Smoke Jensen sat in a cave and boiled the last of his coffee. He figured he was in Idaho-somewhere south of Montpelier-but he was certain about only two things: he was cold and he was being hunted by a small army of men. Smoke knew why he was cold-it was winter. He just didn’t have a clear idea of why anyone was after him.
He was soon to find out that he’d unwittingly ridden into the middle of the fiercest range war in years. Now he had to either choose sides or return home across the back of a horse. Smoke had never taken kindly to being bullied. . .so when Jud Vale and his cutthroat gang started pushing him around, Smoke Jensen just pushed right back.