She awakened in the muggy heat of the darkened teepee, her head throbbing and fuzzy as a ball of cotton. Outside the muggy confines of the wigwam, primitive drums beat out an exotic rhythm. She heard heavy male voices speaking the native tongue of the Apache, loudly, as if in argument. Suddenly, the flap of the tent was torn open and the dark interior flooded with intense light. Instinctively, Rebecca gathered the shredded calico bodice to cover her ample bosom. Before her stood a tall, muscular Indian in full headdress. The hungry eyes in his dusky, handsome face seemed to devour her. "No...please!" She pleaded as he stealthily crept toward her, her heart beating like a thousand triphammers inside her. His hand reached out, slowly, gently taking her golden hair into the fingers. "Oom bato!" He said, a smile slowly disclosing his perfect teeth, which were set off by the darkness of his skin and his raven hair. She saw the large muscles bulging in his forearm like rippling cables beneath the skin. Taking her by her delicate hands, soft and fragrant from the many days she had spent luxuriating at her father's antebellum mansion in Baton Rouge, the dangerously handsome savage clasped her to his brawny chest. A chorus of angels sang to her to yield to his fiery indigenous embrace, while a gang of devils demanded that she fight! Fight like a wildcat!

Then his lips were on hers, his mouth surprisingly tender, and she felt her fears being forged into desire by the white hot fires of her passion. Without a word, he swept her up into his arms, and out through the teepee flap they went. In silence, he mounted his great white steed, covered in warpaint, fringe and feathers, and placed her before him. "Wah tonka!" he cried, and the horse wheeled and sped across the great buffalo plain to the top of a high crest, where the mighty herd lay before them, and far away stretched the great purple line of the Bighorn Range. Taking his beaded hunting knife, he cut a small mark into his arm. Then, taking her by the wrist, he pushed the knife tip into her flesh, nearly causing her to swoon. He pressed his cut against hers and spoke the word, gently, "me ton coota". When he kissed her again, she knew, somehow without understanding his rude language, that they had been married in the Indian fashion. Her hand found his as she whispered "my heart soars like a hawk!"