| Author: | Ralph Cotton | ISBN: | 1230001342550 |
| Publisher: | Ralph Cotton | Publication: | September 11, 2016 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Ralph Cotton |
| ISBN: | 1230001342550 |
| Publisher: | Ralph Cotton |
| Publication: | September 11, 2016 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
At Cold Devil, Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack and Federal Marshal Pete Summers apprehend two wanted men—one of whom has posted a ten-thousand-dollar bounty on the lawmen’s heads. When Sam is dry gulched and Pete is wounded, a pretty young gypsy and her family nurse the lawmen back to health. Then Sam sets out to recapture his prisoners—and make the town of Cold Devil hotter than hell.
From the book:.
The ranger stepped inside the door, his big Colt in hand, his eyes making a quick sweep across the room. “I’m acting Federal Marshal Sam Burrack,” he said, loud enough to be heard, but in a calm even voice. “I’m arresting Jack Spain for participating in a stagecoach robbery in Arizona Territory last fall.” He paused, his thumb across the hammer of his Colt, ready to cock it.
“And I’m U.S. Marshal Pete Summers,” said a voice. From against the bar, a young man stepped back to the middle of the floor, swinging a sawed-off shotgun up from under his long riding duster. Looking straight at Ned Rose, Summers asked, “Does everybody understand us?”
At Cold Devil, Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack and Federal Marshal Pete Summers apprehend two wanted men—one of whom has posted a ten-thousand-dollar bounty on the lawmen’s heads. When Sam is dry gulched and Pete is wounded, a pretty young gypsy and her family nurse the lawmen back to health. Then Sam sets out to recapture his prisoners—and make the town of Cold Devil hotter than hell.
From the book:.
The ranger stepped inside the door, his big Colt in hand, his eyes making a quick sweep across the room. “I’m acting Federal Marshal Sam Burrack,” he said, loud enough to be heard, but in a calm even voice. “I’m arresting Jack Spain for participating in a stagecoach robbery in Arizona Territory last fall.” He paused, his thumb across the hammer of his Colt, ready to cock it.
“And I’m U.S. Marshal Pete Summers,” said a voice. From against the bar, a young man stepped back to the middle of the floor, swinging a sawed-off shotgun up from under his long riding duster. Looking straight at Ned Rose, Summers asked, “Does everybody understand us?”
