Spenser O'Connor's luck has finally run out.

After years of riding with Kirk Morton's outlaw gang, he's been caught and slammed in Beaver Ridge jail. The noose beckons. Then two bounty hunters, Nat McBain and Clifford Trantor, offer him a choice — die at dawn or help us track down Kirk Morton.

Not surprisingly, Spenser chooses to help them.

But this unlikely team soon discovers that Kirk is an ornery and ruthless quarry. Worse, they're not the only ones after him and other bounty hunters will stop at nothing to capture Kirk.

When the bullets start flying from all directions, it isn't long before Spenser wonders if the noose might have been the better choice.

Nat McBain strode into the jailer's office with Clifford Trantor at his side.

As the condemned prisoners' voices echoed in the office, he grabbed Clifford's arm, spinning him around.

'This is a bad idea,' Nat said. 'Let's find another way.'

Clifford shrugged away Nat's hand.

'Yeah, I know your view,' Clifford said, rubbing his shoulder. 'But my shoulder's all mended and I ain't wasting any more time. Either you're with me or you ain't.'

Nat rubbed his forehead and sighed.

'I suppose I'm with you,' Nat snarled. 'But I still don't agree with this.'

Clifford nodded and gestured to the jailer, a tall man with hair turning grey, Rory Johnson.

With a bemused glare, Rory threw open a cupboard beside the door to the condemned prisoners' wing.

Nat and Clifford unhooked their gunbelts and swung them inside the cupboard.

Once Rory had locked the cupboard, he frisked them. Then he rummaged through his collection of keys and unlocked the door.

Beyond the door there was a long corridor with cells along on both sides. An acrid smell hit Nat with an almost solid force. He took a deep breath and followed Rory down the corridor.

Rory maintained a steady pace. He swung his keys and whistled. The sound didn't mask the incessant noise. He alternated turning left and right to sneer in at the cells' occupants.

As he passed each cell, the prisoners jumped off their bunks and dashed to the fronts of their cells. They rattled tin trays against the bars, spat at Rory, and yelled oaths and taunts. Their noise created a wave of solid abuse, drowning out the individual words.

Outside the final cell, Rory stopped and stood to one side.

'This him?' Nat asked, peering into the dank cell.

Rory nodded and glanced through the bars of the door leading from the corridor. A short corridor was beyond, which led to a platform and a noose. Rory sighed.

'You want to speak to him through the bars?'

Nat glanced at Clifford, who shook his head.

'Nope,' Clifford said, 'we'll go in.'

'Your loss,' Rory said with a shrug. 'If he does anything, holler, and I'll get you out. Ain't promising that you'll still be alive, but I'll get you out.'

Clifford smiled. 'I understand, but from what I hear, he ain't that much trouble.'

Rory laughed. With a shake of his head, he rattled open the door.

While Clifford strode into the small cell, Nat stood in the entrance and Rory wandered down the corridor.

The prisoner sat on his bunk, the cell's only furniture, with his knees drawn up to his chin, showing none of the ruthlessness that Rory had said he had. He stared at the floor, his eyes so deep set they were invisible in the poor light. He was haggard, his clothes hanging from his thin frame.

With his arms folded, Clifford waited and eventually the prisoner looked up at him.

'Evening,' Clifford said, 'you'd be Spenser O'Connor.'

The prisoner, Spenser, rubbed his angular bristled chin and grinned at Clifford.

'Might be,' Spenser said, with a slow drawl. 'Depends who wants to see me.'

'The name's Clifford Trantor.' Clifford gestured back. 'And this is Nathaniel McBain.'

Spenser shrugged. 'Ain't one for formal introductions.'

'We guessed that.'

'You ain't lawyers or guards or priests.' Spenser sighed. 'So I'm guessing you're here to ask me what I want for my last meal.'

'I can do that if you want.'

Spenser sneered. 'I ain't ready to order it yet.'

'When will you be ready?'

'Twenty years will be about right.' Spenser widened his eyes, providing a slight gleam in the reflected light. 'Thirty will be better.'

Clifford chuckled. 'Might be offering you that.'

Spenser's grin died and he narrowed his eyes.

'Don't taunt me,' he said, his voice tired beyond his years. 'Go away or I'll show you why I'm in Beaver Ridge jail.'

'Ain't here to taunt you.'

'Then what are you here for?'

'I'm here to talk to you.'

Spenser glanced around his small cell. He released his legs to swing them down to the floor, running them through some rotted strands of straw. With his hands behind his head, he leaned against the cell wall.

'Guess as I ain't doing much,' he said, puffing out his chest, 'so I'm listening.'

Clifford unfolded his arms and walked a short pace to look down at the condemned prisoner.

'From what I hear, you're swinging from a noose at dawn, but if you help me, it don't have to be like that.'

'You offering me a pardon?'

Clifford laughed. 'Dead men don't get pardons.'

'Then what are you offering?'

'A chance of living beyond tomorrow, if you've got the sense to take it.'

'You offering that out of the goodness of your heart?'

'Nope. You'll live beyond tomorrow if you lead us to someone.'

Spenser nodded and spat from the corner of his mouth.

'Should have recognized the type. You're bounty hunters.'

'Yup. We're the best.'

'Then I ain't interested.'

With Spenser lowering his head, Clifford glanced at Nat and nodded.

Nat sauntered forward and stood beside Clifford.

'You're lying,' Nat muttered. 'We're offering to get you out of here.'

Spenser looked up, a small smile on his face.

'You're joking. Two bounty hunters can't get me out of a condemned cell.'

'These ones can.'

Spenser chuckled, nodding his head from side to side.

'All right, I'll choose to believe you. Who are you after?'

Nat tipped back his hat and turned. He strode a pace to lean on the bars.

'Kirk Morton,' Nat said.

Spenser laughed, the laughter growing into prolonged guffawing.

'Thanks,' Spenser said, fighting back his laughter while holding his stomach in a parody of extreme mirth. 'Dying men don't get many chances to laugh. I'm thankful for that.'

'This ain't a laughing matter. We're offering you freedom in return for helping us find Kirk Morton.'

Spenser ran his tongue around his lips, suppressing his chuckles. He spat on the floor and shook his head.

'You are serious, aren't you?'

'Sure am.'

'Figures. Finding Kirk Morton is about the only thing that could keep a man like me from the noose.'

'So, do we have a deal?'

Spenser grinned and stretched back on his bunk.

From the front of the cell, Nat heard for the first time the insistent dripping of water from the ceiling into the cell.

Spenser ran his tongue around his lips.

'No deal.'

Nat took a deep breath and opened his mouth to argue, but Clifford patted him on the shoulder and he closed his mouth. They backed to the cell door.

Once Nat was outside, Clifford gestured to Rory and waited in the doorway until the jailer returned. Then Clifford sauntered from the cell and leaned on the bars as Rory locked the cell.

When the cell was secure, Clifford glared at Spenser through the bars until he looked up.

'My young friend's offer is genuine and still available, Spenser. Tomorrow you'll be dangling on the end of a short rope. Are you interested in a way out?'

Spenser sighed. 'I'm guessing you ain't come up against Kirk Morton.'

'I have, and that's why I'm dealing with the likes of you, but I've tracked some of the most ornery outlaws over half the states and Kirk ain't the worst of them. He's just the one with the best price.'

'You're wrong,' Spenser said with a shiver despite the oppressive heat. 'Given the choice of death or crossing Kirk, I'll choose death. Any man who gets on the wrong side of him will spend his last days wishing he hadn't.'

'I ain't believing that. Any man would sooner take a chance on life rather than die. Death tomorrow or come with me are your choices. Whatever you say, I'm offering you the better option. It's your choice. What do you say?'

Spenser stood from his bunk and stalked to the front of the cell. He leaned on the bars, stretching, and stared at Clifford, his hooded eyes bright.

'Still no deal.'

Clifford shrugged and turned on his heel. He stared into the cell opposite to Spenser's.

The inmate glanced up and spat on the floor.

'Evening, Sam,' Clifford said.

When Clifford received nothing in return but a glare, he turned to Spenser.

'He a friend of yours?' Spenser said.

Clifford nodded and dawdled from the cell. He had passed the edge of the cell when Spenser coughed.

With a deliberate stamp of his feet, Clifford stopped. He turned and leaned back to look in the cell.

'You trying to get my attention?'

Spenser stared at the floor and spat down.

'You say that you're taking in Kirk for the bounty?'

'Yup. He's coming in dead or alive.'

Spenser nodded. 'And if I help, I avoid the noose and leave here permanently?'

'That was the deal.'

'Perhaps I was hasty,' Spenser said with a long sigh.

'Perhaps you were, but you ain't listening.' Clifford grinned. 'That was the deal. You turned it down and so I'm leaving. But I'll ask the guards to find out what you want for your last meal.'

'You what?' Spenser roared, slamming his fist against the bars.

Clifford ignored him and strode down the corridor after Nat and Rory, braving the tunnel of abuse and spit. From behind, Spenser's oaths merged into the other prisoners' torrent of curses.

Once they'd closed the door to the condemned cells, Nat turned to Clifford and shrugged.

'Got to ask you,' Nat said. 'Why turn him down? He was ready to help us.'

'True, but he ain't as motivated as I want him to be.'

Nat batted dregs of spit from his clothes.

'If you want to go back in there to get him more motivated, you're doing it on your own.'

Clifford shrugged. 'Don't panic. We'll let him sleep on it. In the morning he'll have reached the right level of motivation.'

My first two novels were about Cassidy Yates and Nathaniel McBain, but Nathaniel's only function had been to assist Cassidy.

So, to give Nathaniel some breathing space and find out what he could do when Cassidy wasn't ordering him around, I packed Cassidy off an a mission for a while.

Curiously, Nathaniel immediately became bored with the lawman's life, resigned his badge, and took up with a ruthless bounty hunter.

And his wrong decision didn't end there as the bounty hunter encourages Nathaniel to toy with the dark side so that by the end of the book, Nathaniel appears to have made too many bad choices and burned too many bridges, but whether he has, will have to wait.