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Description:

Silverjack McDonald left Justiceburg, Texas to ride the wild trails one last time before settling down. It took him five years to find his way back home.

When he finally rides back into Justiceburg, he discovers that the best brothel in the Texas panhandle has been torched. Some of the working girls were killed in the fire, but others were kidnapped by the unknown assailants – including Jack’s only love.

Word around town is that the perpetrators are hiding out the in the “no man’s land” between the Texas Panhandle and Oklahoma Territory — beyond the lawful reach of the Texas Rangers. It’s up to Silver Jack and his vigilante recruits to take on the outlaws to deal out some Texas-style rough justice.

"Very satisfying story and one a Western fan will want to read.
All mystery lovers should like it as well. "
— Lucille's Thoughts Review Site 

Excerpt:

At the town's edge; a weather beaten old sign proclaimed "WELCOME TO DRY CREEK; NEW MEXICO". As he read the sign; Jack noticed a commotion some ways down the street.

"I don't know what that is; Bess," he said, "but it ain't any of our business." The closer they got to the ruckus; the more concerned Silverjack became. He did not like what he was hearing.

A young gunny held a .44 pistol in his right hand; with which he was taunting an ancient looking Mexican man. Although Silverjack knew Spanish; it didn't take knowledge of that language to know the Mexican was pleading for his life. Tears had turned the old man's face into a mask of salty mud. Blood trickled from an ugly gash on top of his head.

"This youngster must be thought of as a bad man in these parts," Jack said to the mare. "I didn't want to find trouble today, but I hate bullies more than just about anything."

He moved Bess through the crowd until her shoulder was almost touching the gunman. A bizarre change began to take place on the left side of Silverjack's face. On skin permanently darkened by the sun, an ugly gray scar, a souvenir of a long ago knife fight, ran from his temple to his jaw line. When Jack became angry; the scar turned deep crimson. Now, the old wound seemed to have a life of its own.

"What seems to be the problem here?" asked Silverjack.

The young bully's head jerked up. Contempt masked his features as he eyed the stranger.

"Shucks; friend," said the young man, spitting out the words. "There ain't no problem here. I got everything under control. It's just that I don't like greasers, and today is my twenty-first birthday. So, for a birthday present to myself; I'm goin' to put Pancho here out of his misery. After that; me and my friends are headin' for the saloon to have a drink. We're goin' to drink to one less Mex to get underfoot, and one more year in the life of me, Bob Ray Woolens."

"Turn the man loose," said Silverjack.

Bob Ray eyed the big rough looking drifter dressed in old faded buckskins. The man wore a shapeless brown hat and silver-toed boots. A narrow scar traversed the man's face and long silver hair hung down his back; Indian style.

The young tough looked up at Silverjack and smiled. "Whoa, now, old-timer, like I was sayin', there ain't no problem here, so far." The smile faded from Bob Ray's face. He stepped up next to Silverjack. "Saddle tramp, I think you'd better ride on out while you still can and forget everything you've seen here today. Otherwise; you might be creatin' a big problem for your ragged old ass."

Silverjack reacted with a startling swiftness that belied his age and great size. He leaned back in his saddle and swung his Silver-toed boot upwards in an arc, knocking the pistol from Bob Ray's hand. Jerking his leg back down, Silverjack's boot heel landed square on top of the young gunman's head; crushing the fancy black hat. Bob Ray Woolens dropped like he'd been pole axed.

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