Justice Comes at a Price (Preview)


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Chapter One

Jimmy Malo woke up an hour before dawn with his stomach rumbling… not from hunger, but from fear. He lay there in his bunk, staring into the darkness, listening to the snores of three outlaws.

What had he gotten himself into? In a few hours, they were supposed to enter a small town called Caswell and rob the Wells Fargo office.

He’d never stolen so much as a gumball from the mercantile store. Now he was set to become an accomplice to armed robbery…or worse.

He sighed into the darkness.

At least it’s for a good cause. And if we get caught, I hope the judge sees it that way, too.

Swinging his feet to the floor, Jimmy stood up, stretched, and shuffled over to the stove, where he struck a match, lit the lamp, and built a fire.

Then, he stepped outside to water a tree. The moon was low in the sky, seeming to dive for cover behind the horizon as the first gray light of dawn seeped into the world.

“I don’t blame you one bit, little fella, for not wanting to stick around today,” he said to the moon.

His business with the tree finished, Jimmy zipped up his jeans and stumbled back toward the log cabin, glancing at the huge, looming pine trees surrounding it. This was Oregon State, and they grew thick and tall.

He was putting a scoop of coffee into the pot when Al Trewlinski, a young man about his own age, plopped down onto a chair at the table.

“Good man!” Al said with a goofy grin, his curly brown hair askew—but not askew enough to hide the jug ears poking out from beneath it. “Thanks for puttin’ the coffee on, James. Why’re you up so early?”

Jimmy had told the gang that his name was James Marat, knowing if they discovered his real identity, there would be trouble. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbled, putting the lid on the coffee pot and trying to hide the nervous tremble in his hands.

Al squinted at him in the lamplight, looking like a bewildered mouse. Then he put on his round, wire-rimmed spectacles and Jimmy knew the world had come into focus. “Nervous about the job today?”

Jimmy wasn’t about to tell him that he was scared. It might compromise his membership in the gang—and he needed to be here until he’d accomplished what he set out to do. “I’m okay. How’re you doin’?”

“Never been better,” Al said with another grin. He always seemed happy, even at such an early hour of the morning. This puzzled Jimmy. What was it about the gang life that Al liked so much?

He took a seat across the table from him. The two were only a couple of years apart in age. Jimmy was older, having recently turned twenty.

He watched his friend pulling at his unruly curls, trying to tame the morning tangles. “Maybe if you cut that mess shorter it wouldn’t give you so much trouble,” he suggested with a wry look.

“Maybe,” Al said with shrug, “but the ladies like it this way.”

“They do, huh?” Jimmy asked skeptically.

“Yep. Whenever we stop at the bordello, the girls are always playing with my curls and saying they wish they had my hair.” Al smirked salaciously.

The bordello? Does this gang do everything together?

Jimmy had never been inside one of those establishments, although he’d danced with a saloon girl once and she might’ve been a prostitute. He didn’t ask her, being a shy person by nature. At any rate, he’d only wanted a dance that night, nothing more.

He’d never had a real sweetheart. Not even in school. There’d been a few girls who were sweet on him but none ever sparked him the way he figured a girl should spark a man. That is, none of them had caused him to want to take the plunge into the whole rigmarole of courtship.

Along the way he’d danced with a couple, stolen a kiss or two. That was enough for now. When he met the right girl, he’d know it. Then there’d be some courting. He had more important business to attend to right now.

After putting a bit of cold water into the coffee to settle the grounds, Jimmy poured himself a cup and sat down. Al did the same, gulping at the scalding liquid like it was mother’s milk.

The next man out of bed was Karl Pederson, the “foreman” of the gang, as he called himself. Karl shuffled into the lamplight, a stout, burly man in his mid-thirties with a lantern jaw and brown eyes so dark they looked black. “You two whelps are up mighty early. Ready to go to work today?”

“You bet, Karl,” Al chirped brightly—too brightly for Jimmy’s liking.

How can he be so gung-ho at this time of the morning?

“Good to hear it, Trewlinski,” Karl said. He turned his gaze on Jimmy. “How ‘bout you, Marat? You ready?”

“Any more ready and I couldn’t stand it,” he replied with all the bravado he could muster. His insides were jumping nervous, however.

The palaver with Al had distracted him and calmed him down a bit before Karl got up. Now, the reality of the day’s work was hitting him in the stomach once again.

“You’ll be the lookout for this holdup,” the foreman said to him. “Think you can handle it?”

“No problem,” Jimmy replied, feeling a small trickle of relief. Being lookout might help to hide his nervousness and inexperience from the others.

The fourth member of the team, Yarley Kangas, snorted loudly in his bunk, gave a hacking cough, then spit on the floor and sat up.

Al glanced over his shoulder at him then turned back to Jimmy. “The old man’s up… last out of bed, as usual.”

Yarley was around sixty years old, a veteran outlaw. His bushy, salt-and-pepper mustache dominated a pudgy face, above which drooped a pair of hound dog eyes.

The sad-looking eyes were the opposite of the man’s character, however. Yarley had a sharp, dry sense of humor, which he employed frequently.

“Coffee’s ready,” Jimmy called to him.

“Thanks,” he replied, putting his feet slowly to the floor and tugging his boots on with a grunt of effort. “Body’s feelin’ stiffer than a board today. Hope you made it strong.”

“Strong enough to put a spring in your step.”

“Hah! That’d take a miracle, son. You wait… someday, if you get old enough, you’ll know what I mean,” he cackled, standing up and walking toward the door in his underpants. “Save me a cup of that mud all the same, will ya?”

“Will do,” Jimmy said. He glanced at Karl, sitting next to Al and gulping down his second cup. “What did he mean if I get old enough?”

“Most fellas in our line of work don’t make it that far, unless they’re one of the lucky ones like Yarley. He’s probably dodged more bullets than you an’ I ever fired in our life.”

“Sooner or later it’s got to catch up with a man,” Al said thoughtfully.

“Sure it does. Just don’t be talkin’ like that when the old man’s around. It might make him skittish,” Karl replied.

“Him? I don’t think he’s got a skittish bone in his body.”

“He’s a tough old bird, no doubt about that,” the foreman conceded.

The door opened and Yarley shuffled back inside. Going over to the stove, he filled a cup, then plopped down at the table. “Weather’s lookin’ good for the job today.”

“Yup. We’ll set out right after breakfast,” said Karl.

Jimmy’s stomach churned with anxiety as he stared into the black grounds at the bottom of his cup.


The day was fair and warm as they rode toward Caswell, a prosperous logging town some ten miles from the cabin. Although it was almost summer, the peaks of distant mountains were still white-capped with snow.

Around eleven o’clock, three of the gang entered the town on their horses. Yarley, driving the buckboard, would come into Caswell a few minutes behind them to avoid attracting too much attention. Then he’d wait at the rear of the Wells Fargo office, keeping a second lookout and ready for the spoils of the heist to be loaded into the wagon.

The gang had been given a tip about a strongbox on the site, which was said to contain a large number of valuables, including gold. This was their main target—along with any petty cash they could scoop up from the clerk, of course.

Jimmy had been briefed in more detail about his role: Once inside, he’d lock the front door and keep watch for anyone trying to enter, alerting Karl and Al if someone approached the door or took an undue interest in what was happening inside.

It was simple enough but seemed fraught with danger, as if anything could happen. What if a sheriff or deputy happened by on the street and noticed what was going on? Would a gun battle start… with him in the middle of it? Jimmy had never even seen a gun battle, let alone been in one.

His mouth felt dry, his body tense as they rode up to the office and tied their horses at the hitching rail. The street wasn’t busy and no one seemed to be paying them any mind, which gave him a bit of relief.

Caswell was forty miles from his hometown of Thielsen Falls. It was in the same county, however, and it was possible he might be recognized.

I hope this is over quick and no one gets hurt.

Swallowing hard, he followed Karl and Al through the door. The only person inside the room was a thin, mild-mannered-looking clerk. He was standing behind a counter and glanced up at them as they came in, eyes fixing upon each in turn.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Sure hope so,” Karl replied, walking briskly toward the counter with Al, both of them drawing their pistols in unison.

The clerk’s eyes went wide.

Jimmy stood by the door, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of fear and fascination. With shaking hands, he had immediately locked the door once they were inside. Al had cased the office a week prior and told him about the simple bolt that needed to be slid into place.

“We’re here for the strongbox,” Karl said to the clerk. “Where is it?”

“No box here. All I’ve got is some cash under the counter.”

“Okay, we’ll start with that. You move real slow now, Mr. Clerk, give us that cash then show us where the box is.”

“Alright, alright,” the man replied in an irritated tone, reaching slowly under the counter.

His hand suddenly jerked up, holding a pistol aimed at Karl, and a deafening explosion of gunpowder filled the room. The window next to Jimmy shattered, sending pieces of glass falling to the floor.

Jimmy froze in terror and time seemed to slow down. He watched a stab of flame shoot from Karl’s pistol barrel, the gun bucking in his hand.

The clerk was thrown violently against the wall by the impact of the bullet, then slid to the floor where he lay without moving.

“Damn fool had to play the hero, didn’t ya?” Karl muttered as gunsmoke drifted toward the ceiling. “Get the cash, Trewlinski. I’ll look for the box.”


Karl glanced toward the door. “All clear, Marat?”

Still shocked by the sudden explosion of lethal violence, it took an effort for Jimmy to get the words out. “Yessir,” he croaked.

The foreman stared at him for a moment, then turned and walked behind the counter. Al was filling a canvas bag with money.

Jimmy stared out the window, trying to act casual and not throw up from the sick feeling that gripped his stomach.

He noticed a couple men standing across the street. They were looking toward the Wells Fargo office, jabbering at each other and gesturing with their hands. The sight barely registered in Jimmy’s dazed mind. He was thinking about the shot clerk lying on the floor.

Is he dead?

Karl’s voice called out, “I’ve got the box! Let’s go, Marat.”

Jimmy turned and walked quickly across the office toward the back door, broken glass crunching under his boots. Passing by the clerk, he stole a glance and saw a pool of blood around the body. The face was pale, eyes wide open with a surprised stare like the dead man had seen a ghost.

“Shit,” Jimmy muttered. He turned quickly away and helped Al carry the strongbox out into the alley, where Yarley was waiting with the buckboard.

Chapter Two

Jacques Malo sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands, listening to his wife weeping in their bedroom. Even with the door closed, the sound of her mourning was loud in his ears, fusing with the grief and regret in his own heart.

I never should have kicked him out of the house! Matty was just a boy. Even if the law said he was a man, I shouldn’t have done it.

His arms fell onto the tabletop. Head resting upon his chest, he sat hunched over in the chair.

Their older son was dead, and now their other son had run off to find out who killed him.

Please God, mon Dieu. Keep Jimmy safe… bring him back to us.

Jacques lifted his head and stared at the bedroom door for a moment. The sound of his wife’s grief had stopped—paused. It always started up again. For many days now, Belle Malo had refused to eat or leave their bed. Nothing he said or did helped.

Bowing his head again, Jacques felt thankful she didn’t know  Jimmy had joined the gang that killed Matty. If Belle found out, he knew it would make her condition even worse.

He’d tried to convince the boy not to take this reckless action, begged him not to do it, saying if Jimmy got killed too, it would put his poor mother in her grave. She was suffering so much now as it was.

But Jimmy was convinced he must try. Jacques remembered how he’d looked as he’d said this: determined and resolute, his face set like a flint stone.

When the sheriff had told Jimmy there was nothing the law could do about it—it was a gang war and gang members would get killed—his son had taken it upon himself personally to do something.

Jimmy believed it would help Belle to come out of her grief if Matty’s killer was brought to justice.

He and Jacques had argued fiercely but quietly, so that Belle would not hear them. Finally, Jacques had relented. What else could he do? There was no stopping the boy.

He’d only asked that Belle must never know about it until the plan had succeeded. For now, they would tell her that Jimmy had gone to work in a lumber camp to earn money for the family. They would tell the people of Thielsen Falls the same thing. This way, hopefully, what he’d really done wouldn’t get back to Belle until it was all over.

Jimmy had agreed. He didn’t want to hurt his mother by loading more worry on top of her grief.

The two of them had shaken hands and Jacques had hugged his son close. He’d never been one for hugging his sons, despite being a Frenchman who grew up in Normandy. In this American culture where they lived, it seemed these displays of affection were reserved for the women of the family, if at all.

So the Frenchman had become more reserved, even among his own kin. He regretted this now that Matty had died, and he wanted to be sure Jimmy knew how much he loved him.

Tears had welled up in his eyes as he had embraced his son that day. He’d let them flow freely, telling Jimmy that he loved him. The boy had seemed grateful for his support, saying it meant a lot to him.

A smile appeared on Jacques’ face now as he remembered that day. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his Gallic nose, then ran a hand through his black curls.

It was left for him alone to worry about Jimmy’s fate, and he was fine with that. It was a burden he was glad to bear if it would protect his wife. He prayed every day for their boy, for his safety and success in his mission. He prayed that what Jimmy was doing would not be discovered and make its way back to the ears of Belle.


The gang rode quickly out of Caswell after the robbery, keeping an eye on their back trail for signs of pursuit. After several miles, they slowed the pace.

“Looks like we’re good for now; nobody’s following us,” Karl said. He threw a glance at Jimmy. “You did okay back there, kid. Glad you didn’t piss yourself when I shot that clerk.”

Jimmy wondered if Karl realized how terrified he had truly been, or if the foreman was just razzing him. He hadn’t known him long enough to tell the difference.

“Thanks, Karl. Like you said, that fool got what was coming to him. He never should’ve went for his gun.”

“Damn right, he shouldn’t have. Wells Fargo is payin’ the guy peanuts and he goes and gets himself killed like that… for what?” The outlaw shook his head in disgust.

“Maybe he was gettin’ bonus pay to protect whatever’s in this strongbox?” Yarley called from the driver’s seat of the buckboard. “Give a man an extra dime per hour and he figures those are fightin’ wages.”

“Sure, but with two pistols pointed at him?” Karl replied incredulously. “That’d be a sucker’s bet even for Wild Bill Hickok.”

“And he weren’t no Hickok, that’s for sure,” Al added.

Yarley turned in the driver’s seat and threw him a glance. “And how would you know that, young feller? You ever see Wild Bill in action?”

Al looked embarrassed. “Well… no. But I’ve heard the stories, same as we all have.”

They rode on in silence for a while. There was no sound but the rattle of the buckboard, the occasional call of a bird, or the jangle of a spur.

Jimmy’s thoughts turned to his brother. Here he was, riding with the same gang that murdered him. He wondered if one of these men around him today had done the deed. It was certainly possible, and the thought made him feel uneasy.

Poor Mathias. Soon as you hit twenty-one, Papa kicked you out of the house.

Just a few days later, Matty had joined up with the Andersen Boys, a new gang operating in the county. This hadn’t come as much of a surprise to Jimmy or anybody else.

Matty had always been the wild boy of the family. Jimmy had heard their father say many times, “That boy runs to trouble like a river to low ground.” Jimmy was known as the obedient son. Mathias was a born troublemaker.

Whatever their parents told him to do, Matty seemed to do the opposite. If they said, “Be good,” then he was bad. If Ma threw up her hands and cried out, “I don’t care what you do!” then Matty would have one of his rare episodes of good behavior—just long enough to exasperate her.

Whether he did it on purpose or not, Jimmy didn’t know, but he knew it surely did frustrate their mother. That much was obvious.

Papa Malo, for his part, tried to beat the troublemaker out of Matty with the switch. This was a thin, supple branch that stung like blazes when he whipped their backsides with it.

It didn’t work on Matty. The punishment just seemed to make him more determined to be contrary. Jacques gave up after a few years, realizing the effort was futile.

Jimmy heard him saying to their mother: “It no good, Belle. It just no use!” Then he cracked the branch over his knee and threw it clear across the room.

He never gave up whipping Jimmy, though, and this hadn’t seemed fair to him at the time. He’d wondered why Matty should get off the hook and not him.

It was only now—long past the whipping years—that he realized why: It was because the switch actually did what it was intended to do. The sting of it gave him a painful reason to be good, lest Papa Malo pick up that stick and lay into him again.

Nothing made Matty behave except a chance to be contrary.

Thinking back on it now, Jimmy couldn’t blame their folks for kicking his brother out when he reached twenty-one.

Jacques was just as exasperated as Belle was with their prodigal son. They loved Matty, Jimmy knew that. They just didn’t know what to do with him.

When his brother joined the gang, the family began to hear about his escapades via the gossip around town. “The Andersen Boys held up a stage,” then “they robbed a bank over in Jacobsville,” folks said.

Belle Malo had borne up well at first. Even when the ladies at the sewing circle shamed her about Matty, she’d held her head high and refused to let it break her spirit.

But when the gang war started in the county, the situation began to take its toll. Belle and Jacques started to argue more and more. Jimmy could tell they were troubled and worried about Matty.

A rival gang, the Toimintas, had begun to battle the Andersen Boys for territory, and gang members were killed on both sides. Belle said she had a bad feeling about Matty—she knew something was going to happen to him.

Jimmy and his father tried to keep the rumors away from her, but inevitably she would hear things and this caused her to worry even more.

And then came that day in Thielsen Falls, Jimmy remembered sadly.

It was a day seared upon his memory like a hot brand.

He had driven the buckboard into town to buy supplies. After setting the brake in front of the mercantile store, he heard an argument inside the saloon across the street.

It seemed like several men were yelling at each other.

The door of the saloon burst open and Jimmy saw two rough-looking characters leading Matty out into the street. One of them pulled a gun and ordered him onto his horse while the other mounted up.

As they rode out, Matty turned his head and saw Jimmy standing next to the wagon. Their eyes met for a moment, and Jimmy knew he would never forget that terrible, haunted look on his brother’s face.

It had all happened so fast. He’d felt totally helpless standing there alone, unarmed, not even carrying a pocket knife… just watching Matty being kidnapped right before his eyes.

A second group of men had come out of the saloon then, talking in low tones and gawking at the three riders as they disappeared down the street.

Jimmy had plucked up his courage and went over to ask what happened.

Someone had recognized him and explained that Matty had gotten into an argument with two members of the rival gang. It had escalated quickly, and the Toimintas dragged him out of the saloon.

“Sorry about that, Jimmy,” one of the men had said sheepishly.

“Why didn’t you do something?” he’d replied, feeling frustrated with his own lack of courage as well as theirs.

There was no answer.

Turning on his heels, Jimmy ran to the sheriff’s office, a block down the street. He’d found Sheriff Hardwicke sitting at his desk doing some paperwork.

A tall, powerfully built man in his late thirties, the lawman was unimpressed when he heard about the kidnapping.

“It’s a gang war, Jimmy, these kinds of things are gonna happen. I can’t get in the middle of it. If your brother’s lucky, maybe he’ll escape and kill a couple Toimintas in the process. We’d all be better off.”

Jimmy had been shocked by the sheriff’s attitude. It seemed like Hardwicke didn’t really care if Matty lived or died.

Without another word, he had stormed out of the office and gone back to the mercantile, thinking about what this news would do to his mother when she heard it…

“What’re you daydreaming about, James?” Al’s voice said, breaking into his memories and bringing him back to the present.

He looked over at the outlaw. “Oh… I was just thinking about my ma.”

“You miss her?”

“Sometimes,” Jimmy admitted.

“Well… at least you know who your mother is. I never even met mine.”


Al looked at the other outlaws to see whether they were listening to the conversation. Then he continued in a low voice, “I grew up in an orphanage in Portland. My folks gave me up after I was born and I don’t remember ‘em.”

“Maybe you’ll find them someday?”

“Not likely. I asked the staff at the orphanage about ‘em but they said they weren’t allowed to give me any information.” He paused. “My folks didn’t wanna know me—and they made damn sure I couldn’t find them.”

“Sorry about that, Al.”

He shrugged. “When I ran away from the place, I looked for ‘em, but I finally gave up. What’s the point? I don’t even know if I’ve got the same last name, so it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.” He gave a humorless chuckle.

“What did you do after that?” Jimmy asked.

“Worked in Portland till I could buy a decent horse. Then I made my way here to the interior, lookin’ for some new scenery. That’s when I lucked out and bumped into Karl in a saloon one day. Ended up joining the Toimintas.”

Lucked out”? More like you drew a bad card.

“You like this kind of work?” he asked Al, trying to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“Hell yeah. Don’t you?”

“Depends on what’s in that strongbox,” he said, glancing toward the wagon in an effort to change the subject. “Depends on what the split is, too.”

“The split’s the same for most jobs: forty percent to us and sixty to the Axe and his brother.”

“Fair enough.”

Jimmy had sometimes heard the outlaws talk about the reclusive leader of the gang. Now he decided to press Al for more information. “Where does this Axe fella live?”

“The guys say he’s got a shack somewhere in the deep woods north of here. Karl’s the only one who knows where it is exactly, besides Axe’s brother, Toivo. Once in a while, Toivo will come by the hideout to bring us orders or to pick up his and Axe’s share of the take.”

“Does Axe always stay out of sight?”

“Pretty much. He plans the jobs and gives the orders. Toivo and us do the rest. That’s why he calls the gang ‘Toimintas.’ It means ‘actions’ in Finnish. We put Axe’s plans into action. Get it?

“Karl says they’ve got a nasty pack of bloodhounds where they live,” Al continued. “The dogs let ‘em know if anybody’s coming near the place.”

Is Axe the one who ordered Matty’s death? Or did the guys who kidnapped him do it on their own account? Jimmy wondered.

Chapter Three

The sun shone warmly on Axel ‘the Axe’ Peltomaki’s large belly as he leaned back in his chair against the cabin wall. Gently stroking the chicken in his lap, he looked at the bloodhounds gathered before him. There were five of them, tongues lolling from their mouths as they eyed the bird, which bobbed its head nervously.

“There, there, little one,” Axe cooed, “Don’t fear, you’ll be out of your misery soon.”

He stood and stretched out his arms, holding the bird before the pack. It fluttered in fear, sensing the danger as Axe squeezed it tight between his pudgy hands.

“Which one of you will be the lucky one today? Hmm?” he said to the pack. “Mutti? Sami? Are you hungry?”

A couple of the animals whined in anticipation, shifting their feet, eyes locked on the prey. But they knew not to move until the master gave the signal.

Suddenly, a stream of guano squirted from the terrified chicken, landing on Axe’s bare feet. “Stupid bird!” he squealed. “Get away from me!” He threw the chicken into the air above the pack.

The hounds leaped into action.

The one who jumped quickest closed its teeth on the bird’s wing. As it came down, its closest competitor grabbed the other wing, ripping it off the chicken in an instant. Blood spurted from the body, sending the pack into a killing frenzy.

Axe stood on the veranda watching them with a lopsided grin on his face, oblivious now to the feces on his feet.

“Good work!” he squealed in delight as feathers flew in all directions, drifting on the breeze. Smiling while the dogs devoured their prey, he said, “You’re all in fine form today.”

After a minute, he sat back down in the chair. Axel Peltomaki was an obese man of forty, double-chinned and balding with a few tufts of long brown hair fluttering about his ears.

His most marked characteristic, however, was his cruelty. To those who knew him, it seemed to almost ooze from his skin. Simply put, Axel Peltomaki liked to cause pain to anyone or anything—as long as this didn’t include himself.

It was to that purpose he’d built the large chicken coop behind the cabin. He and his brother kept the birds to cook and eat, but the greater number were used as fodder for Axe’s daily sport of throwing them to his dogs.

He told himself that this activity was to keep the pack’s killing instincts sharp, for he was an avid hunter. The true reason, however, was to provide him with the sight of blood and suffering. He needed a daily dose of it to feel good about life.

“Justice Comes at a Price” is an Amazon Best-Selling novel, check it out here!

Jimmy Malo is living the life of a simple farmer until a war between outlaw gangs results in the murder of his brother. To avenge the death of his dear brother, he devises a plan to infiltrate the gang and discover the killer. The plan is too dangerous, and he has no experience in such things, but the boy is determined to bring the murderer to justice… no matter the cost.

He is walking on a tightrope…

Al Trewlinski, a young orphan turned outlaw, is Jimmy’s sole friend in the gang. When the gang’s reclusive leader starts having suspicions, they escape and take refuge at a safe house. Soon though the boys have to flee again as the gang is on their trail!

In a race against time to save their lives, how long can they last?

Determined to stop hiding, Jimmy suggests one last desperate move; he and Al will quit running and set up an ambush against their pursuers. Can two young lads defeat such dangerous outlaws? Or will Jimmy’s thirst for revenge be their undoing?

“Justice Comes at a Price” is a historical adventure novel of approximately 80,000 words. No cliffhangers, only pure unadulterated action.

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4 thoughts on “Justice Comes at a Price (Preview)”

  1. This is the old west.
    I like western stories.
    My father loved cowboy movies!
    So I learned about cowboys in life early.
    Your books would make great movies!
    I am female.But like these stories!

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