No one in Rimrock knew the stranger's name.
He rode into town alone, dust on his coat and trouble in his eyes. By sundown he had already made enemies—men who believed Rimrock belonged to them and anyone who disagreed would be carried out boots first.
But the stranger didn't come to Rimrock looking for a fight.
He came looking for a man.
A man who thought the past was buried deep enough in the desert to stay there.
Now the saloon doors swing open, hands hover over six-guns, and the whole town waits to see who will draw first.
Because in Rimrock there's only one rule that matters.
When the stranger finally speaks his name…
somebody's going to die.
