BILLY STEELE: KID RANGER

The teen vowed to follow his mothers bidding.

As White Eagle feverishly escaped the rape, pillage and plunder of his village, he tripped and fell to the ground. He had fallen over his fathers bullet filled, blood soaked corpse sprawled next to a Mexican invader; a mad animal turned lifeless by his fathers mighty tomahawk. Tears rolled down White Eagles face, for he knew his father died a hero, but the young brave then gritted his teeth for he swore over his fathers bloody body to reach the ancient tribesman of legend and lore for the means to save his enslaved village, friends and family.

White Eagle ran like the great deer through the unscathed hills and woods of the wilderness to reach the ancient ones chapel. A platoon of wolf like Mexican soldiers pursued their prey on furious horseback. They discharged gunfire on their murderous mission to silence the youth. Torrents of sweat rolled down the young braves body as he heard his hunters hoof beats and pistol blasts come closer and closer to him.

The young brave soon found he was on the brink of a cliff hanging high over a wide river. While the mad mens bullets narrowly whizzed past him, White Eagle like his namesake, flew from the cliff and splashed into the perilous waters deep below. And like the mighty salmon, White Eagle swam the length of the river to reach salvation.

With White Eagle out of rifle range and presumed dead by his hunters, the malevolent Mexican renegades returned to their leader. They failed to see how this teenaged brave, with the strength of the great bear, pushed all obstacles out of his way as he entered the sacred chapel of the celebrated ancient one.

"Ancient one, my people, " White Eagle begged, still panting from his deadly journey, but the elder tribesman, and undisputed lord of nature and Native American magic, uttered not a single word.

Simply adorned in tribal dress and surrounded by the sacred symbols passed down from generation to generation for over 100 centuries, the wrinkled skinned, white-haired ancient one instead gave White Eagle a black arrowhead. White Eagle gazed upon this simple object with disbelief.

"Return to your tribe, White Eagle, and raise the arrowhead to the skies. Say the word RAMSFEW, and you will have the power to save the ones you love," The Ancient One told the young brave.

White Eagle left the ancient ones dwelling puzzled by his words but he held his gift up to the skies. "RAMSFEW," was shouted from the young braves still shivering lips. Suddenly, the mortal brave felt an immeasurable surge of power coming from the arrowhead and being transferred into his body. White Eagle now had the powerful torrents of the Rain, all of the powers of the Animals-both earth bound creatures and mythical beasts, the cosmic power of the Moon, the heat of the Sun, the wrath of Fire, all the strength of the Earth, and the gusts of the Wind at his command. The magical arrowhead had 10,000 years of Native American legend, lore and magic, which turned the young brave into the great, Indian, warrior spirit of the storm-The Manitou.

The lightning flashed. The thunder roared. The winds whipped.