Be thankful he hasn’t got a rifle!
GUNS OF SAM RYDER
Chance Ryder rode as though the devil was on his tail, pushing the chestnut as he’d rarely ridden a horse. If his brother had somehow lived through the night, his arrival could tip the scales in the right direction. He had learned from Cal Carpenter that one of Ike Crehan’s men was Lash Yates. Just thinking about that pale-faced gunslinger made Chance Ryder wish that he had killed that gunnie when Yates had been lying at his feet, wounded and unconscious. He figured Yates must have learned that he was coming to attend his brother’s wedding and wanted to settle the score.
As the chestnut ate up the miles, Chance Ryder could only hope that it wasn’t his brother’s funeral that he would be attending . . .