Sacred is the Wind
“He peered at the tendril of smoke spiraling upward against the backdrop of amber hills and figured that was Wyoming. He looked north, the way he ought to be heading, and then turned his horse to backtrack his own trail. Someone was following him and had been since Sheridan. Sabbath had a sneaking suspicion just who it might be. Not Panther Burn—the Cheyenne would never reveal his whereabouts with such a fire. No. This was a white man’s fire.
With the sun a ruby-red ball balanced on the rim of t...he hills to his right, Sabbath McKean walked his buck-skin gelding around the twisted stump of a lightning-shattered cedar and continued straight into the night camp of the two men whose fire he had glimpsed from afar. A massive, granite-fisted hunk of beef and bone stood and raised his Winchester 76 about waist-high and levered a shell into the rifle’s chamber. The second man was slight of build, thin-limbed, birdlike in appearance, what with his bony frame and black coat and trousers. His face was angular and pale and his hair, a startling white, hung to his shoulders.MoreLess
With the sun a ruby-red ball balanced on the rim of t...he hills to his right, Sabbath McKean walked his buck-skin gelding around the twisted stump of a lightning-shattered cedar and continued straight into the night camp of the two men whose fire he had glimpsed from afar. A massive, granite-fisted hunk of beef and bone stood and raised his Winchester 76 about waist-high and levered a shell into the rifle’s chamber. The second man was slight of build, thin-limbed, birdlike in appearance, what with his bony frame and black coat and trousers. His face was angular and pale and his hair, a startling white, hung to his shoulders.MoreLess
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