Cowboys and Cannibals

The finishing touches to all of this came when the two youngest Indians came forward with small lit flame torches, and applied them to the pile of kindling at her feet, setting it alight and licking their lips at her. Within minutes, the fire began to catch and spread all about her, setting her toes to wriggling in response to the increasing heat. The heathens then all jumped onto their war ponies, and began to gallop around her in a circle, waving their rifles and giving out wild, savage cries while their helpless white female captive steeled herself for the coming ordeal of being flame-cooked alive for their brutal amusement, perhaps even dinner?

Oh, now you've really gone and done it this time, Dora Piggy!, she exclaimed to herself. Here you are - Lady Isadora, world-famous globe-trotter, cognoscenti, and highly-in-demand, cannibal-fetish pinup girl, about to end a brilliant career and adventurous life by winding up in the bellies of these renegade savages, here in the former Colonies, of all the luck! She sighed - well, it's what she had secretly wanted for so many years, ever since early childhood; it's just that she'd always imagined something a little more consensual, even - dignified, perhaps? Like being properly prepared by gourmet canns? She swooned in delight at the prospect, before doing a quick reality check. Wait a minute here, ducks - what's actually happening with all this, then? This just can't be real - I must either be dreaming this, or having a nightmare, can't tell which at the moment?

It was during this wanton display of barbarism, that the figure of the lone horseman and his trusty steed, accompanied by his faithful dog, appeared on the near rim of the box canyon, silhouetted against the clear afternoon sky, aiming his weapon at the scene below, and the sharp craack! of a rifle shot split the still, dry air, echoing off of the canyon walls. All of the action came to a sudden halt, save for the slowly growing fire that was advancing toward the vulnerable, statuesque body of the striking British woman on the stake. They glanced immediately upwards to the figure on the horizon, as Cowboy Dan Wakefield lever-ejected the spent cartridge from his Winchester 73 .30 cal. rifle, his steely blue eyes sighting down the barrel at the group of alert Indians, and tersely announced in a commanding voice, devoid of his previous leisurely drawl:

"RELEASE THE WOMAN - NOW!! OR PAY THE PRICE!!"

Lady Isadora couldn't believe what she was both seeing, and hearing. She felt as if she was living out a stereotypical plot from an old John Ford Western - all that remained was for the Cavalry itself to come bounding up behind him, and a bugler to sound the charge! She glanced at her captors, who were eyeing the lean cowboy with a mixture of obvious enmity, and contempt. One - the apparent leader of this raiding party, a somewhat middle-aged bloke himself, raised his voice to retort to this challenge in his native tongue, a harsh statement in short-syllablic words and a glottal intonation. She didn't need it translated - probably something on the order of "We got her, she's ours, we're gonna' party - come and get her, then!" They seemed unbowed and determined.

Cowboy Dan issued one last warning, rifle aimed, trigger-finger ready: "I said, CUT HER DOWN - LET HER GO, NOW!!"

Without further ado, the same Indian warrior gave forth a blood-curdling yell, and charged his paint forward at full gallop, aiming his rifle in return. Yelling "HIEEYAH!", the cowboy spurred Cal into action, rearing up on his hind legs, whinnying, forelegs pawing momentarily in the air, then landed and raced downhill, reins in teeth, holding his rifle at the ready, Shadow by their side, barking furiously.

As they rapidly approached each other, weapons at the ready, they both fired in sequence, narrowly missing the other, the whine of bullets ricocheting off the canyon's rock walls. As they neared, the Indian slid back his rifle bolt to prepare for another shot, but Cowboy Dan swung his Winchester at him, catching him square in the face with the wooden stock, and knocking him off his mount onto the ground. The savage snarled and got up, rifle in hand, fixing to fire, but the cowboy was too quick, and shot him in the chest, obviously killing him, as he cried out and fell down. Next one of the other two raiders came at him full speed, and as he fired a shot that whizzed by Cowboy Dan's head, he returned the same, the impact knocking the brave off of his horse, and he lay motionless on the dusty ground as well.

The two younger men held back from the fray, while the rancher quickly dismounted from Cal, and raced over to the imperiled Isadora, who was watching all of this, enthralled, while keeping an eye on the growing fire now about to lick at her shapely feet. He poured some water from his canteen onto the flames in an attempt to douse them.

"Hope I'm not interruptin' something here? I gotta hand it to you, lady - you really got quite a pair on ya', walking straight into an ambush like this, then gettin' all trussed-up like a Thanksgiving turkey ready for dinner!"

He popped the persimmon out of her gaping mouth, as she instantly worked her sore jaw muscles anew.

"Well, it's bloody well about damn time you showed up, Sagebrush Sam!! These lads had just made plans to put 'Roast Isadora' on their menu!!" Her dark eyes cast a glance above them. "Look OUT!"

As he drew out his Bowie knife to cut away her rope bonds, the third adult renegade leapt down from his hiding place above a rock overhang with a savage cry onto the cowboy's back, his war knife at the ready. The two combatants wrestled on the ground, first the Indian with his knife to Dan's throat, then quickly turning over for him to hold his at the other's, until after a fierce struggle, the assailant lay dead with his own blade in his chest.

One of the remaining two tried to grab his faithful steed by the reins, but Cal the Wonder Horse fearlessly reared up again, and with a whinnied warning, lashed his sharp hooves out at him, while Shadow growled and snapped at the last one, holding him at bay, until finally the pair got on their painted mounts, and without so much as a backwards glance, high-tailed it out of there, leaving both the white man and woman, and several dead of their comrades, behind them in their dust.

With an expert single slicing movement, Cowboy Dan cut away the last of the ropes still holding her, taking her down from her perch as the now-roaring fire rose even higher up the pole. Grabbing a nearby Indian blanket, he wrapped her sweaty, sauced-up body into it, giving her his canteen to drink from, then holding her, he whistled for Cal, and quickly but carefully placed her across his saddle, leaping up behind her and with a firm tug on the reins and another "YEEHAH!!" they fairly flew in a blaze of tangled hooves away in the opposite direction from the scene.

As they put enough distance between them and the scene of the crime, Cowboy Dan felt free enough to speak plainly.

"Tell me somethin' here, 'Lady Knows-it-all' - do you always do the exact opposite of what somebody warns you not to? It's a wonder you're still alive to tell the tale, then!"

Her excitement and arousal abating a bit, the British gentlewoman swigged greedily at the water, then regarded him somewhat archly, her previous haughty manner returning.

"Well, for Christ's sake! Who in their right mind would've thought something like that was still possible, in this day and age? Hostile, renegade Indians? With cannibalistic tendencies, yet?" She suddenly remembered what she'd been doing, just before her capture and short-lived torment. "Wait - we have to go back! The rental car - my camera equipment - my clothes!"

"Don't worry 'bout all that - we can come back for 'em tomorrow, nobody's gonna' bother them way out here. We can get you some fresh clothing, I've got extra jeans and some shirts back at the ranch house should fit you, soon's we get you showered off, and some proper medical attention. You might still be in a state of shock, after all that!"

He chuckled a bit, then said: "S'ides, Ms. 'Isadora long-piggy' - everyone knows that burnin' at the stake's no way to properly cook a woman; all's you wind up with is a whole lotta' scorched, blackened meat! Now, a down-home old-fashioned Southwestern barbeque - you got yourself a real meal, there!"

Something in his manner - she thought she noticed a slight twinkle in his sky-blue eyes - made her instantly wary. She shuddered even in the late afternoon sun's heat, as she tried to read his tanned, weather-beaten face. What exactly did he know, or suspect, even?

"Why - wh-whatever do you mean, mate?"

"C'mon, now, just who are you foolin', lady?" This was like ice water in her face, as he continued. "I know your dark little secret - I had your number the moment you laid eyes on my cattle in the corral, like you'd wished you were one of 'em! You're not the only one who's 'been there, done that', y'know! You act like you've been rode hard, and put up wet! " He felt under her blanket with a free hand, till he found her soaked pussy, and chanced a stray finger there, then pulled it out, and - actually licked it in front of her, grinning widely, outraging the British lady even more! "HA - thought so!"

She sputtered like a mad duck. "OH! You impertinent son-of-a-BITCH!! "

"We have a saying out here - 'talk is cheap'! So - 'put up or shut the hell up', and open your pretty mouth!!"

Before she could resist, he brought his arm around her mid-back, and drew her against him, hard, his mouth meeting hers. She struggled, but to no avail - giving in as his searching tongue found hers, kissing greedily, hungrily. She moaned after a moment or two of this, then slid forward a bit till her bare legs could find purchase on his jean-clad ones, hooking her feet behind his boot heels, her fingers searching for what she knew they'd find straining against his zipper.

She opened it, releasing the hot, hard, meaty shaft, and slipped it easily inside her cunt, bucking against his groin, riding him just as they were both riding the gentle horse, the motion only adding to the ecstasy as she managed to keep him inside her for almost the whole way back to the Devil's Gate Ranch, coming again and again. Both the horse and dog understood what was going on, but paid little attention, only knowing that two healthy, mature human animals of opposing genders, who'd been lonely for far too long a time, were at long last enjoying themselves as nature had intended.

After a piece, Cowboy Dan Wakefield let go of the reins, trusting in Cal to find the way home, as a good cow-poke's horse always does, Shadow trotting happily alongside.

* * *

About this time, back at the canyon ...

Young Cody and Frank Yazzie were returning on their painted ponies, to where three "dead" men still lay where they fell. Frank dismounted first, walked up to them, and announced:

"Okay, guys - show's over, coast is clear - you can get up now!"

McKinley County Sheriff's Deputy Darryl Redfern, the second gunshot victim, stirred himself first, raising up on his elbows, then carefully standing up, feeling his sore back.

"'Medic, MEDIC!' Oh, man, am I gonna' be glad to see my chiropractor tomorrow! I'm getting too old for this shit!"

Charlie Yazzie was next, helped by both his sons, as he dusted himself off, removed both the trick knife and the longhaired wig he wore, and surveyed their surroundings as if contemplating regret.

"Yeah, I know what you mean - sure hope none of this gets out to the Tribal Council, they'll be burning us at the stake! Two hundred years of social progress, new schools, businesses - we even have our share of the state gaming market with the new casino now! All shot to hell in a matter of an hour or so!"

Sheriff Wesley Crow had by then recovered fully, taking the fake blood-squibs out of his blouson shirt, and removing it to reveal his uniform, and badge. He regarded them all with a huge grin, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

"What're you guys gripin' about? I'm the one who got whacked in the head with a rifle-butt, here! Besides - where's your sense of humor? You all act like you never got to play 'cowboys and cannibals' with the girls when you were kids on the reservation!"

Darryl shot him a sharp glance. "Don't ever say that again - not even in joking!"

Charlie spoke up as well. "Yeah, I know we all owe old Dan there a debt of honor that we've never really repaid him for; still - is this really the way to go about it? 'Nam was a good while ago, now - just another page in the history books."

Wesley stood his ground. "Maybe to some; to the rest of us ... " He just let it trail off, as they knew what he meant. "Besides, did you see the look on that gal's face? And Dan's as well - I haven't seen him this excited about anything since Lee Ann passed away! It was worth it!"

Cody chimed in, "Yeah, that was some hot lady, wouldn't mind sinking my teeth into her! Do you suppose she's typical of most English women? Maybe I should've applied to be an exchange student over there my senior year in college?"

Frank regarded his younger brother a little worriedly. "Still - what if this all falls apart, and she presses charges against us? We did actually abduct someone here, and all..."

"Don't worry, if I know Dan-o, he's probably got her eating out of his hand, like a newborn colt, right about now! Besides - if a crime was committed ... " Sheriff Crow looked at them all officiously. "Raise your right hands - I'm swearing you all in as temporary deputies!" As they did, he continued. "Alright - who're the witnesses to this alleged abduction? Right! Now - who're the most likely suspects? Right again! Okay, case closed for now, we'll handle the arraignments later! In the meantime, help me get these horses rounded up and back into the trailer; we still have to get these costumes and stuff back to the rental place in Gallup before they close. Get a move on!"

As the rest complied, Wesley Crow studied the far horizon a moment, in the direction that his good friend Dan Wakefield had headed off in. And softly, to himself ...

"Well, Danny boy - go for it, enjoy yourself! Remember - 'failure is not an option'!"

* * *

PART II: Sweetheart of the Rodeo/The Last Roundup

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ...

It didn't take very long for Lady Isadora to become a semi-permanent fixture around the place. After they went back for her abandoned belongings at the canyon, and returned the rental car, she had much more of her working gear and personal items brought over from England, moving in lock, stock, and lens-barrel. She'd notified the notoriously-difficult editor of her news agency that she wouldn't be returning to Great Britain in the foreseeable future, but would instead stay on there in America, sending back as much of her photographic output on a regular basis as she could manage, claiming that she'd found "new opportunities to pursue", as a more mobile free-lancer.

Cowboy Dan even had installed a T-3 line and darkroom in the main house, to better accommodate her work output, and facilitate uploading it to the 'Net, to send back to London. He returned to his ranch duties with a renewed vigor, tending the beef cattle herds but making as much effort as possible to travel with her on her treks, acting as her guide and occasional interpreter, displaying his considerable knowledge of the history, geography, and customs of both his beloved home land, and its' native inhabitants.

And so she spent her remaining days there during the next eighteen months shooting more of the magnificent desert scenery surrounding them, as well as the colorful local events and peoples, traveling from one end of the state of New Mexico to the other, covering almost the entire Four Corners region of the Southwest.

She viewed the majestic Shiprock, a huge natural rock formation in the shape of its' namesake, where she'd shot several rolls of film and maxxed-out a digital memory card or two, and not only photographed, but climbed the White Mountains in the state's NE corner ("So much like the cliffs of Dover back home", she'd marveled). They traveled south to Santa Fe, where she bought prints of many of Georgia O'Keefe's famed landscape paintings at her museum, and visited the Ranch in Taos, where her fellow Brit expatriate and iconoclastic author D. H. Lawrence lived out his days, with his own lusty lady, Frieda. She photographed colorful Navajo sand paintings and high meadow wildflowers, and the spectacular caverns at Carlsbad.

They followed the original Santa Fe Trail, retracing the steps of famed frontier scout Kit Carson, as he brought the first white European settlers to the then New Mexico territory in the mid-1800's . Later that autumn he took her down southeast to Lincoln County, locale of the later famed cattleman wars that brought those legendary adversaries Sheriff Pat Garrett and William H. Bonney, nee' Billy the Kid, to their final showdown, and visited their gravesites. They saw as well the spots where the Army took down both Cochise and Geronimo, the great Apache war chiefs, and viewed their final resting places. Thus she gradually came to truly know the meaning behind New Mexico's state motto: "The Land of Enchantment" ("Yes, it really is!").

She taught him an appreciation of Beethoven and Fleetwood Mac; he got her to love Patsy Cline ballads and the Eagles. She tutored him in the finer aspects of single-malt Scotch and Italian wines; he got her to try Lone Star beer and snockered on mescal tequila, even to swallowing the worm at the bottle's bottom. He'd taught her how to both ride and shoot Western-style, and she taught him the English way. They rode sidesaddle, and she, cowgirl-style - both in, and out of bed.

"We made love betwixt sweated sheets all night long, till sun-up sometimes!"

"We fucked like two horny desert jackrabbits, under a hot July moon!"

They spent carefree days and endless nights, racing along the back country roads in his meticulously-restored antique Ford Mustang convertible, top down, hot desert wind in their hair, laughing and singing along with the CD playing all of the pop/rock songs of their youth, like kids again. She discovered the joys of whitewater kayaking on the Rio Grande, and they took long camping trips by horseback, sleeping out under the desert sky ("The air's so clean here, and the stars, my GOD - I never saw them so clearly as here, even while in the Middle East!"), listening to the night sounds of owls, crickets, and coyotes, howling along with the latter sometimes after they'd both gotten gloriously drunk around the campfire.

At the State Fair and Rodeo in Albuquerque, Dan entered the Bareback Bronc Riding event for the first time in over ten years, and came away with a blue ribbon in the Senior Category, while Lady Isadora herself entered the Cowgirls' Barrel Racing event, outperforming many of the younger gals, and winning an award for herself, along with accolades from the crowd. Soon afterwards, that first Christmas, she bought him a new Canon film SLR camera; for her present he bought an spotted Appaloosa mare from the Apache reservation, as fiery and spirited as her mistress, who soon named her "Patches", and they became fast friends, as inseparable from each other as Dan and ol' Cal.

They would sometimes spend their evenings at the Boot N' Saddle, the best cowboy dive bar in Arroyo Diablo, where she would both drink any man or woman under the table, and dance the night away with a number of randy young buckaroos, but Cowboy Dan always knew, that it was only one special cowpoke's bed that she would warm when they went home together after last call.

That winter, they went to the Taos Pueblo, to view the ruins of the pre-Columbian Indian inhabitants, and he told her the story of the lost civilization that inhabited it - the Anasazi, or "Ancient Ones" - who, from recent archeological evidence, had apparently practiced cannibalism. Later that night, in bed together, when naked truths usually follow nude lovemaking, Cowboy Dan told her the story of how, once upon a time very long ago now, he'd been simply young Danny Wakefield, straight off his daddy's ranch in Farmington, then a fresh-faced 24 year old. Lieutenant. in the U.S. Army 75th Infantry Rangers Co. B, the Kit Carson Scouts - their motto, "Failure Is Not An Option" - toward the close of the Vietnam War.