Slocum’s shot a lot of men—but never in the back…
Max Furling has a piece of paper that says he owns the Reilly spread—lock, stock, and barrel. And since Reilly is dead, Max’s claim is foolproof—almost. He’s started a rumor that Reilly was shot in the back by Slocum. And being called a lowdown cowardly killer isn’t something Slocum takes kindly to.
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He’s ready to make Max Furling wish he’d bitten clear through his tongue before slandering Slocum. But first he’s getting some help from a comely new friend: a lady with a warm spot for him in her heart—and her bed…