Ten minutes later, a lone rider approached the top of the rise.

A lone rider had emerged from the mouth of the cave.

I shouted, pointing at the lone rider with my staff.

So then, the lone rider had left after the main group.

Directly behind the racing coach he saw a lone rider.

But as he rode toward them, a lone rider blocked his way.

In the poem he was portrayed as a lone rider.

A lone rider, and only one, unless his friends were in hiding.

Then, just as dusk was falling, a lone rider came into view.

Of the lone rider I had seen nothing in all this time.