Cassidy Yates was appointed deputy sheriff of Redemption City but such was his knack of attracting trouble that barely 24 hours after his appointment he had been slapped in jail!

And if that wasn't bad enough, Brett McBain's outlaw gang rode into town to bust Nathaniel McBain from jail. Sheriff Wishbone is killed and the townsfolk think Cassidy was responsible.

Now having been imprisoned for the murder of his own sheriff, Cassidy must prove his innocence and the only way to do this is to inflitrate Brett's gang. He must convince Brett he's an outlaw, and persuade everybody else that he's really an honest lawman.

Could he pull off his enormous bluff or would he join Sheriff Wishbone on Boot Hill?

Through narrowed eyes, Cassidy stared at the three playing cards clutched in his right hand.

He held an ace and two jacks, and with two aces included in the five hold cards on the table, he knew that his poker hand was strong.

After playing for two hours he could read the worried expressions of his three opponents, and knew that from the final deal, they didn't have anything to beat his hand. With everything being equal, he should risk betting whatever it took to win the pot.

Unfortunately, Cassidy knew everything wasn't equal. The sallow faced Jake Grounding, sitting on his left, was clearly colluding with the gaunt, balding George Rogers, sitting on his right, and Bill McGruder, sitting opposite, cheated all on his own. Cassidy watched Bill finger his cards, slowly moving each front card to the back, as he had each time that he'd swapped a card from his identical, secreted pack in the inside pocket of his short, heavily brocaded jacket.

Bill McGruder smirked, leant back in his chair, patted his ample stomach and, while staring at Cassidy over the top of his cards, muttered:

'We're all waiting for you, Cassidy. What you going to do?'

While pondering his next action, Cassidy adjusted his red bandanna, shuffled further into his buckskin jacket, and glanced around the room. He sat at a small, battered circular table by the wall, where his group of fellow card-players represented the only customers in Roger's Saloon tonight. This saloon was a dusty, starkly furnished, drinking establishment in the middle of Redemption City. Here, even late in the summer and with the sun still up, the room had an airy chill that only a permanent lack of patrons could bring.

Starved of entertainment, in a town singularly lacking in anything to interest a man who'd been on the trail from Beaver Ridge for six straight days, Cassidy had readily accepted Bill McGruder's offer to play poker. Despite the cheating, Cassidy had decided to stay, as having Bill try to steal his money was more entertaining than sitting on his own.

For the last time Cassidy glanced at his cards. Faced with such an obvious group of cheating opponents, he ought to fold. He was up ten dollars on the evening, but with a twenty-dollar pot, the highest so far, Cassidy felt temptation batter at him. Having made his decision, Cassidy favoured Bill with his most confident smile.

'I'm in too, show us what you've got,' he said.

After counting out, and throwing three dollars on to the table, Cassidy glared at Bill, waiting to see how far he'd dared to cheat. While fingering his neatly trimmed moustache, Bill licked his fat lips and with a flourish laid his cards down to a chorus of whistles from Jake and George as they stared at his six, seven and jack of hearts. Bill's cards, when combined with the nine and two of hearts in the hold cards, provided a good flush.

'Beats me,' George said, throwing his cards down.

'Yup, me too,' Jake said, throwing his cards on top of George's.

Wincing, Cassidy stared at his own cards, which included another, authentically dealt, jack of hearts. He'd previously considered Bill a practised cheat, but clearly, Cassidy had overestimated his abilities.

Thoughtfully, Cassidy stared at Jake and George, trying to judge if they were in league with Bill. Cassidy watched Jake lean over the table, staring at Bill's cards, as if by staring hard enough, he could suddenly make the heart flush become a worse hand, and George stared into space lost in his own thoughts. Unfortunately, Cassidy couldn't tell if their postures meant they knew what Bill had just done. In his thirty years, Cassidy had played many hands of poker, in many different towns, and encountered all manner of underhand dealing. Each occasion was different. He had to judge each situation on its merits, and this time he decided on caution; the pot wasn't high enough to complain about and he'd enjoyed his early evening's entertainment.

Smiling, Cassidy said, 'Beats me too, I'll call it a night.'

With a resigned wave of his hand, Cassidy threw his cards on top of the others, face down, and pushed from the table. Standing, he tinkled his profits into his pocket. Having come into Roger's Saloon down to his last five dollars, he could walk out with twelve. Cassidy judged this a good profit. He touched his fingers to his low-crowned Stetson, and swirled away. He felt ready now to seek a different saloon for the rest of his night's drinking in Redemption City, if such a dead-end place as this included another saloon.

When Cassidy had strolled half way to the door, from behind him, he heard Bill shout:

'What's this? You've been holding out on us.'

Instantly, Cassidy swivelled round to see Bill had turned over Cassidy's cards. Bill brandished both jacks of hearts, then slammed them down on the table, and glared at him, his jowls wobbling as he threw open his mouth in mock astonishment. Cassidy sighed, as Bill went even further down in his estimation. Successfully cheating was one matter, but this was stupidity.

Annoyed, Cassidy sauntered back, and leaning over the table, his face inches from Bill's, muttered: 'I'm surprised you want to let everyone know just what you've been up to.'

Leaning back in his chair, Bill glanced around the table at Jake and George, smirking at each in turn.

'What I've been doing is putting up with your cheating all evening. I reckon that as soon as you saw I'd the real jack of hearts in my hand, you couldn't let us know what you'd done, so you threw in your cards. Lucky I'd spotting you cheating earlier.'

After allowing his head to drop, Cassidy pushed himself from the table, and slowly turned to George.

'Bill here has a duplicate pack of cards in the inside pocket of his jacket.'

'You calling me a cheat?' Bill muttered.

'Nope,' Cassidy said, slowly turning his gaze back to Bill. 'I'm calling you a bad cheat.'

With his yellowing teeth bared, Bill whispered, 'Prove it.'

Carefully watching his every movement, Cassidy stared at Bill as he lifted his podgy hands, pressed his palms to his chest, and ran them gently down his jacket, smoothing the material flat to his rounded stomach. Not waiting for Bill to finish his actions, Cassidy nodded to himself, his suspicions were right, Bill was in league with Jake and George, and the duplicate pack had already changed hands.

Shaking his head, Cassidy muttered, 'You took a lot of trouble to try and trick me out of my last few dollars. You ought to choose the people you cheat with more care, if you want to make real money.'

George glared at him, and said, 'Forget the talk, I believe Bill, and you're not walking out of here with my money.'

Dismayed by the turn of events, Cassidy muttered, 'That's the way you treat strangers around these parts, is it?'

'Only the type we don't like, and we don't take kindly to cheats,' George said, staring deep into Cassidy's eyes.

With a sigh, Cassidy slowly slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out his twelve dollars, and slammed the coins on to the table.

'Will this compensate you?'

George smirked, and dashed a surprised looking glance at Jake and Bill.

'Sure will.'

The second George's scrawny hand pounced on the coins, Cassidy hit him with the back of his right hand across the cheek, the slap echoing around the empty saloon. With his left hand, he grabbed the table, launching it to his left to catch Jake full in the chest. As Bill staggered to his feet to avoid the spinning table, Cassidy grabbed his Colt Peacemaker from his holster, and with a swirl of his hand, set the barrel firmly on Bill.

With a practised gaze, Cassidy glanced at George and Jake rolling on the floor, making sure they didn't try anything more. Having seized control of the situation, Cassidy stared at Bill, and smiled.

'Now that things are a little clearer, what were you saying about cheating?'

With his feet set wide, Bill hissed, 'I said, you're a cheat.'

Cassidy gulped, he had no desire to kill, not in this situation.

'A twenty-dollar pot ain't worth dying for, Bill. Give me the last pot, and this goes no further.'

Squaring his stance, Bill muttered, 'Maybe there's only a twenty-dollar pot at stake, but this is worth dying for, when I won't be doing the dying.'

Simultaneously, he saw Bill's gaze flicker over his left shoulder, and from behind him, Cassidy heard a tell-tale click. Knowing exactly the location of the cocked gun, Cassidy spun round, falling to one knee as he turned to confuse his assailant, and found he stared directly at a gun, and behind the gun, a man with a star.

The man with the star glared at Cassidy.

'The name's Wishbone, Sheriff of Redemption City. Put your gun down, stranger, real slow, or die.'

After a quick glance over his shoulder, to make sure the other card players weren't about to attack him, Cassidy nodded. Although the sheriff was shorter than the medium-built Cassidy, and at least ten years older, with tufts of streaked grey hair poking from under his dark Stetson, the assurance in Wishbone's gaze convinced Cassidy that no one would cross him and live.

For a moment Cassidy stared at the sheriff's .45 and, keeping his movements deliberately slow, spun his Peacemaker on his finger. With the barrel pointed at his own chest, he placed his gun on the floor, then kicked it to Sheriff Wishbone. Still keeping his movements slow, Cassidy lifted both hands until they touched the brim of his Stetson. He knew the routine.

Sheriff Wishbone dropped to one knee and grabbed Cassidy's Peacemaker, all the time keeping his .45 trained on Cassidy. Then, stepping aside, he waved at Cassidy to follow him.

'He cheated us, tried to take everything we had,' Bill whined as Cassidy shuffled towards the Saloon doors.

'Of course, Bill, of course he did,' Sheriff Wishbone said, nodding at Bill. 'Lucky I came along when I did, before he took more than just your money.'

As he strode by Sheriff Wishbone, with his hands on his head, Cassidy said, 'I'm no cheat. I'm innocent.'

Sheriff Wishbone snorted, and pushed him forward a few paces with the toe of his boot. 'Course you are, and after a couple of nights in the cells to cool off, we'll no longer need to worry who was in the right.'

In surprise that they were leaving without Bill and the others, Cassidy asked, 'Ain't you going to arrest Bill?'

'Don't see him pointing no gun, because he knows my rules. Nobody threatens another man with more than their fists in my town.'

As he shuffled across the road to the sheriff's office diagonally opposite the Saloon, Cassidy allowed his head to drop in resignation, and muttered, 'Fair enough, I suppose.'

With this submission, Sheriff Wishbone, asked, 'What's your name, stranger?'

Standing outside the sheriff's office, Cassidy slowly took his hands from his Stetson, set them on his hips, and smiled at Sheriff Wishbone.

'I'm Cassidy Yates.'

Sheriff Wishbone narrowed his eyes. 'Cassidy? Where have I heard that name before?'

Cassidy laughed, his voice sounding a little hollow.

'Probably because Marshal Devine told you I was coming here.'

'Why would you know Marshal Devine?'

Smiling, while he appraised Sheriff Wishbone, Cassidy muttered:

'Because he sent me here to be your new deputy.'

This novel was my second completed Western.

I had written the first, Bad Night in Dirtwood Creek, with the intention of submitting to Robert Hale, the publishers of the Black Horse Western series. But in an act of stunning stupidity, I gave no thought to the standard length requirements of the series and ended up writing a novel which was over double the required length.

I abandoned the idea of submitting to Robert Hale and did get the novel e-published, where it hit the Internet a full 24 hours before the publisher went bust. Spurred on by this success, I put more thought into my second attempt — although I almost used the title for my fourth Black Horse novel and I still use parts of the evocative cover Pam-Marin Kingsley designed on my coming soon page.

I introduced two people who could become recurring Western characters :

Cassidy Yates — a resilient and dependable lawman with a knack of seeking out trouble.

And Nathaniel McBain — a loyal sidekick who will struggle to prove himself in the older and wiser man's eyes.

I started on a story involving them, but I increasingly became interested in how they met, which wasn't the story I was writing.

So, I went back in time and wrote a scene in which Cassidy meets a young Nathaniel while locked in his own jail cell. Why Cassidy and Nathaniel were there, I didn't know, but problems just had to occur. And they did when Nathaniel's outlaw father shoots a sheriff and Cassidy is in the worst possible place at the worst possible time.

Perhaps one day, I'll return to the novel I did intend to write.