Ray Coyle used to be a gunfighter. One of the best. He had built quite a name for himself throughout the West. Then he packed it all in and got an honest job in a travellign Wild West show, giving sharpshooting exhibitions. It wasn't much, but at least he could try to put his past behind him. He tried for ten years. But when he got word that his boy had been killed in a gunfight in Coopersville, he just had to go there -- to bring the body home, if nothing else. But there were a lot of guilty consciences in Coopersville, folks who knew that when the old gunfighter stepped off the train, he was bringing something else with him...trouble.
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alley anyway Barbara bastard beer Bob Trevor Bob's brother Cass chair Coopersville Coyle smiled Coyle's damned dance tonight dead dogs doll door Dorchester Publishing drink Ed Gorman Ellen Esmerelda eyes face father feel felt floor front going gonna grange hall guess gunfight hand Harry Winston Harry's he'd heard hell horse Indian inside jailbird Jim Graham Jimmy Clinton Jimmy's Kay Ken kill kind knew little girl livery lone looked ma'am Mike minutes never nice night nodded numbers Potiphar pretty prison Ralph Trevor ranch Ray Coyle safe saloon Sheriff Graham shit shook his head shot smelled sonofabitch sorry sound stared started stood street sure swimming hole talk tell thing thought told tonight took town trouble turned U.S. dollars Voss walked watching whore whorehouse woman Yeah