The Fall of “Baby Face”

“You’ll never take me alive, Injun whore!” proclaimed the 19 year old outlaw, Pete “Baby Face” Atkins as Moonbeam slowly advanced on the young horse thief. “You stole from the Kiowa,” the woman intoned darkly in a voice both calm and forbidding, “and for that you must pay!” The teenage desperado swallowed and, panicked, went for the sixgun at his side, but the warrior maiden was like lightning. She leapt forward, seized Pete’s right wrist with both hands, and swung him over her lithe body to send him crashing into the dust. He lay on his back, groaning, as Moonbeam’s pet mountain lion cub sniffed around him. He raised his head to see the formidable long legged form of the female brave standing over him, arms akimbo.

“Please, ma’am,” begged the youth, tears beginning to course down his filthy face, “don’t hand me over to your people! Don’t let them burn me alive, or cut off my balls, or stake me out in the sun covered in honey for the soldier ants to find!” Moonbeam looked down on the baby-faced rustler, a puzzled expression on her face. “And please, ma’am,” the defeated outlaw continued, “please don’t scalp me!” And the young man suddenly burst into tears. Moonbeam reached out an arm and hauled the babbling and sobbing boy to his feet. She took his gun and pushed it into the belt of her flowing buckskin dress, and then removed the bandana from the neck of the cringing bad man. She spun him around and used the cloth to tie the terrified Pete’s hands behind his back. “You have been reading too many dime novels, young man,” the female warrior told her prisoner impatiently as she bound him. “Now take me to where you have hidden the Kiowa horses. Then I will decide what to do with you.”

Moonbeam has appeared frequently in another of my blogs, Women In Charge, in fm bondage interpretations of covers to the Swedish language comic Solvpilen, or Silver Arrow. The character is a somewhat stereotypical female Native American who is sister and sidekick to the Silver Arrow of the title, wise and brave chief of the Kiowa. Although very sexualised, and frequently illustrated in damsel in distress scenarios, Moonbeam is nonetheless skilled in unarmed combat and not infrequently comes to Silver Arrow’s rescue also. Dressed in a tight, flowing, slit buckskin dress, Moonbeam often graced the cover of Solvpilen, frequently depicted throwing sundry outlaws, Indians and renegade cavalry troopers over her shoulder. She is therefore very much of her late 1970s/1980s time - a strong but not too strong female character, feisty and able to look after herself, but fundamentally subservient to the main man. Moonbeam is therefore not the best example of a strong female comic book character, but her kick-ass abilities do earn her a place in this blog.

The above cover is somewhat atypical in that Moonbeam is shown in customary jiu-jitsu mode, but her garb is less sexy and more realistic. There is also the slightly surreal addition of the warrior maiden’s pet mountain lion cub, Tinka, who accompanies Moonbeam everywhere and never seems to grow up.

The title began as Zilverpijl, a Flemish language creation of the Belgian artist Frank Sels in 1970, which rapidly gained popularity in the whole of Scandinavia (including Finland), and was also translated into German. The series ran until 1986 but never broke into the English language comic book world which is a shame, as its stories were well plotted, contained much factual information about Native American life, and the cover art in particular, was very dynamic.

The Capture of Miguel

Miguel took one look at Moonbeam as the female warrior pushed the door to his shack wide with bang of rocking hinges and strode into the shabby abode, and decided discretion was the better part of valour. “Adios, senorita!” he called out at her with a cheeky wink and headed to the empty window of the rear wall of the cabin. However, the sometime vaquero, who so loved the style of the wrangling west, was laden down by his spurs and silver guns. He was no match for the Indian woman’s speed, honed hunting both buffalo and outlaws. As Miguel scrambled for the exit, his spurs jangling, and sombrero obscuring his vision, a lithe brown leg shot out from behind the folds of Moonbeam’s thigh length buckskin dress. The moccasined foot connected hard with the Mexican’s shin and he tumbled into an ungainly heap on the floor!

Cursing, Miguel tries to regain his feet, only for a second elegant female leg to swing out hard and accurately, to clip the man on the chin and down he goes for a second time. Moonbeam stands over her quarry, arms akimbo. “Had enough, Sanchez?” she demands. “Are you ready to admit that it was you, not Silver Arrow, chief of the Kiowa, who led the raid on the Sante Fe stage last month?” The Mexican cowboy looked up at the fierce woman wearily and put his hands together in supplication. “I know not how you found me, conchita,” he replied, “but, yes, I admit that raid was mine, and yes, I do surrender…” Moonbeam looks at the outlaw suspiciously as he unsteadily gets to his feet and unbuckles his gun belt, allowing his expensive six shooters to fall noisily onto the wooden floor of his cabin. Meanwhile Moonbeam has picked up a coil of rope from where it lay on a barrel in the corner. Without being asked, Miguel turns around and places his hands behind his back as the warrior Kiowa squaw approaches him. “We go to the sheriff in San Antonio,” she tells him and begins to tie the man’s wrists. “I look forward to your attempt to get me to American justice, senorita,” Miguel remarked slyly as Moonbeam bound him, “it is a long way indeed to San Antonio from here!” The female brave said nothing, but angrily pushed her captive outside and towards the waiting horses.

The Missing Rifles

“But Moonbeam, this is ridiculous!” Silver Arrow protested as he and his blood brother Falcon, swung ignominiously from trees, suspended by strong rope tied under their arms and with their hands bound behind their backs. The Kiowa woman looked up at her erstwhile partner knowingly. “How so, my brother?” she retorted. “I caught you in the company of these two rattlesnakes uncovering the cache of arms stolen from the fort.” The warrior maiden indicated noted swindlers Jake Barton and Harry Sawyer, similarly suspended and tied up, with a toss of her raven maned head. Silver Arrow looked both angry and frustrated, astounded that he, along with three others, had been captured and bound so easily by a single squaw, even if that squaw was Moonbeam. He eyed the Winchester repeater rifle in her hand, part of the new stock of supplies brazenly spirited out of Fort Apache. “You are a true warrior, Moonbeam,” he said through gritted teeth, “but in this you are mistaken. Falcon and I tracked these villains to this lair and were on the verge of capturing them when you began shooting into the ground at our feet.”

Moonbeam considered Silver Arrow’s handsome and earnest features before turning to her paleface outlaw prisoners. “So, you skunks,” she addressed them, “what say you? Is this chief of the Kiowa speaking true? Is it just you two who are the thieves?” Jake and Harry continued to sway gently in the breeze. They gave each other guilty sideways looks. At last Jake spoke. “We ain’t sayin’ nuthin’, ma’am,” the nervous looking conman replied, “either way it seems our goose is cooked. I reckon you just goin’ to have to work out if you believe the redman and his sidekick or not.” Moonbeam frowned. These fools would be if no help, the female Kiowa warrior reasoned. It seemed she had a decision to make…