Stace led Jared to the picket line where their mounts had been resting and untied both horses. He waited while Jared mounted the buckskin before he swung up on the paint.

"Don't have too far to go, just up on this ridge here," the cowboy said. After a moment he went on. "You familiar with any Native American customs?"

"Not too many. My company has released a couple of documentary presentations but I wasn't involved in the actual filming and recording. Never had time to look into that stuff although the old west and all its traditions interested me when I was younger."

"Maybe you'd enjoy spending a night in a real authentic Lakota tipi, then and a little taste of the ghost dance. Just happens one of my great-grandpas was a buffalo soldier who took up with a Native woman, daughter of one of the scouts who worked with the U.S. Cavalry back in those days. That means I have a little Apache in me along with my African ancestry."

Despite his sense of gloom, Jared could not help a shimmer of interest. Now that he thought about it, he could see a trace of Indian in Stace's striking face. Maybe this would be a real adventure after all.

It took them about half an hour to reach the top of the ridge. On a small flat there, a traditional hide tipi stood, the doorway facing eastward to overlook a panoramic view of southern New Mexico. Stace moved quickly to settle the horses, brought the saddles inside and then turned to Jared.

"Get naked, paleface. If you plan to become a real blood brother you need to dedicate yourself to the native spirits in a ghost dance." For a breath, Jared hesitated. Then he undressed, stacking his clothes neatly to one side.

Meanwhile, Stace lit a small fire in a stone ring at the center of the tipi where the smoke rose cleanly through the opening at the top. By its flickering glow, Jared glanced around the interior. If the structure held anything of the twenty first century, he could not see it. A few striped blankets lay folded on what looked like real hair-on hides. To one side some clay pots sat near a couple of primitive looking bows and quivers of arrows. A leather shield painted with crude buffalo and horse images leaned against the wall.

Then Jared noticed a tripod toward the back. Three stout poles had been lashed together to create three cornered shape that barely fit beneath the tipi's towering peak. Several ropes or thongs hung from the central binding. Stace shoved him toward the area beneath the poles. Grasping both of Jared's arms, he spun him around and then lashed him firmly to two of the tripod legs.

Taking two of the dangling thongs that ended in spring clips, the cowboy snapped one on each of Jared's nipples. The pinch, though a bit painful, also aroused Jared. His cock sprang to life. Nothing he could do would stop it. He glanced at the cowboy to see how he reacted.

Brown face impassive, Stace reached to collect two more thongs, these ending in neat nooses. He grasped Jared's cock in one hand and slid a noose over the tip, drawing it snug right behind the head. The other he looped over Jared's balls and drew up firmly. Again Jared felt mild pain but it was more exciting than distressing.

"What the fuck?"

"Ghost dance," Stace answered. "In the old days we'd have cut your skin and put bone skewers through it and then slowly tightened each of the thongs until you were dancin' on your toes. We're more civilized now. Stay put. I'll be back in a little while."