I suppose when you’ve written 120 books it’s not surprising that a few sentences in each of your books might be as well-crafted as flushing a nesting ptarmigan from tall grass in the muddy banks of a frozen river. It is very impressive that this 400 page book is one of three or four similar books Louis L’Amour may have turned out in 1987. What is less impressive is that the book is full of uncomfortable stereotypes, two-dimensional characters, a formulaic storyline, tincan repetition, and a plot held together at times by reindeer sinew. It’s hard not to root for the good guys. But good God.