Scene: The palatial DoRide estate. Crawling with camera crews. A frazzled Mike Wallace, fresh from the latest crisis in the Far East, leads us in.

Wallace: � Ladies and gentlemen, there has been unprecedented news from this quiet estate in the last 18 hours. Dudley Do Ride has returned from parts ethereal. With news not only of his mystic experiences but with an unheard of announcement. Yes this prototype bachelor has said that he will reveal the name of his true love to the world. Out of sympathy for our thirst for romance and fascination with all manner of celebrity.�

The camera fills with the image of a sunny poolside in the estate. A large screen shows a famous scene in the life of Steve Martin. The �first intimate interview� with the comedian. Steve is dressed in his trademark white tuxedo. He is seated at table next to a pool. He is joined by a dog, a black lab.

�Mr. Ride has chosen to show us this image because as you all know he never reveals his true face to anyone. He has chosen Mr. Martin because a study performed using supercomputers at the Snelling Institute showed that the average of all female mental images of Dudley was very nearly that of Steve Martin. Similarly, Mr Ride will be disguising his voice to that of Peter Lorre for the same reason.�

�Let�s get started. How are you today Mr. Ride?�

Ride: Thank you Mike. Very well indeed. I appreciate the chance to get a little time with you. I know how incredibly busy you are these days.

Wallace: The first question everybody wants the answer to is: how in the world did you escape from Shiva and what became of the Tommyknocker threat?

Ride: Sorry Mike. As you know there is a book and a movie coming out later. I have promised not to divulge any more than I already have.

Wallace: Fair enough. So let�s hear about this lady. She must be very special.

Ride: She is Mike. Just unreal. Poems and books will be written. They won�t do nearly enough to describe her.

Wallace: Wow. Give us a clue Dudley. Is she new here? An old hand? Is she blonde? Brunette?

Ride: I will do better than that Mike. I am so sick of games. I will simply tell you who she is with no further ado.

Wallace: Really? Can this really be happening?

Ride: Her name is �

Just then a shower of arrows, accompanied by war whoops, rained down on the poolside scene. It just so happened that this occurred just when Steve Martin had lapsed into his old �arrow through the head� bit. But these arrows were not the harmless stage props of Martinian guffaology. Blood was visible below the screen.

Could this be the end for our mountie? �.
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The investigative team hunched over the place where the body had been - virtually the entire Team Banzai. Rawhide was peering with an experienced eye at one of the arrows.

Penny: Zulu?

Tommy: Mongol? Bigol?

Reno: Hittite?

New Jersey: Blackfeet?

Rawhide: No, no, looooooord no! You guys are way off. It can only be � Poohawk. I thought I saw some of their ilk skulking around the parking area.

The motorcade reached the Banzai Institute within 15 minutes of the arrowing. Buckaroo himself had flown in from the Kush. Dudley thankfully was not DOA but was, sadly, COA.

Smirnov: Comatose?

Buckaroo: Yes Mr. Secretary. It is a wonder he is even alive. The sun was completely obscured for three seconds and he didn�t have any kind of shield. Fortunately he has cat like reflexes and was able to avoid all but three. But one of them was equipped with a Galens Homer. It hit exactly what it was supposed to. It will be easy to identify the string man - these kind of babies are extremely rare.

Smirnov: Can you do anything for him?

Buckaroo: Well I will have to go in a few more times. Frankly after about 15 minutes I get so I can�t tell one bit of it from another. But I don�t know if he will be the same Dudley we know and love after this. There could be permanent damage.

Smirnov: Does he have any family here? Any next of kin? A girl?

Buckaroo: No and apparently he didn�t tell his girl how he feels. We have no clue who it might be. But I suppose it is just as well. When he gets better, and I know he will, he might not even remember her.

Smirnov: Ach, it never ends for the mountie does it? I would never let my daughter marry one.

Buckaroo: *sigh* Well I�d better get back in there. And let some of those guys from Copenhagen into the viewing area. I�m sure they�ve never seen grey matter quite like this!




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The surf crashed on the jagged rocks below the large � palace. What other word could describe it? Looming above some of the most expensive real estate in the world, an area famous for world class art museums, fantastic golf courses. A stretch of country where the most powerful men in the world came to socialize and escape their dark realities.

Yes, here in plain sight, in the very midst of their most dangerous enemies, was the Poohawk power center. The enemy was sleeping. Ages ago the CIA had launched a too successful propaganda campaign designed to ruin their recruiting ability and to raise the morale of their opposition. Caricaturing their principle figures, mocking their organization. The campaign had erased the dark, bloody legends of the Poohawk Wars and made the enemy forget just how dangerous they are. The time was fast approaching when the tragic cost of this mistake would become all too clear.

Plans made. Legendary figures in position. An alert observer could almost feel the electricity in the air around this place. Limpid Lizard. Bucolic Buffalo. Lotsa Luck. Screaming Flea. And the dark warlord known simply as the Chief, pulling the strings somewhere in the background�

Yesssss. It was almost time�


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little girl (being tucked into bed by grampa): Grampa, I don't understand. How can a man love a woman without her knowing? Isn't it obvious to everyone that he loves her?

wise old grampa: Oh sweetie. You will find when you grow older that men are quite complex. They are able to mask their true feelings very well when they feel it is necessary.

little girl: But why? Why would they do this?

gramps: The world is a dangerous place. Duty takes its toll. Enjoy being a child my dear. The time when you are free from much of the world's demands.

little girl: Why are mounties so important? I mean isn't Canada so far away from everything?

gramps: The world is a tricky place. Very hard to understand. It is clear that most of the recent, world threatening, nefarious activity has for some reason centered on this country. Perhaps it is something in the water. Maybe it is the low light levels. The mountie therefore has become the last line of defense. The only thing separating civilization from utter chaos.

little girl: What about Alaska? Is it important too?

gramps: (laughing very hard, wiping tears from his eyes) Oh heavens no darling. Alaska is virtually part of Europe. Many people can see Russia from their front porch there.

little girl: (yawning) I see. Well I will never marry a mountie.

gramps: (kissing her) Wise little girl. Quote

wow this really grabbed my interest sweety Quote

wow this really grabbed my interest sweety


Nurse Doritha entered the mountie's room. It was unusually quiet. Just the mountie and her. In fact the very reason that she entered the room was that she had a need for privacy, for peace. It had been a nerve wracking day. The press, various flavors of ambulance chasers, and publicity freaks had descended in a swarm upon the Institute. They of course could not get very far into the interior of the secretive place, but their feverish demands to feed their ravenous appetites for information, for sensational stories, had occupied all of the medical wing staff for days now.

She sat down in the chair reserved for visitors. Visiting hours were long over. Nobody was camped out here in some dramatic 'round the clock vigil to bring the mountie out of his coma. Just a young woman, a stranger, who had almost no interest in the stories surrounding the mountie, until maybe now, now that he had entered, however briefly, her corner of the universe.

She relaxed. She really looked at him for the first time.

"I suppose I should be honored. After all, noooobody is supposed to see your face." she chuckled to herself. And of course she really looked long and deeply into his face.

The tubes were gone. His hair was uncut. The Martinian screw top procedure had eliminated the need to shave it even though his brain had been given quite a workout by Banzai and his colleages. There was no screen. No bandages. He looked as if he were sleeping normally. In perfect tranquility.

Perhaps it was that serene look on his face that made her smile. She had been looking for the kind of peace that would make her face look like his. So relaxed. It made it more handsome to her that was for sure. She found herself really wishing for him to open his eyes so she could gauge them.

Then she remembered the kind of life he was said to lead. She looked for signs of it. She unbuttoned his shirt. Ran her fingers over his chest. Along his arms. Feeling the scars. Each scar was distinct, unique. Made by some different kind of hurtful device. She felt something stirring deep down in her pysche as she felt and saw his tight muscles. He was lean. Everything about him seemed built for speed and deception. She could imagine him playing some sheik in some remake of one of those old desert epics. In fact, now that she thought of it, she had heard that he had actually been in a desert campaign. Surely some of these scars were etched by some would be assassin from the Empty Quarter.

"Well I am no stranger to danger either." she thought. "Nobody has taken the time for a vigil for you. So I will try to wake you, the way that is right for you."

She slowly stripped for him. Taking great care as if it were some kind of ceremony upon which the world depended. She gave it a definite desert flavor to match her image. She could of sworn at one point that she detected a light flutter in one of his eyelashes. At another point she thought maybe his little toe had moved a little.

And with good reason. Blonde. Sexy as hell. A dancer's body. A dancer's ambitions. She should be able to wake the dead.

Slowly she stripped him completely naked. Turning him slowly this way and that. Admiring him fully, noting each turn and curve, the more so because so few had seen this secretive man up close. "What oath do you make a woman who knows how you look swear." she thought. "Do I become a member of Team Banzai." she chuckled.

She climbed confidently up on all fours hovering over him. Slowly starting to kiss his mouth, nose, eyes. Breathing her sweet breath over him. Her lovely hair caressing him. Bending low to let her breasts tease his skin. Letting her essence ooze into his pores. Belly to belly. Caressing him now everywhere.

He stirred a bit... He mumbled the word "Destiny"

She was so on fire. She wasn't sure why. After all, she was doing all the touching, all the kissing. But in some way he was communicating with her. Touching her. Even though there was no movement. His blood was flowing faster. His heart pounding. His lips twitched. And well, there was movement where their hips touched. She liked how that felt, very much.

The air in a hospital room is somehow seductive. Perfectly controlled for pleasure. She was conscious, in the silence, of the most lightest of breezes caressing her gorgeous body. There were mirrors in this room. She liked what she saw in them.

She was wet. He was ready. It was time for the next stage in her newly developed treatment for coma victims.

Ooooooh the way she performed the cure. The right woman for the job. At one point he rose up a bit and groaned out "All I wanted was to be a renaissance man" Still out cold. But clearly coming more and more closer to resuming his earthly existence.

Now there was movement. Starting in the tongue under her loving yet feverish kiss. Ooooh the sensation she got when she felt his mouth come to life. Her eyes popped open checking for his eyes but they were still shut. Next to start to respond was his fingers. Held tight in her hands. Now she felt pressure from them. Warm. Strong. He was coming to. And at just the right time!

"Damn I'll surely get the Nobel prize for this" she thought. But thought was becoming increasingly difficult. Hips alive. Belly alive. Still no eyes.

Nostrils coming to life. Hands starting to move over her, along her curves, into her most senstive areas. Still no eyes.

Hips now clearly moving with her. Providing some modulation to her rythm.

Ohhhh she was starting to stiffen. She felt felt her nerve endings light their fuse. Squeezing so tight round him and feeling his whole body respond with strength. Her eyes wide, happy, amazed and then...

Shortly before her climax, she got a double barreled blast frpm the mountie's eyes, their first opening since the horrible attack. Their first look, a deep look into her vulnerable soul. She was lost in them. Caught in them like a ship going down in a gigantic maelstrom. Heaven. Hell. Even without a mind, since hers was completely gone from the sensations of pleasure coursing through her, even without, she instantly understood the paradox faced by the mountie's lover...









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Dudley was in such a daze. His mind reeling in such a wonderfully pleasant, confusing way. Epic love. Incredible passion. Poetry. Moving, living, breathing love. Whatta woman. Soooooo very incredible.

But is this past, present, or future? Foreshadowing? Flashback? Hard to say, hard to say.

Even the narrator of this tale has leave to be inscrutable time to time. ; )

May the first robin of Spring fill your heart with song. The first rays of Spring catch you in the arms of your love. Blessings too bountiful to count beset you. Love warm and fill you.

heh heh... Quote

WB dudley_do_ride

I work in BIG cOOkie mOdel sectiOn Quote

Oh i am really pleased u wrote a story for me sweety.i am loving it.This was the best story i read for good night.Big thanks! Quote

WB dudley_do_ride

I work in BIG cOOkie mOdel sectiOn



molto grazie... amici miei...

I will be on the lookout for the man with countless identities but a strong chat signature.

I feel that if we both work ourselves to death, or near death, we may get to know something about all the sexy women here. But only by set union operation. Quote

Oh i am really pleased u wrote a story for me sweety.i am loving it.This was the best story i read for good night.Big thanks!


------------------- enclosed in a personal letter from DoRide StoryWerks ------------------------

You are quite welcome sweet Ms. Doritha,

We hope it is the personal touch, here at the Werks, that gives our work special appeal. This, plus the work/hope we give to out of work characters, usually on the skids in other aspects of their lives as well, is a big part of our corporate satisfaction matrix paradigm for better customer focus in this time of severe economic readjustment coupled with top / down organization streamlining. Our mission statement is: (invisible because written in invisible ink) And we hold to it fanatically.

Yours,

Everston P. Mortinson III, assistant to the 2nd writer, Central Northern Hemisphere Division

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And now the mountie was up. Walking about his room. His sharp green eyes taking in his still mostly unfamiliar surroundings. He was caught cold by one of the mirrors.

"Whoooooa, my man, what haaaaave you been up to?" he thought, as he saw how he now appeared after this latest ordeal.

But then he started to twirl an invisible mustache and to think, with a heavy, heavy accent:
"ahhhhhhhh nowa I hava you. Weeeel see howa youa stoppa ze monorail, my eenocent child. bwa ha ha ha ha ha"

Then aloud he said with a mock, cartoonish voice: "Why Snidely. I have always wondered about your ancestry. Where diiiiid you pick up your lilt?" And then laughed as he imagined the arch villain talking instead with a heavy Irish brogue.

Then more seriously, as if invoking the spirit of Socrates himself:
"Sanity, stability, and creativity depend upon humor and the ability to keep the right set of priorities."

Then with a twisted grin:
"But insanity is the thing many enemies never figure into their planning. Especially when fighting against the good guys."

And:
"We have completed voice checkout procedure. Motor functions also nominal. My compliments to the chefs."

Of course these kinds of indulgences are exactly the kind of thing that put off many of the admirers of classical heros from ever placing themselves squarely in his camp, but of course Ride didn't care one whit about the sheer number of people in his camp....

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Ride's return to standard operating procedure was jolted suddenly by his fingers hitting an unfamiliar metal object as he was pulling on his trousers. A puzzled look was on his face as he fished out a box, ornate, gold gilded, with some kind of strange mythological scene captured upon it in bas relief.

Ride's mind instantly supplied the answer to the riddle of the scene. It was clearly Nordic. Dark. But romantic in its way. The climax of a familiar episode in the lives of gods. Capturing simultaneously an affair, a fleering, and a battle.

He opened the box. He heard a melody. Strangely familiar. But he couldn't place it.

The box was scented. Again familiar. But he couldn't identify it.

The puzzled look grew deeper. He knew he should remember this. This was a gift to him. It was a lover's gift. But there were only shadows in his mind. Fuzziness, no sharp edges.

He turned it over and over. No more clues.

He knew already that he had forgotten an important person completely. Lost all experience of her so totally from his memories. People had told him this. Now it really struck home. He felt the weight of it in his hands as well as in his conscious mind.

After gathering himself he managed to think "She must have been one hell of a woman. I am sure she left more signposts in my life that I will find."


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Now began one of those quiet happy periods in the mountie�s life. Though it may seem surprising that it happened at this time, it was no accident. For it was created by Buckaroo.

Buckaroo knew that the mountie had had a miraculous recovery, even though he couldn�t remember his love. Knew that he was probably ready to resume the struggle. But Buckaroo had a knack by now for understanding the criticality of specific threats. The Poohawks were deadly it was true, but they weren�t quite ready to launch their assault.

So Banzai gave orders that the mountie must be confined to quarters. He saw to it that sexy, sweet Nurse Doritha was assigned to watch over him. Made sure that he was well stocked in rum. Assigned a strong guard to make sure he stayed put. Told the staff to supply whatever the mountie asked for.

But Banzai also knew to focus the mountie on a task. The task was easy to pick. He gave the mountie a computer and a dossier, the mountie�s own compendium of model biographies. This colossal collection of women�s personal information was created during the mountie�s Richelieu Period. Indeed it was a work that would have impressed the Cardinal at least in its scope, its ambition, and also the method by which it was populated with such a rich tapestry of information, of beauty, of dreams, of hopes.

It covered years and years of seething activity. Comings and goings. Great triumphs. Horrible disasters. Within its pages, photos, and interfaces was the answer to the riddle of the missing model.

The violin for some reason was the instrument currently most in Dudley�s mind. He had a high quality one brought to him. He played the theme from Young Frankenstein, the one used to summon the monster. He made the music express his deep yearning.

And he worked. Moving through the long list of women in a zig zag method that seemed to his relaxed, playful mind the appropriate one. When the time felt right he would summon his nurse. She found him especially nice to visit during these times. His mood so right for making her day fall into the short list of days that we treasure in our memories forever.

The first women he paused over was called simply �Kate�. She was one of the first he knew and was still one he visited when the time was right for her. He allowed himself the luxury of going back over all their times together. Probing to see if hidden in some corridor of his mind was a sign that she was the one. He was very fond of her it was true. Their times together so amazing. Her attraction was special in that it had steadily increased over time. It had retained the wild character of their first meetings but had acquired something underneath that was compelling. He felt so natural with her. Chirping happily like birds while they made wonderfully hot love. Swapping jokes easily. Genuine warmth flowing.

He let himself savor her memory fully. Rewove his way through his favorite images of her. Then he sat back and sipped his drink with a smile.

�Nope. Not the one.� he thought and then smiled. This part of the search was going to be very pleasant indeed.


�Nurse!!!!�



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I am in love with ur writing..and not only the writing...
keep this way hun it's great Quote

Then came Getafix, the famous Gaulish druid. That�s right, the one who was key to helping one little village of indomitable Gauls hold out against the whole of the Roman Empire. The strange set of circumstances that brought him into the orbit of Team Banzai would take us wildly far afield in the telling. But there was no man who was more vital to the cause of humanity than the great druid.

At the time, Dudley was deep in meditation. At war with himself. During a break in the middle of his search and between his healing sessions he had had a sudden vision of Euphorie. This was a big problem for him at this stage of his life. He had recently wandered into her sphere of influence and been overwhelmed by her � charisma. She was flawless. A kind of ideal. A magician who could raise hurricanes of passion in him. Steal his heart so completely while playing her violin so wantonly, like a more subtle version of Carmen. Very dangerous. He needed to restore his shields. To restore linearity to his thoughts. Yes� this enforced isolation, relative, would do much to aid him in that.

His meditation was disturbed by some horrible sounds: �yo hoo ee ah ee yah ayeeeeee eeeeeeee hoooooooo. Wheeeeeeeeeeen I am caaaaaaaaaaaallling youuuuuuu oo oo oo oo oo oo �. Will you answer tooooooo oo oo ooo oo o o oo.� It was the druid, who was not blessed with a great voice mind you, doing his impression of Nelson Eddie with a traditional Gaulish yodel preceding The Gauls of course had invented yodeling. The horror was magnified in the mountie when he heard from the other room the nurse answering back with Janette MacDonald�s part : �I wiiiiiiiiiill answer true oo ooo oooo ooo ooo ooo ooooo�

The druid swept in, looking very pleased with himself. �Eyyyyyy mountie.�

Dudley answered: �Ave Gaul. What brings you to these parts?�

Getafix: (with one eyebrow raised playfully) Just your friendly neighborhood � yodeling druid � checking in on you.

Dudley knew better. Getafix was a nice guy in addition to being a very powerful druid but he never, absolutely never, just dropped by for some idle chatter.

Dudley: �oh yeah?�

Getafix: (chuckling) �You know Dudley, it is important to always be alert for patterns in nature. When you find them, they teach you more about yourself.�

Dudley: �hmmmmmm� His mind raced. Or rather it tried to. He was full of happy hormones from his last healing session and the mind was telling his will to take it easy, it had some pleasant flower picking to do.

But unwilling to cave in easily to his Gaulish tormentor, Dudley instinctively used a trick that Indra had taught him. He rolled his eyes up into his head, and simply became present in all threads at once. Perhaps there was a clue in another thread about this.

He was gone only a moment . When he returned he had a wry grin on his face.

Dudley: �Ah I see, old friend. An anagram. Very clever. But why is it on your mind?�

Getafix: �Because my group found this anagram in a coded message from that deadly bit of the coast we were discussing the other day. I believe we know when the Poohawks are going to strike.�

Dudley: �Ah very good. How much time do I have before we can act?�

Getafix: �Two weeks.�


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Also during this time, Ride wrote his most masterful opera, Don GioMountie. An excerpt follows, the first words of course are some of the most famous in all of opera:

(Entra il Commendatore)

Commendatore: Dooooooon GioMountiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee, a ceeeeeeenar teeeeeeeeeeco. (deep breath)

M�invitastiiiiiiii, e son venuuuuuuuuuuuuuuto.

GioMountie: Non l�avrei giammai creduto:
Ma faro quel che potro.
Santiago, un�altra cena
Fa che subito si porti

Santiago: (facendo capolino di sotto alla tavola) Ah padron, ah padron. Ah padron siam tutti morti�.

GioMountie: Vanne, dico!

Commendatore: Ferrrrrrrrrrrmaaaaaaaa un po.
Non si pasce di cibo mortale (tense chord on cibo)
Chi si pasce di cibo celeste, (ditto)
Altraaaaaa cureeeeeeeeeee piu graviiiiiiiiiii di queste (med evac team needed here for musical shock victims)
Altaaaaaara braaaaaaaaaaama quaggiu mi quido.

Santiago: La terzna d�Avere mi sembra
E le membra fermar piu non so.

GioMountie: Parla dunque che chiedi? Che vuoi? (still polite)

Commendatore: Parlo, ascolta: piu tempo no ho. (deliberately)

GioMountie: Parla, parla: ascoltando ti sto. ( so impatiently)

Commendatore: Tu m�invitasti a cena: (like a very slowly speaking lawyer constructing argument)
Il tuo dovere or sai.
Rispondimi�. Verrai�
Tu a cenar meco?

Santiago: Oibo! Oibo! Oibo!
Tempo no ha scusate.

GioMountie: A torto di viltate
Tacciato mai saro.

Commendatore: Risolvi!

GioMountie: Ho gia risolto!

Commendatore: Verrai?

Santiago: Dite di no! Dite di no!

GioMountie: Ho fermo il core in petto:
Non ho timor, veeeeeerrrrrrrroooooo

Commendatore: Dammi la mano in pegno. (like a Mafioso)

GioMountie: Eccola� Ohime!!!

Commendatore: Cos�hai? (wryly)

GioMountie: Che gelo e questo mai!

Commendatore: Pentiti cangia vita: e l�ultimo momento.

GioMountie: No, No. No, no. ch�io non mi pento. Vanne lontan da me.

Commendatore: Pentiti scellerateo!

GioMountie: No, vecchio infatuato!

Commendatore: Pentiti!

GioMountie: No!

(repeat say 5 times)

Commendatore: (with thunderclap, deep booming drum, eagle shriek) Ah tempo piu non veeeeeeeeeeeeeee. ( the last 2 octaves down)

What follows is a scene so terrifying that most countries ban the printing of descriptions of it in public forums.







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Buckaroo: Another opera?

Ride: It is my masterwork.

Buckaroo: And how many women have you gone through these last few days?

Ride: (sheepishly) Weeeeelllll. Maybe less than the previous days.

Buckaroo: mmmhmmm. Dudley you must focus. The task before you is immense.

Ride: But there is just one of me. Countless numbers of them.

Buckaroo: hmmmm, you've got a point. Maybe we should clone you. (after a pause) No I can see that would be a really, really bad idea.

Ride: I may fail at this task.

Buckaroo: ok ok we understand. But keep trying.


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Now it may seem at this point that Ride is flailing. Confused by the size of the task, the supposed complexities. But from long experience he knew that the trick was to break a large problem up into several smaller. Then as he solved each small problem he would acquire more and more momentum until he screamed to some impressive conclusion. Of course this was an approach commonly used in the sciences. Ride considered himself a bit of an artist so he had to cloak this fact for his own satisfaction and to modify the method a bit in ways that was sure would irritate the strongest advocates for following the details of the method fully.

First and foremost the answer would be personal, highly subjective. The answer would be determined by the arbitrary rules he made up to guide him.

The first issue he had to deal with was time. That's right, simple innocent-seeming time. For example, at the moment he was dealing with a wonderful, sweet infatuation. He knew that it would pass quickly. The practical side of his nature would rise up eventually and say, "Hey you! Just what do you think you're doing" to his romantic side. He could even venture a guess as to how long this process would take. So persistence of a special relationship over a long time was an important criteria that he knew would greatly simplify his task. And why not pick over the lifetime of his time here? After all, there were some relationships that thrived for years and then cratered, usually when the model's own practical nature rose up and said "He's a freakin' deranged mountie after all!"

Yeah it would be a search over the limited set of tough lifers. Models able to suspend their better natures, to deal with long absenses, followed by blizzards of email and long long marathon private sessions. Models not irritated by eccentricities. By lurks. By whispers. Whose creative nature when it came to sex dazzled the limited faculties of the mountie and made him return over and over and over again.

"Piece of cake." Ride smiled. He knew now that he could goof off a bit. The reward for excellent planning.

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Now years after the mountie had passed on, kicked the bucket, joined the choir invisible, shuffled of this mortal coil... biographers were trying to understand his relationship with the famous bright starlet known to the western world simply as Axana. The normally expansive mountie was uncharacteristically mute on this subject.

It was clear he had warm feelings for her. But why? Where did their paths cross, when had these two busy people ever had time to engage?

His comments were short and tongue in cheek. For example: female Tom Bombadil. But there were also paintings of her hanging in his gallery in which she looked very beautiful and very sweet. Always laughing. Eyes full of warmth and humor.

He would speak in a kind of code when people asked him about this. Eyes full of warmth and fun mystery.

He might say something like "She is a riddle. She is not what she appears to be."

And then veer into gentle taunting about how easy she was to crack up.

Definately a tough, in her way, lifer of the kind he was admitting into his search set. But the biographers also of course knew that she was not the one he was looking for.

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