“Fuck,” he swore.

  “Don’t stop. Don’t you stop, Cal Sampson.”

  His hand on my breast, his mouth at my throat. The fading pain between my legs, becoming a glow hotter than coals, moving in harmony with his hips and waist. My nipples thrust against his chest. Cal stopped, letting me get used to his girth. But I moved under him. I wanted him, I needed him.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered. “You’re so damn tight. Jesus- no, don’t move honey. Or I’ll bust inside you.”

  “You ain’t hurtin’ me,” I whispered.

  The truth was, we fit so well together. He moved in a slow, aching rhythm, responding to my moans. His head fell against my cheek. Through the haze of whiskey, we acted without care or thought. I could smell him, an earthy, thick smell like leather and sage and man mingled all into one. It burned through me like fire. There was nothing else to say. There was nothing in the world but the stiff, steady instrument he used to take me up to heaven.

  When he pulled from me, still stiff and sticky from our union, we were both breathing hard. I lay there for a moment with my skirts still up around my waist. He still held me to his chest, but not looking at me.

  The stars above burned endlessly. The sky went from one end of the earth to the other. Out on the prairie there were no mountains or hills. Just sky. The sky held us all prisoner, like a great overturned bowl.

  But I didn’t feel prisoner. I felt like I could fly.

  “What happened?” I murmured to Cal. I turned to him. It felt like moving through molasses. My vision blurred.

  “I believe, Miss Ada Bell, we just made love,” he slurred.

  “Did you like it?” I blurted.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting to be the first to bed miss high-and-mighty,” said Cal. “But I sure did like it.”

  He turned to me. I giggled. It came out high and whiskified. He pulled my skirts down to my knees. But then he stopped, stroking my thigh. His hands crept up under the skirts again.

  “God damn it,” he said. “I busted inside you, didn’t I?”

  “I can’t tell,” I said. He pushed my inquisitive hand away.

  “There’s things you can take for it,” he said. “Herbs, and such. Iron Eye’s wife-”

  “Mister Sampson,” I said, “You always want to do business at the wrong time.”

  He chuckled. His hand slid under me, cupping the globes of my ass.

  “Alright, alright.”

  “I know good and well what I’ve got to do,” I said.

  “So I better just hush up, is what you sayin’?”

  “That’s right. You know, Mister Sampson, you sure do talk a lot when you’re on the drink. I like hearin’ you talk.”

  “You can call me Cal, you know.”

  “I don’t call white folks by their first name.”

  “You call me Cal, Miss Ada Bell. None of that ‘Mister Sampson’ junk. Now where did I put that bottle?”

  I handed it to him. He unstopped it with his teeth and took another long swig. So did I. They say the whiskey is sweeter near the bottom, and it’s true.

  “Oh lord,” I murmured. The last sip hit me hard. His hand found my wet folds again- and pushed on a little spot I’d known about, but never thought to try. I gasped.

  “You’re a pretty thing,” he murmured. “You got the softest skin.”

  “Ahhh...”

  “You know, Ada. I might want to go again.”

  “I want you to go at me again. Cal.”

  His eyes met mine. Not blue, but green. A green I knew too well. I had studied it so often, these last few days. I had tried to drown myself in it. Well, I was drowning now. Just in a different kind of honey. I moved under him. He angled his hips and slid inside me again. But slowly, slowly, very slowly. I felt him an inch at a time. My head swam.

  “I’m damned drunk,” said Cal.

  “Well-”

  “But not too drunk to fuck you.”

  He turned me over, his prick freshly erect and thrusting out like a wooden beam. I hardly got a look at it before he buried my face in the grass.

  I felt him at my entrance. His semen made an easy passage this time. He went slow. So, so shudderingly slow.

  I gasped. He pushed into me, hard. And then harder. And after that...

  4

  Life has it’s little mysteries. How the hell we made it back to that tipi that night is one of them.

  I woke with a splitting headache and the smell of furs in my nose. The morning light was trickling in through the slits in the tipi flap. The sounds of the camp rising- horses, men, children laughing, pierced through the fog of my hangover. We’d slept late.

  We.

  I sat up in a hurry. Cal wasn’t there. He’d left me sleeping. Or had he just left me here, with the Kiowa, and ridden back to his men?

  Like a shot I was out of that tent flap and stalking the camp in search of him. Memories of the night before came washing up like rubbish on a beach. Cal lifting up my skirts. Cal sucking on my breasts. Taking his manhood out, pushing it up between my thighs...

  My head spun. I stopped walking, and put my hands on my knees for balance. The Spanish skirt was streaked with grass stains. More evidence. He’d put his charm on me- whatever charm Cal Sampson could have possibly had- and loved on me so good I lost my memory.

  A Kiowa girl came up to me and said something. A nasty little look was in her eyes.

  “Leave me alone,” I said.

  Grinning, she got hold of one of my braids, and tugged.

  I went after her. She shrieked with laughter and raced through the rows of tipis. She was fast, but I was faster. I caught up with her right at the central fire, and then I got hold of the back of her shirt, and pulled so hard the little beads on the fringed collar came right out.

  She jerked back with a scream, and then we had everyone’s attention. Including Cal’s, since he had taken breakfast at the fire with Joseph and Iron Eye.

  Iron Eye got to his feet and shouted a word. The girl shut up immediately. She dropped to her knees and tried to recover her fallen beads. But then an old woman, possibly her grandmother, or great-great-great grandmother, stamped up and pulled her off the ground by the hair. They made a whole heap of noise getting out of the campfire circle.

  The Kiowa men were laughing, and even Cal was smiling. It took all the wind out of me. I had to be careful here.

  Cal caught my eye and beckoned me over. He sat with Iron Eye, Joseph, and a younger Kiowa I had never seen before. This young Kiowa looked a lot like Iron Eye- I guessed he was his son.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “Morning.” Cal nodded to Iron Eye. “He thinks you’re my wife.”

  I flushed. “Um.”

  Joseph looked me up and down. I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. “Cal here is talkin’ with Iron Eye about the horses,” he said. “Looks like you might be here another afternoon.”

  He patted a space behind Cal, which was appropriate for a woman. I sat. Iron Eye brought out a long pipe and began to pack it. Cal took out some tobacco from his shirt and passed it to the Kiowa chief. They arranged the pipe in silence, and lit it with matches. Through a cloud of smoke Iron Eye began to speak. Joseph translated to me under his breath.

  The Kiowa said, “I like the look of your horse.”

  “Her name is Big Girl,” said Cal.

  “You don’t see nice horses like that often. Not this way.”

  “I won her off a comanchero,” said Cal.

  Iron Eye watched him over the top of the pipe. He nodded.

  “Would you take a wager, for the horse?”

  Cal stiffened. “What kind of wager?”

  Joseph would tell me later that the Kiowa people liked to gamble. They bet on anything under the sun. If you saw two birds on a tree a Kiowa would bet you which one would fly off first. I guess even old Iron Eye was no exception.

  “You will wrestle with me,” said the Kiowa. “And if I win, I have your horse. If you win, you will have your three additional horses for no charge.”

  Stubborn Cal shook his head. “I’m not here to wager.”

  “Then I will wrestle you,” said Iron Eye’s son. Joseph said his name was Fox.

  “No can do,” said Cal. “I’d just like them three horses, and I’m willing to pay.”

  I looked at Cal. He was nearly twice Iron Eye’s size. He could have whupped the Indian with both hands behind his back. It seemed to me he was passing up a good opportunity.

  Fox shifted restlessly. “That horse is wasted on a cowboy,” he said.

  “Then you challenge him,” said Iron Eye, amused. “The Yellow-Hair does not want to part with his horse. I cannot blame him.”

  Fox said, “I will give you three horses and a buffalo robe for it.”

  Cal’s brow furrowed in annoyance. I looked at Iron Eye. He hid a smile.

  “You really want to fight for that horse?” said Cal.

  “You might be bigger, but I am a Kiowa,” scoffed Fox. “It is a fair match.”

  “Wouldn’t it be more interesting,” interjected Joseph, “To see two women wrestle?”

  They all turned to stare at him.

  “What?” snapped Fox. “Be silent, Kickapoo.”

  “Don’t be rude to Joseph,” rumbled Iron Eye. “He is my guest. Say what you mean, Joseph Worn-Shoe.”

  “The cowboy’s wife should fight with yours,” said Joseph, nodding to Fox. “Since the cowboy does not want to do it. I believe he is scared of you, Fox.”

  “Joseph, I swear to God-” began Cal.

  I had missed this part of the exchange, but once Joseph translated it to me, I grew incensed.

  “Absolutely not,” I told him. “I’m not rollin’ in the dust like a pig. Cal, you tell that Indian-”

  “I can’t allow it,” said Cal, steps ahead of me. “And she is not my wife.”

  “Eh? Even better, then,” said Fox. “Worn-Shoe is right. I never imagined a woman wrestling.”

  “No,” I said.

  Iron Eye shifted. “A woman fighting is a different thing. I don’t believe it’s ever been done before.”

  “Grandfather would not like it,” observed Fox.

  “You are right. The stakes must be higher.”

  “I don’t agree to it,” Cal repeated. “Ada ain’t my wife. I can’t tell her what to do.”

  He sensed he was losing ground. Iron Eye and his son exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

  “If your woman wins, we will give you four horses and a buffalo robe,” said the chief. “If she loses, then she must stay here and become Fox’s wife. And he will have your horse.”

  “I don’t want to bet anything. If we could just talk about the horses I came here for-”

  “You’ll get your horses,” said Iron Eye. “But I am interested to see this happen. If you agree to the terms, and I win, I will give you the three horses you want free of charge anyway in exchange for your Big Horse and your woman. But if you win, I will give you four of my very best ones, and my own buffalo robe. And you will keep your Big Horse. What do you think, Worn-Shoe?”

  “The terms are fair,” said Joseph solemnly. “Fox, I think Brave Bird would make a good match against her.”

  “Then see it done,” said the chief. He turned to Fox, getting as near a giggle as a man his age could. “Go find Brave Bird.”

  Cal looked like he might shoot Joseph. But Iron Eye anticipated this. He offered the pipe to Cal and said, “Don’t let my son’s arrogance upset you. It is a bet between friends, eh?”

  Cal took the pipe.

  Then it happened so fast I had no time to prepare. They led me away from the central fire, nearer to Iron Eye’s tipi. Cal put a hand on my shoulder and tried to say how sorry he was.

  “I didn’t have a choice,” he said. “They think it’s weak to back down from a bet. That damned Joseph. I could skin him.”

  “I don’t hold with fighting,” I snapped at him. “You need to talk them out of it.”

  But news of the “woman-fight” spread through the camp in minutes. They all thought it was the funniest idea in the world. Even the young boys abandoned their games to come watch. Fox and Iron Eye spread out the buffalo robe near Iron Eye’s tent, and a ring formed with them at the head of it.

  It wasn’t lost on me that Fox had an interest in marrying me for my unusual appearance- as in, my dark skin. But I had no interest in being an Indian Wife, even if my Indian Husband was young and good-looking, like Fox.

  “You can’t leave me here to marry him,” I said to Cal.

  “I won’t. If you lose, I’ll work out another deal.”

  “You better.”

  Joseph appeared to give me the rules.

  “You can’t poke at her eyes. You can’t throw a punch or bite her. You can’t pinch or tickle her. If you hold her down for a count of nine, you win.”

  I was to wrestle her in my heavy Spanish skirt and fringed shirt.

  “If she loses,” Cal told him, “I’m selling you to Fox in her place.”

  “I would make Fox a bad wife,” laughed Joseph. “He would not be happy with that.”

  I soon got a look at my opponent. Fox’s wife, Brave Bird, pushed through the crowd. She looked even more annoyed than I was. Her dark eyes sparked. She was a stocky woman, a half-hand shorter, with clubbed short hair and thick forearms. I had more weight on her, but her muscles looked hard.

  “She’s fought men twice her size,” said Joseph gleefully.

  “Ada, tell me you been in a couple scrapes before,” said Cal, gripping the Kickapoo by the back of the neck. “You said you had brothers?”

  “I have,” I said nervously. “But that was years and years ago.”

  The Kiowa didn’t waste time with ceremony. The watchers made a ring around us and started to cheer. Brave Bird and I sized the other up.

  It made me sick; I didn’t have a problem with this woman. I would have rather brought Joseph to the middle and taken him on. I would have rather fought Cal Sampson or any one of his cowboy henchmen.

  As for Brave Bird, I figured if she lost to an outsider it would be a shame for her. They might never let her hear the end of it.

  But I wasn’t going to lose to her. I didn’t want to be Fox’s wife any more than I wanted to ride to Baxter Springs on a bad horse.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  With a cry she charged me. She made a brown blur. We fell to the earth in a heap.

  The Kiowa cheered; She moved like a damn eel, grabbing for my wrists before I could get them up to push her.

  But push her I sure did. She tumbled back. I jumped, getting my knee between her legs, and braced my forearm against her collarbone. Steady pressure. Brave Bird gasped for a second, then twisted sharply, throwing me off balance. My grip slipped away. She held my waist and rolled me under her, scissoring her knees to bruise my ribcage. She put her full weight on my spine. I bucked and rolled like a horse. The Kiowa screamed with laughter.

  “One,” counted Fox. “Two.”

  I did an old trick my brother Tom used on me all the time as kids. I went limp, making her think I’d given up. Her weight relaxed. In that second I put all my strength into my core and shoved off from the earth. Brave Bird went sailing backward.

  I made a reach for her again, but she rolled away, scrambling up in a flurry of buckskin and fringe. Her hands clawed out for my hair. I tried to block her, use my height, but in a genius stroke she stepped between my legs and pivoted. I tripped, hard.

  The woman was no weakling, that was sure. But I wouldn’t let her make a fool of me.

  She stood over me, panting. Her neat braids were frayed ropes. Dust and blood stained her pretty shirt. I staggered up, nearly tripping over my own skirts. Dust clouded my eyes. I stung in little places. Brave Bird’s nails had rent a deep scratch in my arm. I made to grab her- and stopped. Her gaze was not on me, but on her husband.

  Fox had tears in his eyes. He’d laughed so hard he fell off the buffalo robe. His men laughed too. Look! Look at the stupid women fighting.

  Brave Bird’s face twisted in contempt. Then she turned to me. Her eyes holding mine, she just sat right down in the dust.

  Go ahead, she seemed to say.

  I went over to her and pushed her. She let me. I held her down with no force at all. She didn’t move.