The great blizzard of 1886--
and a man driven by a fury to match it.
He was lean-bodied and lean- faced, with the look of a saddle tramp who kept his leather soaped and his garb clean because these claims to respectability were his last ace in the hole.
He'd covered a lot of country, and now he was back in the valley he used to call home, a man who belonged nowhere but was bound to this land beyond any will of his own.
It was his country and he would work to tame it and fight to find a place for himself in it.