Седьмой выпуск серии "Библиотека вестерна" представляет произведения, отражающие все богатство форм этого жанра: скорострельный вестерн-боевик, вестерн-сага, вестерн-детектив и лирико-психологический вестерн, которые в совокупности своей создают многокрасочную картину времен освоения Дикого Запада.

His face was burned to the color of old leather, and I guessed he was the type that spent a lot of time on a golf course, or maybe a tennis court. We talked a little about the weather and how hot it was, and then I hung up the hose and went to work on the windshield. That was when I got my first good look at the woman. And she just about took my breath away. Originally published in 1955.

A Room with a View... of the Morgue!

A SIX-GUN SHOWDOWN EXPLODED OVER THE WEST'S RICHEST OIL FIELD.  (Clay Randall is a Pseudonym of Clifton Adams)

 He played high, loose and recklessly with the most dangerous partner—Death. His guns could stop anything but a woman's lie!

To most Texans, Wolf Garnett was a notorious outlaw: a man to be feared. To Frank Gault, he was a relentless obsession: a man to be killed. Gault had spent more than a year tracking him, out to revenge the brutal, senseless murder of his young wife. And now Wolf Garnett was dead. At least everyone who should know - even the outlaw's sister - agreed that the rotting corpse just buried in the New Boston cemetery was Wolf Garnett. But Frank Gault wasn't satisfied. How could he have seen Garnett in Indian territory four days earlier if he'd been dead for two weeks? Why did the county's iron-fisted sheriff deliberately arrange for him to ride out of town unarmed? And why did the whole...

Born to violence,bred in Courage--his gun thrustthe frontier West. 

He came forward slowly, in that curious toe-heel gait that Indians have. With a big left hand, he grabbed Marta by the hair and jerked her half out of the chair. I hit him in the face and pulled Marta behind me. “Keep your damn hands off her if you want to go on living,” I said. He was surprised. The next thing I knew his gun was coming out of the holster. I made my grab and didn't bother to aim. I didn't hit him. I didn't even come close. But I didn't need that first bullet. Just the muzzle blast. And the Indian knew it. His mouth flew open as he slammed back under the impact, and before he could swing that pistol on me again,...

Tall's temper is hotter than forked lightning with the cinch off; and the only thing faster is his gun. With those two things working for him he finds himself outside the law, a target for every gunslinger trying to build himself a killer's name in the canyon country. Here is a real western, as authentic as sage brush, as crammed with action as a man-fighting bronc, and a story that will hog-tie and hold your interest from the first paragraph.