Paul Koslo appears to be a crossbow killing phantom, since he often shows up out of nowhere, with no obvious means of getting there other than wings. His meaningless rants about the wind, only deepens a total mystery regarding his motivation for extorting the rich. Either an awful lot of this film wound up on the cutting room floor, or this is one of the most underdeveloped scripts ever. Stuart Whitman and Oliver Reed are charged with ending Koslo's mayhem, but to no avail as they seem to be constantly chasing smoke that simply disappears. Throw in the fastest seduction on film between Reed and Deborah Raffin, car chases for the sake of car chases, and you pretty much get the idea. The movie is watchable, because the desert scenery magnificent, but believability is nowhere to be found. MERK