Blood on the Republican

Lute North stood alone in the middle of a sea of grass. The brutal acts of murder and savagery on the plains he’d just witnessed should have broken him like a twig…instead at twelve years old he embarked on the path that would make him a warrior.

Someday…someway…somehow, he swore he would track down the Cheyenne who’d murdered his mother, father and older brother in cold blood, and kidnapped his baby brother and sisters. He would make the Cheyenne pay dearly.

The face of their leader was carved into Lute’s memory, now bearing a scar that Lute’s mother had slashed before her neck was broken. Lute would see his face in nightmares for the rest of his life.

Seven years later, Lute had grown from an abandoned boy on the frontier into a wide-shouldered man with the keen eyes and hard-boned face typical of a frontier scout. There was no softness about him. The Cheyenne had come to fear him, but he still hadn’t tracked down Scarface.

In the seven years since the destruction of his family, Lute had been found and adopted by the Pawnee, the sworn enemies of the Cheyenne. He’d become a skilled and powerful warrior—the best of the famous Pawnee scouts. Because of his prowess and valor, they called him Little Chief.

Now the Cheyenne were raiding in great numbers once more; and again Scarface was at the head of the most vicious raids. This time, the 5th Cavalry was sent into the Republican Valley after them—but there were hundreds of Cheyenne Dog Soldiers and the cavalry was half-trained and outnumbered…they didn’t have a chance, until they were joined by 50 Skidi Pawnee led by Little Chief. Lute wasn’t going to let a few hundred savage warriors stop him from avenging his parents and finding his lost brothers and sisters.