In this thrilling new Ralph Compton Western, the fate of a small town rests in the hands of a gambler who’s ready to risk more than money. The people of Meridian, Colorado, live and die by coal mining, and when the railroad bypasses them, their livelihood is in peril. However, they discover that for a hefty sum of money they can create a spur line and save the town. A hefty sum that the town does not have. Their only hope is former gambler Asa Newcombe. The townspeople pool their money so Newcombe can enter the big poker game in Golden Junction, and as much as he wants to leave his past life behind, the whole town is counting on him. Winning the big pot will burnish his reputation, but his goal is simple: Get the money and get out alive. His opponents include wealthy ranchers, tinhorn gamblers, and men who are outright criminals—and many of them will stop at nothing to make their fortune, even if they have to cheat, drug, or kill to do so.... Ralph Compton stood six foot eight without his boots. He worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist. His first novel, The Goodnight Trail , was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was the USA Today bestselling author of the Trail of the Gunfighter series, the Border Empire series, the Sundown Rider series, and the Trail Drive series, among others. Jackson Lowry is the western pen name for Robert E. Vardeman, author of numerous novels. Vardeman received the 2017 Western Fictioneers Lifetime Achievement Award. His western titles include Sonora Noose , Great West Detective Agency , and the western trilogy, Punished. He was born in Texas and has lived in the wilds of New Mexico most of his life. Chapter One Asa Newcombe tried not to look down. A spill down the rocky precipice meant death. With any luck, it would be fast, quick, but he doubted it. A body tumbling to the bottom of the five-hundred-foot ravine would bounce and tumble and leave the poor wight broken and bleeding-and not dead. Not right away. "Until sundown. A man falling down there'd be like a snake and not die until sundown." He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. His sure-footed mule plodded along and ignored its rider. His traveling companion called back to him, "You ain't gettin' cold feet, are you? There's no way to back out now. We're committed." Asa forced himself to open his eyes. It was impossible not to glance over the brink and wonder which of the jagged, rocky outcroppings his body would hit as it bounced down to the rapidly flowing river at the bottom of the canyon. He decided all of them would be painted with his blood. He blinked and concentrated on the man ahead of him on the three-foot-wide trail. That was the safest way to travel, even if the short, scruffy stranger he had set out with from the Mosquito Pass railroad depot wasn't anything worth looking at. In spite of the cold, stiff wind blowing around the mountainside, sweat beaded on Asa's forehead. "We ought to be committed," Asa muttered. "It's a day longer getting to Meridian, but the other trail . . ." His voice died out as the other man drew rein. His mule came to a halt and protested loudly. The animal wanted the trip to be over as much as he did. "What's wrong?" "Got a small problem ahead. The trail's blocked." "But you said we can't back up!" "Cain't. No way to turn around. Not enough space. And mules like these here we're astride don't know how to put theyselves into reverse. Even a horse don't back up so good. Reminds me of the time that-" "What's wrong with the trail?" A thousand terrible reasons for the man's halt flashed through Asa's head. Rocks tumbling from the top of the towering Colorado peak to block the trail. The trail itself, carved into seemingly inert stone, giving way and tumbling half a thousand feet to dam up the river below. Or a body. Another traveler had died on the trail. There was nowhere to give a Christian burial amid the solid rock. The mountains were immutable and unforgiving. If another poor soul had perished, Asa considered so many things other than burial on the spot. Tossing the corpse over the side was easiest, but he liked that least. Another alternative was to drape the body over his mule and lead the burdened animal back to Meridian, where a decent burial ceremony could be performed. Should a family be notified? How could he find out about the man's people? There wasn't even a marshal in Meridian now. The mayor was the only "authority," and . . . The lead mule began to snort and kick. Asa leaned over as much as he dared and saw that a body spooked the otherwise staid mule. "Can we edge past?" "Edge past? Mister, you got a death wish for certain sure. Ain't no way to get past a mountain lion." "A mountain lion?" "The one what's settin' smack-dab in the middle of the trail, sunnin' hisself and not lookin' like he's got a care in the world. As fat and sassy as he is, he won