Never Trust A Woman

Book Number: 0176

Price: $2.99




There’s plenty who rate you
as nothin’ . . . and I’m one of ’em!



The club hit the meatworker and the meatworker hit the floor.

Hatch was stepping forward, hand resting on gunbutt, when he saw her. She stood on a table in a short, red skirt and low-cut blouse, holding a tankard of beer aloft and yelling encouragement like a meatworker;

“Get him, Biff. Kick him in the cojones, Joe! Don’t let him do that to you.”

The lawman stopped on a dime, his brooding eyes focused on the young woman. She was pretty, in a blowsy sort of way, with the sort of figure to take a man’s breath away. She was the darling of places like the Texas Bar and the Silver King, while mere mention of her name could always be guaranteed to raise a whole chorus of ‘tut-tuts’ among the respectable matrons of Fulton.

“You!” Hatch yelled to a red-nosed drunk, who was cheering the combatants on and plainly loving every minute of it. “What started this?”

“Huh? Oh, howdy there, Sheriff. Oh, shucks, the same old thing, I guess. Cherchez la femme.”


“The woman, Sheriff, always look for the woman when fellers start bustin’ one another’s faces.”

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