SPUR AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR
He rode across the West, a hard-muscled, long-boned man, with a face burned to Indian bronze by sun and wind. His buckskin shirt was darkened by dirt and age, his broad-brimmed black hat had two bullet holes in the crown. He carried a knife in a scabbard on his left side, a .45 Colt in a holster on his right side, and kept his Winchester in the boot of his Mexican leather saddle. He was Rafe Dolan, and his name was a legend. Maybe too much of a legend. There were always bully-boys who didn't believe that any man could take on the odds of twenty guns to one. And Rafe had to show them . . .
