He was old, but age in him seemed merely to add to his strength and ferocity.

The path of a deep cut, healed long since, but which the paint even did not hide, lay across his forehead.

Others almost as deep adorned his right cheek, his chin, and his neck.

He was crouched much like a panther, with his rifle in his hands and the ready tomahawk at his belt.

But it was the extraordinary expression of his eyes that made Braxton Wyatt shudder.