The murder trail was eight years old when Jeff Carmody got out of Huntsville Prison and the only clue he had was the rowel of a broken spur he had found that night beside Clint Merriweather’s body. Booth Anson’s rambling Anvil range hemmed the tiny Merriweather ranch on all sides, but Clint’s widow, Anne, hung stubbornly on. Anson had killed to build his empire – his was a dead man’s range. But a woman stood in his way now – would he balk at killing a woman? That was when Carmody picked up his gun.