My father, White Eagle, should not have sent Checoba away with white man James Duff. Checoba, him great hoss of the Comanche. Him the wild wind of the plains, the dark shadow of the dark night. Him the cry of the storm gods when they ride the great hosses of the sky..."" It's a slow and old-fashioned hoss story by an English author who has done others. It's based on the Comanche legend of the horse Checoba who was as one with Tuscola the youngest son of Chief White Eagle. Tuscola could speak with Checoba and the horse with him. It's all pounding horse opera, with a mad Tuscola perched on a mad stallion leading blood-thirsty tribesmen against the white invaders until, pursued, both plunge over a cliff. ""Jeff heard Mike say: 'It's the end! They'll never again hit the trail. They've taken the last one.'"" The dialect of the Old West via the author's tin English ear is no edifying reading experience and neither is the commemoration of Checoba.