THERE'S A RUTHLESS KILLER LOOSE IN COCHISE COUNTY Jonas Cane is a peace officer with a problem; he has a gift that allows him to anticipate what others are doing. The gift has allowed him to become the fastest draw in the west; however, it has come with a price--painful headaches... and fragmented dreams. Evil has come to the Arizona Territory and Cane's power seems to be ineffective in tracking down a deranged killer. Welcome to the mining town of Bisbee in Cochise County of the Arizona Territory. It's 1881 and Bisbee is located 25 miles south of Tombstone, the county seat. While Tombstone has its difficulties with character clashes between the Cowboys and the Earps, Bisbee is not without its problems. A few months prior to the shootout at Tombstone in an alley near the O.K. Corral, Bisbee had to deal with the most sinister madman the west has ever, or will ever know. It is up to Deputy U.S. Marshal Jonas Cane to keep the peace and bring a criminal to justice. Can he do it? Will he do it? An Excerpt from the Book: "Look, I'm putting my gun on the bar." Cane slowly drew his single action Army Colt Peacemaker from its holster and laid it gently on the counter. Smilin' Jack Rawlings, the barkeep and owner of the Bisbee Queen Saloon, wasn't smiling. Even his dapper handlebar mustache seemed to droop somewhat at the ends. A little ray of sunlight filtered through the front window and landed on the wax at the tight ends of his whiskers while he held the terrible urge to urinate. Petrified with fear and needing to pee, it almost made him look like a wax figure. He stared across the bar counter at Marshal Jonas Cane and a drunk Sandy O'Sullivan. The saloon was empty except for the three men-- and the body of Douglas Fry lying near O'Sullivan's feet. All the other patrons had cleared out of the saloon until Cane arrived. Seven men and two prostitutes peaked into the windows and doors to watch Cane bring O'Sullivan in... or watch O'Sullivan hurt or kill Cane. "Marshal," shouted O'Sullivan, rolling his R with an Irish brogue that was thick enough when he was sober, but drunk, was even more unintelligible to the untrained ear, having the consistency of a double batch of cornbread batter. 'Yah reckon there be courage enough in yeh ta take me in? 'Cause without yeer gun, boy-o, yeh be wee as the little people me dad told me of when I was a wee one." O'Sullivan rocked on his huge feet in his drunken stupor. At six feet, ten inches in height, he towered above everyone in the Arizona Territory. He was not merely a tall man; he also had some girth about him; and with his dark beard, he looked very much like a giant from the fairy tales. He was bull strong, yet gentle as a first year lamb-- except when he got a few shots of rye in him. Jonas Cane was six feet tall, yet he looked "wee" indeed as he stood before O'Sullivan.