Texas Iron

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Sam McCall watched the men to his right and left, until finally the one on the right moved. That move was the signal to his compadre, who was just a split second behind. Just enough time.

McCall fired as the man on his right drew. The gunsel hurried his shot and missed, but McCall’s shot traveled straight and true, ventilating the man through the heart. With the side-by-side Greener in his left hand, he pointed toward the second man and let loose with both barrels. The impact of the blast picked the man up and tossed him against the saloon wall. As he fell, he left a red smear on the wall behind him.

Prologue

Clyde Wexler was stunned.

Wexler had been the telegraph key operator in Corozon, Montana, for four years. He’d never before received a message that so much as made him raise his eyebrows. At twenty-five he’d become pretty complacent about his job. He finished transposing the last clicks of the key onto paper and then stared at what he had written, his mouth agape. He was so stunned he almost forgot to acknowledge receipt of the message. He pounded the key as quickly as he could, then switched it off and ran from the office, holding the message in his hand like a banner.

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