It was the curse of being the best. Sometimes Clint would swear that every punk saddle-tramp with two whiskeys in his belly and a six-gun was throwing down on him. They were all looking for a big reputation, fast. What they got was a small piece of Boot Hill real estate. But now a mysterious shootist is looking for Clint. The evil sidewinder knows the shortest way to the Gunsmith is through his women. He's already gunned down two lovelies, and Clint isn't going to take it anymore. Whoever the miserable, lady-shooting cur is, Clint's going to find him... at the end of a bloody vengeance trail.