This is the story that was inspired by the picture I posted last time.  I'm going to post this in chunks so as not to overwhelm the blog, if that's possible.

“STRUGGLES WITH ROPES”
By Bill K. (as Chris Wilson)
Story is copyright 1998 by Bill K.

    The sky was aflame with the orange fire of the setting sun.  It glared into the right side of Destiny Peterson’s face as she looked south and strained to see any sign of the cattle drive that had left the ranch hours ago.  It was futile, of course.  They were long gone and headed for the Montana Trail, far out of her range of vision.  But she continued to look for a few seconds more, hoping for some sign to ease her worry.
   
    She had wanted to go on the drive with the other hands, but they had convinced her to stay behind.  Being the owner of the ranche and of the cattle being driven gave her a vested interest in being with the drive.  However, common sense won out.  Tom Carter had convinced her that, as ranch owner, she would be better served maintaining the ranch rather than being the only woman amid a collection of seedy cowboys covering three states with a herd of cattle.  If it hadn’t made some small sense, shje might have challenged his assertion as to her vulnerability.  Anyway, it was too late now.  They were gone and she was there.

    Absently, she rubbed her hands on the backside of her tight fitting jeans and ambled slowly toward the house.  The noise of the few other hands left behind to tend the ranch with her wafted across the long yard from the bunkhouse, but the sound didn’t comfort her.  The silence, relative to the general low clatter of most nights made her melancholy.  Perhaps a warm cup of tea and a good book might ease her spirits.
    Destiny Peterson was a nineteenth century success story.  She had taken the inheritance from her father’s metalsmith’s business and left Minnesota and the colony of Swedish immigrants that resided there like a coven of scared sheep and gone to the Dakota territory to get her own spread of land.  Despite her youth of twenty-six, her long blonde hair and showgirl looks and features, she managed to carve a successful cattle ranch out of unsettled land with the twin swords of Indians and outlaws hanging eternally over her head.  She did it through smarts and simple stubbornness when it was needed, and deferring to a better gun or a stronger hand when necessary.  The west didn’t have much use for women unless they were whores or farmer’s wives, but she met it on its own terms and made it sit up and give her the respect she’d earned.  Now that there was peace, she felt at ease at last.
    Destiny folded her arms over her breast as she neared the door, a whisper of chill seeping through her faded blue cotton shirt.  It was definitely time for some tea.
    As she entered the house and felt for the oil lamp, she couldn’t escape the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.  Was she worrying too much about the cattle drive, or was it an actual premonition?  This was one of the reasons why she had wanted to go along.  Sitting and waiting and not knowing was the hardest part.
    There was a noise off to the right that caught her attention.  “Ben, is that you?” she asked, but no response came.  That brought the hairs on her arms to attention.  She could hear the shallow breathing now.  Someone was here, and Destiny had left her gun holster in the other room.  Since they didn’t answer her first question, she knew they were intruders and didn’t waste energy in trying to pose more.  Instead she warily made her way toward the gunbelt.
    Perhaps realizing her destination, a figure darted out from concealment and tackled Destiny midway in the room.  Destiny hit the floor hard, but recovered quickly, struggling to throw her attacker off.  She sensed that the stranger was not her physical superior, which encouraged her expectations for victory.  Destiny Peterson had learned many lessons during her climb to success in the west and holding her own in a fight was one such lesson.
    Unexpectedly, though, her attacker was joined by a confederate, pushing the odds against her now.  Destiny struggled to squirm out from beneath the two as they tried to forced her arms behind her.  So certain in her ability to escape them, the woman didn’t cry out until she realized her hands were trapped behind her and a leather thong was cutting into the flesh of her wrists.
    “HELP!” cried Destiny, realizing perhaps too late that it was now a time to defer.  The one word was all she could get out, however, as a thick cloth was pulled between her teeth and tied tightly behind her head, smothering any further yelling.  Her two attackers worked fast, pinning her elbows together and tying the thong off by circling her heaving chest.  More of the cord pinned her knees together and bit into the leather of her boots around her ankles.  She was caught tight and knew it immediately.
    As the weight came off of her back, she rolled herself over onto her side to see who had invaded her ranch house.  The sight was not one of the possibilities Destiny had conjured up in the back of her mind: Through the darkness, she could make out the forms of two Indian women.  She could see they were young and wore the fringed white leather dresses and moccasins of the plains tribes.  The embroidery looked to be Sioux in origin and they each wore a pair of feathers dangling from their long silken black hair.  Neither seemed armed, but that hardly seemed to be important now.  What were they doing here in her home and what did they want?  More importantly, what did they intend to do with her now that she lay at their feet, bound and helpless.
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More tomorrow.