Western Writers of America 2022 Spur Award Finalist A rancher discovers just how many times a man's luck can hold out in this thrilling novel in the bestselling Trail Drive Series After struggling for years to work a raw-patch ranch in the arid flatlands of Texas, young Mitchell Newland learns that his herd of scrubby range cattle will fetch ten times their local price if they're driven to Montana. He strikes a one-sided deal with the devil, neighboring rancher Corliss Bilks, to back his play with cattle, men, and horses. The trail brims with hellish hardship: prairie fire, stampede, flooded rivers, hailstorms, rattlers, sickness, long, broiling days and frigid nights. Halfway to Montana, range pirates and a rogue Apache war party close in. Mitch and the boys fight, grim and helpless, watching as their herd is driven westward in a cloud of dust and cackling laughter. Cut down to two bloodied men, Mitch collapses, far too late, and admits the old man has won the bet. But salvation in the form of a Basque sheepherder revives Mitch and his pal, Drover Joe, and Mitch realizes he isn't done. Not by a long shot. And now he has nothing to lose. 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. Matthew P. Mayo is a Western Writers of America Spur Award winner and a Western Fictioneers Peacemaker Award finalist. His short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies and his many novels include the Westerns Winters' War, Wrong Town, Hot Lead, Cold Heart, Dead Man's Ranch, Tucker's Reckoning, The Hunted , and Shotgun Charlie . He contributes to several popular series of Western and adventure novels. Chapter One The bulge-eyed Texas longhorn snorted, her muscled red shoulders bunching and quivering in counterpoint to her skittering eyes and heaving, lathered rib cage. Flecks of white foam dripped from her trembling mouth. But it was the beast's foot-and-a-half-long mismatched horns that Mitchell Newland kept an eye on. She jerked her head and offered him a jaunty wag. "If I wanted to cause you grief, missy, I'd have dosed you with a lead pill long ago. Maybe I should have at that, but your mama was ol' Broody Ethel, and Pa would never have forgiven me if I laid low one of her bloodline." Somehow that got through to her, and the belligerent beast eased her post-legged stance and swung her head back toward the clot of scrub brush behind her. Past her shoulder, Mitch caught a glimpse of what he had expected to see-a tiny red-and-white mottled face with drooped ears peering around the spiny branches. "Good mama." The young rancher eased his black gelding, Champ, three, then four cautious steps backward, but then the horse balked. "Let's give her space. She's doing what we'd want her to, after all, was a coyote to come along intent on molesting her calf." If Champ understood or cared about what Mitch was saying, he didn't let on, and he didn't budge another step. Mitch dug harder with his heels. The horse offered a low snort, then gave in and they eased back, sidestepping until they were at a distance safe enough should the ornery young mother change her mind. "My word," said Mitch, rubbing his sweat-stained fawn hat back and forth on his head. "Was a few minutes there I thought maybe we were going to have to duke it out. And you"-he patted the horse's neck-"you big lummox, all but let me down back there. What's gotten into the critters on the Twin N spread this morning?" Mitch half-smiled and gave a look around, as if someone on the scrub-and-sand plain might catch him nattering away. Conversing with himself was a habit he'd had most of his twenty-three years, and one his pap, Jakey Newland, had encouraged. "You go right ahead talking to you and yours. You meet better people that way, son," he'd say with a wink. "Don't know about that, Pap," said Mitch, resuming his one-sided conversation. "But I can tell you the only other person who doesn't think it's odd is Evie. She is, as you said long ago, a keeper, and I'm pretty certain she feels that way about me, too. Only trouble is, I can't in good conscience ask her to marry up with me if this ranch limps along. We need rain, money, and more of both. In that order. But I'll settle for two out of three." Mitch looked up at the morning's wide blue sky and sighed. His gaze fixed on the worn, flat trail before him, dust kicked up by a gust, carrying off whatever useful dirt the Twin N had left. Nope, Pap hadn't left much. Despite that, Mitch felt something deep inside for the place. A warmth different from the sun's unceasing heat driving down, day on da