Standing out in front of the Elkhorn National Bank, unshaven, his black hair beginning to curl at his neck, his clothing about as badly worn as that of any of the trail riders who’d come up with him from Texas, Emmett Kane definitely did not look like a man who had a bank draft for twelve thousand dollars in his shirt pocket. It was no surprise that Madge Wilson offered him a job as a ranch hand. What was a surprise was when a cowboy warned him not to take the job.