Terry C. Johnston - Dance on the Wind: The Plainsmen

A good book Dance on the Wind not only gives readers a wonderful story, but also provides vivid slices of history that surround the colorful characters.

Dee Brown, author of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee

An enthralling drama packed with people, action and emotion. Dance on the Wind is an epic that makes you wish it would never end.

Clive Cussler

WINTER RAIN

Terry Johnston is an authentic American treasure. Winter Rain [is] his strongest entry yet.

Loren D. Estleman, author of Edsel

Some of the finest depictions of Indian warfare I have ever read. Johnstons romantic vision imbues the early West with an aching beauty that moderns can only dream of.

Richard S. Wheeler, author of Two Medicine River

CRY OF THE HAWK

Will stain the reader with grease, blood, and smoke.

Kirkus Reviews

THE SON OF THE PLAINS TRILOGY

Terry Johnston is the genuine article. His Custer trilogy is proving this significant point, just as his Indian wars and mountain man books prove it. I admire his power and invention as a writer, but I admire his love and faith in history just as much.

Will Henry, author of From Where the Sun Now Stands

CARRY THE WIND, BORDERLORDS and ONE-EYED DREAM

Rich and fascinating There is a genuine flavor of the period and of the men who made it what it was.

The Washington Post Book World

Cry of the Hawk
Winter Rain
Dream Catcher

Carry the Wind
Borderlords
One-Eyed Dream

Dance on the Wind
Buffalo Palace
Crack in the Sky
Ride the Moon Down
Death Rattle

S ON OF THE P LAINS N OVELS

Long Winter Gone
Seize the Sky
Whisper of the Wolf

T HE P LAINSMEN N OVELS

Sioux Dawn
Red Clouds Revenge
The Stalkers
Black Sun
Devils Backbone
Shadow Riders
Dying Thunder
Blood Song
Reap the Whirlwind
Trumpet on the Land
A Cold Day in Hell
Wolf Mountain Moon
Ashes of Heaven
Cries From the Earth
Lay the Mountains Low

with my heartfelt appreciation,
I dedicate this triumphant return of
Titus Bass to the
Bantam sales force
who first took Ol Scratch
into their hearts,
then shared him with the world,
nine years ago
thanks to each and every one of you
for making this the ride
of a lifetime!

The first time I descended the Ohio and Mississippi rivers I left Cincinnati in December 1808 with five flat boats, all loaded with produce. At that time there were but few settlers on the Ohio River, below the present city of Louisville. The cabins on the river below Louisville were few and far between.

Joseph Hough
An Early Miami (Ohio) Merchant

I have seen nothing in human form so profligate as [boatmen]. Accomplished in depravity, their habits seem to comprehend every vice. They make few pretensions to moral character; and their swearing is excessive and perfectly disgusting.

James Flint
Letters from America

Slick as quicksilver the boy stepped aside when the mule flung her rump in his direction.

Only problem was, he had forgotten about the root that arched out of the ground in a great bow nearly half as tall as he stood without his Sunday-meeting and school-room boots on. The end of it cruelly snagged his ankle, sure as one of his possum snares.

Spitting out the rich, black loam as fine as flour in this bottomland, Titus Bass pulled his face out of the fresh, warm earth he had been chewing up with a spade, blinking his gritty eyes. And glared over his shoulder at the mule.

Damn, if it didnt look as if she was smiling at him again. That muzzle of hers pulled back over those big front teeth the way she did at times just like this. Almost as if she was laughing at him when here he had just been thinking he was the one so damned smart.

Why, you , the boy began as he dragged himself up to his knees, then to his bare feet in that moist earth chewed by the mules hooves and his work with iron pike and spade.

On impulse he lunged for the fallen spade, swung it behind his shoulder in both hands.

Put it down, Titus.

Trembling, the boy froze. Always had at the sound of that mans voice.

Said: put it down.

The youth turned his head slightly, finding his father emerging from the trees at the far edge of the new meadow they were clearing. Titus weighed things, then bitterly flung the spade at that patch of ground between him and his father. The man stopped, stared down at it a moment, then bent to pick it up.

Youd go and hit that mule with this, Thaddeus Bass said as he strode up, stopped, and jammed the spades bit down into the turned soil, Id have call to larrup you good, son. He leaned back with both strong, muscular hands wrapped around the spade handle like knots on oiled ropes. Thought Id teached you bettern that.

Bettern what? the boy replied testily, but was sorry it came out with that much vinegar to it.

Thaddeus sighed. Bettern to go be mean to your animals.

Titus stood there, caught without a thing to say, watching his father purse his lips and walk right on past to the old mule. Thaddeus Bass patted the big, powerful rump, stroked a hand down the spine, raising a small, stir of lather near the harness, then scratched along the mares neck as he cooed to the animal. She stood patiently in harness, hooked by leather and wood of singletree, the quiet murmur of her jangling chainsthe whole of it lashed round a tree stump young Titus Bass had been wrenching out of a piece of ground that seemed too reluctant to leave go its purchase on the stubborn stump.

Titus flushed with indignation. She was about to kick me, Pap.

Without looking back at his son, Bass said, How you know that?

She was hitchin her rump around to kick me, Titus retorted. Know she was.

How hard you working her?

Dusting himself off, he replied in exasperation, How hard Im working her? You was the one sent me out here with her to finish the last of these goddamned stumps.

Thaddeus whirled on his son, yellow fire in his tired eyes. Thought I told you I didnt wanna hear no such language come outta your mouth.

He watched his father turn back to the mules harness, emboldened by the mans back, braver now that he did not have to look into those eyes so deeply ringed with the liver-colored flesh of fatigue. Why? I aint never figured that out, Pap. I hear it come from your mouth. Outn Uncle Cys mouth too. I aint no kid no more. Lookit me. I be nearly tall as younear filled out as you too. Why you tell me I cant spit out a few bad words like you?

You aint a man, Titus.

He felt the burn of embarrassment at his neck. But I aint no boy neither!

No, you rightly aint. But for the life of me, I dont know what you are, Titus. Bass laid his arms over the back of the tall mule and glared at his son. You aint a man yet, thats for sure. A man takes good care of the animals what take care of him. But you, Titus? I dont know what you are.