The boy walked out of the wilderness in the late summer of 1855, carrying the sun-blackened remains of a jackrabbit he had been eating on for two days. He had been alone in there for ten days. Behind him were three graves, and with him was the memory of a family named Snelling that he would one day hunt down and destroy -- slowly, terribly. That boy became a man, bleak-eyed and dangerous, who rode, always alone, carrying only the grim comfort of a...