Publisher Description

In this new Ralph Compton Western, William "Bull" Kelly brings his five sons onto the cattle drive, but when rustlers stampede the herd and injure them, he'll do anything to protect his own.Over the past twenty years, William "Bull" Kelly acquired a reputation as one of the best ramrods in Texas. He has led legendary cattle drives to almost every railhead in the middle of the country. Most impressive of all, he once drove his herd all the way up to Montana. But after years of working for other people, he decided to run cattle on his own, with his five sons.Everything starts off fine, but when a group of cattle thieves try to stampede the herd, some of Kelly's sons are hurt in the melee. The rustlers quickly find out that Kelly isn't called "Bull" because he insists on riding at the head of the herd. He's called "Bull" because of his skill with the harsh whip coiled on his belt.

Author Biography

Ralph Compton stood six foot eight without his boots. He worked as a musician, a radio announcer, a songwriter, and a newspaper columnist. His first novel, The Goodnight Trail, was a finalist for the Western Writers of America Medicine Pipe Bearer Award for best debut novel. He was the USA Today bestselling author of the Trail of the Gunfighter series, the Border Empire series, the Sundown Riders series, and the Trail Drive series, among others.

Terrence P. McCauley is an award-winning writer of westerns, crime fiction, and thrillers. His western Where the Bullets Fly won the True West Magazine Award for Best Mass-Market Novel for 2019. He is the author of the acclaimed University Series, which includes The Fairfax Incident. He has also written two award-winning novels set in 1930s New York City: Prohibition and Slow Burn.

Excerpt from Book

Chapter One At that precise moment on that fine spring morning, William "Bull" Kelly figured he was probably the happiest man in Texas. He had just made the last payment on the ranch that would forge his dynasty. As of ten minutes earlier, the ranch he had spent years paying off was entirely and legally his. He had spent a fair portion of his life driving cattle to markets up north. Kansas. Nebraska. Even Montana on occasion. Cattle that had belonged to other men. Cattle that had made other men rich. Kelly and his beloved Mary had been scrimping and saving every cent for decades to provide for their five sons and keep their own small ranch running. And now the day they had dreamed of together for so long had finally come. He only wished Mary had lived long enough to see it. He looked up to toward the sky, where he expected his departed wife to be, and said, "We did it, girl. I only wish you were beside me to see it with your own eyes." He blinked away a tear and dried his nose on his sleeve as the weight of it all finally hit him. Now the aging Irishman could finally make his lifelong dream a reality. He and his five sons could set about driving the three thousand herd of cattle he had amassed north to the market at Dodge City and sell it to the highest bidder. This early in the drive season-early April-and with cattle going for twenty-five dollars a head, he would make a tidy profit for his boys to start their new lives in the cattle business. After all of those years of making other men rich, it was finally time to have something of his own. Free and clear of all debts. With his beloved Mary now gone, his sons'' future was all that mattered to him. He knew she would live as long as they did. Jacob and James and Jeremiah and Joel and Joshua. Their mother had named them all, as he had been on the trail when each boy came into the world. She had kept their names biblical, and in honor of her own father, John, back in the old country, had used the initial J for each boy. Kelly had known her father and did not think the old miser was worth the memory, but Mary did, and her happiness was all that had ever mattered to him. He hoped she would be happy now. He wiped another tear on his sleeve and tucked the deed to his ranch into his coat pocket. He knew a man of his age was a fool to be taking three thousand head of cattle north to market in Kansas, but William Kelly had never been accused of being a practical man. He had not acquired the name "Bull" for nothing. He knew a man in his position should take the easy part of the trail for a change. Maybe riding in the chuck wagon with Concho, his friend and the outfit''s cook. But age was only a number to William Kelly. He had seen many a gray-haired old man act like a child and many a boy be more of a man than expected. His exact age was a mystery, even to himself, but he imagined he was somewhere in his middle fifties. He imagined it was all written down in the parish church back in Ballinamuck, but he had never been curious enough to find out when he had still lived there. And he had no intention of going back after all of these years. Besides, his mind had never been sharper than it was at that moment and he could not remember a time when he felt quite as strong as he did now, not even during all of those years earning saddle sores and sleeping outdoors at the whim of the elements. Back then, he had been working for someone else. This time, he would be the head of his own outfit and his own herd with his own boys riding with him. He was working for himself and for their future. That was a feeling to savor at any age. As he walked to his horse, he could feel summer was in the air, but so was the windy chill of a mild spring. The men who owned farms near his ranch fretted about the effect a cold spring might have on their crops. It was a fear he had grown up with. Kelly''s father back in Ireland had been a farmer and all of his brothers were still farmers. But a life tied to a plot of land owned by another had never held much appeal to William Kelly, which was why he had set out early in life to see the world with his own two eyes. And he had seen enough to fill ten lifetimes. Perhaps too much. No, he only cared about the grass along the trail being green and tall enough to keep his herd well fed on the way to Dodge City. Kelly knew one drive would not make a dynasty, but it was an important first step in making the Kelly name mean something in this new world called America. Kelly ignored the ache in his bones as he walked toward the hitching rail, where his black Morgan mare stood waiting. He knew the townspeople were looking at him oddly as he set one foot in the stirrup and climbed atop the large animal. Many men told him a man of his experience should know better than to take such a large beast on the trail. The Morgan was not as swift as some of the other breeds of horses he could have chosen for the drive. He knew that was true. But Bull Kelly had never won anything based on being the fastest or the most practical. Everything he had earned in this world had been won through his own sweat and determination. His own instinct. Determination had kept him alive on the prison ship to the hell that was Fremantle. Cunning had helped win his freedom and had steeled him and Concho during their long voyage to America. His instinct had kept him and the Spaniard alive on the streets of Boston and helped him send money back home to Mary in Texas while he worked the cow trails that snaked their way north from Texas. Determination for a better future had made him endure all of the obstacles life had thrown down before him. And in his bones, Bull Kelly knew he was destined for greater glory in this life and the next. The few chuckles of the townspeople died away as they watched Kelly mount the great black mare and bring her around with ease. They stopped laughing altogether when they saw the coiled bullwhip tied to his belt by a tong. Several beasts-and more than a few men-over the years had made the mistake of believing the bullwhip was just a gimmick, but soon learned the error of their belief when he cut loose with it. Years of practice and bitter experience had made the whip an extension of Kelly''s hand. Twelve feet of kangaroo hide with a metal popper on the end gave the weapon a sinister look. His skill in wielding it made it as deadly as any pistol; perhaps even deadlier. For fear or rushing a shot made it easy for a man to miss a shot in a gunfight. Bull Kelly''s whip never missed. The story behind the whip-and the circumstances under which he had obtained it-would have been hard for most men to believe had he ever chosen to tell it. But some things were best kept to oneself, especially the most horrible things. Kelly rode the big Morgan he had named Morgan for the sake of simplicity down the street toward the general store, where his sons and Concho were gathering the final supplies for the trail ahead. He had hired ten hands to help with the drive. Combined with him, Jacob, James, Jeremiah, Joel, and Joshua, he thought that number would be sufficient. Concho''s cooking would be a welcome way for the McCabe outfit to wake up in the morning and wind down at night after a long day in the saddle. As he approached the general store, Kelly saw four of his boys helping Concho load sacks of supplies into the wagon. Jacob, James, Jeremiah, Joel, and Joshua could have been twins had ten months or so not separated each of their births. The boys were younger images of him, all standing just shy of six feet tall with lean frames. He was glad they had inherited their mother''s fine features and thick black hair but bore the blue eyes he had given them. They were all good, hardworking boys, too, another quality they had inherited from their mother back while he was riding the trail to support the family. The sight of the four of them there in front of the general store working hard to load the wagon made him proud. And, much to his disappointment, the notion that one boy was missing did not surprise him in the least. Kelly pulled up the horse beside the wagon. "How''s it coming, boys?" "Just fine, Pa," said Jacob. At twenty-five, he was the oldest of the brothers and the quietest. "We''ll be done here before you know it." Kelly looked at Concho, who many people mistakenly took for a Mexican. Given that this was Texas, it was a forgivable mistake to make except for Concho. The Spaniard used to fight men for making the assumption, but like Kelly, the years had mellowed him to the point where he allowed most slights to pass. "Where''s James?" Kelly asked his old friend in Spanish. They had always spoken to each other in Concho''s native language once Kelly had managed to pick it up. "Where do you think?" Concho nodded toward a saloon farther down the street. An ancient wooden sign swung above the door in the gentle morning breeze. It was called the Golden Dream Saloon. Kelly had been expecting that. His second-born was the most capable of all his sons. The best-looking, the brightest, and the most affable. The one Kelly boy who had inherited all of his mother''s finest qualities and all of his father''s worst vices. A

Description for Sales People

There are more than 8 million copies of Ralph Compton books in print. A repackaged, fresh look at a classic Western. There are more than 8 million copies of Ralph Compton books in print. Part of Berkley's revival of the Compton brand, with more stories to come. Written by award-winning author Terrence McCauley, under the Compton brand.

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