The White Buffalo

1

What the hell is going on?

I had a dream.

If there'd been anyone in the upper,

you'd have sent him to hell on a shutter!

I'm sorry, Mr. Bixby.

By God, Mr. Otis,

you will stow those damned irons

in your carpetbag,

or I'll stop this train and set you out

in Wyoming on your boots!

In September of 1874,

Wild Bill Hickok came back

to the old west.

I didn't place him then because

he was wearing a different name

and he had a strange bee in his bonnet.

A deadly dream that

was eating out his soul.

A nightmare that he had to hunt down

and face up to before

it turned him into a raving maniac.

I ought to know. I was there.

Morning, Mr. Otis.

Good morning.

I regret the flummery of last night.

Well, at least now

I understand why it happened.

I wish I did.

You don't have to kick chips with me, son.

Time back, you caught yourself

a cold in the pants

that just wouldn't let loose

of you, right?

It's a scar that never heals.

First it gets into your eyes.

They can't stand the daylight,

even the bright moon.

Then it rattlesnakes into your brains.

You start dreaming nightmares.

All bad.

This white buffalo

keeps charging me, real as rain.

Well, son, that dream is safe enough.

The last white spike was put down

by Prairie Dog Dave Morrow last month.

Way the hell and gone on the Cimarron.

Where you headed?

Mr. Otis, a tenderfoot like you

isn't thinking of

staking a claim in the Black Hills?

Says there, "New land of promise."

It don't promise nothing but a quick grave

in a Sioux boneyard.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

Where is the Little One?

She's gone to the stars.

Crazy Horse, my son.

It is not fitting

that the war chief of the Oglalas

weeps like a young woman.

Therefore, I take away your true name.

You shall be called "Worm."

Where does her body lie?

At Enchanted Mesa, above the lake.

We placed her far from the Whites

and safe from wolves.

It is time you sought out the holy bull.

The Little One will be forever

tortured in the other world

until you wrap her in his white robe

and cleanse her spirit of its pain.

Hear me, Holy One above!

With a sacred voice, I call you!

With a weeping heart, I ask this.

Help me to find the white buffalo.

My voice is on the smoke.

I thank you, holy grandfather.

Cheyenne!

Ten-minute stop, folks.

Ten minutes!

What's that contraption?

Buff bones.

All that's left of 60 million spikes

that once roamed the coast of Kansas.

My God!

God Almighty!

Hello, Pete.

Sweet Jesus, Bill.

James Otis is the name, Pete.

I heard you were back in Gotham

playacting on the stage

with Billy Cody and making a barrel.

Making a jackass out of myself, you mean.

You! Tinhorn!

There's no open seat in this town!

Back on board.

You scramble-brained son of a b*tch!

Are you trying to commit suicide?

You think the Sioux have forgot

how you shot the head off

of Whistler the Peacemaker?

I'm money-bound, Pete.

If you think a new handle and specs

are gonna hide you, you're snaffled.

You're up sh*t creek without a bullboat.

You're clean out of friends.

That include you, Pete?

That's a hell of a thing to say to me.

You better walk soft in Cheyenne.

Tom Custer and a troop of his toospots

are in town on an Indian scout.

He's made brag he'll turn your lights out

if he ever sees you again.

Well, I'll peel an eye.

Guess I won't see you

this side of again, Pete.

That won't wet my eyes none.

So long, Mr. James Otis, and good luck.

If there's any left.

- Where's Captain Custer?

- Back room, sonny.

Captain Custer, sir.

For Christ's sake,

Corporal Kileen, stand at ease.

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