Wind Walker [NOOK Book]


The saga of frontier mountain man Titus Bass was first chronicled by author Terry C. Johnston in the bestselling trilogy Carry the Wind, Borderlords, and One-Eyed Dream. In Dance on the Wind, Buffalo Palace, and Crack in the Sky, Johnston set down the stirring adventures of Bass's early life. Now the unforgettable epic concludes with the story of this legendary hero's autumn years that was begun in Ride the Moon Down and Death Rattle.

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Wind Walker

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The saga of frontier mountain man Titus Bass was first chronicled by author Terry C. Johnston in the bestselling trilogy Carry the Wind, Borderlords, and One-Eyed Dream. In Dance on the Wind, Buffalo Palace, and Crack in the Sky, Johnston set down the stirring adventures of Bass's early life. Now the unforgettable epic concludes with the story of this legendary hero's autumn years that was begun in Ride the Moon Down and Death Rattle.

In this breathtaking climax, Bass, the hardy survivor of a world now gone, prepares to fight his magnificent final battle.

Fleeing the bloody aftermath of the Taos Rebellion, Titus Bass leads his family north, hoping to winter with the Crow people. But wagons filled with overland emigrants in search of new homes have already begun to trek across the vast untamed frontier. The wild and free world of the mountain men is quickly fading into the past. Even the famous Jim Bridger, whose trading post sits on the emigrants' Oregon Trail, must contend with arriving Mormons under Brigham Young, who view the region as their Promised Land to be cleansed of all nonbelievers.

For Titus Bass, the journey north is sadly eventful. He must save an old friend from death and rescue his daughter Magpie from cutthroat traders. He must find a way to free a wagon train of innocents from its unscrupulous leader, his murderous assistant, and the band of violent toughs who enforce the leader's will. Most important of all, Bass must come to terms with his long-lost daughter Amanda, bound with her husband and children for a new home ... in a faraway land that Bass himself will never see.

When Bass eventually arrives in the land of the Crow, he finds old friends -- and old ways -- dying out. Determined to live out his final years in peace, Bass soon comes to realize that even on the changing frontier, enemies lie in wait, old dangers lurk, and survival is never a certain thing. But still to come is the greatest lesson of all -- that dearer by far than his own life are the lives of his friends and loved ones.

From the Hardcover edition.
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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
“No one does it better than TERRY JOHNSTON. He has emerged as one of the great frontier historical novelists of our generation.”
Tulsa World

“TERRY C. JOHNSTON is an authentic American treasure.”
Loren D. Estleman

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307756367
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 6/16/2010
  • Sold by: Random House
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 656
  • Sales rank: 206,118
  • File size: 3 MB

Meet the Author

Terry C. Johnston was born on the plains of Kansas and immersed himself in the history of the early West. His first novel, Carry the Wind, won the Medicine Pipe Bearer's Award from the Western Writers of America, and his subsequent books, among them Cry of the Hawk, Dream Catcher, Buffalo Palace, Crack in the Sky, and the Son of the Plains trilogy, have appeared on bestseller lists throughout the country.

Terry C. Johnston lives and writes in Big Sky country near Billings, Montana.

From the Hardcover edition.
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Read an Excerpt


Without looking at his young son, Titus Bass nodded and eventually whispered, "Yes, Flea. In this country, you must consider everyone a stranger."

His own words stabbed into the frozen air, hung frostily for but a heartbeat, then were ripped away by a sharp, sudden gust that stirred up skiffs of the dry, two-day-old snow around them, where they lay on a ledge of bare rock.

"Get me the far-seeing glass," the fifty-three-year-old trapper said, never tearing his eyes off the distant objects plodding like black-backed sow beetles across the everywhere-white ablaze beneath the brilliant winter sun in a far-reaching sky.

Without making a sound in reply, the boy of ten winters scooted backward into the stunted cedar, where he rose in a crouch and quietly padded away, the soft crunch of his thick winter moccasins fading in the utter, aching silence that made itself known each time the winter wind died here on the brow of the low ridge. It wasn't long before Titus heard his son returning. Flea went to his knees, then plopped onto his belly to cover those last few yards, crawling right up beside his father, their elbows brushing.

"You are a good son," he whispered to his oldest boy in the child's strongest language, Crow -- the tongue of Flea's mother.

Brushing some of his long, gray hair out of his face, Titus again vowed that he should teach his children more, much more, of his own American tongue in the months and years to come. Down in the marrow of him he was growing more certain with time that they would need that American tongue before they became adults. His children would grow into maturity and give birth to children of their own in a world that Bass knew nothing of. A world very much unlike the world he had grown up in at the edge of the frontier, back there in Kentucky -- essentially the same world his own father had grown up in, and to a great extent the very same life his grandfather had known before them. Right in the same place, on the same land both father and grandfather had tilled, sweated into, and prayed over. But ... Magpie, Flea, and little Jackrabbit would soon enough confront a world their father knew nothing of.

He smiled as Flea held out the long, brass spyglass to him. "You are a good lad," he said, this time in American, slowly too, pulling out the three sections to the spyglass's full length.

"Lad." Flea tried the word out, then paused slightly as he strung more words together, "I -- am -- a -- good -- lad."

"You're about the best lad ever could be," Titus confirmed, again in American, then patted his son on the shoulder.

Poking his trigger finger through the small slot cut in his thick buffalo-hair mittens so he could fire his rifle with those mittens on, Bass swiveled the tiny brass protective plate away from the eyepiece and brought the spyglass to his one good eye. Blinked several times. Then peered through the long instrument as he slowly scanned the far ground below them until the image of the riders flashed across his view. Back he brought the spyglass, then slowly, slowly twisted the last of the three sections to bring the figures into better focus.

"Here, Flea -- have a look for your own self," he said as he handed the boy the spyglass. When his son had it against one eye, Bass spoke in Crow. "Turn it slow, like this, to see the riders come up close in your eye."

The man rubbed the long, pale scar that angled downward from the outside corner of his left eye while he waited for the boy to scan the ground ahead with that strange, foreign instrument. He had worn that scar for some fifteen winters now, cut there in a last, desperate fight he had with an old friend whose right hand had been replaced with a crude iron hook.

As the youth panned across the landscape, Flea jerked to a halt and held the spyglass steady, breathless too.

Titus asked, "How many you count?"

Flea's lips moved slightly as he continued to concentrate his attention on the distant objects. "Two-times-ten, perhaps a little more."

"No, in American."

The boy took the spyglass from his eye and concentrated now on this new problem. Then he said in his father's tongue, "Ten."

"No," Titus prodded in a whisper, speaking his own native language. "That's the wrong American word. Two-times-ten. So in American, you say twenty."

"Why is this number more important than those riders down there?" Flea asked with a youth's irritation.

Bass sighed and said, "You are right. We must think on the riders. All those horsemen -- do you think they are enemies?"

With a nod, the boy answered in Crow, "Just as you said, in this country there are many strangers ... and strangers could be enemies."

For a moment he glanced at Wah-to-Yah, the Spanish Peaks, rising against the blue winter sky off to the west. Then he asked the boy, "Tell me what you think about those riders. Do you see the horses that don't carry any riders? The animals loaded down with packs? What of this bunch coming our way -- should we hurry back to your mother and the rest of our family? Should we get them into hiding fast?"

For a long moment Flea regarded his father as if it might just be a trick question. Then he whispered, "They don't ride like Indians."

"Why do you say they don't ride like Indians, son?"

"Because, Popo," Flea said, using that affectionate name for his father, "the Indians I know -- they ride in single file."

"So these horsemen, what are they?"

"White men?"

"Say it in American for me."

"White men," Flea said assuredly. He knew those words. His father was one. Half his blood and bone and muscle was white.

"You see the dog?" he asked his son.


"Look carefully -- and you'll spot him."

After some moments, Flea finally declared, "That dog is white -- I did not see him for a long time because of the snow."

"Big dog, ain't it?" he asked in American.


"Injuns have dogs near big as that critter?"

The boy shook his head.

"That's right, son," Titus whispered. "Dog like that lopin' along them horses -- it's a sign them are likely white men comin' our way."

Over the last few agonizing weeks Titus Bass had grown all the more certain that he would see that every one of his children knew everything he could teach them about the white man. Not just his language, but his ways. The good and the bad of the pale-skinned ones who were trickling out of the East. Titus would have to teach them everything he inherently knew about his own kind so that his half-blood children would not get eaten alive when the mountains grew crowded with strangers.

From the Hardcover edition.

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Table of Contents

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 5
( 7 )
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Sort by: Showing all of 7 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 22, 2014


    Hey im here are you.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 21, 2014


    Ok see you tommorrow hopefully

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 18, 2012


    It was my fault I started it.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 18, 2012


    No mine it got out of hand cause of me hope were still friends

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 12, 2012

    Private Den

    Private Den! (Please note that we change shifts for private dens every week!)

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 10, 2012


    I read the original three volume series, which was written in a historical fiction style.

    This book is the culmination of a nine volume series, which actually draws names and events from the original series.

    Having been a fan of the Ameican West and the Native American Indians all my life, I completely absorbed myself in each of the volumes.
    The writing in this final volume of the series is particularly poignant. I found myself underlining sections in numerous pages, with the hope of rereading those sections.

    There was much wisdom found in the beliefs and culture of the Native Americans. The so-named Mountain Men learned much of value from the Native Americans, some of which could even be applied to our life today.

    We have traveled throughout the western States. A son lives in Bozeman, Montana, and it is with interest that Montana State University, Billings, Montana, has a Terry C. Johnston Memorial Scholarship Fund, Mr. Johnston being the author of these volumes.

    I gave the original three vlume set to a son in Asheville, NC. Hopefully our son in Montana will be interested in the nine volume set.

    My dream would be to have lived the lifestyle which Mr. Johnston describes. Reality is that I never would have had the strength, durability, and committment to do so.

    Thank you to Mr. Johnston,

    Roger L. Brown

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    Excellent Bass finale

    The world is dramatically changing from what mountain man Titus Bass first saw when he climbed, fished, hunted and fought against Indians and Whites in the Rocky Mountains. Three decades ago, hardly anyone not native could be found, but not in the late 1840s ¿ early 1850s, Titus knows not only is he old, his fond world is history as settlers head west. <P>Titus takes his family north to live his final days with the family of his Crow wife, hoping that some vestige of his independent, solitary elbow room life style could be found. However, though it is the waning years for him, the adventures continue as Titus battles to free a daughter, battle Mormons and nature, and help a desperate wagon train containing his greatest enemy (the dreaded settler). Titus wonders whether he will find the peace he seeks amidst the Crow or will their way of life teeter towards extinction also? <P> The final novel in the Titus Bass saga shows why Terry C. Johnston is a western writer who has transcended the genre. The story line will please historical buffs and relationship fans as the hero struggles to retain his way of life even as the outside world crushes it. This concluding tale works on multiple levels due to the deep characterization of Titus, friends and family, and many secondary players that keep the cast fresh for long time friends and introduces the key ensemble to newcomers so that they are fully understood. This ability is what makes Mr. Johnston a great chronicler of the first half of the nineteenth century America. <P>Harriet Klausner

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