IDLE HANDS   Always dependable, brothers Logan and Billy Cross have worked the same cattle drive since they were teenagers. Now that they’re men, their boss is retiring, and they’re out of a job. He sends them to Fort Pierre in the Dakota Territory, recommending they join up with a horse drive to Sturgis.   But the Crosses’ journey takes a dark turn when they enter a saloon to meet their prospective boss. After Billy foolishly smiles at someone else’s woman, he draws the ire of Quincy Morgan and his gang of outlaws. Soon the brothers will learn a valuable lesson—one that will be paid for in blood.... Praise for the Novels of Charles G. West   “Rarely has an author painted the great American West in strokes so bold, vivid, and true.”—Ralph Compton Charles G. West  is the author of numerous books, including  Trial at Fort Keogh , Wrath of the Savage , and Crow Creek Crossing . He lives in Ocala, Florida. His fascination with and respect for the pioneers who braved the wild frontier of the great American West inspire him to devote his full time to writing historical novels. A SORE LOSER SIGNET Chapter 1 “Here you go, boys!” Oscar Bradley called out as he approached the group of men waiting at the corner of the corral, their saddles and other gear on the ground beside it. “It’s payday.” He picked a saddle to sit on and set the leather bag, in which he kept his notebook, on the ground in front of him. “Like I told you when you signed on back in Ogallala, this is gonna be my last drive, and I promised I’d pay you a bonus if we made it here in less than twenty-three days.” He paused to look around at the expectant faces. “Well, we made it in twenty-one, with the cattle in good shape. But the price for cattle is down, so I ain’t gonna give you that bonus.” He paused again to witness the looks of shock and disappointment, but unable to play the joke out any further, he cracked, “I’m just joshin’ ya. I got top dollar for the cattle, but you oughta see the look on your faces.” The silence that had descended upon the drovers immediately erupted into a burst of cackling relief. “Like I said, you can each pick one horse outta this bunch in the corral, too. Now, who’s first?” “I reckon I am,” Smoky Lewis volunteered, and stepped forward. The cook on the drive, Smoky owned his chuck wagon and the team of horses that pulled it. He had a separate arrangement with Oscar, since he had come along as an independent contractor to do the cooking. “You might not really be japin’, so I’ll get my money before you run out.” His remark, made in jest, brought a few chuckles from the other men. Oscar Bradley was a fair man. Each of his drovers knew that he would lose money on the sale of the cattle before he would go back on his word to them. Their only regret was the fact that this was Oscar’s last drive. One by one, the men stepped up to receive their pay. Oscar marked each man’s name off in his notebook with his pencil and shook the man’s hand. He paused briefly when the Cross brothers stepped up. Billy, the younger, was first. He and his brother, Logan, had been working for Oscar since they were teenage boys, and they had proven to be his most dependable drovers. “I’m sorry I don’t have something else for you fellers, but like I told you, I’m headin’ back to Omaha to sit in a rockin’ chair on my daughter’s front porch. I know I’d sure as hell give you a good recommendation, if anybody was to ask me.” “Thanks, Oscar,” Logan replied. “What are you plannin’ to do, go back to Ogallala with the rest of the boys?” Oscar asked. “I reckon so,” Logan said. “We ain’t talked about doin’ anything else.” “Except gettin’ a drink of whiskey first thing,” Billy piped up. “That’s about as long as I wanna stay around this place.” He and Logan had already decided that there was no future for them in Fort Pierre. It seemed the only sensible thing for them to do was to return to Ogallala with the others in hopes of signing on with another cattleman. Herding cattle was all they knew. “Hang around till I get everybody paid,” Oscar said. “There’s a little somethin’ I’d like to run by you.” Billy glanced at his brother, and Logan responded with a shrug. “Sure thing, Oscar,” Logan said. “I’m gonna go throw my saddle on that flea-bitten gray standin’ over by the fence before somebody else has the same idea.” The gray had been his favorite and the one that he had most often ridden. It was the only one he had named, calling it Pepper. Having already set his sights on a buckskin, Billy followed him. After every man had selected a horse and saddled it, Smoky Lewis motioned to Logan and said, “We’re goin’ over to the Cattleman’s Saloon. You and Billy comin’?” “You go ahead,” Logan said. “We’ll be along.” When the others had gone, Oscar put his notebook away and picked up his leather bag. “I was talkin’ to a feller at the cattle sale, and he said he was lookin’ to hire a couple of men to help him drive some horses over to Sturgis in the Blac