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ONLY A SIX-GUN STOOD BETWEEN HIM AND BOOT HILL!
When the S.O.S. came from his pardner, Holt Spainhower knew he had to hit leather for Main City, but he hated like hell to do it. Spainhower had used his fast gun to clean up plenty of other towns, and he was tired of all the killing. But there was something even more sinister about Main City. And when Spainhower met murder on the road to that frontier town, he began to realize just how violent a job lay before him. By the time he was there just a few hours, he'd been appointed marshal of what they called "claim-jumper town." Then the boys who ran its streets and he locked horns . . . and something had to give. For by then Spainhower knew his only ally was his low-slung pistol . . . and the law of the trigger.
