BUCK

By Kim R. and Sunny © 2002
Standard disclaimer

It was a fine day. The sun was warm and high with only a thin layer of clouds to shield the earth from the strongest heat of the day. And, much to Running Buck's great pleasure, Song Bird seemed to be watching him. It was early afternoon and many of the women and girls were chatting over their weaving and chores as the boys gathered to select a game.

Buck gazed at the woman, with only a half-thought given to the argument around him. He hoped equally that his friends wouldn't notice his distraction, as much as he hoped that Song Bird actually had her eyes on him. But she turned suddenly, as if someone had called her name and walked back toward her father's lodge. "Maybe she will return once the game has begun," he thought to himself; at once the game took on greater importance to him. He joined the argument on the side of Dry Fire who wanted to play Throwing Them Off Their Horses.

It was a good game for Running Buck. He wasn't as aggressive as Proud Hawk, or as fast as Broken Hand, or as strong as Grey Rock, but he was a natural at herding and at riding, and as that was the job of Kiowa boys his age, it merited him at least a modicum of respect from most of the tribe members. It also made him a strong player at the game, and he rarely was pulled from whichever pony he was on. The recognition he attained from it was also a source of pride and succor for it lessened others' view of him as the less-than-Kiowa half-blood.

They seemed to be gaining the approval of several other of the boys for the game, and Buck turned his head again only to spy his brother, who had stopped at a distance to listen. Red Bear was a good brother. He provided well for Running Buck and their mother, before she died. It didn't hurt that his father had many horses and that when he died Red Bear was old enough to be considered a man for his family. He was strong and well liked. He was respected among the younger men, and encouraged by the elders. The brotherly comradeship that had always existed between the two only strengthened as Buck began to turn to his brother for counsel in becoming a young man, but it did not eliminate the good-natured teasing between them, especially when it came to Song Bird. Buck was glad that he hadn't been there earlier as he sat staring at the woman.

"You are often looking at Song Bird, my brother." Red Bear had once remarked. Buck feigned surprise, and was about to deny it, when Red Bear laughed heartily. "Ha! Your face betrays the words you wish to say. You should be looking for a wife, not another mother!

The image of the beautiful and lithe Song Bird was chased away by the unwelcome arrival of Little Bird into his thoughts. He could see her in his mind's eye. She had a head of thick unruly hair that her Kiowa mother wrestled every morning to tame into something presentable. Despite her best efforts, by mid-day Little Bird's hair looked more like a bird's nest all matted and tangled together. Not at all like Song Bird. Song Bird's hair was beautiful, blue-black and soft as corn silks. At least that was how he thought it would feel. She always wore it in a tight braid that hung over one shoulder, sometimes tied with brightly colored strips of cloth. He could almost imagine her in the morning, her slender fingers slowly weaving the dark strands into a perfect plait and at night, the black waves tumbling through her fingers as she worked the braid loose. But Little Bird. A crow could nest in Little Bird's hair and no one would ever know it was there. Song Bird swayed when she walked like a willow frond in the breeze. She was tall and slender, yet round in interesting places. Little Bird was stringy and small and her arms seemed to flap a good deal when she moved. There were no curves hidden under Little Bird's dress, he was sure of that. Skinny and straight as a stick, she could pass for a boy. Maybe he would tell her so, too. Maybe that would make her mad enough to leave him alone. Little Bird was like a leech, like a flea that had dug in under his skin and no amount of scratching would make her turn loose of him. It had been that way ever since she came to the village.

Four summers before, a hunting party had come across the burned remains of white men's wagons. The sloppiness of the attack spoke of the Utes well before a closer inspection of the site revealed their crudely crafted arrows. "Lazy mongrel dogs," Red Bear had called them. "They kill the white man but leave him his scalp. They burn the white man's belongings rather than take what might be used." The more thorough Kiowa party returned to their village with not only the kills of their own hunt, but four of the white men's horses that the Utes had been too lazy or too slow to catch, several salvageable blankets and one wide-eyed, skinny, pale-faced child Chasing Horse had found huddled under one of the wagons.

Running Buck remembered when the girl was brought to the village. The small white girl clung to Chasing Horse as if he were her savior and not her captor. White captives didn't even occupy a place in the rigidly structured Kiowa social ladder, but evidently no one mentioned that bit of tribal politics to the girl. Either that or she was simply a dumb girl, Running Buck decided, not smart enough to know her place. The old ones in the village would shake their heads and laugh at the small white child as she scurried around the village on her skinny legs, grinning ear to ear, anxious to please the family who had taken her in. The women would remark on what an obedient and happy child she was and Two Feathers, Chasing Horse's wife, would smile and nod, accepting the compliment as if the white girl was her own! Running Buck had seen it with his own eyes! In time the Kiowa seemed to forget that her place in the village had been one of servitude and saw her as simply another youngster in the village.

Her indifference to class was a constant point of consternation to Running Buck. The Kiowa never allowed him to forget the lower rung that he as a half-white occupied. Yet this girl, this white girl - all white not just half - showed no respect for station and the villagers let her get away with it! Even the stoic Red Bear would laugh away his brother's complaints on the matter of Little Bird. "It is only Little Bird!" he would laugh and nudge Running Buck in the ribs with his elbow. "See Running Buck how she flits about like a bumblebee looking for something sweet! I believe she is sweet on you, Running Buck. See how she watches you? Like you are a flower full of nectar."

Sweet on him? How could they not see her for the pest she was? Always tagging along after him, always chattering away in some strange language that by virtue of him being a half-white he was supposed to understand. Her adopted family had given her the name Little Bird because she was innocent and unprotected like a starling fallen from its nest, but Running Buck thought other names were better suited. Little Flea. Leech Girl. Girl Who Clings Like a Tick. Noisy White Girl Who Won't Go Away. He had lots of names, and none of them had anything to do with her being innocent or in need of protection.

"Good, it is decided," declared Proud Hawk. "We shall play Throwing Them Off Their Horses" The boys began scanning the ground for stones to cast to decide the teams; as if on cue, Little Bird came bounding over into their midst. Buck tried is best to ignore her and pretended to be examining two different stones he might cast. "What are you boys playing?" "Why does a girl need to know? " responded Broken Hand. "I thought maybe I would play. I'm sure you could learn from me. " She addressed this last bit directly to Buck. "You can no longer play with us. We are not little boys, " jeered More Sky. "You have been allowed to act like a boy for too long. You must go and learn to weave and cook, or you will never have a warrior, " mocked another. " I don't need a warrior, " she puffed. The boys hooted and laughed at this. Women among the Kiowa were respected and honored, but their men provided for them. Despite Little Bird's protest, a Kiowa young woman did need a husband-a warrior. She saw the futility of her position and turned to smile at Buck. She tried a new tack to gain his attention. " Have you noticed, Running Buck, how the geese flying South make the form of an arrowhead?" He managed to retain an indulgent sigh and replied, "Of course." "You know how one side is always longer than the other?" He hadn't really, but it made sense. " Yeah. " "Know why that happens? " she persisted. Several of the boys were quiet now, listening to the exchange, and Buck was impatient for his turn to cast a stone. " No, I don't." " Because there are more geese in that side. " At this Little Bird fell into a fit of laughter and giggles. Buck's friends also begin slapping his tanned shoulders and laughing along with his tormentor. " Ah, Little Bird can teach you much after all! " " It is good you have Little Bird to explain these mysteries to you! " Buck felt his cheeks glow red, something he was often teased for; with his lighter skin, shame seemed easily to flame from his face. " I think I hear Two Feathers calling for you, " Buck said lowly to the still giggling girl. " She says you must come and learn how to season the meat better for tonight. She says your seasonings make everyone sick. " Broken Hand whooped at the jibe, and the boys' laughter swelled again. Little Bird's grin faltered for a moment, and Running Buck almost felt guilty as she turned abruptly and walked away.

The stones cast and teams determined, the boys scattered into the herd of horses grazing outside the village to choose their mounts. Running Buck quickly found his brother's horses and singled out his favorite for the game. The mare was distinctively marked - white coated with a smattering of dark spots on her rump. Painted for battle, albeit a mock battle, she stood out among the darker coated animals the other boys usually chose. Someday, Running Buck thought, it would not be a game. Someday he and the speckled mare would ride into a real battle and he would prove himself a true Kiowa warrior.

Running Buck slipped a woven grass halter over the mare's head and led her from the herd. His teammates were already marking their mounts with a red dye to distinguish the team from their yellow painted opposition. Running Buck quickly helped himself to the wooden bowl that held the dye and smeared bold stripes across the mare's withers and down her shoulders.

Clothing only inhibited movement and Kiowa warriors often rode into battle naked. In keeping the game as close to an actual fight as possible, in warm weather, the boys, too, rode into the game wearing only their paint. Running Buck quickly stripped off his clothing and dipped his fingers into the bowl once more, then drew red stripes across his chest to match his teammates. Many of the other boys were bigger than he was, stronger and more muscular, but this game wasn't so much about strength. Quickness and agility were every bit as important and those were attributes he did possess. Being heavier in Throwing Them Off Their Horses only meant that a player hit the ground harder when he fell. Running Buck grabbed a handful of mane and swung himself onto the mare's back. She was built on the smallish side, too, but agile and lightning quick. They made a good pair. An unbeatable pair, Running Buck hoped.

The game was popular not only among the boys, but the older Kiowa as well and a group of villagers began to gather at the edge of the playing area. Even the warriors of the tribe took note of the competition for the victors on the playing field would be the war leaders of the future. Running Buck cast a glance toward the onlookers. He saw Red Bear standing with a group of men. He was glad his brother was there to watch, after all, it was Red Bear who had taught him how to play the game, but his brother was not who he was looking for. Running Buck's eyes flitted across the crowd. He grinned widely when he spotted Song Bird among the younger women.

"You will not be so happy when you are laying in the dirt, Running Buck, eating the dust from my pony's hooves!" Laughing Fox jeered as he edged his pony near to Running Buck. Laughing Fox let out a loud whoop. His horse danced excitedly a moment before darting for the opposite side of the field. We will see who eats dust, thought Running Buck. He hazarded a quick look back to where he had seen the young woman. Yes . . . she was still there. Standing so quiet and serene, like a morning dove. He frowned then as Little Bird entered the picture, clapping her hands together, hopping from one skinny leg to another as if she were a spindly sparrow trying to take flight.

Running Buck turned his attention back to the game. He lined his speckled mare alongside his teammates while their opposition assembled in similar fashion across the field and waited anxiously for the signal to begin. Spotted Calf was too young to join the game, but had been given the important task of beginning the contest. At the young boy's war whoop, the competing teams dug their heels into their pony's flanks and shot off the starting lines into the center of the playing field.

The rules to the game were few, the object simple - to push, pull or throw members of the opposing team from their horses until all the players of one team had been unseated. Running Buck bent low over the mare's neck as they flew across the field. The lack of rain had compacted the ground and the horses' hooves clapped loudly against the earth. The spiny heads of prickly pear sprung up here and there across the playing field, the cactus unbothered by the scarcity of water, but the grass had grown weary of summer and lay limp against the earth. It would not cushion those who fell, but that was of no concern to Running Buck. He didn't intend to fall.

He picked Proud Hawk out of the opposition and veered the speckled mare to the right. Proud Hawk was an aggressive player, sometimes too aggressive. Just as he hoped, the boy came on fast and a bit too sure of himself. Proud Hawk reached out for him, a smile of victory already plastered across his face. Running Buck bent low and gripped his mount with his knees. The little horse wheeled around and left Proud Hawk grabbing at mid-air. Unbalanced, he toppled from his mount and landed with a thud and a loud "whooof!" on the ground.

Running Buck righted himself on the mare's back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother at the edge of the field, laughing and nudging Proud Hawk's father with his elbow. He hoped Song Bird was watching as well and reined the mare back to the center of the game.

Cheers from the spectators rose up as the advantage swung from side to side. Running Buck quickly selected another opponent and urged the little horse faster. He could almost envision himself, painted for war, charging into battle. Any boy with a bow could hide behind a rock and lob arrows, but only a true warrior, the bravest of warriors, counted coup on his enemy. Actually touching an opposing warrior and letting him live with the embarrassment was a much more honored feat than killing him from a distance. Some day he would exact such humiliation on the enemy in real battle, but for now Little Otter would have to do.

Little Otter always rode a horse that was too big for him thinking the larger animal was to his advantage. Running Buck squeezed his knees hard into the mare's side and leaned toward Little Otter, grabbing the boy securely around his chest. His mount's back too broad to gain a secure grip, little Otter tumbled over the gelding's rump. Running Buck let out a joyous whoop as the boy sprawled in the dust and flung a fistful of dirt into the air in frustration.

Running Buck's team was doing well. Very well. Three of them were still mounted against only one of the opposition. Their horses danced and spun in circles, seemingly as excited as their riders. Victory was close. So close Running Buck could taste its sweetness on his tongue and it was delicious! He reined the little mare around to close in on Laughing Fox with his teammates, only to see a dizzied Grey Rock, known more for his brawn than his brain, mistake Broken Hand for the opposition and throw himself in the direction of his own teammate. The boys scuffled briefly, Broken Hand trying valiantly to push the bigger boy off, but in the confusion, both boys toppled from their horses leaving Running Buck to face Laughing Fox alone.

Victory was assured when there were three against one, but not having to share the glory would be even better. Laughing Fox played the game well, but he rode with one flaw - a flaw Running Buck had been waiting to capitalize on for a long time. Rather than hold his arms tightly to his side as his horse's speed increased, he held them a bit away from his body. An agile, oncoming rider on a quick horse could loop his own arm through that slight opening and drag Laughing Fox off his horse backwards. It was almost too good to be true! Running Buck, the lowly half-white upsetting Laughing Fox, member of the Onde class. Ha! Running Buck chuckled to himself. We will see who laughs now!

. He bent low over his horse's neck, reining her directly toward Laughing Fox. Briefly he raised his eyes to the oncoming opposition. Yes . . . it just as he hoped! The boy's arms were spread too wide! This was going to be easy! Not only would he impress Song Bird, but the entire village would see him for the fine warrior he was! He braced himself and concentrated hard, judging the exact moment to duck his head and take advantage of Laughing Fox's weakness. But when the moment came, rather than the thud of his opposition falling from his mount, he heard a ripple of laughter from the onlooking crowd and the sweet taste of impending victory was abruptly replaced with the sting of a thousand needles in his backside.

As Song Bird helped to remove the needles from his skin, Buck grimaced. She was certainly not being as gentle as she could have been, he thought ruefully. "Why, Running Buck, will you never grow up, " chuckled Song Bird. He was not at all sure how to answer and remained silent. He didn't know whether he could trust his voice had he tried to speak anyway. He wanted to cry with mortification, but would not.

"I am older than you, and I did not expect to have such a good look at your hind end again. " Again, she chuckled, and Buck was frozen with embarrassment, dreading whatever she intended to say next. "I was just a little girl when you were a baby, but I remember cleaning you. Once you had eaten many service berries and were very sick. I was helping your mother to take care of you and I would walk outside with you while you rid yourself of the berries. You made such a mess, and it was I who had to clean you from your stinking mess. " "NOOO!" his thoughts screamed "How much more of this must I hear?! " It was like some kind of nightmare and he almost wondered whether Song Bird was telling the truth. Yet, he heard her cheery prattling continue as she used her finest bone needle to coax the broken tips of the cactus from his skin. "And here I am again, having to tend to your backside. "

Buck felt choked with embarrassment and hardly knew if he were breathing or not. He buried his face against his arms, trying in vain to hide from the most humiliating experience of his young life. He had tried to push himself out of the bed of prickly pear, wanting nothing more than to crawl away and burrow into a prairie dog hole, but moving only encouraged the needles to dig in further. It seemed like hours, days even, before Red Bear appeared over him and hauled him out of his bed of cactus. He had tried to walk away, but each step only served to aggravate the burning in his backside. To appear completely naked before the entire village as the victor in a game of Throwing Them Off Their Horses was a moment of pride. But to be slung over his brother's shoulder and carried back to the village, his flaming bare bottom hoisted into the air for all to see was beyond any humiliation he could have ever imagined.

Suddenly, the flap of the tipi opened and Little Bird climbed inside.

"I have the sharp spice from. . . " she stopped suddenly, seeing Running Buck and his situation.

"This is all I need, " thought Running Buck. He could barely keep himself from chanting a death chant in his head. It seemed appropriate, but he knew shouldn't tease the spirits, they might take him seriously.

"Song Bird, I should go," Running Buck muttered miserably.

"I saw your game, Running Buck, " Little Bird began. "You were very strong and fast. I did not think that Laughing Fox could have won if your pony had not tripped. "

He clamped his teeth together and waited for the rest - the joke, the jab or bit of ridicule that would push him over the edge of complete humiliation. As if his pit of shame wasn't already deep enough, now this frizzy headed girl would push him under. But rather than say more, she smiled at him. Not a smirk either. A smile so soft and genuine that it took him by surprise. It wasn't often that someone complimented him. Red Bear might show his approval with some manly gesture - an affirmative grunt, a nod of his head or a rare pat on the back. When his mother was alive, she had been quick to assure him he was equal to the others, though they both knew he never would be. That was what a mother did. No one had ever said he was fast. Strong, too. 'Very strong' was what she had said. She had smiled at him, not laughed at his predicament like Song Bird. And even when she turned and left the tipi, he could still feel the way it warmed him inside - the way it made him feel weak and a little mushy like fruit gone soft. He wasn't sure what to call it, but he liked the way it felt.

The needle dug in a little deeper than necessary and Running Buck yelped in spite of himself. He thought perhaps Song Bird had done it on purpose and when he heard her stifled laughter, he was sure of it. He rested his head back on his arms, only half listening to Song Bird as she rattled on and on and on. There was something new in her voice. Something shrill that grated on him and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

When Little Bird spoke to him, her voice was soft and soothing, like the song of a meadowlark in the early morning. He closed his eyes and pictured her smiling at him. Little Bird was pretty when she smiled. Funny . . . he'd never noticed that before either.