Description:

When twenty-four wild horses are shot dead in Wyoming—no motive, no suspect, no clues–Calhoun feels that this, at least, might be a mystery he can solve. Despite warnings and brush-offs, he starts asking questions.

As Calhoun probes further and more horses die, the vested interests of big business and organized crime recognize Calhoun as a threat. There’s more at stake than the mindless destruction of wildlife.

Calhoun is in danger and in deep. The kind of people who shoot horses wouldn’t think twice about killing an inquisitive man. Or an inquisitive man’s wife...

"The characters are well developed and believable, the sense of place first rate. A fine first book.
Bring on another, Mr. Paul."
— Laurel Johnson, Midwest Book Review

"Visual, raw and dramatic. Stephen Paul has captured the heart-tugging drama of man’s greed versus wild horses, juxtaposed over what some still refer to as one of
the last frontiers–rugged and raw Wyoming."
— Larry Wilcox, star of the hit TV series CHIPS
& Hollywood producer

Excerpt:

They started a sweeping turn that took them close to the Ferris Mountains and looped them around to come in from the north. Carl dropped the Cub down to 2500 ft. and started making a grid.

Sighting the first group of dead horses Bailey had seen, he motioned to Carl to start a circle then make it bigger. Fifteen minutes after they had started their search they crossed the old stage stop. They passed over a small box canyon and Bailey thought he spotted something. “Carl, drop her lower and slower if you can. I want to check that out by the opening.”

Carl pulled the flaps back and dropped into the canyon. Bailey thought his breakfast was going to come up so he started gulping to keep it down. Carl banked the plane side to side to get a view from the canyon opening to the end of it, which was a short ways past a watering hole to some outcroppings.

Scattered across the canyon floor near the opening, looking like the buffalo had after the hunters had gunned them down, were at least twenty horses.

Bailey yelled at Carl, “Any way we can land in there and still get out?”

Carl flew over the entrance to the canyon, mentally measuring the width of the opening. “Yeah——maybe. Hold on to your fanny and we’ll see.” He pulled the flaps all the way down, raised the nose, floated in just after the opening, and dropped it down. He pushed the toe brakes down as hard as he could and with a little sliding of the wheels, came to a stop. Bailey didn’t think he could move. The canyon walls weren’t tall, mostly outcroppings of rocks forming a bowl, but an animal like a horse or antelope wouldn’t have been able to climb out. They would have had to go through the entrance. He didn’t think the plane could have made it in, and he wasn’t sure if it could make it out. He found he could move when he decided the hell with it—they’d make it out or wouldn’t. He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed out the side.

Walking over to the entrance first, he saw a gate made up of brush and a few limbs from some scrub cedar. It was lying next to one of the walls and there were some large rocks used to brace it against the sides of the opening when the gate was closed. The gate was primitive but effective. Turning, he started walking towards the dead horses, and he felt a fear rising in him that the buckskin would be one of the dead horses. Carl was silent, the incredulous look on his face telling his emotions.

“Carl, see if there’s a buckskin stallion here.” His voice cracked a little.

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