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Wells Fargo's top detective, Clay Nash, was transporting a wounded outlaw to San Antonio when he came across the town of Saguaro Flats. Immediately he sensed that the town was hiding a sinister secret. Marshal Mace Tanner ran things with a firm hand, and was not above cold-blooded murder when it suited him. That put him and Clay at loggerheads straight away.

Clay suspected that the town was involved in the smuggling of impoverished Mexicans across the Rio Grande, where wealthy cattle barons could exploit them as cheap labor. Before he could do anything about it, however, he had to prove it.

Technically, it wasn't any of Clay's business. But he'd just helped two Mexicans, Manuel and Rosa Alvarez, to cross the big river into the United States, and he hated like hell to think that he might have inadvertently condemned them to a life of pain, misery, starvation and ultimately … death.

Clay Nash hadn't made many mistakes in his long career as Wells Fargo's top detective. But when he busted Shell Shannon from jail because he needed the man's help in solving a case, he should have expected a double-cross.

When Shannon lit out on him, Clay always knew he would have to hunt the man down again, even though he'd saved Clay's life before hitting the trail.

Now the time had come.

Shannon was cutting a bloody trail through the Brazos country with his lethal Remington-Hepworth rifle, cutting down innocent men from up to half a mile away to get his hands on a fortune in gold.

So Clay cleaned and reloaded his guns and set out to bring Shannon to justice once and for all.

When is a stage hold-up not a stage hold-up?

It was a question Wells Fargo's top detective, Clay Nash, had to wrestle with.

The only answer he could come up with was that the hold-up was just cover for something else. But what? The murder of an inoffensive little Mexican carrying a bag full of documents?

As unlikely as it sounded, it was the only thing that made sense. But to confirm his suspicion, Clay had to track down the robbers … and that was easier said than done.

He thought they might have signed on with a trail crew pushing a herd of cattle to the town of Freedom. So Clay went undercover and joined the drive.

Now all he had to do was identify the outlaws … and discover why the little Mexican had to die!

Emmett Bodie and his gang of cutthroats hit the Cripple Creek to Aspen Falls train just as hard as they could. They took $60,000 from the Wells Fargo car and left a trail of dead men behind them.

But when Clay Nash finally tracked the gang down, all but $10,000 of the money had apparently vanished into thin air …

From then on, finding the missing money became an obsession with Clay –one that quickly put him at odds with his boss, Jim Hume, and put his career as Wells Fargo's top detective in jeopardy.

Finally, when Bodie escaped Clay's custody during an attempt to escape from a lynch mob, Clay became a man nobody could rely on … and nobody wanted around!

The Jarvess bunch had a hard reputation. Over the years Old Man Jarvess and his sons, Tag and Chet, had robbed and slaughtered their way right across the territory. And they kept the proceeds from their robberies hidden away high up in the hills, where only they could ever get at it.

Until Cody Mann came along …

Cody was every bit as villainous as the Jarvess bunch, and when he found the Old Man shot full of holes and dying fast, his first priority was to get the location of the hideout. The answer came in the form of a riddle, and before he could solve it, Clay Nash, Wells Fargo's top agent, clapped a set of manacles on him.

To help a distraught woman and her crippled husband, however, Clay had to trust Cody Mann to take him to the loot. And trusting Cody Mann was a bit like trusting a hungry bobcat …

A mysterious gang of cutthroats hit the Wells Fargo way-station at the Pueblo River Crossing and stole a valuable cargo before vanishing back into the night. That was bad enough. But among the dead men they left behind them was an old friend of Clay Nash – and for Clay, Wells Fargo's top operative, that made it personal.

But the stolen shipment had belonged to the Army, so retrieving it and dealing with the outlaws was deemed to be Army business. Clay was told to keep his nose out of it.

Anyone who knew him knew he'd take no notice of that. He felt obligated to settle things with the men who’d murdered his friend, so working freelance, he tracked them right into the heart of Indian Territory to bring justice to that lawless land.

Trouble was, Clay Nash himself was being tracked as well, all the way to a mystery destination known only as Shiloh …

Clay Nash sat back in his chair, dropped his hands to his knees, and studied Coe's expression. "I want an assistant. Someone to help me. But he must be the toughest, meanest son of a bitch this side of the Rockies. I don't mean no trigger-crazy killer. I mean a real ornery bastard - but one with brains. He's got to be a good shot and not afraid to get a little blood on his hands - if he has to work in close and use a knife. He's got to know how to survive in rugged country, mountains or desert, afoot, without food or water to weigh him down. And, when he does have a hoss, he's gotta be able to ride like the wind, just by his knees while he works his shooting-iron, or with the reins in his teeth. Most of all, he's gotta be operatin' pretty close to this neck of the woods. I've only got a few days, mebbe a week at the outside, to find him." He paused to let his words sink in, then added: "Know anyone who'd fit the bill?"

Coe reached for his whisky and tossed it down in a single gulp. "Hombre you want is Shell Shannon."

"Where'll I find him? I don't have the time to do much huntin'."

Coe smiled thinly. "Won't have to. He's in jail."

What do you do when your partner reveals a mean streak a mile wide? When he blinds a man in a barroom brawl and shows no remorse? When he shoots and kills three civilians in his pursuit of an outlaw and thinks that was a price worth paying so long as he caught the bad guy?

Clay Nash knew exactly what he had to do, and he hated it!

Because only a bullet could end the continuing violence of a Wells Fargo man turned rogue. And even though that man was his friend, Clay still knew he had to pull the trigger.

Moss Dooley's gang hit the stage just within the shadows of Hangman's Spur. Men died, the coach crashed ... and its cargo of fifty thousand dollars vanished. Only trouble was, no one knew just where it had gone!

The job of tracking it down — and trying to prove the innocence of the prime suspect — went to Clay Nash, Wells Fargo's top troubleshooter. But every lead he followed ended up going nowhere.

The only fact that remained constant throughout the whole investigation was Hangman's Spur, a towering mountain range with a bad reputation.

Clay decided the secret would be found somewhere up on those rocky slopes — but that was when the killing really began in earnest!

When Abe Calloway pulled off a seemingly impossible robbery and relieved Wells Fargo of $50,000, the company came close to ruin. The money had to be found, and pronto ... but that was easier said than done. Calloway had five accomplices, and they had all split up and gone in different directions. Which one had the money?

Jim Hume sent his top operative, Clay Nash, to find out. But his trail was dogged by a vengeance-hungry lawman who would stop at nothing to get even with the man who killed his brother.

Before it was over, Clay would suffer the most brutal punishment, but that was the thing about Clay Nash; when he set out to finish a job, only hot lead would stop him!

Larry Holbrook was just a kid, sixteen, if that. He knew little of the world, but even he knew it was a bad idea to throw in with an owlhoot like Sundance Harmer. It was sure to end badly, and it did with the cold-blooded murder of an innocent Wells Fargo worker. After that, there was no going back for Larry; he was trapped.

FIRST IN A SPECIAL TWO-BOOK STORY FEATURING THE TOUGHEST WELLS FARGO AGENT IN THE WEST!

Wells Fargo troubleshooter Clay Nash was on his way to solve one crime when he became embroiled in another. Someone knocked over the Wells Fargo office and stole a cool ten thousand dollars in hard cash. By a strange coincidence, the trail seemed to point to Nitro Mantell, the outlaw Clay had been planning to go after for the Squirrel Creek bank robbery. But somehow the pieces just didn't seem to fit. How could Nitro have been in both places at once? Who slipped Clay a Mickey Finn and who strangled the saloon girl who could have supplied all the answers?

Clay Nash and his neighbor Cash Matthews were never going to be friends.

Matthews was a big, powerful rancher who always wanted more. Clay was just a homesteader, content with his lot. But when Matthews went after Clay's land—and fenced off the water Clay's cattle needed in order to survive—Clay had no choice but to declare war. It was a foolish gesture that could only end one way, and it did—with Matthews sentencing Clay to a long, lingering death on the high desert. But somehow Clay survived, and when he came back for revenge, he was a new man, a harder man, a man who showed no mercy to his enemies.

Clay Nash was Wells Fargo's secret weapon … an undercover gun.

The yellow-haired bandit was as cold as ice water.

To prove it, he shot his partners down in cold blood after the stage robbery was over. Worse than that, in the eyes of Wells Fargo detective Clay Nash, he shot and came close to killing or crippling Nash's friend, Roarin' Dick Magee. Clay wanted to catch the outlaw before he killed again, but the trail ahead of him had more twists and turns than an angry snake. Even when he finally brought the killer to justice, he was by no means sure he'd caught the right man …

It was Clay's toughest assignment yet, and one he was by no means sure he'd survive.

Folks looked upon Clint Christian as a kind of Robin Hood.

The kind of outlaw who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. They couldn't have been more wrong. Christian was a cold-hearted killer who was sacrifice anything–and anyone–to get what he wanted.

When he pulled off a seemingly impossibly robbery and left a pile of bodies behind him, Wells Fargo detective Clay Nash figured to be the one who brought Christian to book. One of the victims had been a friend of Clay's, and that made it personal.

But Clay's boss, Jim Hume, wanted Christian brought in alive, to hang for his crimes. And to guarantee just that, he partnered Clay with Dakota Haines, a shotgun-wielding range detective who was willing to play even dirtier than the man they were out to catch.

Clay Nash went undercover with orders to infiltrate the gang of a cold-blooded outlaw named Zach Forrester. To do that, he assumed the identity of a dead man. But from the very start, nothing about his mission went right. To begin with, Clay's trail crossed that of an enemy from his past who was still itching to get revenge for an old score. Then he wound up behind bars, mistaken for the outlaw he was pretending to be. And then Zach Forrester broke him out of jail, figuring he was an old friend from Yuma Pen. That was enough to tip the balance altogether … against Wells Fargo's toughest troubleshooter!

When Wells Fargo decided to run a stage route between Deadwood and Shiloh, no one could have predicted the bloodbath that would follow. Company men were beaten, shot and often killed. Passengers were harassed and on at least one occasion, a woman was raped by masked assailants. All kinds of sabotage went on and the damage ran into the tens of thousands of dollars.

Clearly, someone out there didn't want Wells Fargo using that route–but who? And why?

It started out as a drunken prank … but when one man died and his fellow passengers aboard the Tucson-Tombstone stage were involved in a devastating crash, it was no laughing matter. Wells Fargo's top troubleshooter, Clay Nash, was dispatched to find the cowboys responsible, and uncovered a criminal enterprise that might otherwise have gone undetected.

When Clay Nash rode into Socorro he found a town in fear. The local lawman had been shot dead and two rival trail crews, each one just about as tough as tacks, were coming in to paint the town red. To make matters worse, a proddy gunfighter named Considine was around, and because he was known to get mean when drunk, he might just be the flame that touched off an already explosive situation.