Calhoon

Ten seconds, thought Calhoon. Just ten little seconds. That's all it will take. Long enough for me to say my name. Long enough for him to remember. Because I want him to know me. And I want him to know, too, that he will die.
Calhoon had ridden all the way from South Carolina to Texas looking for the man who had tortured him. Vengeance was his obsession. No one, nothing mattered to him—except to seek out and destroy his enemy. And a man driven by that kind of hate means trouble. Bad trouble. For everybody.