It was a sparkling Texas river which turned crimson with the blood of their fellow soldiers. It was a green valley which because the untimely grave for hundreds of butchered bodies. Now five men what was left of the 3rd U.S. Cavalry would stumble from the brutal vengeance of the Comanches into the cruel, indifferent landscape which would pick them off one by one like the petals of a dying desert weed. For five hudnred miles they rode, half the way as prisoners, half the way as animals living off the land, watching each other grow weak and one step closed to death, always listening for the answer to their prayers... that when the end came it would come swiftly, surely, and without compromise.

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