Buck propped the pillow behind his back, shifting into a comfortable position against the wall.  

Slim slivers of sunlight fell from the window onto the book propped against his bent knee.  Most of the riders as well as their keepers had taken advantage of the crisp and bright spring day to get away from the bunkhouse, much to Buck’s delight.  He’d been looking forward to spending some quality time alone with “Madame Bovary”.

Buck smiled as he remembered the reactions he’d encountered trying to obtain this particular novel.  The first three booksellers he’d contacted had been scandalized that he wanted to read such “European trash”.  But he’d finally found an open-minded merchant in Boston who had perceived the virtues of the novel, “decadent” though it might be.  Now Buck was halfway through the book.  Though he was impressed by the quality of the writing, he was also rather unsure what the fuss was all about.  The novel was a simple story of a person trapped by society’s conventions into a life she didn’t necessarily want and desperate to find love.  Buck could relate.

Unfortunately, it was only most of the riders who had decided to vacate the bunkhouse.  No matter how much Buck tried to delve into the book’s description of Emma’s latest clandestine meeting with Rudolphe, his attention kept being diverted.  

Another chortle came from the other bunk, and he glanced in irritation at the seemingly oblivious rider who kept disturbing the planned tranquility of his day.  Cody also had his nose buried in a novel.  Buck snorted.  It wasn’t like that penny dreadful Cody was reading could actually be called a “novel”.  Trash, yes.  Novel?  Not likely.  

“I can tell you’re lookin’ at me, ya know,” Cody spoke without raising his eyes from the narrative in his hands.  

Buck jerked.  He hadn’t realized his scrutiny had been that obvious.  It wasn’t like Cody didn’t have the right to lounge in his own bunk and read whatever he danged well pleased.  It was just… well… he’d been planning on a nice relaxing day for a long time.  And every time a chuckle or snort or oooh or aaaah came from Cody, it made his hair stand on end and his knuckles clutch his own book till they turned white.  And even though he knew he should apologize for staring, all he wanted to do was grumble about the noise!

He was saved from doing either when the sound of hoofbeats reached his ears.  Finally!  Buck grinned.  “Rider comin’.”

“Dang, he’s early!”  Rushing to his foot locker, Cody hastily threw a few items into his saddlebag before buckling his gun into place.  He was almost out the door before he turned back, thrusting the well-worn copy of his ten-cent novel into Buck’s hands.  Eyes twinkling, he said, “Try it, Buck. There’s even a guy in there just like you!  You might even like it!”

Before Buck could reply, Cody had vaulted onto his horse and made the mochila exchange, riding off in a whirl of dust.  Buck nodded a greeting to the grimy rider he’d replaced.    

“Want me to fetch you some lemonade, Pedro?” 

“I got somethin’ a little stronger in mind, amigo,” Pedro grinned, secure that Buck would never turn him in to the station master over a little Pony Express rule-breaking. Slapping at the trail dust that liberally coated him, he started up the street toward the saloon.  “Maybe even three or four.  I’ll leave you to your readin’.”

“My..?”  Buck looked down and saw that he still carried Cody’s novel.  With a sigh, he shook his head and went back inside, closing the door firmly behind him.  “Imagine Pedro thinkin’ this was MY book,” he griped as he crossed to the small table, intending to toss the book onto its scarred top when the stark black and white illustration on the cover caught and held his eye.  The title – “Bold Savage” – was captured in audacious print above a crudely rendered drawing of an Indian in full war paint.  

Buck rolled his eyes.  “Mindless tripe,” he muttered, his eyes flicking to “Madame Bovary” lying facedown on his bed.  Mindless, he rationalized, but it couldn’t hurt to peek….

The dark warrior rode proudly into town, his head held high, the sun glinting off the bronze highlights of his skin like moonlight reflected onto the shadowy pools of the deepest lake.   His presence did not go unnoticed, but neither did it attract the attention his arrival usually warranted.  Regardless, Running Buck kept his hand close to his gun as he let his steed slow to a walk.  Effortlessly, he dropped to the ground beside his horse, not bothering to tie the animal.  She wouldn’t wander off.  She never did.  

Coal black eyes drifted to the crowd gathered at the front of the jail.  He didn’t know what the trouble was, and he didn’t care.  It was the same in every town he came to.  Sooner or later – usually sooner – they would notice the dark stranger standing boldly in their midst.  They would be alarmed, perhaps frightened.  Until they visited the saloon.  Then a white man bolstered by whiskey and the overwhelming desire to impress would challenge him.  Would likely call him “injun” and slander his name.  Then Running Buck would be forced to kill.  Perhaps only one… perhaps many.  

He looked down his nose at the noisy gathering, his eyes filling with disdain.  It was always the same.  

As he watched, a long figure detached itself from the crowd.  Her unbound hair, vibrant as the sunrise and dazzling as spun gold, cascaded in crashing waves to her waist.  She was jostled and tossed by the angry mob, but seemed heedless of her own safety.  Her long white fingers twisted in the cranberry skirt of her dress as she spun in a slow circle, her face a mask of desperation.  Then emerald eyes found him… and held.  

Running Buck cocked an eyebrow in surprise as she approached.  This was not done.  Surely she did not mean to…

“Excuse me… sir.  Can you help me?”

Drawing himself to his full height, Running Buck looked down at the woman.  She was beautiful, yes.   The swell of her bodice and the graceful lace at her neck drew his eye in equal measure.  Her eyes sparkled like uncut gems, holding the light and reflecting it back a thousand-fold.  Long lashes, thick and lush yet as delicate as a spider’s web, held back unshed tears.  

His own eyes softening imperceptibly, Running Buck let his finger trail along her cheek.  “What can I do, beautiful one?”

It was only later that he realized it had sounded like agreement.  

The sordid tale didn’t take long to tell.

Running Buck had led the desperate lass to the nearest hotel.  He knew the proprietor had wanted to deny him lodging.  The little man had sneered in contempt, his eyes trailing along Running Buck’s wild accoutrement of clothing like a snail being forced to wallow in the slime.  But then his beady eyes had met the cold, dark gaze of Running Buck… and suddenly a room had become available.  Running Buck hadn’t bothered to hide his look of disdain.  The proprietor had easily read the promise in his eyes.  Deny me this… and you will pay.  

Denial was not an option.

Closing the door of the shabbily furnished chamber, Running Buck took to the bed, folding his legs gracefully underneath him.  If the impropriety of the closed door bothered the flaxen-haired beauty, she gave no sign.  As for Running Buck himself… he was Kiowa.  The white blood that also coursed through his veins might curse him to a life lived in the shadows, but he would never bow to the conventions of “civilized” men.

The cranberry-dressed maiden looked around uncertainly before perching in a wooden chair, it’s boards as withered as the eyes of an Ancient. Only then did he realize that a matching ribbon of wine-drenched fabric was tied in her hair, almost lost in the mass of cornflower-silk tresses.  Again her delicate fingers twisted in her skirt.

“Tell me,” he ordered softly.

“Papa and I only came to town a few days ago,” she began, the worry and distress in her voice not masking its pleasing harmony, a melody to a tune unknown.  “It didn’t take long before we knew we’d made a big mistake.  The sheriff… the sheriff is an evil man, sir.  He… he wanted me.  I refused.  He went to my father.  Papa was shocked, horrified.  Sheriff Enright came back to me, said I had one more chance to go with him.  He’s horrid, vile!  I turned him away.  So they arrested Papa; said he killed a man.  The trial just ended.”  Her ruby-red lips curled in derision.  “Trial,” she repeated.  “A judge in the sheriff’s pocket.  It took five minutes.”

Running Buck regarded the beauty coolly, his expression unchanging.

“They’re going to kill him tomorrow at dawn!”

“Why do you not go now to the sheriff, to beg for his life?”

Her vibrant eyes flashed like lightning on the prairie.  “Don’t you think I would?  But…”

“But?  Surely your father’s life is worth more than your virtue, beautiful one.”

“Yes!  My God, yes!  I would… I would do anything to save him.  I would offer myself like a sacrificial lamb at the doorstep of the most heinous beast.  I would proclaim the virtues of Satan himself on the steps of the town square.  I would throw myself at that vile sheriff’s feet and beg him to ravish me if I didn’t believe in my heart that, in the end, it would accomplish nothing!  At sunrise, he would still kill my father.  I know he would!”

Fire akin to that of the blaze from a ritual pyre flamed in her eyes as she stood abruptly, sending the chair toppling to the floor.  Her gaze darted frantically around the small room as the reality of her perilous situation settled firmly around her heart.  Her bosom rose and fell like the swell of a wave in the clutches of a terrifying storm; she, a tender passenger clinging desperately to the prow of an unsafe vessel.

Her emerald eyes alighted once more on his, and Running Buck felt his breath leave his lungs in one frantic rush.  

In a single swift and silent motion, he swept from the bed and drew the pale beauty into his arms, her heartbeat dancing in cadence with his own.  She looked away, suddenly overcome by a flutter of nervousness at the heat trapped between their melded bodies. Cupping her chin in his hand, he turned her face of translucent loveliness to his own, allowing himself the pleasure of melting in the liquid fire of her gaze.  No, he thought, his ardent princess would never be forced to give her charms to another.  He would not allow it.

“I will help you, beautiful one,” he whispered.

“Kate.”  Her cheeks blossomed like a pink flower touched by the first honeydew rays of dawn.  “My name is Kate.”

“Whatever you say, beautiful one.”

Bathed in the sunlight that lay in glistening pools at her feet, Kate watched silently as Running Buck prepared his weapons of war.

The bow – yew-wood as supple as a windswept reed on the edge of a crystal lake, yet stronger than a madman’s fist – was propped against the footboard of the bed.  The quiver of arrows stood nearby, feathered soldiers waiting for the directions of their leader.  Kate’s nose flared at the pungent aroma of gun oil that permeated that still air of the chamber, testament to the thorough cleaning that Running Buck had given his revolver.

Wrapping her arms around her slim waist, Kate turned her attention to Running Buck.  His muscled shoulders rippled as he methodically sharpened his vicious looking blade, honing it for the kill.

Despite the gut-wrenching fear for her father that filled her to overflowing, Kate found she couldn’t take her eyes from the Indian’s striking form.  She wanted to drown in the memory of their embrace.  His powerful arms encircling her; his long dark hair a cocoon in which she felt safe and warm.  His scent had enveloped her, a heady mix of earthen spices that left her feeling weak and giddy.  Pillowed against his chest, she had felt a sense of belonging… a peace she hadn’t known since being held in her mother’s arms as a child.

Suppressing the shiver of desire that shook her lithe frame, Kate turned her thoughts to her imprisoned father.  In a few short hours, her dark warrior would effect a rescue, and she had to believe that success was assured.  Soon, her beloved father would be safe.  And then she too would be free to follow the passions of her heart.

Darkness cloaked the town like a dead man’s shroud.  

Running Buck stepped back from the window of the hotel room, tying his long hair back with a strip of rawhide before checking his weapons.  The sheriff had men in abundance, and he had situated them efficiently around the perimeter of the jailhouse.   A treacherous evening lay ahead, but Running Buck needed only one look at the fey angel awaiting deliverance at his hand to know that he would face the very hounds of hell to bring her peace.  Or he would die trying.

The vengeful spirits of night guided his progress, shielding his movements with a velvet cape of shadows as he slipped effortlessly from the balcony, dropping cat-like to the sun-baked soil.  Veiled in gloom darker than a demon’s heart, he crept toward the first desperado, easily overcoming the ruffian’s feeble attempts to defend himself.  A single thrust… a quick outpouring of blood… and the villain lay crumpled on the ground, lifeless.

A second bandit was dispatched with equal ease.  Then a third.  His razor-sharp blade now stained crimson, Running Buck inched stealthily forward to the fourth man, his arm upraised for the killing blow… when the spirits of the night deserted him.  Blown by bitter winds sent by the gods, the clouds scurried across the night sky, exposing the ashen face of the new moon.    Running Buck’s arm flashed, the knife finding a home in the villain’s exposed flesh, but the damage had been done.  The outlaw’s cry of “INJUN!” had carried on the breeze like the scream of a carrion bird.

The desolate street was suddenly alive with activity.  Abandoning the discretion of his killing blade, Running Buck drew his gun and stepped from the shadows.

His first shot took out the guard at the door to the jail; his second a glancing blow to the villain atop the mercantile.  Senses blooming like wildflowers in the dry desert heat, Running Buck spun on his heel, sending a volley of shots across the low wall in front of the bank, each dark projectile finding its mark in the heart of a ruffian.  Flinging his back against the outer wall, he pointed his prodigious weapon directly upwards, unerringly striking the final scoundrel who lay in wait above him.  The man’s body toppled lifelessly from its perch to land at Running Buck’s feet.

Running Buck strode confidently to the jailhouse door, eager to meet the man whose loins had sired such a precious beauty as his beloved.

“Not so fast!”

The growl stopped Running Buck in his tracks.  

“Drop yer weapon and turn around!  Real slow-like, or I just might get a bit trigger-happy, Injun!”

Letting his gun thud to the ground, the sound of its descent like rampaging thunder in his ears, Running Buck turned, knowing already what he would find.  

His Kate – his beautiful one – struggled in the arms of the corrupt sheriff, a foul revolver held to her delicate temple.  One graceful hand clutched at the filth-besmirched sleeve of her assailant, slender fingers beating helplessly against his powerful grip.  The action caused her full sleeve to fall open, exposing the tender flesh of her arm to his gaze.

A surge of adrenaline flamed across Running Buck’s body with the strength of a prairie wildfire.  His entire body tensed as his hands clenched at his sides.  

“Let the woman go.”

Enright spat, the wad of tobacco juice staining the floorboards at his feet.  His mouth split in a wide grin, revealing a mass of crooked teeth.  “And I ser-pose,” he wheezed, pulling Kate more fully against his protruding stomach, “that you’ll just walk on out o’ here if I do.”

Running Buck flexed his fingers, looking from the deceitful sheriff to the sweet girl clutched in his arms.  Kate’s green eyes sparkled like precious stones, and what he saw there sent a bolt of electric fire through his body, filling him with renewed purpose.  There was fear, yes, but also love – the shining promise of a deep abiding love and the fevered wish that she'd live to fill his arms with her ardent sighs and whispered desires.  A pledge of unfaltering passion in the form of a willowy beauty with the loveliness of an angel. 

A gentle sound seemed to fill the almost-deserted street… the dulcet music dancing across his spine and sending shivers of transcendent delight through his bronzed form.  Running Buck briefly closed his eyes, letting the melody envelope him.  He sighed as unwavering insight filled him.  The sound of my soul… this is the sound of my soul… 

“The woman belongs to me,” he announced softly, opening his eyes.  “Let her go… and I will let you live.  Hold on to your foolish dreams of conquest, and today is the day you will meet your God.”

For one moment it looked as though the sheriff might see reason.  Then the hand holding the gun whipped toward Running Buck.  

Moving almost faster than the eye could follow, Running Buck flung his bow to his shoulder and flicked an arrow into place.  Without bothering to aim, he fired.  Whistling with almost preternatural speed, the arrow whizzed towards its minute target, piercing the dangling red cloth of Kate’s sleeve and sliding cleanly through to embed itself in the heart of the reprehensible Sheriff Enright.  The despicable man dropped bonelessly to the ground, a look of shock permanently etched on his grizzled features.

Shaking with repressed fear, Kate sped soundlessly across the baked desert soil to fling herself into Running Buck’s arms.  Draped in moonlit promises, he drew her against his chest, savouring the feel of her lush and supple figure against the chiseled firmness of his flesh.  Cupping her chin in his hand, he lowered his face to hers, capturing her sensuous mouth with surging passion.  Locked in a scorching embrace, Running Buck claimed her as his own.

Running Buck set Kate carefully down upon the parched earth before climbing lithely from the back of his loyal stallion.  For a long moment he gazed unblinkingly at the sun-baked tor in the distance, its highest peak seeming to beckon to the heavens.  Finally he turned to look into the hopeful eyes of his beloved.  

“There is a town not far from here.  Five days ride.”  He re-appraised the stunning beauty at his arm, glancing then at her father, perched atop his own feisty mount.  “Seven days ride,” he corrected with a smile.  “You will be safe there.”

Removing an amulet from around his neck, Running Buck held the precious pendant aloft.  It’s ornamental design caught and held the light, filigree figures spiraling in a capricious dance.  

“If you are to meet any of my people, this will protect you,” he intoned solemnly, moving to place the cherished talisman around Kate’s neck.  The angelic beauty skipped backwards, holding out her hand instead.  The silver chain coiled in Kate’s hand like a docile snake.  Clutching the item with the reverence it deserved, she placed the amulet around her father’s neck before kissing him softly on the cheek.  

“I love you, Papa,” she whispered, a single tear tracing a lonely path across her alabaster cheek.  “Take care of yourself,” she added before retaking her place at Running Buck’s side.

The Kiowa warrior raised a solitary eyebrow.  “What are you doing, beautiful one?”

Kate smiled brightly, her luminance seeming to dwarf even the sun’s brilliant light.  “I’m coming with you.”

Running Buck sighed deeply.  “That is not possible.”

“Of course it is.”

“We are too different.”

Kate closed the distance between them, running her hand along his bare chest and gazing up at him from under charcoal dusted lashes.  Running Buck struggled to suppress a shudder of delight as her porcelain nails brushed his flesh, tendrils of ice and fire combining to igniting a flame of longing and desire against his skin.  Unbidden, his hand lifted to tangle itself in her golden tresses.  Throwing back his head, he reveled in the sensation of the silky strands nestled in his palm.

When Kate spoke, her voice was darkened by her own desperate craving.  

“We are meant to be together, Running Buck.  I’ve known since your eyes met mine on that dusty street, and you alone agreed to unseal my father’s unjust fate.  I’ve known since your arms encircled me, drawing me into your protective embrace.  I’ve known since your lips touched mine, awakening in me a fire like the blaze of a comet.  We are soul mates, Running Buck, destined to live our lives entwined in love.”

Running Buck let his finger brush her cheek, sighing as she eagerly nuzzled into his calloused palm.

“The path will be rocky, and fraught with peril,” he breathed.  

Kate beamed.  “Then we will face it together.”

Pulling her firmly against him, Running Buck placed a tender kiss on her fair brow.  

“Yes we will, beautiful one.  Yes we will.”

Leaning back in his chair, Buck struggled to get the goofy grin off his face, thankful that no one else was around to witness the spectacle.  “Mindless tripe,” he repeated without much conviction.  He glanced at his prized copy of “Madame Bovary”, still lying face-down on his cot… and then returned his attention to the luridly-designed ten cent novel in his lap.

“Well,” he justified aloud, though no one was there to listen, “one more story ain’t going to hurt…” 

Turning the page, Buck had just begun reading the next tale when he became aware of a commotion outside.  After reading the same sentence six times, he sighed in frustration, threw the book to the table, and stalked into the street.

A crowd had gathered around the low steps of the jail, their murmurs filling the street like the buzz of angry wasps.  As he watched, a solitary figure separated herself from the mob.  The woman’s long blonde hair rustled in the breeze as she clutched her hands in front of her russet-coloured dress, a look of anguish on her pretty features.  Her bright green eyes found his… and held.  Walking lightly, she approached him.   

“Excuse me… sir.  Can you help me?”

Buck’s mouth dropped open in shock before he drew himself up to his full height, cocking his eyebrow and thanking the spirits that he’d had a full breakfast.  This was going to be a long day.