to him again. "How're ya feelin'?"
Ike puts on a brave front and attempts to twist his bruised face into a small smile, but it comes out as a sort of grimace that says it all. Having no words to respond with, Emma just smiles sadly back at her injured boy. By now, he's desperately thirsty but he doesn't know how to make Emma understand. He can't speak, and his hands won't even move, let alone sign. Frustration builds up inside him as Emma continues on, unaware of his need.
"I'm so sorry you have to lay on yer back, Ike. I know it's hurtin' ya, but the doctor said it was the best way to keep ya from bleeding," she apologizes, her voice cracking as she continues to wipe his face and neck. Suddenly, another wave of extreme anguish washes over Ike and he closes his eyes against it, gasping for breath. Emma watches with horror the suffering before her, knowing there's absolutely nothing she can do but sit there, be with him. For the thousandth time since Jimmy brought him home, she curses the men who did this to him, and fervently prays for Ike's strength at the same time.
Finally, Ike's able to open his eyes again, and he stares straight at Emma, determined to make her understand. When she meets his intense gaze, he turns and looks at the water on the table, and then back to her, his mournful green eyes pleading. Slowly, understanding dawns on the house mother as she follows his glances.
"Are ya thirsty, Ike?" she asks and he gives an almost imperceptible nod with his head.
Emma immediately rises from her chair and hurries over to the pitcher, filling a cup with the cool liquid. She wishes she had some medicine to give Ike for the pain, but Doc Barns warned against giving him anything for several days, saying if they helped induce sleep, Ike just might never wake up. Pushing this awful thought aside, she quickly returns to her aching boy and helps him carefully raise his head and drink a sip, trying not to let the tears that are forming in her eyes at the sight of his bruised and battered face and hands and intense suffering show.
The cool water slides down Ike's parched throat, easing his thirst for the first time in three days, and he tries to smile gratefully at Emma. Too quickly, she lowers his head back down on the pillow and returns the cup to the table. His look of disappointment comes across clearly, making her gently reply, "If ya drink too much too soon it'll just make ya sicker, Ike."
Sighing silently, Ike accepts this and closes his eyes, still fighting the burning pain. A thousand questions are tearing around his brain, begging to be let out, but he's so tired. He knows he's losing his battle to stay awake, the aching in his body is gaining power over his own stubborn will, and now that he's warm and safe, there's really no reason to struggle against it. He's too exhausted to play the communication guessing game that's sure too come, and the blessed darkness is so enticing with its pain numbing offer that he finally allows his mind to slip back into the abyss.
Emma watches Ike's ragged breathing calm slightly and his eyes close, glad that he's sleeping again, grateful for even a small respite from his pain. As she sits with him, seeing the waves of anguish that still wash over him even in sleep, his skin flushed from the deadly fever burning through it, tears spill from her soft blue eyes and slip down her cheeks. With great care, she picks up one of Ike's bandaged hands and gently cradles it in her own. Even in sleep, she wants him to know she's there, that he's not fighting this alone.

Prayers are mysterious things. They can be silent, echoing from the heart in a moment of reflection. They can be public, streaming from the lips of a preacher. They come from the minds, hearts, and mouths of everyone, and it doesn't matter the person's age, wealth, race, or religion, they all go to the same Heaven and they all find access to the same God. And sometimes, the most earnest prayer is the one offered by the person who didn't realize he even knew how to pray.

Lou pulls her frayed blanket closer about her shoulders as she huddles on the ground, leaning against her saddle. She's exhausted from her long ride, but sleep has no intention of visiting her tonight. The lonesome scent of night on the vast prairie drifts to her, and the chilly wind whispers of both the wonders and horrors of places no man has ever laid eyes upon. The mournful sound of a coyote fills the stillness, sending shivers up her spine, and reflects the heaviness of her heart. All her thoughts focus on the station and a friend who at this very moment is fighting for his life. With tears that she could never let fall in the presence of the others trickling down her dusty cheeks, she stares at the huge sky. The blackness is immense, the stars so far away, and the emptiness around her almost complete. She's not sure a girl as small and insignificant as herself can hope to be heard through all that space, but it's all she can do. A boy that she is coming to love like a brother needs her prayers and she offers them up in the inky night with all her heart.
"Lord, if Ya can hear me, please, please help Ike."

Bill Cody gazes at the ceiling of the bunkhouse, confused. He's not sure how to feel. In a way, his world is teetering, balanced on the edge. He's young, carefree, and until today, he'd considered himself invincible as well. This life is just one big adventure that he shares with his friends. Bad things aren't supposed to happen to them, they're the good guys, and especially not to people like Ike! He's desperately worried about his friend but doesn't know how to show it, his usual jokes and stunts out of place now. All he can do is lie there and hope and pray.

On cot in the same moon-light streaked room, another young man lies still and far from sleep. Buck's insides are one mass of worry and fear; worry for the life of a friend closer than any brother. Ike's pale, battered face is branded on his memory and after a full day of watching him struggle for each breath, Buck's terrified of losing him. Ike and he have weathered all types of storms together, taking abuse all the time, but the key word there is together. Never before has he failed to protect his friend, shelter him from or at least bear the cruelty of the world with him, and the overwhelming guilt of having let Ike down is eating him up inside. His mind is tormented with what-ifs and should-haves that are fueling the burning fire of rage in his heart, a rage that has to find an outlet somewhere. Lying in his bed, Buck feels Jimmy's presence in the still room and all his pent up anger streams toward his friend, even though his head tries to argue that it's not Jimmy's fault. He's so confused, and so afraid, something he hasn't felt for a long time. It's almost as though the four walls of the bunkhouse are closing in on him, smothering him, making it impossible to think. He needs air, space, and finally he can stand it no longer. As still as night itself, he slips from his bed and vanishes out the open door into the blackness where he can plead for his friend the way his people have since time began.

It's your fault! It should have been you! It should have been you!!
Buck's words echo through Jimmy's mind, and although he knows his friend didn't really mean them, they hit a little too close to home. He can't dismiss them because they're true. It IS his fault Ike's lying in the house, fighting for his life. It SHOULD be him there instead. No matter that there was absolutely nothing he could have done to help Ike, Jimmy still blames himself, and Buck's stinging words just add fuel to his guilt. Awful images of the last two days stampede before his eyes like ghastly nightmares, only he's dreadfully awake. Besides, it doesn't matter if he's dreaming or not, the visions follow him everywhere, haunting and tormenting him. There's nothing he can do, nothing but wait and pray, and praying's something he's never been very good at. But at this point, he's willing to try anything.
"Look, Lord," he mumbles under his breath, "I ain't very good at this, an' don't think I'm gonna start making a habit of it either, but there ain't nothing else I can do right now. Ike needs help and You're the only one that can help him. You know how much he's been through, more than any of us. He deserves a break this time. I guess what I'm saying is please, help him get better. Um...amen."
As the impromptu prayer falls silently from his lips, Jimmy hears Buck slip from the bunkhouse, and his overwhelming guilt returns. Ike's fate may be in the hands of heaven now, but Jimmy has never been one to sit by and watch. It's not some unknown evil that's responsible for Ike's condition, it's a man, a man still roaming free. Jimmy may not have been able to stop him before, but there's nothing to keep him from doing it now. Somehow, he has to make things right. Somehow, Ralph Terry is going to pay.

Kid watches a grimly determined Jimmy gather his clothes and his gun and exit the bunkhouse, knowing full well where he's headed. After a moment's hesitation, he quickly follows, leaving Cody alone in the bunkhouse. He hates the idea of sneaking off like this, especially at such a time, but Cody and Buck are both there to help Emma with Ike, and Jimmy's liable to get himself killed if he takes off after Terry on his own.
Entering the barn, Kid pulls his clothes on over his long johns before approaching Jimmy cautiously, bracing for an argument.
"Jimmy," he says firmly, "I know where yer goin' and I'm comin' with ya."
Jimmy stops saddling his horse when Kid speaks, but he doesn't turn around. A moment of the heaviest silence ever known fills the barn between the two friends, then Jimmy resumes his task.
"Better saddle up then."
Momentarily stunned by Jimmy's lack of resistance, Kid quickly recovers, telling himself he can question it later, and hurries to prepare Katy.

As the muffled sounds of hooves from two pony express horses die in the air, a grizzled old man lies in his cot and listens solemnly. Starring at the intricate patterns of light on his worn quilt made by the moonlight filtering through the cracks in the walls, Teaspoon feels very tired and age-old. The world has come crashing down on his boys, a cruel, hard world that they have already seen enough of and he would have given his life to save them from seeing more. Instead, the ugliness that's out there has butted right into the middle of his new family, and he's powerless to stop it. Forces are in motion now beyond anything he's capable of handling, and despite his years and life experience, he's left at the same place as his boys, prayer. With the last fading sound of hooves pounding dirt, another prayer ascends to Heaven for a boy that's becoming a son, and a fervent, "Ride safe, boys," escapes his lips for the two sons riding off to face the storm again.