<p>Chapter One<br />
Day broke slowly over the mesquite-studded hills that spread out beyond<br />
the Brazos River. The faint golden glow crept wearily over the distant hori-<br />
zon， its warming rays seemingly kept at bay by cruel phantom fingers that<br />
perpetuated the midnight bite of a razor-sharp north wind. Springtime in<br />
Texas was an unreliable season， like as not to freeze or burn a man as it<br />
chose. Or so it seemed to the solitary figure leading his horse through the<br />
rocks above the river.<br />
Another man might have found the going hard， even impossible. The<br />
Brazos hills had only recently been wrested from the Comanches and<br />
reclaimed from the buffalo. Big-boned longhorns and spotted mustangs<br />
shared the ravines and rock slides with rattlesnakes and wolves. Oh， a few<br />
foolhardy men tried to make a go of it growing corn or running beeves，<br />
but even they waited for daylight before tackling the treacherous hills.</p>
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