The Bride of Chief Iron Rod
Clarence DuFaye was feared throughout Kansas and western Missouri as the infamous kidnapper and bandit, Chief Iron Rod. Astride his faithful steed, White Lightning, he ravaged the countryside. Beautiful women everywhere quaked with fear upon hearing his name, and with desire upon viewing his gorgeous face.
A wagon train was finally passing through the ambush he’d laid, and this time he was in luck! It looked to be a fat one, and he could see the bloom of at least one hoop-skirt. He grinned to himself, checked his rifle and spurred White Lightning over the rise with a terrifying war cry.
Taken by surprise, the convoy guards did nothing to hinder his charge. Ha! He had his choice, then, now which of these beauties did he- Ah ha! There! The tall, graceful one peeking out of that wagon. Oh! The creamy whiteness of her skin, the inky spill of hair across her brow, and her prim little spectacles! She was the very picture of perfection, a Lady such as he’d never seen before. He pulled his steed up to her wagon, swept her into his arms, and wheeled away, galloping west with all haste.
“You have been struck by the infamous Chief Iron Rod,” he called to the milling caravan, one hand planted firmly on his prize’s pert rear end, “If you ever wish to see this damsel again, I demand a ransom of one thousand dollars delivered to the saloon in Wichita by noon tomorrow.”
“Damsel?” someone asked in a muffled voice.
“Heee-yah!” Chief Iron Rod called, urging White Lightning over the rise and heading for the westering sun.
The limp form slung rather haphazardly across his lap began to shake, slightly. Why, the poor girl was trembling in abject fear!
“Never fear, beautiful maiden! I, Chief Iron Rod, give you my word that no harm will come to you, unless, of course,” and here he gave her firm buttocks a squeeze, lowering his voice enticingly, “you wish it to.”
“Ah,” said the voice, less muffled now and more tightly controlled, “I’m sorry but there appears to have been some mistake.”
He smiled down at her, bewitched anew by her husky tenor, her polite, stoic forbearance in the face of dread, the refinement of her features and the odd curl to her pallid lips.
“If you would just- mmmph,” she said as he sealed his lips over hers and pressed her delicate frame into his broad, bare, sun-warm chest. Moving easily with Lightning beneath them, he dropped the reins entirely, bringing his other hand up to cup her very — flat - chest. Ah, but such slimness of figure didn’t bother him. Her infinite grace, the slow-melting, stubborn resistance of her mouth overwhelmed him.
“Uffriedooteffoo,” she said against him, sending shockingly pleasurable vibrations through the Chief’s entire body. He pulled her closer and took advantage of her exasperated sigh to introduce his tongue to her palette. She took his hand and, peeling it from her breast, pressed it down and between -
Chief Iron Rod thought his heart might shatter his ribs, so hard was it pounding. He loved it when sweet innocence gave way to rabid -
Wait. That -
William P. Quincy, lately of Duxbury, Massachusetts was woefully unprepared for his erstwhile captor to faint into his arms. Fortunately, the horse had stopped running some time ago and was, in fact, ambling to a stop beside a pleasant stream with an air of long-suffering patience. It took some care, but William managed to get them both to the ground without mishap. He looked around the shady clearing with its small dugout house, the scattering of woodchips, tack and odd tools lying about. His folded his arms for a moment, gazed down at the untidy sprawl of the Chief and sighed again. It was most impolite for a host to faint before seeing to his guest’s comfort - and just when he’d made up his mind to enjoy the kiss! Really, this man had terrible manners.
The Chief didn’t wake for several hours, by which time William had groomed, fed and stabled the affectionate white horse, swept out the house, aired the bedding, organized the tools, restacked the wood pile and made a pie with the last good yams.
“Ah, finally awake,” he said as the Chief raised his head and blinked blearily at him, “Do you have any more lamp oil? I haven’t been able to find it. Really, you must learn to take better care of your things. This lamp took me nearly half an hour to clean. You don’t keep it in the shed, do you? You know, lamp oil can be dangerous if not stored properly.”
“You- you-“ Chief Iron Rod said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the root cellar’s hatch, “You’re- you’re-“
“A man, yes. Ah, I wondered where you’d hidden your cellar. My, and it’s nearly bare as well. Tsk, well, you’ll just have to pick up some things when you go into Wichita tomorrow. You’re nearly out of flour, too.”
“You’re a- you- I- Uh, what did you do to my house?”
“Oh, I just tidied up a bit,” William said brightly, filling the lamp and lighting it with a coal from the stove. The low flame flickered over the Chief’s look of stunned and slightly wild bewilderment, highlighting the roguish fall of dark hair over one eye. He was rather striking, messy house aside, and a hell of a kisser.
His captor’s eyes dragged down the stripe of chest visible through William’s open shirt and came to rest somewhat lower. The Chief groaned and fell back into his mattress, one arm flung over his eyes.
“I’m ruined!” he cried.
William raised his eyebrows, mouth hardening into a line. “What, because of me?” he asked, lightly.
“Everyone probably knows by now! I’ll have to leave the state!” The chief abruptly windmilled off the pallet and began pacing furiously. “Let’s see- North! The Dakotas are nice this time of year! No, no too close- South! The Caribbean! No, can’t swim… West then! There’s gold everywhere out… there… Is that a pie?”
The Chief whirled on the other man and was started by his proximity and the unreadable intensity of his expression. He took a step back, alarmed, and William took a step closer.
“Um, ah, why are you still here, anyway? You could have - you know - escaped while I was um-“ The Chief stuttered, letting out a rather high-pitched squeak when his bed frame hit the backs of his knees. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
William allowed a tiny smile to creep onto his face as he reached for the Chief’s leather vest. “I hate to leave things unfinished,” he said.