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Franklin Dockin was more than a West Texas cattleman and landowner of thousands of acres. He was a pioneer, a leader and tough. He loved his land, his high caliber horses and cattle. But life was not easy for him and had dealt a difficult hand many times. The results led him to believe having a family of his own wasn’t an option. His ranch hands were like family and no doubt were the reason he was good natured about their starting to call him Pap on his 40th birthday. The nickname stuck. But nobody, nobody, had better call him old man or they would surely regret it.
Pap’s large spread was partially separated from his neighbor Zell Davis, by a patch of land belonging to an absentee owner in Kansas City. Zell was a consistent festering thorn in his side. The two of them once ran a cattle operation together but had a serious falling out and hadn’t gotten along since. Zell was full of contempt and anger, but he always backed off before starting a range war.
In the absence of nearby lawmen, Pap had enforced the law to its full extent for years. In his own way he was fair, but he pulled no punches. If the Saint Maker didn’t resolve it, a gun did. Unfortunately, things were about to go rapidly downhill. Pap was going to be seriously challenged by not only Zell Davis, but the arrival of the owner of the patch and his pregnant wife. Hired guns would drift in making their presence known, employed by Zell. The beautiful female owner of a transport and freight company comes to town with news Pap would never have dreamed possible, which would dictate a new way of approaching some situations. Renegade Indians, stolen cattle, a widespread fire, and an idiot marshal would plague Pap Dockin. That, combined with increased Zell Davis treachery, his patience would surely run out.
