A range war was brewing, and even though Sundance wanted no part of it, fate dealt him in anyway. But right from the start, the odds were stacked against him.
To begin with, there was the vicious land baron Lem Barkalow and his hired killer, Beecher Strawn. Then there was Col Garvey and his wild bunch—Ear-cutter Jack, who had killed at least thirty men and taken an ear from each victim, dried it, and strung it on a necklace he wore draped around his neck; Weasel—tall, unbelievably slim, almost chinless, his eyes a strange red-glinting hue and as blood-thirsty as his namesake; Chico Lopez, the artist with the knife; Garth, the powder-man, who could take a can of Hercules, or this new-fangled dynamite, and open any safe anybody had ever built.
But Sundance didn't care about the odds. He was going to play the game right down to the last, bloody hand.