Tucked back in a northerly loop of the Cimarron, Jubilation was the last respectable waterin' hole within 300 miles, and the rules of its 27 saloons were simple: a man was expected to pay for what he bought and do no more damage than he could cover with the cash in his poke. But to the Wednesday Ladies Reading Circle, uptown Jubilation was an abomination. And Kansas had just voted dry.

Iron Jack Fuller bossed Jubilation's whoopy-juice mills with hired muscle and hot lead. As far as he knew, any change in uptown rules had as much chance as a snowball in Dante's down under. But he hadn't figgered on the grit of a pretty schoolma'am from Illinois, or the prodigal talents of the West's most unexpected munitions expert. When the time came to strap on the six-guns and take a stand, the biggest explosion to hit Kansas was just seconds away. And no matter what happened after that, the best little town for a drinkin' man would never be the same again.