Winner Take None

Can a 14-year-old orphan out-con a heartless bunch of rustlers, hustlers and railroad thugs?

When Deuter Seebea loses his family and only friend on the way to Oregon in 1879, he has no place to go, and nobody to turn to. He flees his friend’s murderer and ends up in Railstop, a shantytown in Montana Territory that’s populated by ne’er-do-wells, shady ladies—and a maniacal cat named MaryBelle.

Deuter quickly learns the hard way that if he wants something done, he’ll have to do it himself—and watch his own back. He soon discovers that the conniving residents built Railstop directly in the path of the approaching FI&R Railroad line for the sole purpose of extorting a windfall settlement. When the payoff finally comes, however, it’s every man, woman, and cat for themselves in a ruthless—and hilarious—quest for wealth, glory, and hootch whiskey.

Winner take all, or winner take none, Deuter is willing to fight and scheme for his unfair share of the spoils.

“An in-your-face, authentic take on the wild, Wild West! Comer’s sensuous writing drew me in as if the story was a movie. The Queen’s English is mixed with pioneer vernacular to create hilarious metaphors that lighten this tale of greed, corruption, and survival mentality. As the railroad plows over the land, imposing ‘Intimate Domain’ for the cause of ‘Man’s Infest Destiny,’ the story becomes a fun, fast-paced read.” —Sheri S. Levy, author, Seven Days to Goodbye “Greg Comer slices up a Montana-sized claim for the reader’s pleasure, with hardscrabble, larger-than-life characters who are perfectly captured in all their unscrupulous glory. The gritty dialog propels Deuter, Hogbottom, and the rest of the Railstop gang on a one-way track to ill-gotten gains by crash-landing into a railroad that’s scheduled to run through the black-humored heart of this colorful pioneer town.” —Jennifer Leeper, author, Padre: The Narrowing Path

When my father was sixteen, he leased an acre of Forest Service land in Montana and built a cabin. In those days you could do such things. A small bookshelf behind the couch was crammed with novels by Edgar Rice Burroughs, Zane Grey, James B. Hendryx, and a stack of comic books; I read each one every summer. My mother once tried to distract me with Bible stories, but surrendered when I asked when Abraham changed his last name to Lincoln.

My first book was a collaborative eleven-page illustrated history of dinosaurs that foundered on gems such as: “The Stegosaurus had a brain the size of a pea, which notes him quite stupid.” My first novel, a five-hundred-page sci-fi fantasy ­bildungsroman, was just as good.

College lit classes all but killed my enthusiasm for great literature, but not for great stories. After six years in Africa and a slog through architecture school, my wife and I moved to New Mexico, where my passion for literature was rekindled. After twenty-five years in architecture, I now devote my time to writing, reading, and the pursuit of the perfect sentence. I still wonder what happened to the books from that cabin.

Please visit my website, www.GregoryNComer.net, or find me on Facebook.