Chapter One
Mustang, Oklahoma
1981
A small dust devil was beginning to form at the end of the
track field as competitors made their way to the starting
line for the finals of the hundred-yard dash. For these
young high school athletes, the annual state track meet
was their last chance of the year to compete for college
scholarships. The chance to leave their mark, however
small and insignificant, on the roster of yearly winners.
Parents from all over the state lined the bleachers,
oblivious to the burning heat and hot wind, staring
fixedly down the track, waiting for their son or daughter
to get a chance to shine. Students ran up and down the
aisles, cheering on fellow classmates and exclaiming loud
and long when a rival school won an event. College scouts
interspersed themselves throughout the crowd, always on
the lookout for the gifted, the strongest, the best.
More than one scout had his eye on the tall, lithe Indian
boy who was fining up with the other runners down on the
track. They didn't care that Morgan Tallchief's thick
black hair was hanging far below his shoulders or that he
rarely smiled. They saw speed in his long, powerful legs,
strength in the breadth of his chest, and spirit in his
eyes.
In their eyes, he was an athletic prodigy, a once-in-a-
lifetime find. But he knew he ran for the love of it, for
the joy of feeling the wind in his hair and the ground
beneath his feet. He knew there were few things better in
life than the feel of perfect synchronization between
himself and Mother Earth. He believed that he could run
forever.
"On your mark!"
Six athletes suddenly dipped into starting positions as
the noise of the crowd began to subside.
"Set!"
The announcer's voice echoed across the stadium,
dissipating with the hot wind that blew about the track.
The sound of gunfire reverberated from one side of the
bleachers to the other, and then they were off. Like a
pack of young wolves, the runners bolted forward with
muscles bunched and legs churning, focusing intently
toward the finish line only a hundred yards -ahead.
All, that is, except Tallchief, who came out of his set
like a slim brown arrow, black hair flying out behind him
as he leaped into his lane and kicked into stride.
For Morgan Tallchief, there was no awareness of the
athletes on either side of him or of the goal that he must
cross. There was nothing in his mind except the light,
almost nonexistent impact of his feet against the earth
and the rhythm of his heartbeat as it pounded in his ears.
He didn't hear the sudden roar of the crowd or see
everyone jumping to their feet. He was lost in the run.
There wasn't a single person watching who didn't under
stand what they were seeing. Morgan Tallchief was muscle
in perfect motion, and he was running with a joy on his
face that no one could miss.
When Tallchief flew across the finish line, the
announcer's voice was a shriek lost in the crowd's
resounding ovation. Still caught up in the race, Morgan
was only vaguely aware of his coach's voice yelling for
him to stop as he ran out from the sidelines and onto the
track.
Morgan's mind shifted gears as he automatically shortened
his stride, mentally pulling himself back into reality.
"You won, boy! You won!" Coach Teters shouted.
Morgan let himself be manhandled as his teammates
surrounded him. He wouldn't tell them that the coveted
medals awarded to the winners were secondary to him. They
wouldn't understand that long before the race began, in
his heart, he'd already won just by being a participant.
In the midst of rowdy laughter, someone on the sideline
screamed with excitement. A resounding cheer went up from
the crowd in the bleachers and then they began to chant.
"Tallchief! Tallchief! Tallchief!"
The sound of his name echoing out across the field stopped
him in his tracks. The skin crawled at the back of his
neck, and he shivered as the sound of his own name
engulfed him. Confused as to the reason, he turned and
looked up, staring out across the heads of his teammates
to the bleachers beyond, searching for an answer to the
sudden and unexpected accolade.
The coach's face was ecstatic as he pushed his way through
the crowd around Morgan and nearly lifted him off his feet
in a wild, boisterous bug.
"What happened?" Morgan asked.
"You set a record, boy! A national, by God, record!"
Morgan grinned. Even for a boy who loved the run better
than the prize, that was quite a concept. Before he could
comment, his teammates suddenly lifted him into the air
and started around the track with him on their shoulders,
as if they were bearing the trophy of the day.
In spite of his normal reticence, Morgan couldn't help but
respond. He lifted an arm to the crowd. Smiling a slow,
easy grin, he began to wave.
As they circled the track, Morgan searched the crowd for
one certain girl with long brown hair, clear blue eyes,
and the face of an angel. He loved to run-but he loved
Kathleen Ryder, his algebra teacher's daughter, as well.
Yet no matter how hard he looked, the faces all seemed to
be one big blur. And then for no reason other than
instinct, he suddenly looked up and she was there,
standing on the highest bleacher, her arms above her head,
waving in wild delight.
His pulse skipped, and that slow, easy smile stilled. He
lifted his arm to wave back, and in that instant it was as
if the hundreds of people had suddenly disappeared and
they were -alone.
He felt her gaze only, believed that he heard her laughter
above the noise of the crowd, and his heart soared.
Kathleen...
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