The Convert - Web viewLifting him to his knees. ... Such as only a convert could possess perhaps, ... Without another word Hunting Wind nodded at the brave

Starring Ben Todd as Cheyenne Bodie

The Convert

Theme: ProxyThe person who stands in for someone else

An ally who can be relied upon to speak or act in one's stead.

Authority given to a person to act for someone else

USING someone else on your behalf, disposable

Person who takes the place of another person because a task is too dangerous

The nature of being a stud .. for some evil guys, that makes you a target. Looking the way you do .. some assume you can take it more than others. Exploring the theme of the stud who is made to stand-in for another guy. Get used in another guy’s stead.

Illustrations

A nostalgic return to that TV show from the 1955-63, Cheyenne. Starring Clint Walker.In homage to my mother, long-gone. As a young girl she had the hots for Walker, she drooled over his show. Never missed an episode in case tonight was the night when he went shirtless. A rarer treat on TV in those days.

Unfortunately for illustrations the images available of Clint Walker are poor quality and grainy. For this story, then, Ben Todd will stand-in for Clint. A worthy stand-in for the stud?

Astute readers will notice that Ben Todd loses his shirt earlier than the storyline requires. But whoever claimed illustrations on rendsz’ world had much to do with the plot? No one pretends they don’t tickle some other

response.Bottom-line is .. would my mother have objected? If Ben Todd took off his shirt? No surrheee .. she sure would not …..

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The Convert Page 2 A rendsz’ world story

http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/person

http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/place

http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/take


http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/else

http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/act


http://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/authority

The Convert

Contents1. LAYING TRACK 42. SURPRISES 63. WELCOMING 94. COME NIGHT-FALL 125. MISSIONARY STORY 146. SCOURGE 177. BULLWHIP 198. ABUSED 219. WALK OF SCORN 2310. LINES OF HATE 2511. BEATING FROM HELL 2812. HANG 3013. STAND-UP TO PAIN 3214. CONFRONTATION 3515. FINAL THOUGHTS 3716. END 38

Ben Todd models as Cheyenne Bodie


1. Laying track

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He was riding shotgun for the railroad. Part of the security detail. Keeping the Sioux off. Shooting away their raiding parties before they could pick off another worker laying tracks.

And the closer the railroad got to the Black Hills, the more aggressive the Sioux became. Bodie understood. It was sacred land. But the engineers had decided. The railroad went straight through. The company got paid for every mile of track they laid. Only way the workers got their money .. keep laying track. The railroad could afford no delays.

It was like it was personal. The Sioux came gunning for the security detail. Looking for revenge. Attacks increasingly furious, frenetic. It was messy, it was war. Bodie had shot dead dozens of attacking braves. Every mile of track laid littered by bodies of braves he had shot. They were hated .. the security crew. One thing Bodie knew .. you couldn’t afford to fall into Sioux hands.

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2. Surprises“Stop. If you don’t want an bullet in your back ….”Cheyenne froze at the sound. His fingers were only inches from the trigger of his rifle. But the movement now sounded almost on top of them.

How had they managed that? To creep up on them. And neither had heard a thing. Until it was too late.

➼ ➼➼➼“Bodie. Don’t move.”Jacob’s whispered voice to his side sounded nervous. Instinctively Bodie’s hand went to his rifle.“DON’T!”Bodie turned his head to his companion. Not thinking about the warning not to move.Jacob frowned at him. But said nothing. Did nothing.

The pair of them had crawled on their bellies through the long grass to the brow of the hill. On Jacob’s tip-off that the tribes were gathering. A hundred yards back they’d tethered the horses and slithered on their fronts to look down over the plain. Jacob had been right. Hundreds of tepees. Hundreds of Sioux braves gathered. “For the Blood Moon,” Jacob had said.

Down on his front in the long grass, Bodie had been shocked by the numbers. In silence they had watched. This was war, it would be a bloodbath. Bodie had looked without talking. Wondering how-in-heaven they’d defend the railroad against numbers like that. It was then that Jacob had broken the silence. Warning Bodie. Cheyenne questioned to his companion with his eyes. Gesturing behind them. Questioning without saying a word. Jacob nodded lightly. His attuned hearing had heard what Bodie had not. They had company.

“Move and it’s a bullet in your back ….”Cheyenne froze. His rifle only inches away. But the voice now sounded like it was breathing down his neck. It could only be Sioux. Crept up on them. Not made a sound. Bodie had not heard a thing. And now it was too late. Cheyenne saw movement to his side. Bare muscled legs passed by his head. A moccasined foot kicked his rifle away. One man, one pair of legs. But from the way Jacob lay passive, offering no attack, Bodie guessed his hearing had perceived many more. Jacob was Sioux. Until he’d baptised. But all his previous life he’d been Sioux. He knew what his tribesmen were capable of. If he thought the pair of them were out-numbered, Bodie knew to trust Jacob’s instincts.

“Our brother is back.”The moccasin placed its foot on Jacob’s rifle. The pair of them had no weapons now. How many

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were they? And how well armed? Could they fight them off? The voice above them had talked to others. Confirming this brave was not alone.

Hands were quickly on Bodie’s arms. Lifting him to his knees. The bare legs belonged to a Sioux warrior, tall, authoritative. Dressed in just his loincloth. Lean, muscular. With piercing eyes. But those eyes were only for Jacob. A pair of Indian braves remained hovering over Cheyenne but their leader was only interested in Jacob.

“Red Fox has returned.”Clearly these were men from Jacob’s tribe, he was recognised. But this was no enthusiastic welcoming. The reunion was met with hostile silence. Cheyenne worked out the odds. About a dozen braves. Against the two of them. The Sioux armed with rifles. Suicide to start a fight.

“Our father is sick.”The well-built Sioux stood right in front of the pair of them on their knees was talking to Jacob.“Gone to the shrines .. for healing. Leaving your brother as chief.”Was this “brother”-thing just the way Indians spoke about others in the tribe? Or .. somehow the way this muscular brave looked at Jacob ……. Bodie wondered .. Was this brave actually his brother? Jacob’s own brother? Was that some similarity?

The tall warrior loomed over Jacob on his knees.“Our father has wept. Over the loss of a son. A son who followed the white-man’s ways. Who took on the white-man’s god. Cast the Great Spirit aside.”Was Bodie hearing this straight? Our FATHER? Not our chief.“Our father is sick. Sick in his spirit. At a son’s betrayal.”

Was Cheyenne getting this right? Jacob had been a chief’s son? Named once Red Fox? Bodie was trying to make eye-contact with Jacob. For clarification. But his companion was looking up into the stern face of the brave. Staring up into … his own brother’s face?

“OUR father ….” - these two were brothers, then? Jacob had been Red Fox before converting? Their chief’s son? Was Bodie putting this together right? Incredible. For his new Christian faith Jacob had abandoned the old ways. In despair or shame the chief, his father, had pined away. So … this muscular brave .. he had taken over as chief .. he was Jacob’s actual brother? And now he had captive the treacherous brother .. who had left to follow the White-men’s ways?

Red Fox/ Jacob had suspected the tribes would be gathering for battle. He had persuaded Bodie to come scout-out the land. His suspicions were right. His Sioux nation was gathering in force .. for the Blood Moon. In overwhelming numbers. A massive army to stop them laying tracks. Halt this desecration of sacred lands.And, disastrously, Jacob/ Red Fox had got caught. With him a white-man. Spying on his own people. The worst betrayal. And the pair of them had fallen into vengeful hands …….

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The Convert

3. Welcoming

The chief’s son was back. But there was no wild cheering for his return to the tribe. Word had gone on ahead. The whole village had turned out to welcome the son and his white-man friend.

The chief’s son who had turned to the white-man’s god. Caught in the act of betraying his brothers. Bringing a white-man to spy. The white-man who had slaughtered many braves.

Between two lines of hostile faces, the captives were led to the centre of the village. The silence was eerie. Bodie felt a knot in his gut. This couldn’t turn out good.

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The silence was unnerving. Surrounded by hundreds of Sioux. Walked through a sea of hostile looks. Bodie felt their hatred boring into him. Drawn on a noose through their never-ending crowd.. a hopeless steer dragged to the slaughter-house. How many of their brothers had he shot? It didn’t take any imagination to figure out what they wanted done to him.

His captors had treated him badly. The ropes they used to tie him were pulled tight. Their eyes looking for the wince of pain. Slapped across his head .. a hard resounding slap that made Bodie’s blood boil, though nothing he could do about it but glare. Shoved and barged .. making clear their contempt for him. He had to expect that. They’d seen him shoot their brothers. There had to be bad blood.

On the walk down to the plain, though, only Bodie had been bound. Clearly they didn’t trust him. Or it was his build that had them intimidated? Still on his knees Jacob’s brother had ordered Bodie’s hands tied. Arms raised above his head, strong rawhide was twisted around crossed-over wrists. Pulled to his feet, more rawhide was looped through his elbows and pulled tight across his back. Digging his tight-bound hands into his belly.When the braves retrieved their horses, it amused the young chief to fashion a noose out of Bodie’s own lasso. Taking it out on him .. they’d seen him shoot their own .. they wanted him shamed. Jacob’s brother handed the lasso over to a brave .. honoured to lead the white-man into the village, a noose around his neck. Like some tamed horse. The brave made the best of that honour .. showing the white-man his hate.

Only Bodie had been tied-up, though. For a while he thought he’d been sold out. Why hadn’t they tied Jacob up? Obvious reason .. he’d betrayed Bodie. This was a set-up. The chief’s son winning his way back in with the tribe. But, as Bodie stumbled along, hauled by the neck down towards the village, he knew that couldn’t make sense. Everything about Jacob said his conversion was sincere. More likely, Bodie thought, they seemed to trust Jacob .. that he would not try to fight back or escape. He walked ahead of Bodie between the braves’ horses. Not tied, free. But closely guarded, his escorts either side like a cat about to spring. Jacob was just as much captive, Bodie realised. Just


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not tied. It was as if the Sioux all understood some code. Red Fox was facing up to his destiny. He was born Sioux - Jacob understood. He had a debt to pay. And it was like Jacob accepted he could not escape his destiny.

Walked past hundreds of hate-filled eyes. Tied, no chance of escape. And as they were walked on to the centre of the village, the lines closed-in behind them. Blocking off any chance of making a run for it.“My father’s son has returned.”No cheering or greeting. Stood in the midst of a hostile silence. The pair of them were surrounded. “Bringing this white-man with him. Whose hot rifle has killed off many braves.”Bodie had been keeping marauding Indians at bay as the workers slaved laying track under the hot sun and inched the new track further west .. through Indian territory. And inevitably getting closer to the Black Hills. The railroad company knew the hills were sacred to the Sioux nation. But still the track was driven on.“Bringing the Iron-Horse to trample over our sacred lands.”

And the pair of them had been caught in the act. Jacob had been helping his new friends. Betraying his tribe to the White-men. Spying on his own people .. warning this hated enemy of his own tribe. Getting them ready to defend itself against his own people’s attack. An attack to stop the railroad committing sacrilege on sacred land. For tem, a complete act of treachery. Bodie feared the worst.

“Betrayal.”The young chief put the tribe’s anger into that single word.“Betrayed his people. Betrayed his father. Betrayed his beliefs.”With every word the chief was addressing the tribe. But his every look was only for the returning brother. Accusation fierce in his glare.

“Bringing the white-man with the hot rifle to spy on us. On his own people.”Jacob could do nothing but stare him back. “This white-man with his deadly rifle. Brought here to kill. Brought here by our brother Red Fox.”Betrayal. Jacob knew he was doomed. And they’d not let him get away.“Taking the white-man’s god for his own. Making the white-men his own.”The chief spoke quietly .. almost in a whisper. But the words came out in a hiss.“Red Fox is no more. His spirit will be cast from our earth.”

The chief paused. Bodie saw the man’s muscled chest rising and falling as he drew breath to calm down his anger. Still glaring at his brother, he spoke the sentence. A sentence of doom.“With nightfall we light the fires ……”

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4. Come night-fall “What will they do with us?”The pair of them had been tied with their backs to a pair of sturdy posts in the centre of the village. Awaiting nightfall.“Burn us.”

Jacob seemed remarkably calm as he pronounced the fateful words.“Or at least .. burn ME.”He looked across at his companion tied to the other stake.“Torture me first …. Retribution ….”

➼ ➼➼➼They’d go hard on him, Bodie knew. He had been recognised .. the white-man with the hot gun. He had killed their brothers. How many they didn’t need to know. Bodie had worked in the security detail. They had killed attacking Sioux braves, their job. Killed braves on a sacred mission. Stopping the railroad from entering the Black Hills, to them sacrosanct land. The braves had done their sacred duty. The security crew had murdered them .. by the dozen. The Sioux had one of the murdering dogs in their hands. No reason to go easy on him.

Jacob had converted. He worked at the railroad’s tented church. Janitor jobs. Cleaning the mud away, putting out the chairs. People eyed the redskin in white-man’s clothes in their church with suspicion. But Jacob had done humble duties .. in service to his new-found god. His had become a deep and sincere faith. Such as only a convert could possess perhaps, Bodie might have thought. Was this calmness at the stake .. in face of the threat of an agonising death .. was that down to his piety? Was he inspired by those stories of saints and a martyr’s death? Or did this calmness come from his Sioux upbringing? A fortitude in the face of suffering. Would a Sioux like him find a familiar ring about the Easter story? About facing a horrendous death with dignity?

“I am sorry.”Jacob looked at the tall figure of Bodie trapped like him .. tied at these stakes waiting until nightfall when the fires would be lit.“It is my fault.”Bodie was frowning.“I persuaded you to come,” Jacob explained. “Suspecting the tribes were gathering for a battle.”Bodie shrugged.“And you were right ….”Apologetic Jacob interrupted Bodie.“But look where I got you. Captured. And going to die.”

No reason why they’d go easy on Jacob either. Probably he’d get it worse. He had betrayed his brothers. He had taken on the white-man’s god. He had brought a cowboy from that murdering security detail to spy on them. No doubt now where his loyalties lay. Spying on the gathering tribes.


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So the white-man was ready for the attack. And making sure that Iron-horse trampled its filth over their sacred hills. It would go hard on Jacob. Go hard on them both.

Bodie half-snorted.“I knew the risks. Go with the job.”His eyes smiled back. Feeling it only right to relieve Jacob of some of his guilt.“And remember, I’m half-Cheyenne. Knew what ‘d happen if we got caught ….”Made worse by the fact that the chief had recognised him. The white-man with the hot gun who had shot dead many of their braves.

Bodie’s thoughts were interrupted. The chief .. Jacob had named him as his brother, Hunting Wind .. he had arrived back. Behind him a group of braves. Odd .. they were carrying a rough-shaped cross. A pair of tree trunks lashed together with leather cord. Bodie looked sharply over at Jacob for an explanation. But he saw Jacob looked just as perplexed.

“Remind me ..…”Hunting Wind had stood supervising the braves. Digging out a hole in the ground, mounting the cross in the hole. And then packing stones in to keep the post firm and upright. Bodie had watched the work with a rising sense of trepidation in his gut. Now, the cross set upright, Hunting Wind had approached Jacob. The sternness in his face glaring at his brother .. Bodie felt a tight lump of nervousness formed in his throat.“This white-man’s god of yours … Tell me. How did he die?”

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5. Missionary story

He’d shivered at that question hissed out at Jacob, How did your white-man’s god die? It was a tremble full of Bodie’s concern for Jacob. His immediate thought was that Jacob’s brother was going to do that to him. Crucify him.

Why else come up with that cross? All that performance in front of his brother .. building a cross .. digging the hole .. setting it up in the ground.

Taunting Jacob with a mock crucifixion .. for abandoning the tribe. For taking on the white-man’s ways. In revenge. And then that

question. With that hate-filled look. How did your white-man’s god die?

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Well, Hunting Wind certainly pulled the wool over Bodie’s eyes. He hadn’t expected that move. They were going to crucify Jacob, Bodie was convinced. A mockery for Jacob’s conversion. Killed like his precious god. In revenge. Killed like Jacob’s sweet Jesus. For abandoning the Great Spirit.“Sweet Jesus” Jacob always called him.” And now .. out of disgust for a chief’s son who could betray his own people to the hated white-man .. Bodie thought, they were going to kill Jacob the same way. Mock their treacherous Sioux brother .. killing him the way the Romans had crucified Jacob’s sweet Jesus. “You remember, Red Fox ….?”Hunting Wind was right in Jacob’s face. Spitting his contempt for his brother’s betrayal into his face.“ .. those white missionaries who came around. With their stupid Book. Full of their senseless stories. Pictures that praised how their feeble god had died ….”

But it hadn’t been Jacob they had gone for. On a nod, a half-dozen braves had released Bodie from his stake. Rushing him bodily over to the cross. Lifting his bound hands above his head. A loop of


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rawhide tied high up around the pole fastening his wrists. Shocked by the unexpected Bodie found himself standing with his hands raised above his head, the wrists tied to a rawhide thong. Binding his chest to the cross.

Bodie’s heart was pounding. Strangely he had not thought to resist. It would not have got him anywhere anyway .. their numbers and determination were too great. Hundreds of eager braves around. But somehow that association with the crucifixion .. that had momentarily robbed him of any thought of fighting back. Caught up in this mystery of the Christian cross.

“It always struck me …..”Bodie looked over his shoulder at Hunting Wind’s speaking again. Aware his heart was racing. He’d been captured by tribes before. But somehow he sensed this was going to lead somewhere worse. This clash between traditional beliefs and Jacob’s “sweet Jesus” .. their own Red Fox betraying his people for the white-man’s god .. that sent a tremor down Bodie’s back. He sensed things going severely bad. And now he himself stood at the heart of this scene. Bound facing the cross, hands trapped above his head.

“ .. this white-man’s god .. what kind of chief is he?”Nervously Bodie was looking over his shoulder trying to second-guess what Hunting Wind had in mind. Jacob was the main target for his anger. It was the white-man lover who deserved his brother’s revenge. But it was Bodie he had ordered bound to the cross. What sense did that make?“WEAK! Feeble. I remember those stories.”Hunting Wind’s sneer came out with his every word.“His enemy’s come for him. Does he fight? He has his braves with him when the enemy attacks. Does a single one of them take up arms? Does this precious god of yours defend himself? Stand up for his beliefs?”

Hunting Wind snorted. In disgust.“WEAK! Not even a knife is drawn out. This white-man’s god .. he’s a coward.”Hunting Wind threw his arms out .. pleading for someone to make sense of that,“Surrenders. Led away. Effortlessly captured by his enemies.”Hunting Wind snorted a fighting brave’s disgust.“Feeble! That a chief ….? This god you have taken up …. he dares not even shake a fist ….”

From Bodie’s upbringing, half-Cheyenne, he could feel how cowardly such behaviour would have appeared to his own half-brothers too …..“Your god. For whom you threw away your tribe’s beliefs … What kind of man is THAT?”Hunting Wind did not need to answer his question. His disgust was written in every contemptuous sinew of his fighter’s body. But he did answer. For the listening tribe.“A COWARD.”

Hunting Wind was hissing his scorn for the brother who had abandoned the tribe’s beliefs. Converted to follow a god so weak.“Weak. Feeble. And for his cowardice .. what did he get?”Hunting Wind spat in Jacob’s face.“ … what he deserved …. Death. Tortured to death. Killed.”Hunting Wind’s lip curled in contempt.


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“He deserved it .. this god of yours. Everything. Deserved what he got. For being feeble.”Hunting Wind sneered.“What brave could raise his head after disgracing himself like that? Face his brothers? Shamed. Feeble.”The new chief’s head was shaking. Not with not understanding. He understood too well. His brother had humiliated himself by taking up with a coward of a god.“Shamed. Broken. Killed. By his enemy. Without so much as a fight.”Hunting Wind was right in Jacob’s face.“And for THAT you abandoned your people’s ways.”

Bodie, facing the cross, hands tied above his head, .. he began to feel a nervousness at the seething hiss of scorn from Jacob’s brother. Hunting Wind was railing at his brother. But strung up like this .. Bodie suspected this was still heading down on his own head.“Remind me, brother .. What was it those missionaries told us? When his enemies got him to their village .. before your cowardly god was hoisted up on the cross .. what was it they did to him?”

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6. Scourge

They struggled with the thickness of Bodie’s buckskin shirt. Several unsuccessful tugs at the neckline behind .. grunted efforts from a brave yanking and trying to rip Bodie’s shirt off his back.

Bodie felt a cold touch in the back of his neck. The blade sawed effortless through the thick leather shirt. Briefly Bodie felt a shiver .. he would not like to face down a knife that sharp.

Hands were back .. ripping sounds. Tearing his shirt apart. Baring his broad back.

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“I asked a question.”Hunting Wind snapped a question at Jacob. Ignoring his brave tearing Bodie’s shirt apart and revealing the muscled back. Bodie had his forehead pressed into the cross. He was steeling himself. Breathing deep, calming his nerves. Knowing he was in for a whipping. He knew the story from his occasional visits to church .. even if Hunting Wind was pretending not to. Those missionaries’ tales which Jacob had come to embrace. And which Hunting Wind had scorned. Bodie doubted very much that Hunting Wind did not have a clear idea where this was headed. And it was Bodie going to be acting it out.

Bodie heard the hesitation in Jacob’s answer. He too was taken with this re-enactment of the Bible story. Not quite sure how to take this sequence of events.“Scourged.”Jacob’s one word sent a shiver down Bodie’s exposed back. A word with greater significance than just Beaten. Whipped.

“That some strange white-man word?”Hunting Wind scoffed.For Bodie it was. So much worse. More intense. More agonising. He tried not to give in to the weightiness of that word. Hunting Wind himself did not understand the word, however.“He was beaten. That right?”Bodie did not look over his shoulder to see if Jacob had nodded. It wouldn’t matter anyway, Hunting Wind had his mind made up. Bodie focussed his strength of will on the knowledge that Hunting Wind was re-enacting the Bible story. He was going to take a whipping .. out of mocking .. just like Jacob’s god had done. “Sweet Jesus” as Jacob always called him. Hunting Wind was putting Bodie through some kind of perverse ritual of the Bible story. Made to relive the tale in a way worthy of a brother who had abandoned the old ways. Mocking Jacob’s new faith.


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“This coward you revere .. this white-man’s god .. he let himself be beaten. He let his enemies beat the manly spirit out of his back.”Bodie breathed in deeply. “What kind of god is that?”Hunting Wind’s sneer put a clear tone on this game. No, no game. Derisive Hunting Wind was laughing at his former brother’s cherished faith. And it was Bodie standing in for Jacob’s sweet Jesus. This wouldn’t be the first time he had taken a lashing. He’d fallen into the hands of men who took out their anger on him this way. But this association with the Bible story .. with the suffering of Jacob’s sweet Jesus .. that leant this whole episode extra weight. The word “scourged” would not leave his head.

“In the hands of his enemies. They beat your god. Whipped his back.”The scoffing for Jacob’s god .. for the god for whom Jacob had abandoned his life in the tribe .. Bodie could hear the stinging harshness in Hunting Wind’s scorn.“With something like this ….”Bodie glanced over his shoulder. He saw what Hunting Wind held dangling from his raised hands. A cold shiver passed down Bodie’s back.

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7. Bullwhip

With his own whip. Bodie’s back spasmed. His head shot backwards, his neck cricked. A searing pain across the tops of his shoulders. Bodie crunched his eyes together .. fighting the force of the thwack. Biting down on his back teeth. The grunt burned in his throat.

A thwack across hard cowhide could get the most stubborn steer running along. That force was thudding now across his lower back.

Hard with the sweat and grease from hundreds of hides. Smacking his belly into the upright of the cross. Bodie gasped at the heat of the pain rushing to his head.

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Struck by his own bullwhip. Thick, crusted with steer-grease. Stiff. Bodie knew its power. He felt its power. Gritting his teeth on a grunt from deep within. Hunting Wind had retrieved it from Bodie’s horse. Used on many a round-up. A thick whip of plaited leather. Used to drive along a lazy steer. Shocked, Bodie shot a glance over his shoulder. Hunting Wind had handed his bullwhip over. A tall broad-chested brave was whipping the weapon back over his shoulder. Twisting around. To put all of his muscular bulk behind the blow. Quickly Bodie turned back. He steeled himself. He buried his forehead into the upright. Teeth clenched, fists tight-bunched .. in anticipation.

Just in time. The force of the weapon jarred Bodie’s chest into the post. The bite of hard leather on the bare flesh of his back jarred his torso upwards. Bodie’s body crunched every fibre together. Fighting pain. Fighting the cry that welled up from his chest.

“Stop this!”Through the pain Bodie heard Jacob call out. “It is me you want. Punish me.”Bodie did not turn around, he did not glance over his shoulder. Grateful for Jacob offering to take his place. But doubting it would make any difference. He was right …..

“This is a white-man. You are Sioux. Or were ….”Hunting Wind’s voice snarled.“HE gets to die like the white-man’s god. Not you. YOU die like a Sioux.”Bodie felt a knot tighten in his guts at the pronouncement of his death. But things were changing fast. Hunting Wind must have given the nod. Bodie heard the growl of fierce leather cutting through the air. Clutching his hands into fists .. setting his teeth, clenching in anticipation. The pain tore into his shoulder .. worse than expected .. taking a sharp vicious bite. Pain ran down the


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length of his back. Yanking his forehead off the post. Head back .. neck trapped in a spasm. The force of pain ricocheting through his upper body yanked open his mouth. A cry escaped.

“What white-man would not be honoured to die like his god? Beaten. Whipped by his enemies.”Hunting Wind’s ironic taunt was quickly followed by another burst of searing pain across the middle of Bodie’s back. Slamming him forward. Shock clenching his jaws tight-shut. The pain rushing to escape through his eyes.

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8. Abused

“And then …?”Hunting Wind was ignoring the sweat-drenched white-man’s body slumped into the cross. Dozens of thwacks with the thick bullwhip had smacked that hatred torso into the upright.

A groan escaped his throat. The broad muscled back was a mass of angry welts. In places the skin had given way .. trickles of blood seeped down the breadth of the inflamed back. But Hunting Wind’s attention was elsewhere.

“Remind me ….”Hunting Wind stood before his former brother, strong arms crossed over his bare chest. Eyes boring into the treacherous Red Fox.“What was it that happened next to your white-man’s god?”

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Jacob stared back. He was afraid to answer. He’d got the picture. Bodie was being used to relive the Passion of sweet Jesus. His brother’s scorn for Jacob’s conversion. The tribe’s disgust for Red Fox abandoning the old ways. And it was Bodie that was going to take the brunt. Mocking Jacob with the pain for sweet Jesu’s crucifixion. Making him regret by seeing his conversion being taken out on his white-man friend. Bodie made the martyr of his turning from the tribe. Jacob feared to give an answer to Hunting Wind’s question. After the scourging, What happened next? Jacob knew. But he hesitated to reply .. for Bodie’s sake.

But Hunting Wind had heard enough from those crazy missionaries. He recalled the story clearly enough .. even if it seemed unbelievable that anyone would be foolish enough to follow a feeble-minded god such as that. He answered for Red Fox.“They walked him to his cross .. did they not? Dumb as a goat, your white-man’s god let himself be led out to the place of his death. Did he put up a fight? Did he called down his godly powers, the weakling? Did he?”A triumphant look filled Hunting Wind’s eyes. Knowing his one-time brother had gone mad. For taking up with this spineless god.“They walked him out. Jeered and mocked.”

Hunting Wind snorted.“Hadn’t they set free a murderer? Rather than freeing this feeble so-called god? Better a murderer than a loser.”Shaking his head, Hunting Wind wondered at the folly of this weak-spirited faith. Who could be mad


The Convert

enough to follow a feeble-minded god like this?“No wonder they spat on him. Hardly surprising that his own people abused him as he passed …..”

“Get out of those clothes."Hunting Wind had had Bodie released from the upright. He snarled at his white-man captive. Savouring the sharp wince as he lowered his arms. Bruised, battered muscle scrawled claws across his rugged face. Aching, hurting, Bodie worried .. how much had his own bullwhip broken skin on his back? How much was he bleeding? But his thoughts were quickly diverted as the truth of his predicament was disclosed.

"In that book, in the pictures, your feeble god was sent shamefully naked to his death. Wasn’t he?"Hunting Wind was still going to mock Jacob with this mock crucifixion."In those pictures .. walked to his death. Naked your white-man weakling-god died. Naked HE too shall go to."Hunting Wind’s scornful gesture flicked towards Bodie.“Get him out of those clothes,” he snarled.

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The Convert

9. Walk of scorn

Bodie would have argued that Jacob’s sweet Jesus was pictured in the Bible wearing a loincloth much like Hunting Wind's. But Hunting Wind was not into the truth.

He was about taunting his former brother for his conversion and using Bodie to play it out. Besides, the sharp end of a brave's spear gestured at Bodie’s bare belly when he hesitated spoke for itself.

Awkward Bodie's hand unclasped his belt. With a deep breath to control his discomfort, he slipped the deerskin pants down over his hips. He wasn't in the habit of exposing himself. Standing with his pants part way down his thighs made him feel more than uncomfortable.

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He had bathed in rivers with other men on a roundup. But they were men he knew. He was surrounded by strangers here, he was inundated with enmity. And there had been nothing about this tribe of Sioux since his capture that assured him that they would not take his nakedness further. A gesture with the spear made him shove the pants down to his feet. Uncomfortable, he stepped out of them.

Women .. squaws .. staring at him. Without thinking his hand went to cover himself up. He didn’t wander about publicly with his clothes off in front of women. He didn’t offend the ladies with his nakedness. Then he caught a movement. And regretted his modesty in an instant. A brave had dug his elbow into his neighbour’s side. His head nodded at Bodie covering up his embarrassment. The pair of them sniggered.Bodie knew his mistake. They’d managed to make him feel small. Wrong! A brave was supposed to ride above his captor’s efforts to rule over him. The captured brave was supposed to show the fearless man he was. Standing up to his captives .. not cringing because his cock was out.

Instantly Bodie corrected himself. His arms fell by his side. He lifted his head, stuck out a manly chin. This look defied this tribe .. for getting him like this. His broad muscled chest rose up proud and strong. Showing a man not intimidated by the enemy however they had him undressed.Just in time. His upper arms were grabbed. A pair of braves dug their grips tight on his hard muscle and pushed him forward. They had spears in the free hand but Bodie was not going to be mad enough to put up a fight. He was surrounded. Armed braves all around. And Bodie would have to fight his way through the mob stood here to humiliate him. He’d not get far if he made a run for it. He had no choice. He was to be paraded around the village .. only a couple of paces away from the on-looking crowd. Imitating Jacob’s sweet Jesus being walked through the jeering crowds on the way to his cross.


The Convert

Never had silence been so deafening. No jeering. No abuse. Silence. Walked by his escort, he was marched in front of the tribe, naked, humiliated. In unnerving silence. Not a murmur passed. Not a jeer, not even a cheer. Eyes cold with deep hate watched him as he passed only feet away from them. Their chilled hatred tore at his bare skin. Eerie. A tremor of unease shivered down Bodie’s spine. Almost wishing a woman would spit at his feet as he strode passed. Some sign of emotion. This calculating coldness that wafted over his nakedness as he walked close before them .. creepy. It knotted anxiety tight in his gut.

His escort suddenly grabbed his arms and made him stop. Halfway around the tribe his nakedness had been walked. Scary, though nothing had happened. His nerves had been jumpy. That intimidating silence had pre-occupied his mind. A mistake, he realised when the braves made him turn.

Halfway around the compound they had paraded him. Now, turned, Bodie was made to face the cross. At the other end, beneath it, stood Jacob, He had been made to stand in front of the symbol of his conversion. Next to him, seemingly dominant beside his former brother, there was Hunting Wind. But worryingly .. what had formed while Bodie had been pre-occupied with being paraded in his nakedness before the silent tribe .. Bodie saw two lines of warriors. They formed a tunnel .. the cross of torture at the far end. Two lines of warriors .. forming an escort for “sweet Jesu’s” walk to the cross. In mock re-enactment of the city turning out to mock Jacob’s saviour walked to his death. Silence around. Menace in front. Edgy Bodie took it in. Two lines of armed braves between him and Jacob’s blessed cross. Each brave held a long stick in the hand. Maybe a couple of dozen hostile warriors in either line, armed. Lines down which Bodie would be made to run.

A shiver passed down Bodie’s bare back. A tunnel of warriors. Bodie recognised the formation. He saw his task. Bodie’s goal was at the other end. Racing for the salvation of the cross. Between that and Bodie maybe twenty braves armed with sticks. Bodie would be made to run through them. To seek his salvation. Sweet Jesus!

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The Convert

10. Lines of hate

Once before Bodie had witnessed a brave forced to run this torture tunnel. A sickening sight.

Quickly Bodie tried to remember details. The brave had gone for it. Sprinted down in-between the two lines, Bodie saw him .. his head covered with his arms .. protecting against getting stunned. Relying on speed to break free before the blows to his body broke him down.

Speed. Protect his head. Those were the clues. Half-way, though, a stick was thrust between the brave’s legs. He tripped. Went down. He disappeared under a

rage of sticks thwacking into his body. A fury of maddened violence. Pitilessly beaten to death. Stomach-churning.

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Bodie couldn’t afford to fall. But he sensed Hunting Wind did not have that planned for him. Not a quick death .. beaten to death between these lines. There was still this charade with the cross. Somehow he felt Hunting Wind had more planned with this. Bodie still had his part to play. This re-enactment of the missionaries’ story had not been fully played out.Did that give him hope? That he wasn’t to be beaten to death .. dying under a barrage of merciless blows .. beaten till he cried out his last breath? In a way, yes. But then there was still that cross to contend with. Which was going to be worse?

Still his heart beat hard in his chest. Bodie forced himself to breathe in deep .. slow .. lower the pounding rate of the heart .. beating with nervousness. Looking down the lines. Down which they’d make him run. There must have been twenty braves in either side. And at the far end, Jacob stood, his heart in his mouth .. written on his face his anxiety .. for Bodie, not for himself. He had seen this before too. He knew what terrors awaited Bodie from those two hostile lines.


The Convert

Lines of men’s grim faces turned to him. Men’s grips tight on their sticks .. some thick for pounding and weakening his run, some willowy to shock with a stinging bite torn out of his skin. Faces grim with determination. Men proud to have been selected. Braves determined to do a good job. To make their families proud.

Bodie took a deep breath. He steadied his nerves. Another deep breath. Ready to run like hell. He was a big man, heavy with muscled strength. But he’d run like the wind .. throw himself through those murderous blows. Burst free and run up against the cross. He’d beat this Hunting Wind with the sheer muscled power of his determination.Bodie could see no way out of this. If he tried to escape this .. made a run for it .. he’d never get through the assembled crowd. Some brave’s spear would cut him down. He had to go through with this. But he was damned if he was going to be cowed. He understood all about how a captive brave was expected to stand up to torture. Show his fearlessness. That was how to earn these warriors’ respect. Or at least to avoid their disdain. Accept the pain of death with courage and steadfastness. This run was set up to prove that the white-man Bodie was not up to it. Bodie would prove them wrong.

He’d show this chief. He was done with the arrogant bully playing god with Bodie. He’d out-fox them. He’d run the line. Battling a muscled path through their tunnel of pain by sheer force of will. Foil them. And show them what Cheyenne Bodie was made of.

Suddenly a shove from behind moved him a step forward. One of his guards had his spear across Bodie’s back and pushed him another step forward. Towards the entrance to the tunnel. Again Bodie heard the silence. The deafening anticipation before the firestorm of the tunnel began.

Another shove pushed him another pace forward. Bodie took a deep breath. Planning to fool them. Maybe another five paces and he’d reach the first pair of braves in each line. He readied himself. If he went for it now .. with any luck he could be halfway through before the braves realised.

But Sioux trickery out-foxed him. Suddenly that second guard leapt in front of him. Foiling Bodie’s chance of a direct run at the lines. Spear up, held two-handed, pointed straight at Bodie’s chest. Stopping him from sprinting. The brave took a step backwards, inviting Bodie to follow. Another step back .. his spear tip held towards Bodie’s bare torso. Another shove encouraged Bodie from behind.Shocked Bodie hesitated. His body resisted the shove to his back. Needing quickly to rethink his mess. He had a brave behind forcing him through the line. He had a second brave in front stopping him from sprinting through. Slowing him down. He’d pass down the line .. at their pace .. under their control. With braves lashing at his bare body with sticks.

Bodie resisted another shove from behind. His heart pounding at the thought. Nerves knotted in his gut. No running. Nothing for it. No sprinting through. No escaping a beating from hell. He took a deep breath.

The first blow smacked stingingly into Bodie's strong shoulder. He bit onto the pain. In almost the same instant a hard thud thwacked him across the breadth of his back. Bodie had bent himself forward .. defending his front, giving them access only to his back and sides. Slowly the spear head


The Convert

only inches from his face withdrew. Bodie had clamped his hands over his head. A stunning blow to the head would make him falter, fall .. he could not afford to fall.

A giant alligator snapped at his side .. driving him onto the other foot .. into the path of a stunning hit across his lower back. The shock drive his upper torso up. Briefly Bodie saw the infinity of the length of line ahead. The spear inching a path backwards. The finishing point stretched out in an eternity of painful blows.

He was in-between the first four braves now. Blows coming at him from front and from back. From in front pain swept down the length of his back. Another strike, with the bludgeoning power of a thick knotted rope smacked up from underneath .. caught him on the ribs .. snatching his breath away.

Behind repeatedly rapid blows stung away at his bare backside .. stinging him on his legs at the top .. meaning to weaken his walk. The braves too knew the power of felling a victim to the earth. Panicky at the thought Bodie kept an eye on the retreating spearhead .. willing it forward .. grimacing at another blow. Closing the gap to the sharp point as rapid as possible. A biting sting at the back of his knee threatened to waggle his stride. Bodie bit down on his determination .. taking a stunning thwack between his shoulder blades .. driving a strangled grunt into his throat.

He stepped up to the sharpened spearhead as close as he could. Pushing it on. It did not retreat. Mentally willing it onwards. Eager as mad to leave behind the first pair of braves .. frustrating them that he was out of their range. But he walked into the path of another pair of keen men .. fresh, eager .. coming under renewed attack .. still hit from front and back .. four braves thwacking at his bare muscle with all their might. He’d reached the third pair of braves in the line. From one a thick knot or rope thudded breath-takingly hard at his backbone .. a deep pained grunt broke free. More stinging bites from behind attacked the tops of his legs .. brave efforts to topple his gait. Wanting like nothing else but to cripple him to the ground.

Bodie did a lightning calculation. How many braves had been stood in a line? Twenty each side? Seventeen more body-breaking braves to pass. Each getting in four or five blows. Each new pair itching to make their red marks on the white-man’s bent back.Loss of focus had Bodie stumble. A hard thwack with knotted rope caught him off guard. Panicky Bodie jarred a foot hard into the earth. Halted. Caught his balance again .. stopped himself .. stood bent forward. Coming under a wave of brutal hits from both sides .. from front and back. Tears of pain burst from his eye. Desperate he made to rush out of their vicious reach. But the spear-tip had stood still .. waited for him. Exposing Bodie' s bent back to a thunderous onslaught of body-breaking thuds. Forced to stand still .. thunderclaps of back-breaking viciousness breaking on his muscle-packed back. Seventeen more unforgiving braves to go!

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The Convert


The Convert

11. Beating from hell

Bodie burst free from the tunnel. A physical explosion fuelled by pain shot him away from the brutal onslaught. It had felt like a landslide of boulders had been thudding onto his back. Only .. thank Christ, he’d managed to stay on his feet.

His last reserves of strength .. driven by desperation .. Bodie threw himself against the brave in front. He launched at him in a furious attack. A frantic Bodie caught the man unawares. His hands thrust the spear aside. Mad to break free .. Bodie’s muscled weight leapt and slammed into the

brave. The warrior tripped .. Bodie’s force sent him sprawling.

With a loud groan Bodie’s tortured body smacked down onto the earth. Pain jarred everywhere. Collapsed at Jacob’s feet. Exhausted. But free. The force of his clumsy landing up-ended Jacob too .. landing down on top of a prostrate Bodie.

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Shocked, Jacob shivered at the pained cry as his weight dropped onto Bodie’s body. His fall had added to the suffering already burning in his friend’s flesh. Bodie was hot, sticky, sweaty. On fire. Collapsed in the dirt, groaning loudly. Guilt-ridden Jacob threw himself off .. crawling to his knees next to Bodie. Biting his bottom lip with his fears, his hand stroked the hair from Bodie’s face .. matted, clammy with pained sweat.“Sweet Jesus, what have they done!”

But Hunting Wind was not letting up. On his orders, braves grabbed Bodie’s arms and dragged him across the ground, unresisting. More joined and lifted him up, turning him. And shoving his back against the cross. Bodie was stunned, half-conscious only, having to be kept standing up. He had


The Convert

little left in him. His whip-lashed back twisted off the rough bark of the upright with a loud groan. But determined hands and arms pushed him back. Hands on his throat kept him stuck there. Eager arms quickly spread Bodie’s arms out. Pinning them with tight cord to the crossbars.

“Leave him. Enough.”Jacob turned on his brother.“It is me you are dealing with. I deserve your wrath.”He noticed that the braves had twisted Bodie’s arms over the back of the crossbar. That lift of his arms was keeping him standing upright. Arms twisted back over the bar pulled up his chest and kept him standing even when this muscled legs seemed to have lost their strength. Bodie looked half-dead, exhausted. His chin slumped down on his chest, his face covered in a mass of sweat-drenched hair. The stretch of his arms pulled on Bodie’s muscular chest. The hair there dark, flat, matted. He looked done-in, half-dead. Jacob shivered. Bodie was being tortured for him.

But his appeal to Hunting Wind was in vain. Jacob shivered at the tortured groans of a shattered friend pinned to the cross. His torso red and blotched from that appalling torture. Hunting Wind merely nodded at Jacob’s plea. Confirming the truth. Red Fox did deserve his wrath. He’d suffer himself. But first he’d suffer more agonies from his white-man friend.

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The Convert

12. Hang

Night was falling. The sky was reddening, darkening. Reflecting Bodie’s mood as the fear of the cross stroked its talons over his flesh. He’d heard the stories. His visits to church. Now the Easter story was being visited on his flesh.

Hunting Wind had remembered the missionary story well. “He hung, didn’t he .. this feeble god of yours …… “Hunting Wind was hissing contempt for a brother who had turned .. snarling into Jacob’s face.“ …. in that book, in those pictures .. your god was hanging off the cross.”

Jacob gritted his teeth as he watched braves grab hold of Bodie’s feet. Guilt-ridden as braves pulled his legs off the earth. He saw Bodie grimace as the downward pull of his body tore itself through his muscle. Stretched and strained bruised flesh that had been brutally beaten. Helpless he watched as Bodie’s bare legs were pulled around the sides of the cross and tied behind. Tied up to the pole. Leaving Bodie’s whole weight dragging down on his arms.

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“Stop it. It’s me that you want. Punish me.”Jacob saw Bodie give him an appreciative look. Not that either believed Hunting Wind was listening. It was a sign, though, that the two of them were in this together. But just as quickly Bodie’s efforts were back in his face. Strain was dragging at his armpits. Jacob could almost feel for himself the pull through those strong upper arms. Teeth tight gritted. Jaw clenched into the pain.

“Enough.”Jacob was snapping out an order. The son of the chief had found his voice. Bodie’s battered belly was being pulled down by muscled legs suspended off the ground. All his weight being taken on his arms. Jacob shivered at the sight of the pull on bruised whiplashes across Bodie’s broad chest. Muscle there being stretched as his arms took the whole dragging weight of Bodie’s muscular frame. Grunts of effort to contain the pain broke in his throat. Bodie was running with sweat. The hair on his chest dark between trickles of sweated strain.“Enough?”Hunting Wind scoffed back.“For your betrayal .. enough can never be enough!”

Hunting Wind eyed his one-time brother. Eyes cold and unforgiving.“THAT is the white-man’s death.”


The Convert

His head indicated the suffering behind him. “Following in the steps of his feeble god.”He hissed.“That is how a white-man is honoured to die.”

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The Convert

13. Stand-up to pain

“What has your feeble-hearted white-man’s god got to say to a Sioux brave?”Bodie turned his attention back to Hunting Wind. He had been focussing his efforts on mastering the drag that was pulling through his body. Teeth clenched. The weight of his legs against the pull on his arms was putting a big strain on his belly.

The pull upwards into his chest was starting to make it getting harder to breath. Restricting his lungs. Struggling to take deep breaths to calm his nerves. Give his muscles the fuel to battle

against the growing pains.

Hunting Wind’s signal had brought out a brave. Tall, broad-shouldered. Stripped to just a loincloth, the man had the build to wield with powerful force the bullwhip he had untangled. Bodie’s own whip .. now laid out along the earth .. stretched out from the brave’s muscular arm. Waiting for Hunting wind’s nod.

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Bodie sensed his punishment was not going to stop with him being hoisted up on this cross. In this mockery of the death of Jacob’s sweet Jesus.“How can a brave Sioux turn to that feeble-hearted god? Lets his enemy take him. Without putting up a fight.”Hunting Wind’s mockery for such a man spat from his eyes.“Docile .. like some cowed dog .. submits to a whipping.”At those words Bodie cast a nervous glance at the brave with his own whip. A pillar of muscled strength. Was he the brave who had taken that self-same whip to Bodie’s back? Still burning. The


The Convert

whiplashed skin pressed into the rough bark of his cross-upright. Bodie’s broad back scourged to mock Jacob with the weakness of the god he had taken on.

“Then hung on a cross by his enemies. Tamely letting his enemies do that to him. What kind of god is that?”Hunting Wind sneered into his former brother’s face.“Is that the god you want for us? To shame your people?”Shaking his head in contempt, Hunting Wind sneered.“A god? Cannot help himself?”His disgust was written in every etched muscle of Hunting Wind’s torso.“Cannot call on any godly powers! What would we Sioux say about a captive who took that?”

Head shaking.“Without a fight?”Eyes full of contempt.“Not standing up for himself?”Sneering at Jacob for taking to a feeble example of manliness.“What brave would act like that?”

Without another word Hunting Wind nodded at the brave. Quickly the whip was snapped up in the air. Cracking through the air, it sliced a path and slammed a flesh-snapping bite across the breadth of Bodie’s chest.

In surprise Bodie gasped out loud. But his head had already been working on Hunting Wind’s words. When a Sioux brave was taken captive and punished by the enemy, every man here knew how he was expected to behave. Face the beating with steadfast fortitude. Show the enemy the man he was. Defiance in the face of torture. Punishing abuse taken with steadfast strength. Make his tribe proud.

Bodie gritted his teeth. The whip was hissing through the air again. A deep menacing whoosh. Pain burst across his ribs. The force smacked his body backwards. The rough cross scraped pain through beaten flesh. Jaw tight-clenched together. The force of pain clawed at his throat.

He knew what was expected of a brave. Her knew what here passed for the right thing to do. Whipped across the front. Watched by the enemy. Watched to see how manly a captive brave could behave. He knew what would pass for a good brave who was being beaten like this.

It wasn’t him .. Cheyenne Bodie .. being judged. It was the white-man .. standing in for all white-men … Did he have the same fortitude as a Sioux brave?Bodie steeled himself. It seemed as though the brave could find even more biting muscle power behind that release. As if Bodie managing to control the pain brought out a challenge .. calling out the brave honoured to wield the whip. The twist of his body .. the release of the force .. the speed of the approaching thick leather .. all seemed to have increased. Smacked across his belly. Stretched by the hang. Shooting Bodie’s torso up in the air. Pain taking a big bite out of his self-control. The loud smack of leather on bare flesh burst a rush of pained energy up through his chest. A flood of tortured breath smacked at the determined tightness of his throat.


The Convert

Biting down hard on the pain, still Bodie could not hold all of it in. A long pained groan broke from his throat.

This was how they saw him .. symbol of Jacob’s sweet Jesus. Dying for Jacob on the cross. Mocked for his feebleness by those who hated him. Hunting Wind had made Bodie an emblem of his disgust for his former brother’s betrayal. For irrationally abandoning the old ways. And taking to a weak-hearted god whose enemies could whip-lash him at the cross.

Bodie was being made to stand up for the Christians’ saviour. Made a stand-in to prove the merit of the religion he’d heard preached in churches. But he had no time to think. Another vengeance-laden lash was cutting across to him. All thoughts crushed. Except to find the will to fight back. A vicious lash cut across his ribs. Smacking him backwards. Sending his suspended body into a muscled spasm. Teeth clenched, the long groan broke through his teeth.

Bodie’s eyes watered. Pain gathered in the corners of his eyes. He swore to himself. He damned this Hunting Wind to hell. He was no stand-in for Jacob’s sweet Jesus. He refused to be hung here as some symbol of Hunting Wind’s disgust of his former brother. He was no stand-in for the white-man race. This was HIM, Cheyenne Bode. HIM against them. This was Cheyenne Bodie up against a cruel enemy. Sioux braves gathered to hear him scream. Wanting to see proven to them that Cheyenne Bodie was not as steadfast under Indian torture as a brave.

Well, to hell with them. He gritted his teeth, Bodie steeled his mind. The growling whoosh of thick cowhide was snarling a path through the air. To hell with them. Bleary-eyed with pain .. exhausted from vicious beatings .. he swore it. Cheyenne Bodie was every bit a man as any of them.

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The Convert

14. Confrontation

Jacob was trembling. He stood transfixed with the guilt. He’d watched Bodie brutally whipped. Dozens of agonising lashes thwacking with gut-chilling smacks into his ribs. Cutting down over his straining chest.

Jacob gasped .. at the force of pain that thudded across Bodie’s muscle-packed waist. Tirelessly the brave with the whip was putting all his strength behind each blow. Honoured to break the white-man down.

The pain would have doubled Bodie up .. except his arms were pinned

out-wide. Jacob could almost feel the agony as the wind was sent thumping up into Bodie’s chest. Like a massive punch in the belly .. the force exploding in his lungs. Roped-down his legs tried to lift .. to compensate. His lower body jarring upwards .. big thigh muscles locked in spasms. Jacob bit on his bottom lip. At tremors of agony tearing through Bodie’s muscular torso .. in savage convulsions of pain.

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Miraculously Bodie had hardly cried out. Gut-wrenching pain had been repeatedly lashed across his front. His stubborn silence had only goaded the brave with the whip. Only a few times .. when pain was quickly loaded on top of another body-crunching hit .. just a few times had a cry of tortured pain escaped. Hung up in the air. Crucified for Jacob’s crimes. Brutally whip-lashed. Inhumanely beaten. Whipped to show the weakness of the white-man under Sioux torture.

Hunting Wind had called a halt. Had he been impressed? Bodie had stood up to their punishment .. as good as the best Sioux brave. Impressed? Or had Hunting Wind stopped the whipping because he feared this white-man would not break? He’d not scream out his pain. Not what Hunting Wind had wanted to prove to his tribe. Not the night before their attack.


The Convert

Instead in frustration he turned on Jacob. He took a stride over to his brother. Hunting Wind grabbed him humiliatingly by the hair. Yanking on his scalp. His head indicated Bodie behind. Still strung-out. His chest a mass of angry red stripes. In places the skin had broken .. blood mingling and clotting in the hair on his muscular chest.“That is what a Sioux thinks of your feeble white-man god.”

Not so feeble, Jacob thought. Look at him! Bodie had handled that torture like the best. Even now, panting, pain-sweated, chest heaving .. even now he was still conscious. Exhausted .. but he had fought back his suffering. Even now he was managing to lift his head and watch the two brothers facing each other off.

“Sioux you were born.”Hunting Wind pulled Jacob’s face into his. He snarled his anger into the face of the brother that had abandoned the old ways. Betrayed his tribe.“As Sioux you were brought up.”Jacob tried to yank himself free. But he could not. Hunting Wind’s anger just rattled him by the hair. Instead, steadfastly Jacob lifted his chin. He glared back into Hunting Wind’s scorn. He had seen the example. Bodie had shown him the way. He’d not give in to torture and threats either. Jacob’s chest lifted. The pair of brother’s strong torsos touched. Glaring in defiance at each other.

Gripping his captive tight by the hair, Hunting Wind glared back. Silence fell on the village. Gripped by this confrontation of two Sioux brothers. Both sons of a chief. Angered by his brother daring to return his glare, twisting his hand in Jacob’s scalp, Hunting Wind yanked Jacob out of his face. “Like a Sioux you lived. Like a Sioux you will die.”Pulling backwards, he shoved Jacob’s face up. Letting the tribe see his former brother trapped in their chief’s hands. With a growl of hate, Hunting Wind gave his people the denunciation. For a brother who had betrayed his tribe.“Light the fires!”

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15. Final thoughts

The Convert

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Rendsz’ world is notoriously irritating for leaving stories hanging mid-air. The annoying habit of not providing a suitable ending …..The Convert does not break with tradition. Except ……

When my time has come .. when I land up where I’m deservedly heading .. maybe I’m gonna need someone to plead on my behalf .. explain away a disreputable life.Then it’s gonna be useful to have someone sympathetic on the other side.

If I don’t make it 100% clear that Cheyenne Bodie knows exactly how to get out of his predicament .. with dignity, of course …..If I give the impression that her son has just killed off her teenage crush …..- my mother will be cackling with glee as she pushes me over the edge down into the flames.

There is only one Cheyenne. And he survives!

Only one Clint Walker as Cheyenne. Thanks, though, to Ben Todd for being a worthy stand-in. Not quailing in the shadow of the One-and-Only. Just peering over his shoulder and bravely picking up the reins.

16. end


Documents

The Convert - Web viewLifting him to his knees. ... Such as only a convert could possess perhaps, ... Without another word Hunting Wind nodded at the brave