California Crackdown

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Fargo waited until the man was back sitting beside his friend before he stepped into the clearing, his Colt pointed at the two.

Both of them jumped and started to reach for their guns, but Fargo said, “Too early and too cold to die.”

Both men froze, half up, half reaching for their guns.

“Sit back down now real slow and put your hands where I can see them.”

Both men did as they were told. Now the trick would be getting information out of them. . . .

The Trailsman

Beginnings . . . they bend the tree and they mark the man. Skye Fargo was born when he was eighteen. Terror was his midwife, vengeance his first cry. Killing spawned Skye Fargo, ruthless, cold-blooded murder. Out of the acrid smoke of gunpowder still hanging in the air, he rose, cried out a promise never forgotten.

The Trailsman they began to call him all across the West: searcher, scout, hunter, the man who could see where others only looked, his skills for hire but not his soul, the man who lived each day to the fullest, yet trailed each tomorrow. Skye Fargo, the Trailsman, the seeker who could take the wildness of a land and the wanting of a woman and make them his own.

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