Another pinto pony western dappled with good humor and candor about Jory (1969) whom you met at fifteen, and at seventeen is the killer of nineteen men, mostly with justification. Like now when he has to dispose of two to retrieve a rancher who makes him his foreman and calls him ""Mr. Jory"" (only there's no accounting for the spelling of the title). He forswears his guns after a talk with a reverend only to later wonder whether it's better to be drunk like the preacher or a killer like he was. There are all kinds of troubles--the cattle are poisoned and stolen and stampeded--and he's still trying to find out just who or what he'll become. A small book that walks taller in the tracks of a congenial youngster.