Where there was gold, there were miners, and where there were miners, there were those who preyed on them: gamblers, loose women and the sellers of bad whiskey. It was a combustible mixture that led to violence, gunplay and dead men. It was a place for a man like Buck Fletcher.
Somewhere back on the trail from Montana, he’d heard that the Denver gambler Colorado Charlie Utter was in town, and Charlie owed him a favor or three. And Wild Bill was there. If Hickok was in Deadwood, then there was work for top gun hands. Buck Fletcher lacked even the smallest shred of false modesty. The years had taught him that he was one of the best with a gun around, maybe the best there ever was. Deadwood, wide-open and roaring, could use a man with his flashing draw and steady nerves in the face of fire.
As he followed the path of the wild geese, Fletcher didn’t know it then, but very soon that rare gun skill would be a thing he would have to prove and prove again.
He had embarked on a journey that would take him to the edge of hell—and there would be no going back.
Vigilante Dawn Page 26
