At fifteen he joined the Confederate Army. By eighteen he had become a legend. His name was Dusty Fog: a man with a magic hand that could draw, shoot and hit his mark in less than a second. Dusty killed quick. His opponents died slow...slow getting their six-shooter clear of leather. In the wild, lawless west he was riding hell-bent for justice...to save a man from hanging, to catch a pair of killers, and to pay a bushwhacker with bullets from Texas’s fastest gun.
