When his work in Eaton, Kansas, as a temporary lawman is over, he jumps from the frying pan into the fire when he takes a position as a deputy U.S. marshal with a friend, Deputy U.S. Marshal Jackson Millet. Millet convinces Stone that working as a lawman will give him more opportunities to run his old nemesis, a man named Laird, to ground—and make him pay for Greyson’s murder so many years ago.
A confrontation between the two lawmen and two bank robbers let Stone know he’s close to Laird—and he chafes at the restrictions the marshal’s job has placed on him, wanting nothing more than to ride to the nearby E.L. Ranch and take on the outlaw he’s waited to long to face.
But when Laird and his partner, Bill Dubin, brazen it out with a visit to the marshals, they’re in for a blazing gun battle the likes of which the little town of Tascosa has never seen. They won’t go down without a fight—and they’re determined not to die by a LAWMAN’S GUN…
Thorsen and Slager nodded, then the three walked along the side length of the building until they reached the boardwalk fronting the bank. Hobbs stuck his head out past the building for a quick look up and down the street. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, and more importantly, no one had raised an alarm about why three masked men stood in an alley next to the bank.
Hobbs motioned with his six-gun barrel for Slager to go ahead. Slager crept around the corner, then stepped onto the boardwalk and to the bank’s front door. He opened the door wide, then unfurled the sack and pitched it onto the bank’s floor. After he'd pulled the door shut, he hurried back to the alleyway where Hobbs and Thorsen waited.
The loosed wasps created immediate chaos inside the bank. Loud voices and cursing echoed through the wall. One man yelled, “What the hell!” Another man’s booming voice proclaimed, “Son-of-a-bitch!” Still another, the sergeant in charge of the guards, instructed, “One of you men, see if you can get that bag and throw it out the door.”
Almost instantly, the front door flew open and a suited rotund man dashed through it swatting at his face with his hands. A thin woman screamed, then burst through the doorway, frantically swatting at three or four big, mahogany-colored wasps which were the size of hornets. The insects buzzed around her head, dodging her swats. The wasps eventually got through her line of defense. One landed on the collar of her loose, full-length dress and sunk a stinger into her neck.
The woman squalled louder, then dashed into the middle of the street, the dress not hampering her reckless flight as her skirt billowed. The unfortunate woman ran headlong into the path of a big freight wagon pulled by six mules traveling at a brisk pace. The startled driver struggled to get the animals stopped. But at least two of the mules trampled the woman to silence. Her bloody body lay mangled before the front wheel of the wagon.
The three sack-covered men watched four men in blue uniforms charge out of the bank with six-guns in hand while swatting wasps with their other, as they fled the bank. Hobbs nudged Thorsen and Slager forward. The pair rushed up behind the stunned soldiers; raised the butts of their six-guns, and bludgeoned them, knocking both senseless before they hit the ground.