SHADOW of the MOGOLLON RIMBeing a Texas Ranger had its rewardsthough they were few and far betweenbut after twelve long and lonely years on horseback tracking down and arresting what seemed like an endless number of ruthless, cold-blooded fugitives from justice, Clint Wells had had enough. By the grace of God, he had survived the hardships and dangers of his job. At thirty-seven years of ageand feeling several years olderthe time had finally come to hang up his reliable Colt revolver, surrender the tarnished silver badge, and head further west.The Arizona Territory had its own brand of special lawmen, the Arizona Rangers, and they needed Clints priceless experience. If they got their way, he would not be hanging up his six-shooter anytime soon.The year was 1892; the place was central Arizonaand the wonderful smell of late spring was in the air.
