Lone Gunman

The town seemed to soften some at twilight. Not that Deadman's Gulch was ever 'soft, ' but the dusk dimmed the harsher edges. Men weren't yet as full of cheap whiskey as they would be in a few hours.

Not that it mattered to Sheriff Jake Collins.

He wasn't concerned about the patrons of the Boarsnest Bar. He'd heard enough of the tall tales and bald faced lies the saddle bums tend to spout off when they were stone drunk and looking to make a reputation for themselves to last him a lifetime. Most of it was a load of horse shit, and he knew that.

He knew tonight would be no different, but he damn well intended to pay a visit to the Boarsnest, anyway.

He had some business to take care of, a score to settle, and God help anyone who got in his way...