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.
 
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…