He was fifteen when the Civil War started, nineteen when it ended. His parents were dead by then, their farm sold for the taxes. The girl he loved had married a boy he hated. Nothing seemed right.

So he headed for Texas with a disreputable old snake oil peddler and a beautiful blonde with a jealous husband and a dangerous secret that could get them all killed. 

Even though he had ridden with Quantrill and Bloody Bill, he was not like the others. Many of them were not the only bushwhackers who flourished during the war. Men just like them had waved the Union flag and used it to cloak their crimes, and now that the fighting was over not all of them would be content to lay down their arms and return to their former pursuits. Some, like their southern counterparts, would become outlaws. Many on both sides had never been anything else, and for them the war had just been a continuation of a life of lawlessness and violence. Now they would use the unsettled conditions in the wake of the war to camouflage their activities.

Of course, many would go west, especially to Texas. For years men had been going to Texas who were wanted or not wanted in other states. There was a well-known saying— “Gone to Texas.” It usually applied to men who had gone there a jump ahead of the law.