By Lyn
Copyright 1999
Buck did everything he could to regain his strength. The sooner he was up and about, the sooner he could return to Red Bear and what was left of his tribe.
What was harder though was acting as if nothing had changed, as if he hadn’t changed. But he had. His head felt more mixed up than ever, consumed with a contentedness he had not felt in a long time and with a deep anger that threatened to explode at any moment. The differences between the two feelings left him totally baffled. How could he feel both so strongly?
He tried to let the contented, peaceful side prevail as much as possible
He pushed himself as much as he could get away with. He managed to get on his feet within a day when Rachel stepped out of the bunkhouse, thinking he was asleep. Of course, she caught him at it, and he gratefully accepted the help back to bed. He hadn’t realized just how weak he was. But he tried again the next morning, and again that afternoon, and again the day after, until he was able to stay up for extended periods of time.
He ate as much as he could, which wasn’t much after the weeks without much food. Seeing this, Rachel made sure that he ate often, if not a lot. His strength began to return. By the end of the week he was venturing out of the bunkhouse. He didn’t go far, still tiring quickly. It frustrated him to have to rest so often.
By the end of the following week, he had decided he felt well enough to try and leave. While he hadn’t been up on a horse yet, he knew he could ride. He didn’t feel the need to rest nearly as often, managing to get by with once during the day. He was exhausted by nightfall, but he could live with that for now.
He felt bad about his plan to slip away at night. His family here deserved better from him. But if he told them what he was doing, they would do their best to stop him. He had no other choice if he were going to return to his people.
Buck spent two days agonizing over the note he would leave behind. He owed these people at least that. When he was alone in the bunkhouse, he gathered up the few belongings he would be taking with him—Ike’s bandana, the sketches his friend had done, and a change of clothes, as well as the breechcloth and leggings he was wearing when Teaspoon and the boys found him. Rolling everything up in a spare blanket, he managed to hide it all in the barn.
Late that Friday night, well after everyone had fallen asleep, Buck slipped out of his bunk. Slipping his trousers on, he carried his shirt, vest, hat and boots out to the barn, laying the note on the bunkhouse table as he went.
It read:
I know how hard this will be for you all to understand, but I have to follow my heart. My soul has been divided for as long as I can remember. But during the short amount of time I spent with the Kiowa recently I have felt more peace than I ever have. I was accepted amongst them as an equal. I don’t remember ever having that same feeling before, except during my time with you.
But we all know that things are changing. The war is coming on. The telegraph is taking over and it’s just a matter of time before it puts us all out of jobs. You will all find your place, the place where you belong. I’m certain that I have found mine. It’s with my brother, fighting for the Kiowa and our way of life.
You’ve all been family to me, making me feel welcome and loved despite the color of my skin. For this I will forever be grateful. I will always carry a piece of each of you in my heart and in my spirit.
Please try to understand.
Buck
Buck finished dressing and carefully saddled his horse. Silently he rode the animal out of the barn. He sat for a long while watching the bunkhouse, having second thoughts. He fought down the hard lump forming in his throat. But he knew what he had to do.
With one last glance over his shoulder he rode out of town, kicking his horse into a gallop on the outer edge.
On to Chapter Sixteen
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