The spirit of my mother’s early longings have come visiting again. Days of early black-and-white TV. Pushing the boundaries .. Clint Walker daringly topless .. my young mother’s tongue hanging out.

Nagging me. On my back. Breathing down my neck. All that Tarzan rubbish. Conan. Garth ….. But let’s face it ….. rank amateurs. Only one true hero out there …..When does Cheyenne Bodie get to strut his stuff? Whipping his shirt off again?

Gotta give in. Because secretly I know …… She’ll haunt me into the grave if I don’t.

Cheyenne Bodie rides again!

Contents

RIVER ANTICS 4FENCES 6INDIAN CAPTIVES 8SURROUNDED 10FEARS 12STRATEGY 14THE BRAVE 17ORDEALS TO COME 19CONFLICT 21CONDEMNED 23TORMENT 25RUN FOR PAIN 28TRIAL OF WILL 31THREAT 33VOW 35AND MORE …… 37MERCILESS 39TRUST 41CRUELTY 43NIGHTMARE 45TUNNEL OF DEATH 47DAWN 49WHEEL OF TORTURE 51DYING OF THE HEAT 54WHEEL OF FIRE 57RELY 59END 61

River antics

“Race you back up!”And Joe set off. Bodie still hadn’t got used to Joe’s almost childlike competitiveness. Maybe it was the five year’s difference. But still, Joe had something of the young kid in him. Bodie ought to know better than give in. But he did.

There was something infectious about Joe’s childlike naivety .. probably a reason why Bodie often returned back to the ranch alone after a night in the saloon. The girls found Joe’s sparkle engaging as well.

Always challenging, always competing. And always cheating. Joe was already splashing out of the river before Bodie knew what he’d said. Before he had a first chance to give Joe’s naked backside a run for his money.

It was a couple of weeks now. A chance encounter in the saloon. Joe would open up to any stranger. And he opened up straightaway with a comment on Bodie’s physique. As things happened, Bodie was looking for work. And Joe had just the kind of demanding work that he thought Bodie looked built for.He explained, Joe’s old man was too sick right now to put up fences. And Joe was doing himself in trying to build fences alone before livestock got away. With a grin and appreciative nod Joe indicated Bodie was just what he was looking for. That Bodie had the build to keep swinging a sledgehammer all day long if needed.

Bodie hadn’t disappointed. For days the pair of them had sweated it out under the sun. Driving the posts into unforgiving sun-baked earth. Sweat running down backs stripped to the waist. Worked like fury, dawn to sun-down. With barely a moment’s rest. Typical of Joe’s competitiveness. As if one of them needing a breather was going to get called out for giving up. Chicken!

But today the heat had got even worse, stinking hot. Astonishingly it had been competitive Joe calling a halt. There was a river a short ride away, he said. Bodie hadn’t needed asking twice. No one around .. they’d both stripped down to nothing. Clothes left with the horses, both had raced down the steep bank into the water. They threw themselves with shouts and gusto into the cool waters. Instantly relieved of days of sweat and grime. Heaven!

“Race you back!” Cheating, Joe was halfway up the steep bank before Bodie reached the bottom. Looking up and seeing the bare backside scrambling up the earth to the top. Joe nearly on hands and knees, clawing his way up. Bodie wasn’t into always winning like this .. but ….. when Joe called him out ….. Bodie went for it.

There was a natural charm about Joe. It didn’t just register with the girls in the fort .. though Joe was warily watched by careful parents there. His enthusiasm for life was infectious. Even Bodie felt it hard to smother a smile at Joe’s antics as he scrambled up after Joe’s bare backside.

Bodie saw Joe turn around .. nearly at the top. “Your age showing? Old man.”Joe had turned round to laugh at his buddy racing like mad to keep up.“Git yourself up here!”Then athletically Joe hauled himself up the last few steps. With a bound he leapt over the top of the bank. And disappeared.

Bodie had lost the challenge. Of course. Joe had cheated .. but everyone forgave his innocent ways. Joe had won his challenge. But not by much if Bodie could help it. He wasn’t going to let up. He dug deep, raced up the last few feet. Reached the top of the bank and swung his legs over the top.Only to come to a grinding stop.

In front of him stood Joe, bare back to him. Hands up. And all around a band of Indian braves. Rifles up. When Bodie’s body cleared the edge of the bank, guns swished over. Turned on him. Rifles covering his naked hide. Ambushed.

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Fences

“We bought that land fair and square. Paid a good price.”Bodie willed Joe to shut his mouth. He could tell the brave on the horse was in no mood for a white-eyes talking back.

The brave’s accusation .. they had built fences, dozens of fence posts to corral the cattle .. claiming the prairie .. land where the Indians had once roamed free .. free to hunt buffalo ….. that was true. That brave’s accusation had not been an invitation to answer back.

Besides, Bodie knew the local land agent. Nothing “fair-and-

square” about that man. The tribes had been tricked out of the life they knew.

Forced off their tribal lands by an army ….. anywhere where the railroad was coming through .. and there big money held sway .. these Indians had been forcibly evicted from where their heritage belonged. Where their soul belonged.

Bodie knew the truth. He had cringed in the saloon hearing the local land agent speaking of the tribes as ignorant savages. Boasting he’d got valuable land off the tribes for nothing. Worthless trinkets. Bought their compliance with booze. With every thought in his body Bodie willed Joe to shut up. He was only making things worse. Joe’s family had indeed paid the going price. But this brave on the horse knew another truth. He did not want not hear what Joe’s family had paid. They HAD been robbed.

Bodie could see Joe was scared. The reason he was shooting his mouth off. He’d never come face-to-face with some many Indians before. And none with rifles trained on him. Added to which the pair of them had nothing on. Joe felt scarily naked. Vulnerable. He’d never taken his clothes off before Bodie before. But swimming in the river .. that had felt natural. What men did.But now? Faced by a band of hostile savages .. themselves near-naked. Their nakedness prickled with enmity. Grim-faced. Looking aggressive as hell. Of course Joe was nervous. Unarmed, naked. Against a band of what people in the

saloon called savages. Rifles zoned in on the pair of them. Nerves were jumping around in Joe’s guts.

Joe nearly jumped when that brave on the horse snapped out something he didn’t understand. There was something about the dude. Muscled, commanding. And something intensely menacing about the way he looked Joe over. Scary. But Joe quickly caught on what the dude had said when braves stepped forward. He swore back at him .. in his head. Frightened. Too jittery to let his thoughts out. Seeing the strips of leather dangling from Indians’ hands. They were getting tied up.

Suddenly next to him Bodie spoke out. Joe looked at him confused. Bodie had burst out .. talking gibberish. Joe didn’t understand a word. But he saw the brave did. Glowering down from his horse, the Indian whipped his head over to Bodie. Glared at him. Scowled. Looked bewildered. Then angry.

The brave snapped out something. The approaching braves stopped .. looked back at their leader. Waiting to be told what to do. The Indian on the horse was just glowering at Bodie. Again, not taking his eyes off Bodie, the brave growled something back.

“Quick. Get dressed.”Their pile of clothes had been thrown at them. Bodie hissed at Joe what to do.“What the heck was that?”Joe was as bewildered as he was jittery. “You speak Indian?” He saw Bodie nod. Bodie was already hauling his pants up over his thighs. “No time to waste. Get dressed.” Bodie hissed at him.“Before he changes his mind.”

Bodie was right. No sooner had Joe got his pants done up than the Indian snarled again. Now the braves ripped Joe’s shirt from his hands, grabbed his wrists and began tying them in his front. Uncertain, feeling out of his depth, Joe glanced to the side. Bodie too was stood in just his pants, no boots. But yielding. Passive, no shirt on. But Bodie was letting the Indians tie his hands in front.

Compliant, not putting up a fight. But Joe noticed Bodie was staring almost unperturbed back at the brave on the horse. The solid breadth of Bodie’s muscled chest up. Tight muscular belly sucked in. Undaunted. A picture of manly defiance. Chin up. Standing up to this captor .. whoever he was. Whatever was going on.

Joe himself didn’t feel so brave. Twitchy as heck that he was getting tied up by Indian savages. His innards were jumping .. all over the place. But he copied his new-found buddy. Chin up, chest out. BUT … feeling different. Like he was about to piss himself.

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Indian captives

“So how come? How you learn to speak Indian?”Their own lassos had been tied to their wrist bonds and jerked to move them out.

A pair of Indians took possession of their horses, they held the other end of the lassos and kept up a brisk walking pace. It was mid-day, still stinking hot.

The two of them were kept trotting behind their own horses, the rays of the sun burning into their bare backs. No boots .. the walk through the grasslands tore at their bare feet. Sharp stones

cut at their flesh.

“My mother was Cheyenne.”Joe looked astonished at Bodie’s answer. Bodie had expected the shock. The reason he didn’t talk about it.“Brought up as Cheyenne. Till I was six …..”

More questions were on the tip of Joe’s tongue. How come? Till six? What had happened? But his brave snapped back at him. Yanked on the lasso and kicked his horse into a faster pace. Joe had to race to keep up .. or be dragged. Bodie for his insolence in talking took a spear shaft hard across the back of his shoulders. The pair were separated. Disciplined for talking. They never got a second chance.

Out of the trees, out onto the prairie. Back into the glaring sun. Burning down on Joe’s bare head. For wearing hours, it seemed. Frying his brain, weakening his spirit. Flagging. Demoralising Joe they kept up a brisk pace across the prairie. The rough grass scratching at his bare feet. Joe was scared, he didn’t want to admit it to himself. But he knew it was true. He’d heard the tales. Drunken stories in the saloon. What Indians did to white-men. Here he was .. the real thing, no drunkard’s tale. A dozen braves surrounded him. He was being dragged along on his own lasso behind his own

horse. Made to keep up a harsh pace. No escape. The sun beating down on him. Robbing him of strength. Nervous. Scared.

Obviously they had sent messengers ahead. Suddenly a rush of young braves were racing towards them. Greeting their triumphant brothers. Then turning their hostility on the captives. Joe didn’t understand a word of what they yelled at him. He didn’t have to. Their jeers. Fists raised. The looks of hatred in their eyes. Well before he saw the tepees and their village this hostile mob menacing Joe had him jumpy.

He looked for Bodie .. for support. To find another soul going through the same ordeal. How was Bodie taking this? But they had kept him well behind. Keeping them apart. Joe was going through this sea of hostility on his own. He’d have to find his way of putting up with this.Close by the village, women lined the route. They spat at him. Fists raised, screaming at him. they cursed him. Joe couldn’t remember ever before feeling so alone. And scared.

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Surrounded

“What the heck you reckon they’re gonna do with us?”Joe looked over at Bodie for support. Like himself the wrist ties had been cut through. And like himself he stood completely ringed-in by a whole tribe of Indians.

He’d asked the obvious question. Joe’s guts told him he already knew the answer. But he was edgy. Maybe Bodie .. half-Indian .. knew better? More re-assuring?

They looked savage and intimidating. Now the jeering and

cursing had died down. The Indians had gone quiet. Glaring at the pair of them. And that felt worse. Ominous. Surrounded by hostile silence. And a sea of hostile looks.

Bodie didn’t reply. Joes thought he was concentrating. Thinking what to say? How to put it comforting? Joe reckoned nothing that Bodie had to say was good news. Like himself, a pair of the more burly braves had Bodie by the upper arm. Tightly gripped. Preventing escape. But ….. worryingly .. surrounded .. where were they supposed to run to?

“Bodie …..” Joe hissed. Insistent.He didn’t turn his head. His look of concentration didn’t flicker.“Shhh,” Bodie hissed back. “I’m listening.”His head indicated to the pair stood outside the biggest tepee. The chief’s?

Joe saw that brave who’d headed up their ambush was deep in conversation with a man in a headdress. His face looked as serious as his muscular torso. The man who’d captured them .. tall, well-built. And a demeanour that warned he took no missing around. He looked worried. And stern. Joe saw him listening to the Indian in his headdress .. straight-faced, his face as hard as the muscles on his chest.

“The other one? He the chief?”Joe was nervous. He couldn’t keep quiet.

He glanced at Bodie. Joe had only known hard work all his life. The rigours of living on a farm and doing everything themselves .. it had built him up. Strong arms, broad back. Hard work had given him the etched belly that had the girls’ hands reaching up under his shirt, stroking longingly the protective hardness they found on him.

Sideways on Bodie looked even more like a man who could handle himself. Joe reckoned the pair of brawny braves clutching at his arms wouldn’t stand a chance .. if he and Bodie took them on. The cannonballs of muscle on Bodie’s shoulders would unleash body-breaking power behind bunched fists. His broad muscular back would pound the braves to the dirt.But that pair would be replaced by a dozen more. By a village full of hostility. They were ringed-in. Pure aggression everywhere Joe looked. Joe’s own upper arms in the grip of the braves were also re-assuringly thick with muscular fight. But nothing was going to fight their way out of this mess.

Again Bodie shushed Joe up. His concentration on what the pair outside the tepee were saying was intense. But then they broke up. And the brave who’d captured them turned and walked back.Joe heard Bodie whisper out of the corner of his mouth.“Not chief. Their medicine-man.”

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Fears

Joe saw Bodie cock a thumb at him. The brave who'd brought them in had returned. And Bodie had jumped in grabbing his attention. The brave looked angry. But Bodie continued, his head indicating at Joe.

Talking about him, Joe supposed. Damn-it, he thought. Is the bastard selling me down the river? Heaping all the blame on me!

Joe didn’t understand a word of what was going on. But it made

sense. When the brave turned his cold calculating gaze on him, Joe dreaded that Bodie was saving his skin. It was HIS farm. Bodie was just the hired help. Did what the boss ordered him to.

Joe realised he knew as good as nothing about this Bodie. Like the fact he was half-Cheyenne. Who’s this Indian savage gonna believe? Half an Indian or a white-eyes?

Joe hadn’t understood what Bodie and that brave had said to each other. But he knew to worry when the brave cast that cold eye at him. An appraising, unnerving look. This news that Bodie spoke Indian .. clearly he could make himself understood .. this had totally thrown Joe. In the past few hours he had swung in a dizzying arc from the extreme of one emotion to another. He didn’t know what was going on. And he could feel the nerves clutching tight at his guts.

And Joe’s nervousness was giving him an edgy feeling that he was being set-up. Bodie could talk to this brave. He had said something and the Indian’s gaze had swooped on him. Joe’s jitteriness had nearly had him jerk. For a moment Joe looked away .. ambushed by the strength of this brave’s personality .. and the ferocity of his look. What the hell had Bodie said to him?

Shrinking under the ferocity of that brave’s glare was only going to give these savages the wrong idea, Joe knew that was wrong. He had to stand up to them. Joe made himself stare the brave down. Their captor, this powerfully-built brave who’d led the raiding party, had earlier ended his talk with the Medicine-man. Scowling, looking a mixture of worry and anger, he had returned from conferring with the Medicine-man. Probably coming up with some nasty method of punishing the captives. Grim-faced, eyes-slitted, he’d strode purposefully back to his pair of helpless captives.

Joe had swallowed down any show of his fears but he readied for the start of some nasty Indian tortures. But before the brave could snap out any orders and unleash hostile savages at the pair of them, Bodie had spoken out. Joe had no idea what he had said. The brave tried to silence Bodie with a look but Bodie carried on talking Indian to the brave. They weren’t expected to talk out. Joe caught the obvious look of anger on the brave’s stern face. White-face captives were not supposed to talk up for themselves. Joe felt any added shiver in his guts … Bodie was making things worse .. the brave’s glower looked like it was going to let loose the worst of all possible replies. But Bodie had ignored the glower of anger. He had spoken out again.

The fact that Bodie was “one of them” had to have this brave baffled. But the confusion did not last long. The corded muscles on the brave’s neck twitched. Forearms went to solid muscle as he clenched his fists. Joe got nervous, part of him wanted to tell Bodie to shut-the-hell-up. Seeing the look of anger turn to muscled fury. At whatever Bodie had said.

The brave’s emotions were written in muscular anger on his bare torso. Joe wanted Bodie to shut his mouth, things were going from bad to worse. The brave growled something back. Calmly Bodie remained undaunted, undeterred again Bodie had answered back. Explaining why he spoke Indian? Or ……? Something more incriminating? Like blaming Joe. HELL! HE was the boss. HIS fault. Was Bodie saving his damned hide?

Suddenly Joe felt the ferocity of the brave’s gaze turn full on Joe. Damn-it, the savage had the most deadly eyes. Like looking into a snake’s. Empty, cold, Bottomless. Joe sensed deep fires of rage burning down in his soul. Those eyes betrayed nothing. Joe had no idea what was going on in the brain behind. And that made his guts squirm.Damn it! Joe felt his innards twist deep inside. A giant boulder of fear plummeted to the depths of his stomach. Had that bastard Bodie sold him out?

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Strategy

Joe was strong, muscular. A life of hardship to a dirt-poor farmer of a father had given him a solid physique. But working for days alongside Bodie, Joe knew that guy was something else again.

Strong but above all tough. Bodie could keep at it all day. His strength never faltered, his back could run with sweat from the heat. But the strength in his back showed no sign of weakening.

The packed strength in his shoulders pounded the fence-posts into sun-baked earth.

Hard work, a killer of a job. Only possible with an eye-catching physique.

And worryingly that brave who’d captured them .. who had passed that appraising eye over Joe that had made his guts squirm .. he too was carved from the same dense stone as Bodie. Put up against him in a fight, Joe reckoned he’d not stand too much of a chance.

And he had that look. Those fathomless poker-faced empty eyes that gave nothing away. What the hell was he thinking? And what the heck was Bodie up to too?

Joe had been making himself breathe deep, calming his nerves. And then Bodie had come out with that shocker. Disorienting Joe all over again. “What the heck do I know about doctoring?”Baffled Joe whispered out of the side of his mouth to Bodie. “I’m no doctor,” Joe hissed back.

Bodie didn’t turn his head. He was watching the brave disappear into the chief’s tepee. No doubt going back to confer with the Medicine-man.“You wanna go free, don’t you ….?”

Bodie’s deep voice was reduced to a whisper. Before the brave had left them, he’d ordered the guards to close-in. The grip on Joe’s upper arm was cripplingly

tight. He felt like his guard was breathing down his neck. Though where’d they’d run if they shook their guards off ……? Straight into a dozen spear-heads. Beating to pulp by this hostile tribe. There was no running away from this.

Quietly Bodie explained. The chief was deadly sick. He’d overheard the Medicine-man. It appeared his potions and spells were having no effect. Their chief looked like he was dying Bodie had been trying to persuade the brave that Joe had doctoring skills. Trying to convince the hostile brave that the White-eyes’ medicine could save the chief.

Grabbing at straws .. in desperation .. Bodie had come up with an idea. Quietly he laid out the plan to Joe.“They’re going to kill us. In revenge for fencing off the land. Torture us first. To make a point …..”A shiver passed down Joe’s spine. Secretly he’d known as much. He’d feared that fate. But hearing it spoken out loud only made his fears worse.“But you’ll be in the tepee. Saving the chief’s life …..”

Bodie was keeping his voice down. There were Indians holding tight on their arms.“You’ll be free. Come nightfall …..”He hesitated .. trusting their guards did not understand what he was saying …..“….. all the village asleep .. that’s your chance. Slip out. Grab yourself a horse. Get the hell outta here.”Bodie glanced over at Joe.

The younger man frowned. “What about you?”Bodie stared back, his look serious.“Yeah …. don’t forget .. you owe me ……”He winked. Was that a smile?“Bring the soldiers back. Pronto. Only chance for me to survive.”

HELL! Risky, Joe thought. He’d need luck on his side, a bundle of luck. A cloudy night would help. Slip away when the village was sleeping. Dicey. But better than otherwise. Better than what Joe knew these savages would start on otherwise. But then he thought ….“You serious?”Bodie turned his face to him. Grave. “They are going to torture us, anyway.”

Heck! Bodie hadn’t been selling Joe out. Now he felt guilty for that treacherous thought. Bodie had been plotting to get Joe free. And he was trusting Joe to save his skin. Did Joe see Bodie shrug? Shrug off that idea he was going to be tortured? Is that what it meant to be half-Indian yourself?“Tonight? They’ll start on me ……”Joe started to object .. like saying he couldn’t go ahead with this. Abandon Bodie to that fate. But Bodie’s plan was the best they’d got.

Bodie nodded at Joe .. like he knew how these Indians thought.“Probably they reckon I’m worse than you ……”Joe risked a sideways glance at Bodie. He didn’t understand. He frowned.“They accuse me of abandoning the Indian nation, you see?”Bodie shrugged. Like he couldn’t escape that accusation. “They hate me for siding with the white man.”Joe frowned. That was no reason for torture a man out of his skin ….. Was it? But then he realised .. this plan, risky, uncertain though it was .. it was the best option they had. He got back to the fort, brought back the soldiers. His best chance to save Bodie’s hide. But first Bodie was going to put himself through hell.

Joe whispered back.“When I’ve gone … when they see I’ve escaped ……?”Bodie nodded. He finished Joe’s thought.“When you’ve escaped their clutches … they’ll seek revenge …...”Bodie paused. “They won’t be messing around ……”

Bodie took a deep breath. Joe saw Bodie knew how seriously things would get.“They’ll take it out on me.”Bodie did his best to make a smile.“Do me a favour. Don’t call in on a girl ……”He half-chortled.“Get the soldiers back here damned-quick. Don’t hang around …….”

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The brave

The brave made his offer.“Save the chief’s life .. help him recover .. I’ll reward you ……”

Bodie’s captor was come up close. Speaking to Joe. Who had got used to steeling himself. Sternly staring back into the menacing blankness of the Indian’s stare.

The brave had returned from the chief’s tent. Probably he had conferred with the Medicine Man. Who had confirmed the chief was not responding. He might die.

There was nothing to lose by trying the White Man’s powerful medicine.

“The chief lives …….”The bottomless snake eyes bored into Joe’s face.“And I will spare your suffering …….”No emotion on his face. No signs of feeling .. anger, hatred, desperation for the chief, nothing … a gaze that could burrow deep into a man’s soul. Joe wondered, Could he sense his own fears?“YOURS will be a quick death.”

To Joe, that didn’t seem much of a deal. He saved the chief’s life. And they rewarded him with a knife to the heart. On the other hand …. What could you expect of savages like these? Bodie had been right. They had to out-trick them. Bodie’s plan was the only one they had. But if Joe did manage to get away …… Bodie was in for it. Heck! That guy had guts. But what other choice did they have?

Bodie’s hands were free. He could have gone into the attack. This Indian brave was powerfully built, he had the feel of a man very aware of himself .. a fighter, a leading brave. Taking him on man-to-man .. one-on-one .. a hard fight to win. Bodie had the sense that all that muscle was matched by his doggedness to

win. A guy with a presence like his .. he never set out to lose.Besides the fight wouldn’t last long. One-on-one would become one against many pretty soon. The other braves were clearly not in the mood for a fair fight. They’d jump in. Beat the hell out of Bodie for daring. Only one thing mattered here. They wanted to see these trespassers hurt.

The brave must have sensed Bodie’s logic. He saw his helplessness. He rubbed his message in. When he’d first mentioned a reward for Joe, Bodie’s spirits had lifted. Then he quickly translated those words into his own head. Save the chief and Joe went free? Like hell as like!“His will be a quick death.”The brave’s head indicated Joe. Quick .. meaning a spear through the gut. With any luck, Joe’s reward would be a blade across his throat. Before the fires were lit. And the unbearable agonies began.

“In your case ….”Bodie by now had begun to assume this brave was the chief’s son. By his demeanour. And the way others gave him the lead. Besides, why else that talk with the Medicine-man in the tepee? This strongly-built man was destined to lead the tribe. He was the force here to reckon with. His finger jabbed insolent at Bodie’s bare chest.“ … honoured with a brave’s death.”Bode added the missing words. A captured brave’s death. The tribes were less than kind to the braves taken alive in battle.

“Born into the Cheyenne, you say. But you chose the white-man’s ways …..”There was no point in Bodie correcting him. No one was interested. But at his mother’s death, the mixed race child of six was banished. Taken out into the prairie .. dumped .. abandoned .. left to fend for himself. His mother’s tribe did not want to know. His white-man father should take him in .. if the boy ever found him. Bodie had “chosen the ways of the white-man” …… he’d been given no other choice. But .. expelled .. thrown on his own resources .. life had made Bodie tough. From childhood on.

“Honoured by a chance to show the Indian blood in you.”Bodie did not remember from childhood the ordeals meted out to captured enemy braves. But as an army scout, he had heard enough tales. Come across the corpses left over.“We will see how much Cheyenne spirit flows in this proud body of yours.”

A brave handed the chief’s son something. It looked like a bundle of leather and strings.“Out of those white-man clothes.”His nod indicated the only clothing Bodie had on. His pants.“You will walk your path to death. As Cheyenne.”

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Ordeals to come

That bundle of leather and cord was a breechcloth. An Indian brave's covering. Bodie remembered from childhood how to wear it. He stood near naked in this ring of hostility. Feeling vulnerable .. even when he knew better than to show it.

More vulnerable than he should because he knew it was not the usual brave’s clout. Nothing between the legs.

Just a belt of fine leather cord around his hips and a flap front and back. The bare minimum

to cover himself. No protection underneath. A swipe of the hand would bare him.

Not the usual dress for a man. Not meant to be. That idea alone sent his thoughts racing. So accessible, curiously accessible.

But grim-faced he stared down the chief's son. He'd be tortured. Was this covering a clue as to what that would entail? He felt his pulse had lifted. This brave had got the jump on him. Bodie needed to regain the advantage .. if there was one.

He wasn't given the chance to find out. Grab back some advantage .. not allowed. His near naked hide was grabbed by the arms. He was shoved under the frame where they’d dry out a buffalo skin. Sturdy uprights to take the stretching as the hide dried out in the sun. Bodie looked towards the chief's tepee as his arms were raised above his shoulders. Inside was Joe, his only hope of getting out of this alive. He trusted Joe would make a good fist of pretending he knew what he was doing. Any young rancher who'd spent all his life on a farm had nursed a sheep through a hard lambing. Administered to his sick horse. Castrated a steer. Bodie had to trust in Joe’s acting skills.

Cord was binding his wrists to a bar. It was hanging down from the tops of the uprights. The cord had been cinched tight .. cutting into his wrist flesh. Keeping his hands shoulder-width apart above his head. He'd been looking up .. working out his position .. assessing his chances .. spotting rope trailing down to the bar from rings at the top of each upright ….. then suddenly Bodie had sensed danger had approached. The chief's son was stood in front eyeing him. Looking him up and down. He caught his eye roaming down the ladder of muscle in Bodie's belly. Pulled in tight by the upraised arms. Looking him over. Assessing the resilience in that muscled torso. Working out how to test that strength. How to beat the White-eyes out of him. How to best him.Bodie prepared himself.

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Conflict

The brave bristled at the nerve of Bodie's stern look. Irritated he glared back hard. Holding Bodie’s insolent gaze.

Visibly remaining unmoved, the brave was showing nothing of his thoughts. Or his annoyance at this prisoner refusing to show his fears. And inwardly knowing that audacity would be repaid.

A long hard stare between the two. Holding each other in manly combat. Determined neither would show weakness.

Then he changed plan of attack. Reminding the White-eyes who held the upper hand. Emphasising his helplessness. Accentuating the vulnerability of that muscular power. The brave’s gaze returned to the canvas of flesh on which he'd test out his paints.

Cold eyes scrawled on that torso brought up in the Indian nation. Daubing it in shades of pained red. Splattering the flesh with this traitor’s cries of vibrant yellow. Slowly he drew his vision upwards. Taking in the solid plates of manly strength in the chest. Muscular power elongated upwards by the raised arms. Mastering that defiant will his gaze lingered in the open armpits. Assessing the power in the rounded mounds of solid muscle exposed in Bodie's shoulders.

"You are strong."The brave had stared long into Bodie's eyes. Returning a look that was equally strong. A long tussle for supremacy. One Bodie knew better than to lose. His gaze didn't flinch. The brave kept staring deep into his eyes .. warning Bodie to look away. He didn’t.

Irritated the brave continued."Any squaw would long to take you."Bodie defied this flattery. When his mother had died .. when the tribe had expelled a six-year-old .. no squaw had come forward to protect a halfling orphan. Undeterred Bodie kept up this war of hard looks. Icy cold and menacing those brown eyes tore into his. Determined to stare him down. Blinking away would be a sign of weakness. Something no captured brave could risk.

Stood in almost nothing, that clout offering barely any covering. The tribes did not always treat captured braves well. Bodie had no reason to believe he’d fare

any better himself. Humiliating him in his nakedness said as much."But are you tough? Hard as an Indian brave?"The chief's son broke off this combat of looks. His gaze swept again over the expanse of Bodie's hard chest. Already glistening in the heat .. the light catching his sweat .. gathering in the chasm between solid plates of muscle. Exposed. Defenceless. Open to every attack. The eyes that returned to Bodie’s face were harsh. Cold, calculating. Disdainful.

"You choose the white man's ways. How much Cheyenne is there left ...?"His head nodded at Bodie's body. Muscular, strong .. but vulnerable. Hands tied above his powerful shoulders. As good as naked. Muscled, well-built  ..  yet every inch of him unprotected.  Open to violence."How much Indian blood flows .. in this?"

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Condemned

The chief’s son had stepped back. Still facing his trapped captive. The traitor brought up among the tribes but he chosen the White-eyes’ ways.

The brave spread his arms out wide .. displaying to the tribe his own eye-catching muscular physique. Head proudly held high, chest broad and strong, he addressed the whole tribe.

They had watched on in silence. Forming a barrier to escape .. a hostile wall of silence. Surrounded the hated captives. One White-eye reprieved to save their chief. But the other, this traitor who’d betrayed their ways .. they enveloped him on all sides. No getting away. No escaping what he deserved.

For some time no one had jeered. Women had not shaken a fist at him. An intense ring of hatred encircling him. Patient but eager, they stood waiting for the start of what had to come. What this defector had coming to him.

“Soon the sun will set. Let fires be lit. Torches will blaze.”The brave announced the scene. The tribe looked eager. For the moment when this hated White-man would pay.“Then the White-Eyes will pay for his offence. Fencing in our land. Claiming it for his own.”For the first time there was a murmur. Of assent. And hostile looks whiplashed the helpless bareness stood before them. They’d see him pay, every single one of them.

“Warriors. Prepare yourselves. Men. Put on your paint.”The brave’s eyes slowly encompassed all of his people stood around .. travelling around this circle of human hatred. His tribe eager for his words .. all one with him. Then his cold gaze returned .. to sweep cold over the stretched out form. Muscular, haughty .. but doomed. The chill of his look settled over the helpless White-eyes .. once one of them. Now he’d chosen his fate. The brave’s contempt ran down this near-naked vulnerability from head to feet.

His words now addressed the tribe but his eyes were still boring deep into the White-man’s treacherous soul. His own hatred gripping his heart but displaying only the calm temperament of a man born to lead. Steely he pronounced his condemnation.

“With nightfall … the run for pain begins.”That broke the silence. A cheer went up. Braves beat the air. Women sang out their praise. In unison men called out their joy and rhythmically thudded their fists in the air .. jubilantly cheering the White-Eye’s fate. All around hearts lifted. The right would be done. Cheers turned to jeers at the sight of the White-Eyes’ helplessness .. arms bound above his shoulders .. stripped of his White-man’s clothes. The thought of his fate .. and their part in it .. it raised their spirits. Giving them what they desired. Revenge. Payback for these intruders who thought to claim their heritage. Vengeful cheers signalled the hatred with which they held him.

First .. only a start. A taster of the onset of the body-breaking pains he would know. Lasting every agonising moment till they let him draw his final tortured breath. Here it started. The run for pain.

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Torment

Bodie saw that the brave had not been able to stop himself. He’d had to come and gloat. For all that chilled demeanour .. for all his muscled self-control .. the brave could not contain his sense of triumph. Having Bodie .. like this .. facing this fate.

He’d been stood observing as the tribe went off to prepare. Putting themselves in order for a night of justified punishment. Preparing for Bodie’s ordeal. Women gathering the wood. Braves

painting themselves. Men preparing torches for the light.

Itching. His self-control losing out. For a while the brave had stayed at a distance away. Thick-muscled arms crossed over his solid chest, watching, observing. Then it got the better of him. He had approached. Come to torment. Come to taunt the White-Eyes with details of his fate.

Hardly able to contain himself .. triumphant .. glorying in having a worthy victim to pay for these White-eyes’ crimes. Bodie was not surprised when the chief’s son approached. For all that stoic look on his face .. he couldn’t stop himself. Getting off on this power.

Bodie stood strong and solid on his feet. The warning signs of the preparations for his pains bustling around him. Glances of hatred. Taunting sneers as a brave jabbed his friend in the ribs and gloated over their captive’s helpless. And still that chief’s son had stood impassively as the village got itself prepared. His eyes did not miss a thing. Not a single shift of muscle as Bodie adjusted himself. Observing every move when strains in his shoulder joints became too much.

In time, when his impatience could no longer hold him back, cold-faced the brave approached. The pair now faced each other man-to-man, face-to face. Already the light was beginning to fade. Presaging the time when in the firelight glow Bodie would face retribution in a trial of will. Already aches in his raised arms were gnawing away at his strength of mind. Nervousness at the impending ordeal had insidiously wheedled itself into his

guts. Taunting Bodie’s cast-iron resolve to stand up to this torture. He knew it would not be easy.

Ostensibly a test to see how tough he was. Supposedly testing how much Cheyenne stoicism remained .. if the deserter of the Indian nation could still withstand a warrior’s trial. A test of his ability to stand up to their hatred and their pain.In truth, a punishment. An ordeal. One man against the vengeful wrath of this tribe. No one here but Bodie had any wish to see him succeed.

For a long time .. ignoring the bustle as his people lit the fires and prepared the torches .. Bodie had countered the stern look from the chief’s son. Stood commanded over his captive .. glaring expressionless into Bodie’s gaze. An impressive figure of authority .. this impassive stature of etched muscle and strong will. Arms crossed over a bare torso, biceps knotted even at rest, staring Bodie down. Watching. Observing. Intimidating his captive. Bodie saw him imagining his fate .. his mind’s eye foreseeing every blow. Previewing every grimace of pain his braves would squeeze out of this hated White-Eyes. His imagination foretelling the captive throwing his head back and howling with regret. This cowardly Cheyenne who had abandoned the tribes.

Even as the light began to die away, the heat still seemed to hang like a thick blanket heavy over Bodie. Sweat ran. The heat of the day was still strong in the air. Nervous strains were running in dribbles down the back of his neck, trickling off his hair. Anxiety at the torture he’d be submitted to was knotted tight inside his guts. His own idea .. a plan he had devised himself. So that Joe could get away. Joe ran, Bodie stayed behind .. taking the punishment. He knew he’d be tortured. He remembered enough about the tribes when they captured enemy braves. Latterly, when he’d worked as an army scout .. he’d come across the remains. Seen with his own eyes what a tribe had put their enemy through.

The tribes did not play at this. Retribution was harsh, their punishment ruthless. It would be the same for him. This plan of his, Bodie’s own strategy ….. it was going to be tough. And he did not take the prospect lightly. How much he could stand before he passed out ... how well he’d stand up to this brave’s evil-minded plans .. Bodie could not know. The braves had cheered when the brave had announced his punishment. It would be a task they’d relish .. they’d give their best. Bodie had to trust Joe would get the hell out of here. And gallop back with all speed .. armed soldiers in his wake.

Pride said Bodie would show these bastards. He’d not let them hear him shout out, he swore. What was what they craved to see, they claimed it was how much Cheyenne remained in him. They wanted to find the Cheyenne spirit in him .. or so they said. Truth-be-told every single one of them here craved to see that his Cheyenne soul had sold out to the treacherous white-man. And be pitilessly punished for that.

No longer did he belong to the tribes. A traitor. He’d sold out his worth to the White-eyes. For that every punishment was justified.

Whatever their reasoning .. Bodie was convinced they’d planned to have him tortured anyway. This thing about testing his Indian soul .. just some excuse. When it came down to the truth .. this ordeal was his manly spirit up against their evil-minded hatred. Simple as that.Which was why …. he’d never beg, he swore to himself. But the reality? Bodie was a realist. He’d seen with his own eyes what happened to a captive enemy. Defying them? Standing up to them? For how long? The truth could be something else ….. He’d pray he’d last out enough for Joe to bring back the soldiers.

The chief’s son had approached. He stood up-close, he addressed Bodie, soft spoken. But the oily softness of his tone was only fuel thrown upon the fire. He was gloating. He was tormenting Bodie with the knowledge. Telling him what the warriors would do. Glorying in Bodie’s imminent torment. Torturing Bodie’s mind before the ordeal on his body commenced. Explaining what that was …… the braves’ Run for pain. The run for Bodie’s pain.

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Run for pain

More than he could do to stop himself. The brave knew the power of working on a captive’s nerves.

He understood this White-eyes would be made to wait till the sun had died. Time when anxiety would undermine his strength of mind. His eyes taking in the preparations for his ordeal. The fears crunching up his insides.

A tortured wait. Brave he stood now, defiant even. Feeling strong, believing himself capable. He’d outlast any assault on his manly spirit. He’d face-down every

attempt to make him suffer. Refuse to cringe. He’d never beg.Or so the White-eyes mistakenly told himself …….

But the brave had seen this before. A haughty enemy from another tribe. Proudly stood .. chest high, looking down his nose at their threats. Every fibre of his being giving out the message. Nothing would break him down. He’d resist, he’d defy. The brave had seen this before. His warriors had not let him down …….

“Every male in the tribe has his turn.”The chief’s son looked hard into Bodie’s eyes. Casting his scorn. He was close, Bodie could almost feel the heat of malice radiating off that solid-muscled chest. The hotness of a bitch-in-heat. Of a man eager to beat an enemy down. Show who was boss.“Every single one honoured to prove your worth …..”Bodie knew better. They were not interested in his worth .. seeing how much Cheyenne blood coursed through his veins. His brain re-wrote the words. They were out beat the hell out of him.

It would include those braves who’d ambushed them at the river. Fine well-built braves. Full of aggression. Bodies honed by hunting and hard work. And in the crowd Bodie had spotted more young men .. barely out of boyhood .. how

much power could they pack? Collectively. And these older men? Some were grandfathers maybe …. But Bodie knew that hatred could fuel even the feeblest of bodies. And that jeering at his vulnerability .. when they’d stripped him down to this scant covering .. that had shown his cries of pain were something they all craved. What male here would refuse to play his part? Or be shown up not doing his best? There were plenty he’d spotted here who packed enough power to make their mark.

“Formed into two groups. One gathered here. In front. The other half assembled behind.”Behind him. Where Bodie could not see them. Coming at him from behind. How much warning? None ……

“One stick.”The chief’s son held up his hand. As if holding a long rod. He swished his arm to the side. As if striking out with a stinging willowy shaft.“The first races forward. Strikes. Hitting this torso …”The chief’s son’s eyes dropped. Assessing the muscled power of Bodie’s belly. The vulnerability of his ribcage. Hit cripplingly across his front.“As best he can.”He paused. Letting Bodie build the image for himself. A brave armed with a long willowy stick racing towards Bodie helplessly strung up for him.

The brave let his words hang. For dramatic effect. Then unexpectedly he swished his arm out to the side, like he was attacking .. slashing his stick across Bodie’s front. Instinctively Bodie had twisted away. But there was no rod in the brave’s hand. No contact was made. Just a dramatic move to make Bodie jump.“As hard as he can …….”To Bodie, in his nervousness, that went without saying. Hit with all a brave could muster .. each one out to prove himself …… Bodie was not deluding himself. This task he had put up for himself .. it was going to be tough.

The chief’s son bored his eyes deep into Bodie’s gaze. Seeking to intimidate.“Then he disappears behind.”The chief’s son circled Bodie, moving behind him. His gaze full on his upraised arms. Peering into the sweat flattening the hair in his open armpits. He stood behind. His chest was pressed against Bodie’s sweaty bare back.“He hands over the rod.”

The chief’s son was speaking down Bodie’s ear. Two enemies locked in close hostility.“Gives the rod to the other line.”Bodie got the picture. Another brave then raced forward, from behind. Thwacking his shaft viciously across Bodie’s back. He felt a fingernail trace a deep groove across the breadth of his muscular shoulders. A signal from the brave. Menacing. Without saying a word.

Bodie did not need telling. It was all clear .. this Run for HIS pain. Struck across the front. Smacked across the back. A relay of two lines of hate-filled braves.

Thwacking him once with a rod. Then joining the other line. Handing over the rod. Then the brave lined up again. And the cycle began again? How many times? Until what …..?

As a final act .. and because he could not stop himself .. an irrepressible desire for mastery over this one-time Cheyenne who had betrayed the tribes .. the chief’s son had barked an order at a pair of braves. He ordered Bodie lifted off the ground. He indicated to the braves to haul on the ropes. The bar to which Bodie’s wrists were tied was jerkily pulled. Bodie’s arms straightened. He felt the chief’s son’s gaze rove over his torso as his chest lifted. The muscled belly forcibly sucked in. The hard muscle of his upper torso elongated as he was stretched. And jolting Bodie’s feet were lifted off the ground. Not far, his toes just off the earth. But enough for the full weight of his muscled body to drag down on his arms. An added discomfort as Bodie was made to wait for his ordeal. Suspended. With growing unease. Bodie felt the impending sign of strains in his armpits begin to settle in. Stuck up in the air. But only a foretaste of what this chief’s son planned for him. Vulnerable. Defenceless. Strung-up for their Run for his pain.

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Trial of will

The rod struck hard against bare skin. Stinging. Burning. Eye-popping. The force knocked him backwards.

Pain twisted off his stinging belly .. spiralling him in the air. Jolted back by the restraining ropes. Swinging. Jerking.

Suspended still. Torso stretched, muscled belly an open target for attack.

Impossible to hold back the gasp. Bare flesh .. weakened by hours in this stretch. Struck like lashed by a burning flame. Pain rushing up his suspended torso.

Sizzling through every straining muscle. Pain jarring in shocks of heat through his every tortured joints A tear of pain burst from his eye.

Bodie threw his head back. His face contorted .. frozen by the shock .. hands tight clenched into claws. Waves of heat rushed up his bare torso. Filling his throat. Bursting in his head.

The chief’s son did the honours himself. He took pride of place. The first to grasp the switch. First to run the race. First giving out a warning before he launched into attack. Intimidating by whipping the springy weapon above his head. A swishing of stinging evil in the still air. Goading. Menacing. Around the whole tribe assembled. But not one voice made a sound. A ring of hate-filled silence illuminated by the fires. Wishing ill, craving hurt. Thirsting for pain. Silent. Just the menacing swish of scorching threat cutting through the night air. About to slash at Bodie’s bare flesh.

Gathering himself. Face grim, jaw set. Every muscle in his body quivering with determination for the task. Like a greyhound trembling for release .. to race blood-thirsty for the helpless prey. Eyes intense, slitted. His grip of the stick tight.

He was racing forward .. weapon out to the side. Bolting from a standing start .. athletically accelerating into the deadly deed. Bodie tensed. Preparing himself. Mentally steeling himself. The crescendo of pounding feet on the sun-baked earth heralding the fateful hit.Struck across his midriff. Hard, biting. The springy stick lashing out .. tearing

across the breadth of his belly. Jarring his midriff backwards. Evil the switch tore bitingly across his hard-muscled waist. Tensed, tight, flexed.

The burn took his breath away. The force sent him rocking backwards .. a yelp of pain trapped in his mouth. Whiplashed backwards by force. Scorched like a branding iron across his skin. The movement yanked back by the ropes. The shock of jarring wrenching at joints tortured from hanging for hours.

The pain jarred in shocks of heat through his every tortured joint. Sizzling through every straining muscle. Burning on straining skin. A tear of pain burst from his eye.Bodie threw his head back. Fighting, hurt .. but fighting back. His face contorted .. frozen by the shock .. hands tight clenched into claws. Waves of heat rushed up his bare torso. Filling his throat. Bursting in his head.

Dogged Bodie clamped down on the searing heat. Eyes hard-closed against the tear, jaw tight set against the pain. Fighting the cry .. battling the shock jarring in tortured shoulders .. sharply yanked out of over-stretched joints. Gritty Bodie bit down fiercely on the cry that hammered in his throat .. clawing for a way to escape.

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Threat

Contrary to what the chief’s son had said .. acting in character, unable to control this wild flush of joy .. the brave had not handed on the stick.

Earlier he’d goaded Bodie with the plan, how the Run for pain worked. The first brave would hit Bodie stingingly with the rod. Then he’d hand the weapon to a brave behind. Running up. Thwacking Bodie across the back.

He decided otherwise, the temptation too great. The chief’s son had sent Bodie swinging .. a

forceful strike thwacking into his stretched belly. Beating the wind out of him. Jarring him, spinning.

But then he’d stayed. Gripped by the need to gloat.

Eerie .. the way the tribe did not cheer. The hated enemy .. gasping out in pain .. swinging off his wrists .. helpless .. no escaping the body-crippling hatred lashed at his bare flesh. Hung .. helpless as a mind-breaking assault would slash pain out of his will.Silent. Reverential they watched. In awe of the power of this ritual.

He’d lied, he’d deliberately deceived. Not handing on the weapon .. that robbed him off his win. The chief’s son craved to gloat his mastery over the tribe’s despised enemy. He stood .. in front .. as his victim gasped back in air .. catching every grimace of strain on his face. Looking deep into Bodie’s soul .. peering in through his eyes. Assessing. Judging his prisoner’s suffering.

His hand .. touching Bodie on the belly .. fingers out-spread .. encompassed the welt afire over Bodie’s bare belly. Feeling the heat against his fingers. Stroking the burn, relishing the feel of his handiwork. And only the first .. the first of very many strikes.

He remained there deliberately .. emphasising for his prisoner the power of that hit .. the hurt of that sting burning under his goading touch. Their eyes met. A

cold calculated disdain boring up into Bodie’s face. Not concerned by the look equally determined and strong that hit back at him. The first of many strikes .. very many.

Bodie’s head was full of the challenge of this ordeal to come. Realising. Perhaps twenty braves were lined up. And only one had struck. Swinging him wildly with the force .. the strain of his weight jarring in his joints. Hit by the smarting shock from the chief’s son’s strike. Setting the tone. Setting an example to the rest. Twenty more like that. And then the cycle started again? Coming back at him all over again? How many times? An unnerving prospect.But Bodie’s look that returned the brave’s scorn showed nothing of such fears.

Taunting the brave stroked the willowy switch the length of Bodie’s suspended torso. From his throat down .. gliding over the elongated mounds of muscle in his chest. Sketching for his victim the open canvas of pain on which his braves would paint. Broad solid chest .. open to searing strikes .. no defence. Sliding down to his ribs .. what protection there? This willowy switch striking hard on vulnerable bone. No amount of flexing .. no resistance there to fend off the will-crushing strike of a smarting hit.

The springy stick was passing over his stomach. Powerful, solid. But strained after hours of hanging off this wrists. Taunting the chief’s son tapped at the ladder of muscle. One hit marked with a glowing welt from this first strike .. hit just once. Stroking the switch over the welt, back and forth .. wordless reminder of his victim’s vulnerability. Nothing he could do. Except suffer.

Tapping .. row after row .. three rows of strong muscle .. elongated by the hang. Weakened by the strain. One row, another .. rubbing the red welt that marked the start of his ordeal.And then .. further down .. below his belly button .. tapping against the minimal covering he had on. A taunting reminder of Bodie’s defencelessness. Of his inability to protect himself. Of his complete lack of control.

What had this White-eyes got left? How much remained of the stoicism of a Cheyenne brave? A warrior strong in the face of the inevitable. Looking steadfast into the certainty of a tortured death. How much of the stalwart Indian brave remained in the White-eyes?

Twenty more. Twenty warriors lashing out. Twenty following his example. Men watched by family, judged by friends. Braves determined not to let the tribe down. They’d strike out at the hated White-Eyes. With everything they had.

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Vow

Bodie coughed. Fiercely. Unable to stop himself he coughed, spluttered, nearly gagged. Violently he tore his head away. Away from the pungent vapour held under his nose.

In the same instant a thousand hurts joined battle and beat up his spirit. His guts revolted. His back screamed out. A burning like scorched in embers roared in his chest.

Bewildered he cried out. Coughing and sneezing. Snot shooting from his nose. Tears running down his face.

The squaw took away the bundle of burning herbs she had been holding under his nose. The White-Eyes had recovered. The herbs had done their job. Impassive the chief’s son replaced her.

Seemingly impassive he stood in front of his victim. Slumped down off the bar above his head. His torso a mass of burning scarlet, swellings and angry welts. Coughing up his guts as if he had anything there to void. Swaying off the ropes, rocked by the violence of his spluttering. But brought back to life. Back to the realities of his crimes. Seeming impassive the chief’s son stood and watched. But deep-down the brave saw a job well-done. And inwardly was pleased. The White-eyes looked done-in.

Through still bleary eyes angry Bodie recognised his aggressor. The chief’s son .. stood barely an arm’s length away. Eyes-stinging from the sweat, Bodie cursed this god-damned brave who’d ordered this brutality. He was hurting. Hurting all over. Every single bit of him threatened to pass out again with weakness. They’d only beaten him about the torso. Slashing madly the whole breadth of his back. Savagely flogging that switch across his ribs. Only his torso. But from feet to head every bit of his muscular body fainted with near-collapse. He shook his head .. to clear his head .. to try and glare back into the coldness of the brave’s gaze .. without giving way to the tears making him blink.

He was on the ground, he realised. His feet on the earth. Body slumped. But not hung in the air anymore. Not wondering why .. not questioning the reason for his good luck .. happy for that relief. And awakening to his response. Every

defiant instinct in his tortured body demanded he stand on his own two feet. Show what he was made of. A muscular show of strength.Pulling on his arms for support .. digging into deep crevices of reserves .. pushing strength into his legs .. straightening his knees. Every muscle protested. The muscled power of his body burst into flames .. crippling .. body-breaking pain. Assaulting his will. He grimaced .. fearing his strength threatening to fail him. But damn-it! He’d show these animals.

He hissed. He groaned out at the effort. Dogged Bodie fought back. Agonised shoulder muscles put into action. Pulverised torso made to right itself. Obstinate his body found the power from some unimaginable source to put strength into his weakened thighs. He rocked. His body swayed. Weakness threatened to break his knees under him. But Bodie glowered into the cold cruelty of the face observing him. That brave sneering at his plight .. taunting him. And there Bodie found the strength. That sneer gave him the will. To stand up to this cruelty. To show the man in him .. not the Cheyenne .. not the White-Eyes .. this MAN had fight in him still.

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And more ……

Finally .. blinking through blurred vision .. Bodie spotted what the brave was holding .. demonstratively. He had a thick rope dangling from his hand. Bodie watched the chief’s son slowly walk backwards. Eyes fixed on him all the way back.

Something malicious about the way he moved. Opening up the gap between them. In a way Bodie felt he was supposed to spot the reason why.

He did. The brave helped .. stretching his arm out to the side. Attracting Bodie’s struggling attention to the fresh weapon hanging down from his grip.

Bodie had to blink. Blinked a couple of times to see what he was supposed to see .. and fear. A thick piece of rope. At the end weighty knots tied into the rope. Bodie peered through the darkness. Against the flickering light of the fires he spotted three thick murderous knots.

He didn’t need an explanation. The chief’s son offered none. This time he didn’t bother to gloat. Bodie’s own eyes were invited to see the threat. And work it out for himself.Bodie was no longer suspended, he was thankful for that. He’d forced himself to stand on his own two defiant legs. The strain on his belly less .. the pains dragged out of his shoulders not so intense. But still he ached. Still he hurt.

And the brave’s taunts .. swinging that evil weapon off his hand .. they warned this ordeal was not over. Bodie ached, everywhere. He hurt like mad. His body on fire .. sweat running unceasing off his hair .. stinging in the eyes.

Before he’d passed out .. his body no longer coping with the smarting strikes, the bite of their stinging switch .. blocking out the brutal force with which each brave made their mark on him …… He’d been beaten out of his wits. He’d flailed in the air .. jerking, spinning .. joints racked with pain .. flesh stingingly struck.

And now this brave, the chief’s son, mocked Bodie with his fresh weapon. Signalling that crippling hurt that had Bodie running with sweat .. that was just the start. That rope .. adorned with bludgeoning knots .. it was going to take his whiplashed flesh to heights Bodie had never conceived.

He’d brought this on himself, his own idea ….. Bodie had let this happen. And he HAD to see this through. What other chance did he and Joe have? Dogged Bodie dug deep .. searching out the strength of will to stand up to this. Swallowing down the nervousness that was beginning to bloom in his broad chest.

His fists were still trapped above his head .. wrists still bound to the bar .. unconsciously his hands clenched tight into fists. Fuelled by the sight of those menacing knots. His tensions were awakening his resolve. His willpower getting a grip on his nerves. Those clenched fists were his body’s response, steeling itself. Tight-lipped Bodie made to control his ragged breathing. He fought to get a grip on his exhaustion. And quick. He bit down on his determination. This race for pain was not finished. The chief’s son .. damn him .. he’d simply changed weapon. From stinging strikes to bludgeoning blows.

The pair locked eyes. The hostility locked hands .. a pair of wrestlers not prepared to give way. Determined both to win. Neither giving up this fight. Braving him, Bodie stuck up his chin. It hurt but he sucked in his brutalised belly .. defiant. He hurt, he hurt all over. And that brave knew it as well as Bodie did. But the image he gave of himself …. Bodie was not broken yet.

Slowly the chief’s son continued his backwards walk. Slowly, calculated .. like he had eyes in the back of his head .. confident as he retreated backwards. His eyes gripped on Bodie’s face .. his spirit sensing suffering. Backing up, joining the line of the other braves. Their malicious formation for the Run for pain. Lined up to strike. Hitting out with those deadly knots.

Retreating. Joining the rest of Bodie’s attackers, ten eager braves lined up in front. Ten more just as vengeful behind. Eyes not letting up on their menacing glare, the brave was retreating backwards, menacingly slowly. And as he did, the son whooshed the weapon above his head. Muscular arms swooshing the rope in a circle overhead. A threatening growl. Retreating .. yet the snarling evil seemed to fill the air. Menacing, hefty. Breaking through the still air with a ponderous certainty that would hammer devastation at Bodie’s tortured torso.

He wasted no time. No sooner in contact with the other braves in his line, the brave took a final deep breath. Bodie saw him gather himself. And then he leapt into attack.

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Merciless

Pitiless. Getting pulverised. Relentless. No chance to catch his breath. Head in a whirl. Not ready for the next hit. But that was the point …...

Beating every bit of wind out of him. Smashing that dogged will out of him. The battering into his belly forcing him to cry out. Proving there was no Indian blood left in his treacherous soul.

Crushing him to pieces. Pain smashed across his shoulders .. detonating. Muscles spasmed on impact. Then exploding the breadth of his back. Agony blasted out of his chest. Countless times. Bodie was struggling to fight back.

The evil growl of the rope swooshing in a vicious circle above the brave’s head grew louder. Racing for him. Eyes maddened with hate. The twenty paces towards its target eaten up in the blink of an eye.

Bodie tensed. His head was in a spin .. but he had to stay strong. Anxious he saw another brutal strike swirling towards him. Dogged he held his every muscle tight. Sucked in his belly in defence. Hands clenched into determined balled fists. The evil was on him in a heartbeat. Crashing down towards his bare torso. Tight, tense, taut. Thwacked agonising across his battered ribs. Automatically Bodie’s body twisted out of its path. The evil knots smacked him in the side. With a force that contorted him further. Pain shot his torso upright. Shock spasmed him rigid. Head thrown wildly back. Teeth clenched into an agonised vice.

How many now? No point in counting. More than half-a-dozen .. front .. and as many from behind. Forcefully slammed into his backbone. Torture exploding on his lower back. That whooshing of knotted evil kept swishing down. Striking with breath-taking force. Hit on battered ribs. Smashed-up his beaten belly. Instinct twisted him away. The force sent him spiralling him half-round. No evasion, no escape. Wherever those knots struck .. it damn-well hurt. Like hell!

A loud gasp forced open his jaws. The spasm released him from its crippling grip. Every tortured muscle in his body screamed. Twisted him off the sizzling spasms that convulsed his agonised torso. Pain-upon-pain. Tears of pain flowing. Agony-laid-upon-agony. Each blow awakened the hurt from dozens of

strikes he had taken before. Head back, Bodie gyrated like a madman .. trying to free himself from his bonds. Torture-upon-torture. Head in a sickening swirl.

Worse than the wildest bar-room brawl. Drunks using broken chairs to get their own back. Worse than that beating Bodie had once interrupted. Behind the General store .. a drifter held down while a half-dozen cowboys beat the hell out of him. Left the man for half-dead when Bodie and friend had sent them packing .. a few broken noses and sore jaws between them. The doc didn’t know where to start on the drifter. Face smashed up, broken bones. FAR worse than that ……. That was how Bodie felt.

The vengeful brave had disappeared. In a flash .. not waiting for the impact of his tortured blow .. he had raced behind. Handing over his weapon. In gleeful anticipation of the next strike .. smashed into the hated White-eyes’ backbone .. breaking through the captive’s pig-headed will.

Bodie’s heart was thumping in his chest. The pulse was thundering in his ear. His head spinning, his guts threatening to up-end. Too late, he heard the evil growl from behind. Too long his head took to compute the warning. Weakened .. slowed down .. made more vulnerable with every body-breaking hit.

The swooshing menace roared into a storm. It hit. Its warning took on agonised reality. The forceful evil struck home, hard. Thwacked across the breadth of his back. Excruciatingly shocked. Back arching. Taken unawares, unprepared. Shot forward by the force. Throwing a leg forward. His knee crumbling under the shock.

A flash rushed forward from behind. But the captive’s bewildered head could not take it in. This brave too was rapidly racing on and handing over his weapon. Seeing the hated captive struggling, speedily he passed on the knotted rope. Setting him up the next body-breaking attack. They were speeding it up.The White-eyes’ body was still suffering .. dizzy with the force of that thwack into his back. The explosion of pain still spreading out from his lower back. Twisted by tortured agony. A rapid succession of strikes would break the back of the White-eyes’ fight. Break him down.

Unprepared … caught unawares by the a rapid return. Still twisted by pain into a backwards arc. Shock crippling his torso in muscled spasms. Head contorted backwards. Mouth forcibly thrown open. The cry of pain wrenched from deep in his battered guts.And already, in front, unbeknown, unseen .. a fresh brave was racing forward. Face full of vengeful determination. Eagerly swooshing that mad evil wildly above his head. Eyes burning on the open muscled gut.

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Trust

Animals! The way they’d gone for him …! Inhuman. You couldn’t rank them as men. Bitter. Hate-filled. Mad dogs.

Sure .. in their eyes .. he was a traitor. Honoured to be born to the tribes. Brought up Cheyenne. But he’d turned his back on his heritage. Embraced the White-Eyes’ life. In their eyes, betrayed. What did they know!

Callous. Unfeeling. Driven by hate. They’d beaten the hell out of him. Bodie had suffered like few men

would ever know.

He’d passed out. A few times, he vaguely recalled. Revived. Those pungent herbs burning in his nose. And then again they’d taken out their loathing on his suffering. It had fused into an agonised unreality.

Battered. That rope thwacking into him. Robbing him of breath. No chance for a breather. On-and-on. A never-ending battery of agony thudded into his back. Smacked across his midriff. Pounded into his ribs. The wind repeatedly smashed out of him. When had they given up? When had enough been enough?

Bodie had woken up suddenly, shuddering. Before fully aware, his tortured body was already objecting .. protesting at being wrenched back into consciousness. A dull awareness of incessant suffering had been replaced by getting ripped suddenly back into a reality of torture. Catapulted into pain. Every muscle .. his every sinew .. his very self swirling in a sickening vortex .. torn into a sudden spasm .. overpowering his mind. Oppressing his very will. Twisting in his gut. Threatening to throw up .. though he hadn’t eaten in hours.

Shuddering with the pain. Shivering with the cold. The night-time chill had grabbed his unwilling self back .. returning to shiver in the cold. Night-time. Stretched out on the earth .. no awareness of them moving him here. Deep in the night, no sign of life. The air on the prairie chilly under an unfeeling moon.

No one around, the perfect chance. But no such conscious thought could enter his mind. His feet were staked out, strong cord on his arms pinned him down. With no conscious thought other than a desperate need to move, he tested the bonds. No luck. But even if Bodie could have found the strength to wrench the stakes out of the ground, a pair of braves were alerted by his movement .. these guards would have smacked any fight out of him. The tribe was sleeping but it wasn’t finished with him yet.

He’d never have passed the test. That ordeal .. attacked by every male in the village .. it was not meant for him to prove himself. No captive Indian brave .. no man alive could have faced that assault without bawling his guts up. It was planned for him to be crushed. Broken. Physically. Mentally too, break his will. Send him plummeting to the depths of despair, giving up hope.Inhuman. Pure viciousness .. hatred personified. Expressed with every blow. No test .. just torture. Heartless. Breaking his treacherous body, breaking the back of his White-Eyes’ will. Teaching him who was boss. Who held the whiphand.

Had Joe managed it? Bodie glanced over. In the tepee .. with the ailing chief .. he must have heard Bodie’s cries. He must have known what Bodie was putting himself through. Bodie’s sacrifice to give Joe the chance .. in the depths of the night .. to make good his escape. Had Bodie’s tortured shouts steeled his resolve? Had Joe got away? On the way already? Bringing the soldiers back?

Scouting for the army, Bodie had once come across a brave pinned out like this .. or rather his corpse. The squaws had been let loose on him. Dozens of porcupine quills inserted under his skin. Everywhere. Thighs, chest, sealing up his mouth. Impregnated with poison, the doc had said. The savages did that, the doc had told Bodie. Not enough to kill. But putting the body into a maddening fever. Days of agonised suffering until hunger had taken the poor man. Captive of a tribe. Like Bodie.

The braves had worked Bodie over. With the daylight, would the women demand their turn? With their porcupine quills? And the chief’s son would be pissed as hell. When Joe had gone. When the brave realised. When Bodie’s plan .. pretending that Joe could heal the chief .. when the brave saw through the deceit. When he realised he had been tricked.

Pissed. Not the word for it …… What Bodie had suffered so far .. it would get worse. Much worse. Bodie could only hope. Pray Joe had got to the army fort. Pray the soldiers were listening. And mounted up straightaway. Bodie just had to trust.When the chief’s son saw the trick .. distressed because his father’s life was still ebbing away .. what Bodie had suffered so far …… nothing! It was destined to get much worse.

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Cruelty

He'd been expelled as a child. The hated offspring of a squaw who'd been raped by a white man. Assaulted and abandoned by the cowboy who'd had his way.

Despised by her people for the stain on their tribe. The victim made to pay the cost of the rapist's crime.

At six Bodie had been expelled. His dead mother barely cold. Sent away to fend for himself.

The despised love-child ousted to die. Hunger to death. Hunted down by a mountain lion. The tribe had rid itself of the shameful stain.

By luck the child had survived. Taken in by other tribes . Forced into hard work. Slaving for the old women. Chopping wood. Fetching water. Digging crops. Out foraging in the snow. Any hard work. Rarely treated well. Abused and beaten. Told to be grateful they’d taken him in. Punishing work. Mercilessly ordered out in the harshest weather. But life had built him strong. Surviving had made him tough. The pitiless harshness had helped him survive.

He'd seen Indian cruelty. Many times. Once his tribe had caught the chief of a tribe they were at war with. Whooping and mad screams had brought everyone out. Their own chief was mounted on his horse. Behind on his back in the dirt lay the enemy, hands tied above his head, a rope on his wrists snaked back over the horse's haunches. The other end held by their own chief. Everyone was out. Bawling and shouting. Working up a frenzy of hate.

Suddenly his chief kicked his horse on. It shot forward. Roars went up from the tribe The enemy was dragged behind. Scuttling on his back. Dragged by the hands behind the galloping horse. The tribe went crazy. Screaming and baying for blood.

His chief kicked his horse on faster racing around the village. In a large oval around all the tepees. The body of the hated enemy bouncing as it was dragged. Flying around corners. Bouncing along the straights. Wherever his jolting body passed, a brave stood close by. Armed with a club. Wielding a branch. Lashing out with a whip. Whipped up into a screaming mass frenzy. Caught in a bloodlust of hatred for the enemy tribe.

The horse must have completed more than twenty murderous circuits when their chief slowed his horse to a walk. Dragging behind a lifeless torso. Slowly coming to a halt. Every vengeful brave had rushed over. The chief dismounted. He stood over the lifeless enemy. One disdainful look. He nodded. The braves raised their weapons. And clubbed the lifeless enemy to a formless pulp.

Bodie was probably only twelve when exposed to that sickening scene. Somewhat estranged from it all, they were not his tribe, that enemy was not his. And this host tribe was harsh in their treatment of him too. The chief's own mother worked Bodie into the ground. And still insisted the chief beat him for being a lazy slob.

The cruelty of that hysterical gallop around the village was as alive as if it had happened yesterday. Pure animal cruelty. Bodie had carried forward the memory of that scene over more than twenty years .. still seeing it with amazing brightness. Lying there, staked out after his ordeal, Bodie could hear the wild frenzy of that bloodlust ringing in his ears.

This plan of his. .. for Joe to escape and fetch the military .. always risky. Now, after his ordeal with the braves, it seemed madness. Was he destined to die? In the most cruel way? The way some tribes reserved for an enemy they hated?

Bodie filled both words - enemy, hated. Worse for having once been one of them. Was that where this could end? With Bodie paying for the rashness of that idea? Tortured to death for helping Joe to escape. Even if Joe got away, would he get back in time?

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Nightmare

Bodie woke up with a start. Aware his heart was pounding. Confused. Anxiously looking about. Seeing nothing. Hearing just the rush of blood in his ears. Panicky.

Barely able to breathe. Sweat running of his face. Panting hard. Lost. Not knowing where he was.

Realising with disappointment he was still staked out. The village had gone to sleep. Only one

torch still burned. The fires just glowing embers.

His chest rose up and down as his panic settled. The madness in his blood slowly subsided. It had only been a dream. His eyes found the pair of guards assigned to watch him. They too had given in to the dark. .. slumbering upright against a tree.

Unthinking .. realising the sleeping guards gave him a chance, Bodie started yanking at a stake. The desperation of his nightmare giving fresh fuel to his efforts to break free. Fool! How many times had he tried that already? This time he'd failed again. But he had to try …. that dream had brought in to him .. the desperate plight he was in.A nightmare. It became clear what had happened. As his breathing calmed ….. the pounding on his broad chest settled ….. his mind had tormented him ……. His own memories had tortured him .. come back to haunt him.

This time it was Bodie getting dragged along behind the galloping horse. The chief's son had spat down at him .. lying down on his back in the dirt. Bodie's bound wrists were attached to the lasso in the brave’s hand. Quickly the brave had leapt bareback on his horse. Kicked out hard in the side. And raced off. The jerk had nearly wrenched Bodie's arms from the socket. Pain shouted out. But no time for pain. .. Bodie was being raced at breakneck speed .. dragged on his back through the dirt.

Hooves pounded in his ears. Drowning out every other sound. The tautness of the jerking rope kept his back off the earth. But his lower legs were scraping painfully over the sun-baked earth .. his heels bounced crazily .. jarring painfully up and down. Like being beaten across the feet.

Suddenly he was flying. The horse was racing around a curve .. being galloped in a long oval around the back of the tepees. Gravity roughly grabbed Bodie back. Landing with a hard thud .. pounding the wind out of him. Not for one second losing momentum the brave mastered his mount down the straight behind tepees. Never looking back. Digging his heels into his horse’s flanks .. urging crippling speed out of his mount.

Bodie bumped and bounced. His bare legs scraped agonisingly over the earth. Pounded and thudded as the horse raced over uneven terrain. His bare backside thwacked down hard in a heap. Landed with bone-crunching force. Reverberations exploded up his spine .. blasted pain in his head. With every stride of the galloping horse painful jolts were yanked up his arms. Searing pain tugged out of his elbows.

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Tunnel of death

Suddenly he was rolling. Over and over. On his back. Jerked agonisingly onto the side. Scraping bare skin. Till the force of the bend twisted him over on to his front.

Raced around a bend. Bouncing, twisting off the rope. The momentum kept him spinning. Dragged by the rope. Spiralling over and over. On his front .. onto his back again. Joints agonisingly twisting. Jerked onto his front again.

Bodie had nearly passed out. Pain yanked out of his shoulder joints. The shock .. the speed .. his body pounded by rock-hard earth. Head in a gut-wrenching spin.

Blood thudding maddened in his veins. Hardly conscious that the horse had slowed. Moving at walking pace. Becoming aware of growing menace. The deafening sound of pounding hooves were replaced by more inhuman clamour. Howling beasts. Whooping monsters. The sounds amplifying. The threat increasingly louder.

Nervous Bodie tried to peer up along a dust covered arm. But he saw only the rump of a sweat drenched horse. Whatever that menace his ears had heard, it took too much effort to prise up his head. Face down at the earth, being dragged at walking pace .. knees scraping painfully. He made himself catch his breath. Was that it? Had he survived? Another trial by ordeal to prove he was worthy of being ranked with an Indian brave?

A mountain lion snarled. As if leaping to attack. Bodie called out. Painfully hit across the shoulders. To one side stood a hate filled Indian brave. Raising the shaft of his spear again to beat it across Bodie's back .. face twisted on a snarl of hatred.From the other side .. hit hard with a thick strap of hard leather. Stinging across Bodie's exposed lower back. Knocking the wind out of him.

For the first time the chief’s son twisted around .. to see the hated white eye take a club to his side .. the force making him twist over. Into the path of a cattle whip .. biting down the length of his back. His head was hung down. But with a satisfaction born of hate, the brave heard the White-eye’s throat explode in a shout of raw pain.

Every brave in the tribe was lined up .. a row either side of the horse and its hated load. Slowly walked through this tunnel of death. Bearing the defenceless traitor .. born Indian, switched loyalty to the hated enemy. Every brave thrashing out with all his might. Each strike loaded with hate-fuelled force. Each brave hoping his strike might be the killer blow.

But not yet. The end of the lines was in sight. The chief's son got ready to dig his heels in. Spur his horse into another race. Another round. Racing this treacherous White-eye around another tortured circuit. Bouncing and beaten, racing him at break-neck speed around the village. Returning him dead-beat to the tunnel of death. The brave readied himself .. itching to kick the horse on. Another round of torture, dragged behind his horse. For however many circuits it took. Till he was dragging behind a White eye's corpse.

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Dawn

Bodie was still in a deep fitful sleep. Awake for much of the night .. body aching like crazy from his ordeal .. kept awake by the fears for his safety .. frustrated at his repeated failures to yank just one of the stakes out of the earth.

That dragging behind the brave’s horse . . that savage beating .. every brave in

the tribe beating the hell out of him .. feeling the depth of their hatred for him in every vicious blow …… Only a

dream.

A nightmare twisted out of that memory from his childhood. It hadn’t happened to him. Just a dream. But seen with such intensity .. experienced as if it was actually happening. His body in reality had been beaten black and blue by The Race for pain.

That ordeal getting dragged through the dirt behind a horse .. it hadn’t happened. But it might as well have. Bodie still hurt like crazy. And that nightmare had slithered insidiously into his guts .. keeping him on edge .. kept awake with the jitters in his blood .. troubling him throughout a tortured night. Barely getting a wink.

Exhaustion had finally claimed him. But it seemed like he’d barely shut his eyes when the turmoil slunk into his exhaustion and brought him round. A commotion. Angry men's voices raised. The wail of a woman. Slowly the fug of exhaustion cleared. He turned his head to the noise. A huddle of angry faces stood by the chief's tepee. Bodie quickly strained his head up. It had happened, the moment he had dreaded had arrived. They'd found that Joe had got away. His heart began to race. It would get more serious now. With Joe's flight, the braves would want someone to take it out on. Him.

The busy huddle of excitement broke up. The chief's son emerged from the angry crowd. Looking thunder at Bodie. His face carved in blistering rage. For a moment he just glared. Bodie returned his look. He didn't dare to show weakness or fear. Then the son muscularly pushed braves aside. He cleared a

way for himself. Strode purposefully towards Bodie. Every fibre in his being alive with hate.

With his last step he kicked Bodie in the side. Hard, anger-fuelled. Full of hate. Pain made Bodie grunt, out loud. The foot raised. Vicious it stomped down into Bodie's gut, hard. Bodie near-catapulted up with the force. No amount of defensive muscle would have protected against the fury of that kick. All his anger .. all his weight. .. the full intensity of a powerfully built male body stomped every bit of wind out of Bodie's lungs.

“Run. The white man got away. Fled in the night.,”Bodie was struggling for air. Tears of pain sat in the corner of his eye. Gasping, heaving in air. He had been exhausted enough before, weakened by beatings, tired by lack of sleep. But still Bodie registered the good news. Joe had got a away. He only hoped Joe had got himself a horse. And had raced like hell to the fort. Bodie needed help now.

He felt the full intensity of the son's hatred bearing down on him. Looming over him, menacing. Mentally Bodie had prepared himself for this, he’d expected the anger. But the tension of the moment still had his heart racing. Gathering himself, he swallowed hard, he caught hold of his breathing. He returned the brave’s fiery gaze. The face above him was like thunder. The eyes burning down on him like a prairie fire in the heat of summer.

“The chief is dead.”His words hit Bodie like another kick in the guts. The news came tumbling down on him. A rockfall smashing down on his head .. without warning. “The white man gone. Murdered the chief. Then he fled.”Bodie stared up. Heart in his mouth. Shocked out of his head. Joe wouldn’t have done that. But in a flash he saw his future. He beheld his fate.

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Wheel of torture

A risky plan. Three things needed to make it work. Joe fooled the tribe as a healer. Joe got away and ran for the fort. Joe came back fast with the troopers.

It needed luck. A huge dollop of luck for success. And Bodie’s life depended on it. The chief’s son had reprieved Joe. But not Bodie. No delaying his punishment.

Caned by every brave in the tribe. Viciously beaten till he nearly passed out. Then pummelled with knots. Back, chest, guts. Every muscle in his torso yelping with

agony.

Passed out. Then brought back again .. facing more of the same. Luck? No sign of Lady Luck rushing to his aid this far. On his own.

But this latest news .. the chief dead .. his son jumping to the wrong conclusion .. accusing Joe of murder before fleeing. Lady Luck had really turned her back on Bodie now …….

He couldn't stop himself. The chief's son had stood by watching the braves move his captive. The final preparations for the dog’s death. The chief had been treacherously murdered. And now the tribe would return the favour. Impatience got the better of him. He stood menacing above the evil White-eyes .. glaring down .. come to fill his heart with fury and dread.

Icy coldness stared down at Bodie. Making no attempt at disguising this brave’s implacable desire for revenge.“Your White eyes’ friend murdered the chief ……”The chief .. this brave’s father. Quickly Bodie interrupted. Needing to correct the misunderstanding.“He didn’t do that ….. He wouldn’t ….”Bodie wanted to add, It didn't make any sense. …..

From above Bodie's head, the chief’s son spat a great sticky globule of spit onto Bodie's face. Shutting off his protest.Bodie was not ready for it, he turned his face away too late. It clung foul and obnoxious to his cheek. A symbol of this brave’s contempt for Bodie. Stuck with a foul gobbet of disdain on his face. Marked with a son’s fury. Bodie could not flick it away, his hands tied behind his neck. It burned revenge on his cheek.

What on earth they used this giant wooden wheel for was beyond him. But no sooner had the chief's son accused Bodie of the chief's murder, Bodie saw braves rolling it out. Dropping it flat down on the hard earth. The braves had freed Bodie for a moment, then roughly moved him till they had him tied down on it.

A sturdy man-sized circular frame, thick wooden wheel with crossbars bearing his weight. Bodie put up a fight. Unsure what they wanted him on this for …. Nerves getting to him .. anxieties fed by the unexpected news of the chief’s death. And what that spelled for him. Whatever it meant, it prophesied nothing good. Freed from the stakes, Bodie had hit out, resisting. It could only be a token fight. His tortured muscle power was no match for half a dozen braves blaming him for the murder of their chief. Fists lashed out. Kicked in the side. Held down in the dirt, the full weight of a brave stomping down on his bare belly.

Pinned out on the wheel Bodie could only stare defiant up into hate-filled eyes. Spat on with disdain. Blamed for murder. He’d tried shaking his head but still he could not dislodge the sticky globule of hate clinging to his face. But equally determined .. as the brave glared down into his upturned face .. he repeated himself.“He wouldn't have done that.”Bodie was strung out on the wheel .. his splayed-out legs roped to the outer rim. Opposite, his hands were behind his head .. tied again to the rim. Staked-out, as good as naked. Vulnerable. What for …..? What were they up to?That was still to be revealed. But it could only promise bad ….. Joe getting away .. the dead chief ….. things could only be getting worse ……

It made no sense for Joe to do that. Murder the chief, make good his escape .. and leave Bodie to face the music. Joe wouldn’t have done that.“The chief must have died in his sleep.”Bodie had to keep his head up himself, it hung unsupported beyond the frame. Soon his neck would start to hurt. In no time it would ache like crazy. “Died peacefully in his sleep.”

At that suggestion there was a rush of intense anger to the brave’s eyes above him. The look of hatred in the eyes of the chief’s son said he wasn’t listening, not interested. There was nothing Bodie could say that would calm his rage. The chief was dead, the friend had disappeared. Someone had to pay.Bodie desperately needed this brave to understand it made no sense for Joe to kill the old chief before he fled. But he was dealing with a son who wanted answers for his father's death. And he'd found it. In Bodie.

Suddenly it hit Bodie. Things had changed. The man he'd been dealing with .. this brave who had captured him .. tortured Bodie in that ordeal .. had him beaten senseless .. this brave who'd played the major role in Bodie's nightmare .. galloping him around the tepees .. THAT man, this brave he’d been up against . .. HE was now chief. Bringing the full weight of his title behind the hated he bore for Bodie. Could things get worse?

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Dying of the heat

The new chief was not interested in Bodie's comforting words .. suggesting his father had passed away peacefully in his sleep.“Not a peaceful death …..”The son snarled back.

Bodie felt the bitterness in the son’s eyes travel over his helplessly strung out body. Over the breadth of his chest .. the muscled power made useless by the bonds. Legs and wrists binding him to this wheel. His rancour skipping over each hard muscled row of strength in his belly.

“Yours neither.”Bodie sensed a sneer of contempt from the young chief that this muscular might was so easily trapped.“Peaceful death?He spat out the disgust.“Murdered. By your White-eyes’ friend.”

Awkwardly Bodie felt the gaze hit his groin. Without looking Bodie knew he was pointing straight up. After getting his bare torso strung out on the frame, a brave had set about Bodie's privates with thin strips of sodden rawhide. Tight loops around the sack had crushed his balls down. And then to cut off his blood, more loops had circled around the back of his imprisoned sack, tied bitingly tight over the root of his shaft. “And yours will not be peaceful either ….”

Embarrassingly Bodie, naked-assed as the day he was born, was throwing up his full masculine virility. Gloated over by all. He had soon risen and was pointing his solid mass at the rising sun. Memories from his childhood with the tribes sent a troubling shiver down his legs. Too young to understand, still he’d seen captives punished like this. NOT GOOD!

The sight of Bodie in full male glory was what the new chief was now coldly scowling at. The full vigour of the tribe’s hatred was to be thrown at him as a man. Centred on that trapped manifestation of his helplessness. What made him a man was captured in tight knots of wet rawhide. And …. as it got hotter this cord would dry out more. Bite in deep.

The thought chilled him. He remembered how the tribes could attack an enemy brave at his very root. But the new chief was not finished with Bodie yet, it seemed.“The belt.”The braves standing around understood better than Bodie did. One retrieved from a water bucket more dripping leather. Shaking it out, Bodie saw a long length of rawhide, the length of a man's leg, the width of his splayed-out hand.

First Bodie kind-of welcomed the cold touch of leather across his belly. But he knew better than to expect anything good. He didn’t have to wait long. The new chief was dying to torment Bodie with news of how he was to die horribly.“The sun will do its best …….”A thick belt of sodden leather was bound tight around the soft flesh of Bodie’s waist. He looked up beyond the glowering face of the new chief. A cloudless sky. It was still only a few hours after daybreak. But in a few hours the sun would be higher, the temperature would climb.

Bodie had worked these parts many years .. scout for the army, riding the range, cattle-drives. And he knew .. this time of the year, once the weather had set in, it took a long time to change. There’s be no blackening clouds to cover the sun this day. The temperature would soar, Bodie would sweat. And as the blistering cruelty of the sun dried out the belt, Bodie’s midriff would be enclosed by a body-crushing tightness. Digging in breath-takingly tight. And by noon, in the sweltering heat, it would be like being squeezed around the waist in the grip of a monstrous bear. One that would not let go.

Before, Bodie had thought that the brave’s urges to taunt had got the better of him. Now he recognised the man was more evil-minded than that. He used information as a weapon. Eagerly he foretold to his victim what would happen .. described the sufferings to come. Not just because he got off on goading. The fears that knotted in Bodie’s guts at the thought of his fate .. hours before the actual deed was done .. those fears would first weaken a victim’s strength-of-will .. before the real punishment began. This man appreciated the value of torturing his victim’s mind. Every bit as cruel as the tight rawhide biting into Bodie’s shaft.

Grim-faced the chief moved his face forcing Bodie to stare up at him. “Died peacefully in his sleep!”He echoed Bodie’s own words back at him. But spoken with a ring of disgust. A look of pure contempt on the new chief’s face. Fully convinced his father had been murdered in his sleep. And so ….. determined that a peaceful death would not be this White-eyes’ end.

“Not for him! Not for you either.”High above Bodie’s face .. the new chief .. mouth twisted with anger .. he spat out his sentence. “Deserve a peaceful death? For a murdering dog?”Contempt .. barely contained fury .. loomed above Bodie’s face.“Death. But not peaceful. Not quick. Every tortured moment of every tormented hour … insufferable agony. Punished for a treacherous deed ….. Murdering dog! Punished by the cruel rays of the sun.”

Bodie felt a chill run down his back, he saw his fate. But nothing on his face would betray any sign of his fears. There was enough of the Indian in him to know better than that. Enough of a man to stand up to this unjustified contempt. Joe hadn’t murdered the chief. Bodie was in his rights to show no regrets.

But he had seen corpses of men staked out in the sun to die. Skin cracked under the blistering heat. Blistered. Caked to leather. And on top of that, Bodie had the humiliation of his manhood forcibly made to stand erect .. symbol of the tribe’s absolute power over him. And again … this skin-tight rawhide belt to contend with. It would crush the life out of him. Making it hard to breathe. Wearing him down. The heat of the day recruited to their side. Threatening to weaken his resolve. The new chief blamed Bodie for his father’s death. And he was making him pay the cost with every cent.

Hatred. Disdain. Rage. All glared down at the White-eyes.“Now the jacket.”The new chief’s gaze slid over to the braves by the bucket of water. Before a sadistic smirk lit his eyes. And he returned his gloating to the murdering dog strung out at his feet.

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Wheel of fire

When Bodie saw the “jacket” and what it meant to him, his heart missed a beat. He froze, biting on his lower lip.

A brave had retrieved another soggy mass of rawhide from the bucket, shook it out and slapped a wide stretch of leather across his chest. Sodden rawhide stretching from his lower ribs to his nipples.

Although he was strung out helpless, no chance of escaping this torture .. Bodie's instincts were to fight. At the least, make

life difficult. Squirming, twisting all he could.

But with others’ help the brave got Bodie's chest encased in a tight jacket of dripping leather. It would take a few hours for that to dry out. But they'd be hours spent suffering under the sweltering heat .. waiting with rising fears.

Waiting for a tightness so body-crushing that Bodie could barely breathe. Ribs could crack. The chest would not take in much air. Light-hearted. And still that jacket of torture would keep on squeezing .. crushing his chest even tighter .. pressing down on broken ribs.

Before standing up the brave demonstratively slid his finger under the leather .. as if to show Bodie how tight it was already. Then .. payback for Bodie’s awkwardness .. he hammered a hate-laden elbow into his gut.Bodie was still gasping for air after being caught out when the new chief's face again loomed overhead .. eyes slitted cold.

The power of the man seemed to have increased with his new title. Shoulders .. broad, hard and strong .. they seemed to enfold Bodie’s helplessness in a body-crushing grip.“The fires we light with nightfall ….”The bastard was at it again. With a menace as hard as the evil glare that bore down on Bodie’s frame, he was taunting his victim’s strength-of-mind. Gloating over the agonies to come. Dominating a captive equally manly, muscular,

powerful. But hopelessly caught on this wheel. Awaiting an excruciating death .. when this new chief deemed the time was right. “. …. The dances of the braves begin ….”

Above Bodie magnificent like a muscled eagle he hovered. He wanted Bodie in the picture, Bodie had to know his fate. The fears of anticipation as much part of the torture. Bodie put the picture together alright … after hours baked in the sun .. his naked torso crushed within these leather restraints .. the new chief would order Bodie encircled with fire.

Bodie had seen how women had planted a ring of brushwood and sticks around him, a few paces out from his wheel-frame. After a day of sun torture he’d be ringed-in by wall of fire. And outside of that, the braves would dance in celebration of the hated white eyes’ death. After the heat, there'd be no sweat left in him by then. Already the fires within his uncooled body would be raging, his innards boiling. Within minutes of the first flames he'd feel like he was burning up. His body shuddering with the heat. His flesh ablaze from the fires. The flames scorching at his skin. His brain going delirious .. in torment from the insufferable fevers in his flesh.

The cold eyes above Bodie slitted, creasing the face with hate. “And when the fires have burned out …..”The chief's foot lifted. It pressed hard. The wheel rocked slightly. Reminding Bodie it had been mysteriously mounted up on four rocks. .. raising it off the ground by a foot.“When burned down to greying embers …..”Something chilling in his tone sent an involuntary shiver down Bodie's back. Awakening a memory from his early days with the tribes. There was more to come ……..

After being roasted alive .. chest crushed till he could barely breathe .. he’d be surrounded by a ring of fire ….. and Bodie was convinced this hate-fuelled chief would make damned-sure he didn't die from inhaling smoke! …… And …. when it felt there could be no more suffering to be had ……“ …… the embers will be pushed underneath ….”

Roasted! Hot embers placed a foot under his bare back. Grilled! Slowly cooked. His skin searing. The flesh charring. Burned alive. Over embers. Slow roasting.

Bodie needed Joe to be riding like the wind. There were about twelve hours to go. Hours of excruciating torture under the sun. Before the wood was lit. And then .. more nerve-racking waiting .. once the fires had burnt down, stilled to grey dust .. it would get immeasurably worse. The embers would be shoved underneath. Awakening their heat. The braves would dance around in celebration. To the jangling tune of his screams.

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Rely

Not for the first time Bodie prayed that Joe had got speedily away. He wished to God that Joe had managed to steal himself a horse and ridden like fury for the fort. Shot off like the clappers.

Bodie had noticed this new chief had dispatched four riders to chase after him. More than anything in the world now Bodie had to trust Joe. Rely on him to return in force. More than his life depended on it.

Bodie had about twelve hours of unbearable torture under the sun .. the life crushed out of him by tightening leather .. his manliness forced erect as symbol

of their total power. Strung-out .. in dread. Awaiting the moment when this chief ordered the wheel of fire lit.

Joe wasn’t about to let the guy down. He’d saved Joe from that suffering. Inside the chief’s tent .. he’d shuddered every time he heard Bodie shout out. Pain that Joe could have been suffering too .. if Bodie hadn’t sacrificed himself for him.

Heck, what a man! What he was putting himself through. Helluva dude! Just the guy you needed when in a tight fix. This torture .. Bodie’s own plan. That took guts. It took some sticking with.

Joe would come good, he swore it. He meant it. He owed the guy his life. Bodie had put his trust in him. Joe wasn’t going to let the man down.

End

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