“His brown shoulders, slick with sweat, gleamed like polished gold beneath the brutal sun on this extremely hot spring day. With only a brief breechclout covering his loins, his strong body was poetry in motion, magnificent in its savage splendor. His feet, clad in moccasins, literally flew over the rough ground. His long dark hair was crowned with an eagle feather and his face and tautly muscled body sported garish black-and-yellow stripes. Sounds of pursuit added wings to his feet as he sprint...ed toward the wooded hills a short distance away. While raiding with a war party of Southern Cheyenne and Oglala Sioux, Wind Rider’s horse had been shot out from beneath him as he and his companions attacked a stagecoach. They hadn’t known the coach would be escorted by troops attached to Fort Lyon and literally had ridden into a trap. After a few wild shots the war party, badly outnumbered, had given up and ridden away. No one had seen Wind Rider’s horse fall. Hidden by the tall prairie grass, Wind Rider had scanned the horizon, realizing that his survival depended upon reaching the wooded hills rising majestically above the plains two miles to the north.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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