Romantic Heroes, - Charles Vane, With His Deep, Husky Voice, Looking Like A Strolling Lion, [the quintessential bad boy, played by Zach Mc Gowan] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Mr. Rochester, - [I have to mention him, probably one of the 1st romantic heroes in literature, played by Toby Stevens, - perfection!] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Michael Greyeyes in "Stolen Women, Captured Hearts", [being brave, beautiful and vulnerable] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Gary Oldman in "The Scarlet Letter", [wearing black leather and looking so sexy... Ooo, THAT underwater swimming scene, - GASP!] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Aragorn, From, "L.O.T.R.", Intelligent, Brave, Kingly, [played by modern Renaissance man, Viggo Mortensen]...

Romantic Heroes, - Rhett Butler, - He's Dashing, Elegant And Dangerous, [and, he doesn't give a damn.] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Heathcliff, - Now I COULDN'T Leave Him Out!, - [He's practically the original, brooding romantic hero!] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Rick, The Adorable Gentleman-of-fortune, from "The Mummy", [He rides a bus and uses little tools] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Antonio Banderas In "Desperado", In His Young Prime, That Voice, That Black Hair, Those Eyes, [such a delightful bad boy!} ...

Romantic Heroes, - Jamie Fraser, King Of Men, Gallant, Brave, Vulnerable, And That Bone Structure, Those Muscles!, [played by darling Sam Heughan] ...

Romantic Heroes, - Tall, Platinum Blond & Gorgeous Elf Lord, Legolas, [played by Orlando Bloom], - unforgettable...

Romantic Heroes, - Vlad, Count Dracula, [of course], played by the stunning Luke Evans...

Romantic Heroes, - Dustfinger, of the book and movie, "Inkheart", [played to perfection by Paul Bettany] ...

Enya - Caribbean Blue... WHY is that water so turquoise, clear & pristine???... So soothing a color!

Sirens' song - mysterious and incredible, - fabulous, artistic slideshow, too!...

Talk Like A Pirate, # 1!... [Quotes from some classic pirate novels and movies] ...

     "See here, my bright lads, learn this, --- when you come aboard my ship and I say to one o' ye do this or do that, he does it, d'ye see, or --- up to the yardarm he swings by his thumbs or his neck as occasion warrants." --- Adam Penfeather, in "Black Bartlemy's Treasure", by Jeffery Farnol.

     "Why sink and drown'd me!  I say drown'd me and sink me, if it ain't the little, crowing captain, the game-cock whiffler..." --- Roger Tressady, in "Adam Penfeather, Buccaneer", by Jeffery Farnol.

     "D'you mean they've roused themselves at home and kicked out that pimple James?" --- Said by Captain Peter Blood [played by Errol Flynn] on learning of the ascension of William Of Orange to the throne of England, in the movie, "Captain Blood".

     "Here's to ourselves, and hold your luff, plenty of prizes and plenty of duff." --- Long John Silver, in "Treasure Island", by Robert Louis Stevenson.

     "Arrgh, she ain't near so cheap to keep as she were to take." --- Blackbeard, in the movie, "Blackbeard's Ghost".

     "Curse ya for breathing, you slack-jawed idiot!" --- Joshamee Gibbs, in the movie, "Pirates Of The Caribbean: The Curse Of the Black Pearl".

     "You're a diamond, Mate!", Jack Sparrow to Davy Jones, in the movie "P.O.T.C.: Deadman's Chest".

     "Here's to a good, hot fight... and the best dog on top!", --- Blackbeard, in "The Book Of Pirates", [and I think in other books, as well] by Howard Pyle.

     "Villain!  Doubly damned villain!", Cain, in "The Pirate", by Captain Frederick Marryat.
 

We Carry On | Charles Vane [Black Sails]... Charles Vane IS DEAD!... [I may stop watching "Black Sails".]

Anne Bonny & Jack Rackham (Black Sails) - N E V E R L E T M E G O

Captives in American Indian Wars History Documentary...

Arizona Mountains and Wild Flowers 2010... [So beautiful.]

My Novel "Ruby's Captive" Has Some Basis In Fact... [Of course.]

     It is historical fact that Native Americans of the Old West made a practice of taking captives not only to use them as slaves, but also to get people as replacements for tribe members who had died.  They would also take members of other tribes in addition to whites.  Sometimes. the tribes would barter between themselves for the return of valuable captives taken in raids or as prizes of war.  But, if these captives pleased their owners they would, perhaps,  even be adopted into the tribe.  Especially, were children adopted into tribes.  There is proof in a famous photograph of young Santiago Mc Kinn, a half Mexican, half-Irish boy,  ( 1871 ) showing him wearing Apache clothing and standing in a group of  Chiricahua Apache boys and girls approximately his age.   

     Mary Jemmison, a 15 year old girl, was captured from her parents homestead in 1758 by the Seneca of the Genesee River area, New York.  She lived with them as a member of their tribe,  had an Indian husband and gave birth to their son.  She was treated kindly and loved her life with the Seneca.  However,  6 years after her capture when Mary was 21,  the British colonial government was offering a bounty for the return of all white captives.  So, the chiefs of Mary's village met around the council fire to debate her cause.  Their decision was that Mary had contributed to the Tribe's spirit and it was unthinkable to barter this good feeling for money.  The chiefs told her she could stay with them as a Seneca for the rest of her life.  But, the power of the money was great.  And, a few days later a high ranking Senaca chief came to the village to take Mary away.  She fled into the woods, taking  her baby son.  She stayed hidden until the chief had left.  Then, she came back to her village.   Her tribe's people were overjoyed to see their sister again.  Mary remained among the Seneca the rest of her life.  Eventually, she had four more children and  many grandchildren.   Her death was in 1833 at the age of 91.

     *** From "Through Indian Eyes," Reader's Digest, copyright  1995.   "The Native American,"  Turner Publishing, copyright 1993.  "The Apaches," by Virginia Driving Hawk Sneve, copyright 1997. 

Cochise Stronghold Dragoon Mountains... [The great Cochise was said to be laid to rest in a crevase here, with his favorite horse and dog. No one but his blood brother Tom Jeffords and the Apache knew where and they took the knowledge to their graves.]

Apache war song, - [Great side show too!] ...

Apache Song- "I've Been Around", - [Remarkable singing, it just gets inside of you!] ...

From "Ruby's Captive, - Simita Explains Some Chiricahua Ways...

   

We were sitting on the ground. Simita was talking in her very important instructor's voice as she made snares with a ball of string.  "If we do this right we could have rabbit stew tonight. "  She flashed one of her brilliant smiles at me.

     "That would be very good!," I replied.  A rabbit stew with rich gravy, my mouth was watering!

     "Yes," Simita continued, "we are making snares, but for larger catches nets are strung across an area and we beat the bushes and the rabbits are herded into them."

     "Really!"

     "Oh, yes, Rose!  Many Apache love rabbit meat.  Of course, I prefer a young deer.  We are excellent hunters, as you know, but it is better to bring down game with a bow and arrows and not a rifle or, if it is not too big, hit it with rocks then run it down and club it."

     "Oh, why is that?"

     Simita looked at me as if I were an idiot.  "Because, silly!  You have never practically broken a tooth on a bullet in  meat?"  She shook her head at me.

     I laughed.  "I suppose not!"

     "Then you are very spoiled, Rose.  I could guess that anyway."  She shrugged.

     "And, why?," I asked her.

     Simita shrugged.  "Still, Rose, you are proving to be a good worker so that the chiefs and the older men and women have decided that you will not be made a permanent camp slave, be sold to another tribe or be reckoned in individual claim.  You should be glad you aren't to be made a permanent camp slave or sold to another tribe. As you know, quite a few of our men are interested in you. You are beautiful.  Everyone has seen that you are sturdy.  You are a hard worker with a mild nature.  These are considered very good qualities."

     I sighed.  "But, the only man I want is Ruby.  Ah, I mean Narsimha."

     Simita smiled again, showing her gorgeous teeth.  I could definitely see the reason for her name, "Simita".

     "Yes ", she continued, " --- Ruby, that was the  name our mother gave him.  It's pronounced 'Rubi' in Spanish too.   And me she named Pearl, or, Perla."

     "Ruby and Pearl...." I remarked.

     "And,"  Simita continued, "our mother had another child, two years older than me.  She named her Emerald, or Esmeralda.  We often called her Esmer.  Her Apache name was Cocheta.  But, she was stolen by the Kiowa.  She was very beautiful with golden eyes like a hawk's, but with green flecks in them and midnight black hair, so black that it looked blue-black in some light, like Narsimha's hair does.  She looked very much like him, but so feminine.  Yet, anyone would know they were brother and sister.  Esmer was taken when she was five.  I was only three, but I remember it clearly.  It's my first memory,---the screaming, the burning, the thick smoke over everything, my sister struggling in the arms of a big Kiowa warrior who galloped off with her."

     "Where was Narsimha?"

     "He was away at the time.  He can't watch every moment.  Narsimha travels, as do many warriors.  He has never forgiven himself that he didn't stop Esmer from being stolen."

     "Oh, I'm so sorry.  That's terrible, Simita."

     I wanted to change this subject.  And, there was something I wanted to know.  "But, can I ask you something?"

     Her eyes seemed wet.  She stared at me.  "What is it?"

     "Uh,--- the auction...  Who gets the goods that are offered for me?"

     "Oh, well, they become the property of the whole camp.  They will be distributed to those in need.   Old people and wives of warriors who have been killed in battle are first.  The Chiricahua always try to be very fair and use balance in all things for the good of the People, all the horses, furs and skins, blankets, beads and jewelry, fine clothing, beautiful baskets and big cook pots will be handed out fairly.  Simita waved her fingers.  "Of course, rifles and pistols are very much wanted by everyone, and other weapons, knives, lances, bows and arrows.  There may even be silver and gold at the auction."

     I looked down in my lap.  "It's a good thing that the camp will be made richer."

     "Naturally, it is,"  Simita agreed.

     "Is everyone allowed to attend the auction?"

     "Every adult Chiricahua, Rose."

     "Will you be there, Simita?"  I very much wanted a friendly woman with me.

     "Oh, no, no!   I am still a girl.  I have not yet started my moon days, had my Sunrise Ceremony."  She giggled.  "You really do need to learn more about Apache ways!  No matter, we will teach you."

     "Thank you, Simita."

     "Yes, we Chiricahua have always gathered many wild foods, pinon nuts, prickly pear fruit, juniper berries, the tender stems and the larger stalks of yucca, sunflower seeds, wild grapes, chokecherry, fruit of the saguaro cactus, screw beans, pods of the locust, onions and garlic.  We grind mesquite beans and acorns to make flour.  We use the roots and shoots of the tule plant added to meat to make a hearty stew.  We dry meat, fruits and berries and mix them with fat to make pemmican, the easily kept food for journeys.  We store many varieties of food to eat in the harsh season of the Ghost Face, or Winter, by burying them in large caches in the ground.  Of course, all Apache love sweets!  We adore wild honey!  And, when we find a good, big mescal we will roast the center of it in a pit.  That makes a delicious treat, thick and syrupy!  I will show you how to cook mescal sometime.  Since it is the season of Large Leaves, or Summer, there is a lot of fresh food to be had.  I was born in this time of year, Rose.  But, Narshima was born in the season of Little Eagles, the Spring."

     "I was born in Fall," I added.

     "Ah, that is the season of Large Fruit, Rose."

     "Is there any food that the Apache refuse to eat, Simita?"

     "Yes, bears, turkeys, snakes, reptiles, prairie dogs and fish."

     "Apaches don't eat turkeys?  Why not?"

     "The reason goes way back, Rose.  We just don't.   No bear either.  But, we use bear grease to oil rifles.  Some Apache use it to dress their hair, but I think it smells funny!"  She wrinkled her small nose.  I laughed. "However, I like to use the fat of a young deer mixed with sweet herbs to keep my skin smooth, many Chiricahua do, both men and women."

     I thought of Ruby's silky skin.  I had to continue this line of conversation.  "Men use fat to soften their skins too?"

     "Oh, yes, Rose, definitely!  All Chiricahua are proud of their fine looks and want to keep looking handsome as long as possible.  We are especially careful of our beautiful long hair.  We even rub it with sweet grasses so that it will smell wonderfully fresh."

     I looked down at my lap, grinning widely, remembering the warm very long strands of Ruby's clean and fragrant hair falling onto my bare skin.

     Simita chirped on.  "I'm sure you've seen how much we also like to wear beads and silver.  We like to wear fur robes, finished on the edges with long leather fringes and the working of pretty beads.  I have an especially lovely deer skin robe that my father gave me.  Everyone admires it's exquisite beading.  Udaya, Hrideyesk's wife; many admire her handcrafts; she finished it for me.  Of course, the Chiricahua use all sorts of furs and hides.  Our warriors use the bear's hide for a very masculine-looking robe and it also makes a good blanket.  Naturally, no blanket is warmer than a huge, thick buffalo robe.  I've always wanted a light colored one, a cream or golden one, but that would be a very rare and hard to find and would cost a lot."

     "You said the Apache eat no fish, Simita?  What's wrong with fish?"

     She stuck out the tip of her little tongue, making a comical face.  "Way too much like snakes!  Even the smell of a fish makes me feel sick!"  She laughed.  "And, our young women don't eat eggs, Rose."

     "Why not?"

     "It can conflict with a girl's fertility."

     "Oh..."

     She continued.  "You know we eat rabbit and deer, but we also eat antelope, wild pig, possum, raccoon, quail, wood rats and others.  And, of course, the beef, sheep and goats that we take in raids, even at times, horses."

     "Animals you take in raids. You mean, that you steal," I said.

     Simita laughed.  "Rose, you are so funny!  Raiding is what the Chiricahua DO!"

     She looked at me wide-eyed.  "We are Apache!  We are eagles and lions!  We take what we need, much of it for food and livestock, horses for riding and beef cattle, which we slaughter almost immediately.  Even if we did raise, try to raise cattle for food our land is so poor that I doubt we could do it well.  Plus, we're not farmers; we're gathers of wild food, and hunters.  And, do you think that we are the only ones who raid?  I can't think of a single tribe that doesn't!"  She shook her head at me.

     "Narsimha told me terrible things that the Chiricahua do, Simita, that all Apache do."

     "Oh, really!," she smiled slightly at me, indulgently, as if I were a foolish child.  "Like what?"

     "Like the torturing, the cruelty that Apaches seem to take delight in.  It's shocking."  I lifted my head, as if defying her to tell me that things were different.

     "Oh, Narsimha has been teasing you!"

     "You mean that he wasn't telling me the truth?"

     "No, he was.  Narsimha tricks sometimes, but he usually doesn't lie outright.  Was he saying that Chiricahua pay back their enemies by burning, skinning and dismembering, by destroying whole villages in revenge?"

     "Yes, something like that."

     "I suppose white men would never do anything cruel to their enemies, right Rose?"

     "Of course not, whites have laws, civilized laws!"

     "How do you know?"

      "They just are, that's all!"

     "Whites have done violent things to Indians, Rose."

     "No!  Never!"

     "Yes, they definitely have."

     Naturally,  I knew that Simita was right, but I didn't want to admit it.  As Ruby had said---"We're all savages".

     "Well," I sniffed, "the Apaches are the most merciless people!"

     Simita laughed.  Then, her chestnut-colored eyes hardened.  "Apaches are not hypocrites.  They do not claim to be what they're not, like the whites do.  And, you wouldn't have us show mercy to our enemies, Rose!  Why, if we did we'd never survive!  Our enemies would say among themselves: Let's wipe out the Apaches because there will be no retaliation from them, no matter what heinous acts we do!"  She continued, narrowing her eyes.  "When anyone attacks whites powerful officials, lawmen, soldiers, judges, even your most high government people, and your President become very angry and the ones who attacked are hunted down and punished.  Am I right?"

     "Yes, naturally."

     "You may not know these officials who avenge say, the murder of one of you, perhaps even a family member, true?"

     "Yes."

     "But, we, Rose are a tiny nation compared to the whites.  There have never been that many Apaches.  When an enemy attacks us, kills a wife or father, we must go to pay them back personally.  And, we do.  Our ways are swift and harsh, but they have kept us alive and strong for centuries and centuries.  We are Apache.  We are Chiricahua, proud and mighty.  You speak from inexperience, Rose, and the people you came from, the whites, are soft, safe and protected like weak sheep by your powerful government.  One white woman or man can afford to show mercy personally, to be kind-hearted and gentle, perhaps...  Hmmm?"

     She shook her head again.  "White man's morals!  If you would be Chiricahua you need to be realistic and toughen up!"

     Of course, she was totally right and I had nothing else to say.  I almost felt ashamed considering what she said, and quite foolish. What a huge gap there was between her culture and mine!  Would I fit in?  I knew I had to if I wanted Ruby.  There was no way that he would ever take to himself the ways of the white man.

Geronimo and the Apache Resistance...

Chiricahua Apaches...

From My Novel, "Ruby's Captive, - Rose's Chance Meeting With Ruby's In Obenland's Mercantile Store [Part 2] ...

       "Well, I never!  The nerve of him!  Maybe we should find a decent place to shop, Rose!  But, there are so few stores to choose from here.  Oh, I wish we were back East, where life is civilized!"

      Mother had grasped my upper arm and was dragging me outside.  She stepped into the carriage that we had waiting.  I followed her.

       "Let's go, Frederick!", she called to our driver.  "And, try not to hit every hole in the road.  I've already had enough of a shake up this morning to kill me!"  She  was  silent  a  few  minutes.   Then she  turned  to  me, her eyes  bright, her smile wide.  "Rose, I was starting to talk about things back East.  That fine Bradford Talbot...  You remember him.  Well, his wife died about two years ago and NOW, HE"S LOOKING FOR ANOTHER!  He's originally from Boston too, like we are.  He wrote me asking about you.  What luck that he's still interested!  He's such a good catch I would think that he'd have found someone by now...  But, --- NO!   OH, ROSE, ROSE!...  Isn't that SO WONDERFUL!"

      "Yes, wonderful, Mother," I replied, dully.

       She chirped on.  "He's very well set up, secure, the president of his bank!  You'd never have to worry about money and he'd likely buy you anything you want!  And, such a darling family he has, three adorable girls and four boys.  Why, you'd...  Well, perhaps..."

      She pitched her voice low.  "He might not even want to, --- to do IT so often since he already has a family.  Wouldn't that be a plus, Rose!"

      I turned to her.  "Yes, in the case of Bradford Talbot that WOULD MOST CERTAINLY BE A VERY BIG PLUS, MOTHER!"

      "Keep your voice down, Rose!"  She tapped my knee with her fan.  "Our driver is listening, I'm sure!"

      I sighed.  "He probably isn't, Mother."

      "Servants love to snoop at the conversations of their betters!  But, how would you know?  Honestly, Rose, you are so unaware of what is important!  Don't ever forget you are a person of quality!"

      "Yes, Mother, I know.   But, Bradford Talbot is more than twice my age.  He's pudgy and he must be seven inches shorter than me."  I laughed.  "Can you imagine me bending down to kiss him?  We'd look ridiculous together!  I absolutely refuse to marry him!"

     "Well, it's not Bradford's fault that he's so short.  Nor is it yours that you 're so tall!  Oh, why couldn't you have my height rather than your father's?  It's almost unlady-like the way you are what, five feet nine?  And, well, an hour glass figure is the ideal woman's shape, but you over do it, Rose!   Your hips and your bosom are,---are..."

      "Are what, Mother?"  I was getting very tired of this conversation.

       "Way too much!  Men look at your chest, Rose!  I have told you and told you to bind yourself.  I even gave you those strips of cloth that I hemmed especially for you."

      "No, no,  Mother!   Those binding strips are pieces of Father's old long johns.  I am definitely not wearing them!  And, I'm not five feet, nine inches.  I'm five, eleven."

      She gasped. "That tall, Rose!  Well, it will be amazing if we can find ANY suitors for you!"  But, she smiled again.  "Many men are going to be shorter than you.  You will just have to put up with it!  It wouldn't hurt if you could slouch a little too, to make your height less noticeable."

      My thoughts were drifting.  Mother's voice was like an annoying mosquito.  Ruby Mendez was way over six feet tall and his shoulders moved rhythmically as he walked, in line with his narrow hips...

      Mother's voice came buzzing back.  "If you don't want Bradford, there's Hiram Ralston.  He's a young man, plus his ranch is almost as large as ours.   He would be a clever match for you, Rose, and he's always been interested.  Hiram is almost as tall as you are too!"

      "Yes, I know, I KNOW, Mother.  I think he's only about an inch shorter."

     "Rose, your father and I have been talking most seriously about this.  You're twenty-one.  A girl has to catch a man before her looks fade.  This evil climate sucks all the moisture out of a woman's complexion.  Why, we order Madame Pomphrey's Lady's Cream by the case from London!  But, thank God, for it!"  Her expression grew very stern.  "I hope you're using it too!"

     "Yes, I am, Mother."

      She nodded.  "Good, good."  She smiled, seeming delighted.  "Well, I'll tell your father you have decided to accept Hiram Ralston.   He'll be so pleased!  And, Rose, Godey's Ladies Book and my catalogs from London and from Paris have such darling wedding dresses; then there's your trousseau...  We've been adding to it for years, since you have been so fussy about your choice of a husband, until now.  But, I'm sure there are a few lovely, newly stylish things we could still buy."  She patted my knee.

      I sighed again.  I could see my life stretched before me, the carefully structured years and years, boring,--- so boring.

      "Rose, Rose!  I also want to discuss with you..."   My mother's strident voice broke into my musings.

      I took a lace handkerchief from my velvet purse, wiping it across my forehead.  The day was already hot.  My stays itched.  I hitched the heavy skirt of my dress up a little to allow some air underneath.  My mother angrily pulled my skirts down.  "Rose, to show your ankles like that!"  She looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen six inches of my sparking white high-topped shoes.  "Oh, thank God!  I don't think anyone saw!  Really, Rose,---your reputation!"

      "...Is immaculate, Mother," I finished for her.

      "No thanks to you!  I have told and told your father that I believe you harbor strange and wild ideas in your mind, ideas entirely unsuited to a decent young lady!  Why, didn't I catch you jumping on the back of a horse only last week?"

     I frowned at her.  "What's wrong with that, Mother?"

     She sat up straighter, a dew of perspiration starting on her upper lip.  "A lady must always be assisted in the mounting of a horse."

      "There wasn't anybody around to assist me.  I'm way tall enough to get into a saddle myself.  I just grabbed some mane and jumped.  It was easy."

     She turned an angry face toward me.  "You jumped?  A lady does not jump,---not ever!  Shame on you!  And, I don't wish to be reminded of your shocking height again, Rose!  Plus, there are other things about your actions!"

      "Like what, Mother?"

      "You must not look at men so brashly.  They will get ideas!"

      "Ideas..."

      "Yes, ideas, Rose!  Your expression must be much more demure, cast your eyes down.  You know how to do it."

     "No, I don't, Mother.  It's unnatural for me."  I rubbed my temples where a headache was beginning to form.

     "Well, make it natural for you!  I keep telling you that girls who don't act properly encourage men to take liberties."

     "Liberties...  You mean a man might try kiss me, or might even try to ravish me, Mother?"

     "Keep your voice down , Rose!   You shouldn't even be talking about such wanton behavior!  But, you are so willful, Rose!  If only you were more like Annabelle Marlowe."

     "If only I were more like that washed out, spiritless, chipmunk-faced little snit.  I want to pop her fat little cheeks every time I see her."

     "Rose, how unkind!  A lady is always known by her charity toward ALL!"

      "Maybe I'm not a lady."

      "You are...  YOU ARE!  Oh, how I've tried so HARD, TRIED AND TRIED AND TRIED WITH YOU!"

     "Mother, for God's sake, be quiet."

      I was startled by a slap across my face.  "Mind your mouth, Rose!"

     There were two spots of red on my mother's delicate cheekbones.  "I will tell your father about your impudence!  It is good that you will be married soon.  Maybe Hiram Ralston will teach you how to act, give you much needed discipline!"

     "You mean, you think Hiram should beat some sense into me.  If he tries it I'll flatten him like a flapjack."

      "Rose!"  Mother slapped her fan on my thigh hard.  She leaned forward to speak to the driver.  "Frederick, faster!  We need to get home sometime today!"

      Mother began moving her feet around the floor of the carriage, pushing our skirts back, a grimace of annoyance on her face.  "I see my parasol, but not yours and it was so lovely too, all that pearl beading and Belgian lace!  Did you leave it in Obenland's store?"

      "Perhaps, I did, Mother."

     "We'll have to get you another one.  We can't have your beautiful skin getting freckled!"

     "Yes, Mother."

     She nodded, her small chin lifted.  "We can order you a parasol from Worth's in Paris.  True, it will take a while to get here.  In the meantime, you can use one of mine."

      She patted my knee.  "Don't worry, Rose.  We won't let this cruel Western sun eat you up.  What terrible things it can do to a woman's skin.  Just look at the squaws we sometimes see, as young as you and their faces are as tan as old saddles!  They're so ugly!"

     "I don't think so, Mother.  I really don't.  I've noticed how proud they look.  A lot of them are very attractive and almost as tall as me too."

     "They're totally unfeminine.  They look, uh, --- they're almost, --- muscular!"

     "That comes from hard work, Mother."

     She gasped.  "Why, --- why, Rose, it sounds like you admire, --- ADMIRE INDIANS!"

     "I do.  And, yes, I definitely admire the Apache.  They're an amazing people."

     "You truly admire them?  Why, they have ways that are so strange that they are practically inhuman!"

     "They ARE human beings, Mother."

     "You are so naive, Rose.  But, you know about them?  However would you?"

     "I've asked around."

     "Around..."

     "Yes, Mother!  I'm not as isolated as you think on our ranch, as isolated as I think you'd like me to be!  And, I don't believe that women should be frail, useless little flowers!  Father's money and influence and the men he hires shield us, protects us against almost anything, but most frontier women are tough; they have to be or they can't make it here, --- out West!  Yes, they're tough, like Indian women, like the Apache women!"

     "Of course, of course!  What you say is true aabout your father's power!  And, thank the Lord that FOR IT!  Yes, - I thank the Lord EVERY Sunday when I go to church for the strength to live in this bitter and hostile land!  As for those disgusting Apache squaws and, - YES, coarse frontier women, naturally they need to be tough!  They work like slaves, their beauty destroyed before they're hardly out of their teens!  Would you want that for yourself, Rose?  A woman's beauty is her ONLY weapon!"

     "Not so, Mother.  I can shoot as well as any man."

     "And, I was VERY, VERY against your father teaching you that, like you were A BOY CHILD  Rifleship is so unwomanly!"

     I laughed.  "Mother, did you just call shooting "RIFLESHIP"?  I couldn't stop laughing and laughing.

     "Rose, shush!...  Really!  How dare you mock me!"  She paused a moment, gazing at me as if I was a big, threatening turkey buzzard.  Then, she continued.  "Did you know, Rose...  SO DISGRACEFUL, --- that Indian braves buy a woman like she was a horse or a cow?"

    "Yes, Mother.  Yes, I knew that.  It's somewhat like European parents used to arrange marriages for their children..."

     She huffed.  "Rose, Rose!...  You are...  You are way too!..."  She looked at me. rather desperately.

    I finished for her.  "I'm way too independent, thinking and questioning, way too physically strong, and, --- I'm too sensual, too.  I am I right, Mother?"

    "Rose, I refuse to discuss this further!  YOU WILL BE MARRIED, VERY SOON, AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!  YOU WILL BE HIRAM RALSTON'S WIFE. AND SETTLE DOWN TO A PROPER LIFE!  I will speak to your father TONIGHT!  Yes, marriage will settle you down, my fine young lady!  You need it desperately, before you so aggressive that you, - you disgrace our family!"

    "Before I disgrace the family?"

     "At the risk of sounding coarse, I will say that you are like a bitch in heat!  Men can almost smell it on you, - even our ranch hands look at you funny!"


     "Funny..."

     "Yes, funny, - like they want to, - to push you up against one of back walls of our barns and kiss you!"

     I grinned, and kicked my feet a bit.  "Kiss me!...  Oh, my!  Really?...  There's those evil liberties again!"

     Mother turned pale and her spine stiffened.  Her usually composed and smooth face looked as scrunched as an old apple.  She was very angry and trembling slightly.  She didn't say any more.  And, all during the long drive home pictures of Ruby Mendez danced in my brain: Ruby galloping on his mustang horse, shooting a rifle, the butt of it pulled hard against his powerful shoulder.  And, again, with a bow and arrows, the bowstring against his broad cheekbone as he sighted down it's shaft.  His skin was shining, his hair flying behind him, gleaming in the sun.  He rode expertly, tearing across the sandy ground, his muscular thighs gripping the horse's heaving sides, his beautiful teeth in an animal like snarl.  Fresh from these pursuits, he leaned over me...  I jerked awake; we were home.  My mother had already alighted from the carriage.  I blinked, disoriented.

     She rapped me on the knee with her parasol.  "Get down, Rose.  Today's adventures have been far too much for you, talking out of your head like you were!  You will have time for a nap before dinner.  Make sure you take it, and put some cool cloths on your forehead when you do!  Do you hear me?"  She didn't wait for my answer.  She lifted her chin in a very haughty manner and bustled toward the house.

The 1st Chapter Of My Noveltte Of The Old West, - "Sexy Texy & Blue"...

     We don't get a lot of strangers in our town, and this one blew in like a hot West Texas wind, sudden and hard to ignore.  Yep, and that's where I was born, West Texas, in the Pecos country, a gritty little polecat hole of a place that could make you itch like you had chiggers and not be able to sit still for the misery of it.  I sure as hell didn't.

     I got my name changed plenty of times since I lit out from Satterfield Flats.  Ezra Arnold, the whiskey drummer, the old darling, used to call me Sexy Texy.  Madame Bess called me Cherise, that bright reddish-pink color that's so popular in Paris now, I hear, because she said a pretty, buxom Texas born redhead was like a ruby, but my real name is Charlotte.  Saloon girl at her place was my last wicked job, in the Golden Slipper of New Orleans.  It was one of the few types of jobs open to a shanty-poor like me and the Golden Slipper was a real classy place.

     Sure, I'd thought of doing other work, but the jobs open to an unlearned girl are basically maid or wife, and, well, dammit, neither of those pay enough.  Some women can pass as a man, bind their little apple breasts close to their chests and go working for stagecoach lines as drivers or shotgun up top, be soldiers and wranglers.  I even knew a girl who was a mule skinner, a powerful stinky job, but she said it was something she could do and it paid pretty well.

     I'm tall, but could never pass for a man.  No strips of cloth could be tied tight enough to to keep my chest from pooching out.  So, when my evil sot pa threw me out for the last time I hiked myself to the nearest saloon and eventually made my way to brash, hoity-toity New Orleans.  I worked there steady in the Golden Slipper, becoming a favorite.  I liked wearing those form fitting silk and velvet dresses slit to my knees with feathers and rhinestones in my hair and fancy sliver buckle and rhinestone shoes.  Men fought to buy me drinks, to dawdle me giggling on their laps until one crazy night two of them got in a big ruckus over me.  I got between them, worst luck, and one cut me bad across the face with a broken whiskey bottle.

     Then, my days of being a saloon girl were over.  Doc Reisner sewed up the long slash as best he could, using very fine stitches, but my face was ruined anyway.  Madam Bessy cried and cried when she saw the damage.  She was a good sort, a former whore, as most madams are, a right sweetie with "a heart of gold".  I wasn't so upset when she said she had to let me go.  That bad scar traveling across my face was a blessing in disguise.  It forced me to lead a decent life.

     I wanted to get far, far away from naughty old New Orleans.  Bessy said that if she were me she'd head for the west coast.  She laughed in her free and easy way, saying I might even catch a rich gold miner or big rancher husband out there.  I answered her that I'd sure find plenty of smelly men who'd need their clothes washed and wanted a laundress to do it for them, a good laundress like me.

     So, I boarded soot-belching trains and liver-rattling stagecoaches until at long last I stood in the dusty streets of Claypool, California.   I knew from experience that a saloon is one of the best places in town to advertise you're looking for work.  On the wall of the bar I nailed up my notice:  "Wash taken in---maid service---reasonable, by the day, the week, or whatever you need.  See Charlotte Beacon at the Silver Star Hotel."

     Yep, I got a room in the Silver Star for a seventy five cents a week, breakfast included.  But, eventually, I was able to rent a rickety cabin at the edge of town.  I was hired to clean the Mustang Saloon, to wash dishes and to sweep and mop the sticky, filthy floors of food, whiskey and cigar butts and to empty the spittoons.  It was a gusty, rainy night when I met the Doctor.  I was mopping the floor, swinging the mop in a figure-eight, back and forth, back and forth, almost lost in the rhythmic motion of the swishing water on the old wooden boards and the "dance" of the sopping rag at the end of the handle when a hand roughly grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around.

     The man who had me in his grip was pig-eyed and plug-ugly.  He licked his fat lips greedily as he ran his eyes over hourglass me.  I pulled back from him, automatically.  "Not so fast, Gal", he snarled.  "You seem just right for me.  I don't fancy any of these cheap tarts, but you...  At least you look clean."

     "Take your mussy paws off me!"  I hit his wrist bone sharply with the handle of my mop.

     He yelped and slapped me across the face.  I tasted blood in my mouth, but I've been hit much harder than that.  I simply put a hand up to my lips to rub the sting away.  I backed further toward the edge of the bar.   Pig-eyes followed me, leering,  "You're what I want, Gal!  Upstairs, now!"  He narrowed his eyes and glanced to the stairs in the back of the saloon.  "Only a little tumble.  Won't take a minute.  I'm fast, and you maybe'll like it.  Hell, I bet I'll have you mighty pleased and whinin' for more!"

     "No!," I shouted.  "Never!"

     "She doesn't want to go with you.  You heard the lady," a soft, deep voice said.  It was a man I came to know as the Doctor.

     Pig-eyes swung around toward the sound.  He laughed.  "She ain't no lady."

     "She is until she's proved not to be, and then...  Frankly, there's no right way for a man to hit a woman."

     "Oh, yeah?  Who asked you to mess with me and this gal?  I likes redheads, and she's as red as I've seen."

     Pig-eyes", licked his blubbery lips and the Doctor hit him, a nice, hard uppercut that slammed Pig-eyes against the rim of the bar.   He went down with a thud and laid sprawled in the puddles of soapy water on the floor.  But, now three friends of his stepped up to the Doctor.  Still, the Doctor didn't move, just fixed the men with his steely bright blue eyes, eyes that were almost as blue as Texan blubells.   Then, he punched the nearest man in the stomach and two of them turned on him.

     Yep, the Doctor was one hell of a good fighter, but when the third man hit him on the skull from behind with a whiskey bottle he dropped hard.  One of the men reached down, grabbing the Doctor by his shirt front, hauling him, half-conscious, to his feet.  Wham, wham, wham, they hit the Doctor again and again in the stomach and across his face, arms and legs as they held him upright.  They gave him quite a beating.  Then, they rammed his black wide brimmed hat onto his head and dragged him out through the saloon's swinging double doors, throwing him on his face into the slimy street.

     The ruffians slapped each other's backs and laughed and laughed as they re-entered the saloon.  I made a face of disgust at them, but they'd quickly forgotten about me.  They poured each other drinks and guzzled them.  I got my wrap from the coat hooks on the wall and silently went out to where the Doctor lay.  He had rolled over on his back and was groaning, his eyes closed, squinted tight.

     "I know, I know, it hurts something fierce," I whispered to him, as I got a shoulder under one of his arms and helped him to stagger to his feet.  His high boots scrambled a bit in the mud, but eventually he stood.  He opened those blue, blue eyes and looked down, bleary, at me.  The Doctor was a tall man, very tall, and what is called rangy, like the tough cattle who live all their lives on the sparse grass of the Western range.  It seemed like there was no surplus of flesh on his bones, but his arms and legs looked strong; his shoulders were wide and powerful.  He pointed to his hat.  I picked it up and gave it to him.  He nodded.

     "Come on, big guy" I told him.  "My cabin isn't far from here.  I'm taking you there."

     He nodded again.  We made slow progress through the dark, rainy night.  I was panting by the time we reached my porch.  I got him into the house.   Keeping a clean house, it's not easy in the Wild West where mud is mixed with a lot of manure.  We left a trail of it across my nice, polished floor.  The Doctor didn't fuss when I pulled off his boots and socks, took the long, slim knife out of his right boot.  I stood the boots by the warm stove; I'd brush the mud off them once they dried.  I pushed the Doctor's back a little forward so I could remove his black coat and blue-striped shirt.  Hmmm...  There was a gold stud with a sparkling clear stone in the center of it holding the top of his shirt closed,---a diamond?  And, there were matching studs in his cuffs.  He was a bit of a dandy and, tarnation, --- rich enough to afford wehat was maybe diamonds!  Mighty interesting...  It was harder to take off his pants and belt, but he helped me a little by raising his hips from the chair seat.  I removed his gun belt and gun, taking it out of it's fancy tooled holster.  It was beautiful, pearl-handled with scroll engraving all down the barrel and well-taken-care-of, the cold blue metal of it heavy and deadly.  I dropped it on the table with as much disgust as if it was a copperhead.  I hate guns.

     I regarded the Doctor again.  He was wearing the usual long johns that men in the West wear, but new bright red ones.  Well, those came off too.  His head was against the chair's back, his nape at it's edge.  I frowned; I hate violence, more so because as a saloon girl I've seen way too much of it.  Those nasty hombres had beaten him pretty bad.  There were big purple bruises on his upper arms and across his stomach, the tops of his thighs, on one hip.  A corner of his wide, pink mouth was split, a dribble of blood on it. The Doctor wore his hair longer than most men do, a little past his shoulders.  He was probably about thirty.  It's hard to tell age in the West where the sun is harsh on skin and there are hard times too, people worrying all the time, scared they're not going to make it, not going to be able to live even another few days.  Well, that aside, the Doctor sure was a very handsome with the sort of long face that's all manly angles and planes.  His beard was about a quarter inch grown out.  I touched it gingerly; it was like the plush, stiff horsehair of an expensive couch.  His lips parted then, showing rounded, white and even teeth.

I looked down at the dirty clothes on the floor.  Ugh!  They would have to be washed well and then pressed.  I needed to clean the mud from his hair, face and hands too.  I got a few dippers full of warm water from the pan on top of the stove and ladled them into a basin.  With a towel I washed the Doctor, wiping the cloth gently over and over him, over the sparse hair decorating his chest and down the line of it to his abdomen, wringing it out, again and again, replacing the water as it got dirty.  He was barely conscious.  I sighed.  It had been a long time since I'd had a man in my bed.  Well, I was going to have one now, like it or not.  I just couldn't have left him cold and muddy, lying in the rainy street, especially, after he'd gallantly saved my honor and, just maybe, even my life.  That rotten pig-eyes would have used me bad, I'm sure.

I sighed again, got my shoulder under one of the Doctor's arms and helped him to the bedroom of my cabin.  He fell heavily, and strangely graceful, onto my bed, his long arms and legs flopping, and I covered him.  I frowned, putting my knuckles on my hips.  Oh, damn, damn, damn and bother!  It's been my experience that all men, no matter how sad and vulnerable they might seem when they're hurt or when they're far drunk in their cups, are a hell of a lot of trouble, in one way or another.

The Tuatha de Dannan: The Noble Faerie People On Which J.R.R. Tolkien [in "Lord Of The Rings"] Based Legolas & Galadriel...

     There was once, long, long, long ago, an elegant and very tall faerie people who were said to have come down from the skies "in dark ships".  Perhaps, this meant that the ships were invisible, or cloaked.  This was recorded in ancient Celtic texts thousands of years before Christ.  They were called the "Children Of Danu" or "The Tribe Of Danu", the great mother goddess.  On our earth they were, --- the All-Father: The Dagda, The Morrighan: his triple aspect warrrior wife, their sons, Lugh of the Long Arm, Aonghus Mac Og: god of youth, love and beauty...

     And, Brighid: goddess of smithcraft and protector of women and children, and others.  They fought with the native peoples of Ireland and gained rule of the land.  Master architects, they built seven great cities, each city made of a fabulous semi precious stone.  They were artists, poets, wizards and wisdom makers.

     The noble De Dannans were fond of making solemn processions through the land of Eire at night, riding in a double line, one hundred and forty strong, wearing their finest robes and jewels, on magnificent faerie horses shod with filigreed silver and with bridles laden with tinkling silver bells.  These processions were called faerie rades.  The horses of the De Dannans were unlike any horses that ever trod the earth of men for they were fey creatures.  One only had to look at them to see that they were made, not of blood, flesh and bone, but were constructed of something much, much finer, --- of spirit, fire, water, and air.  (Gandalf's equine friend Shadowfax was created after these horses.)

The wonderful De Dannans were finally defeated by a people called the Milesians and driven underground to live in their faerie raths.  The last of their fantastic horses was somehow auctioned at a horse fair.  He was bought by a great lord of Connaught, in the west of Ireland.  Unknown to the lord, the faerie horses would never allow a servant or a base born person to ride them.  The lord's groom mounted the horse, only to ride him into the stable.  The magnificent horse threw him and killed him on the spot, then galloped away over a hill, never to be seen again.  This was the end of the very singular and sensational horses of the Tuatha de Dannan.

Mackenna's Gold: Angry Ancient Apache Spirits, - Part 2... [More Very Bad Juju!] :(

Mackenna's Gold: Canyon Of Apache Gold, - Part 1... [But, LOOK OUT!!! It's Really Bad Juju!!!] :(