Frank sat at the bar and swirled the remainder of his whiskey around in the heavy glass tumbler. He had decisions to make about his future and that required a steadier drink than the tequila he liked too well. The amber glow of the golden liquid held his gaze as he reflected on Chief Eagle Horn's parting counsel to track the mustangs, brand them, and start a ranch so the mustang breed would not vanish like the Lakota. It was unusual advice coming from a nomad, but the reasons were sound. If Frank did not claim and corral the mustangs, another man would, another man who would not care about protecting the horses or the Lakota heritage. However, the idea of creating a tribal legacy was too grand and broad for a man just coming to grips with his own life, a man who was not ready to settle down. Frank watched the light illuminate his drink, no, the mustangs would run free a little longer, until adventure no longer stirred his blood. He wanted to keep moving and he reckoned that was the Lakota in him. Frank half smiled to himself, even after purchasing the mustangs from the United States Government, he was still a wealthy man. Living on the reservation, he had barely touched his reward money from the Great Race. The question he still had to answer was, where did he want to go.
A deep voice interrupted his thoughts, "Excuse me. . .sir. . ."
Frank turned to look at the well dressed gentleman that stood at his elbow. Frank squinted up at the man trying to recognize him, but there was nothing familiar about him. It was very apparent however, that the gentleman recognized Frank. Frank saw it first in the way the man's eyes lit up when he looked at him, and then the stranger asked,
"May I ask, are you. . .are you Frank Hopkins?"
Frank had found since winning the Great Race people for no apparent reason knew his name. So, he was not surprised by the question, just bewildered by the expression of satisfaction the stranger wore. It was as if the man expected some kind of reward for just looking at him. The light in the saloon was subdued though it was early afternoon, still Frank squinted even harder as he asked bluntly,
"Yes, and who are you?"
In his excitement, the gentleman's hand touched Frank's arm, which he quickly withdrew as he explained, "I'm Lawrence Teague."
Frank swirled the name around in his mind, it meant nothing to him.
Mr. Teague bent down to look Frank in the eye and said matter of factly, "Frank Hopkins, you're a wanted man."
