Luke Partin was dust-covered and beat but he would not rest. The trail he was following was very, very, fresh. Exactly half an hour old. The man he was going to kill was somewhere in this town. A foam-flecked bay horse was there, tied to the rail in front of the courthouse. Luke knew that horse. He'd followed it for several hundred miles. Now, at last, Luke would speak through his gun and cut down the man who had ruined and murdered the people he loved.
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