Back in the winter of ’77 I was deputying up in Two Scalp, Dakota Territory; waiting for my friend Clete Shannon—who was the Sheriff there at the time—to say the word for us to quit our jobs and head south…Being Clete’s deputy give me mighty little to do but think things over, morning or night. Two Scalp’s deader’n a sucker in a sandstorm.
This lazy peace would not last.
Willie Goodwin had seen a lot of life; he knew how the death wind could blow into a man’s life on a clear sunny day without a sip of warning. He thought he knew how treacherous life could be…that’s why he drank.
When Nell Larson complained that someone was spooking her cattle late at night, neither Willie nor Clete recognized the danger….When Nell’s cabin was burned and Nell murdered, and when Clete was shot by the same faceless enemy, Willie saddled his horse and went looking for justice and for the answer to the puzzle of why these horrible crimes were committed.
Willie’s manhunt would become an odyssey of death and vengeance. It would stretch over mountains, rivers and plains; it would take him through towns, ranches and farms. Along the way, Willie Goodwin would have to decide if friendship was stronger than honor or desire. Willie Goodwin was a simple man with some hard choices…