Cassidy could fan a gun like a Bill the Kid...Six rounds in three seconds was his slowest time. No one in the state of Texas could beat him.Until he met Slim Travennes, head of the Sandy Creek Vigilante Committee. Slim was snake-fast. No man could go up against him and live. No man.Hoppy could stand or die. He had no other choice. None at all.
the saloon he heard a snicker from behind him. He, thinking it was one of his late tormentors, paid no attention to it. Then a cynical, biting laugh stung him. He wheeled, to see Shorty leaning against a tree, a sneering leer on his flushed face. Shorty's right hand was suspended above his holster, hooked to his belt by the thumb-a favorite position of his when expecting trouble.
"One of yore reg'lar habits?" he drawled.
Jimmy began to dust himself in silence, but his lips were compressed to a thin white line.
"Does they hurt yu?" pursued the onlooker.
Jimmy looked up. "I heard tell that they make glue outen cayuses, sometimes," he remarked.
Shorty's eyes flashed. The loss of the horse had been rankling in his heart all day.
"Does they git yu frequent?" he asked. His voice sounded hard.
"Oh, `bout as frequent as yu lose a cayuse, I reckon," replied Jimmy hotly.
Shorty's hand streaked to his holster and Jimmy followed his lead. Jimmy's Colt was caught. He
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