Miko noticed Catori was still arguing although her eyes were closed. It pained him to much to let her down. "Leave them. They may follow if they wish." With that his horse was galloping towards the tribal home. An hour later, they arrived. Miko jumped down and carried Catori into their healers tent. He layed her on the cot covering her with some fur.
The healer smiled. she began her work.
Buddy rode to the fringe of the Comanche camp, a familiar place for him, he remembered it too well, being an outsider here, not fitting in with Catori, with her culture, or her people. Everything inside him wanted to charge into the camp and tear open the buckskin flap of the healer's tent and kneel beside Catori, hold her hand and rsay some few kind words in her behalf to whatever spirits were awake and listening, just so they knew... just so she knew...
... he couldn't do it, wouldn't dishonor her or himself in that way. He was a fool for love, but he was no fool...
he paced and brushed his horse down after the hard ride, and paced some more... and cursed under his breath... never should have left Abilene...
Originally posted by Darth Revan
((Now I'm confused...))
((The Comanches were going to scalp the driver and leave the rest of us to rot, but Catori fought for us, with her last breath, so now we get ot follow and not fear for our scalps, YAY!!
... or if you're talking about what yuna wrote...
uhh, I agree with DR... ))
Greg rode up beside Buddy. He jumped off his horse and sat quietly, watching the camp for a minute. Finally he spoke. "I loved a girl once. We planned to get married once I was done with one more cattle drive. While I was away, one of the other men in town got the great idea to try and rape her. She fought back, he killed her." Greg paused. "I beat myself everyday for going on that one last ride, and not staying near to her like a husband should." Greg looked up at Buddy. "All of that to say; don't stand here, when your place is with the one you love."
Buddy looked at Greg. Greg had been there at the WR ranch (hadn't he?) and now he was telling his own tale of woe... he knew what a b!tch Love was, he understood, and that was a small comfort, all the comfort Buddy needed to make a choice.
"How many bullets you packing for those things?" he asked, with only a slight smile. "We may need every last one of 'em in just a minute... stay alert, partner..."
he took a breath, straightened his vest over his wrinkled and dirty riding shirt, and stomped boldly into the Comanche camp.
Buddy stepped gingerly across the Comanche camp, maybe if he didn't make a sound, they would confuse him for the Love Spirit come to help heal Catori... he stopped out front of the healer's tent, lifted his fist to knock on the flap, cursed himself and his silly white man customs (who knocks on a animal-hide flap?) then gently but firmly tugged the small flap open...
fully prepared to take 37 poison darts to the face, or a 12 inch blade to the back or across the neck, or a tomahawk chop in the skull...
(welp, since tela's gone...)
New Hope could use quite a bit of help these days... the blacksmith is dead, the mercantile shopkeeper is dead, the deputy is dead, the place is still teeming with low-life yellow-belly blue-bandana Scorpion soldiers, there's always room for a new dancer or card dealer at the hotel and saloon, or for any young upstart to bring his own particular talents into trade, set up shop and make himself to home...
"Lots of opportunity for a man of vision..." Cavendish concedes to Luis as they ride into the small town. "Plenty of room to grow, and expand, for one man to make a stand, conquer the harsh land and environment, and make it his own... all of it!"
Where do we begin?