Greg Bantam was a man's man. A throwback to a bygone era. Ever since he left college, he had been traveling from one place to another, pursuing adventure, setting up challenges for himself. As soon as he had mastered a place and its offerings, he was ready to move on. He had been a seal-hunter in Alaska. A bronc-buster in Alberta. An alligator-trapper in the Florida everglades. He had even herded llamas in Peru.

Now he had been drawn to the inland regions of Northern California, in pursuit of the yellow temptress that had lured men since time immemorial: gold! Greg decided he wanted to be a rich man, so he could try out some of the challenges available only to the wealthy. He wanted to see more of the world. Maybe have his own private jet. The gold was going to get him everything he craved. And what better man to hunt for gold with than his old buddy, Hank Jones? Hank was the only man Greg had ever met whom he really trusted. Hank had proved himself in their youthful days by keeping his hands off Greg's women and by sharing his fights and keeping his secrets. Theirs was a friendship pledged in blood.

All during the week, Greg worked like a serf on his claim, from dawn to dusk. But every Saturday night, for the six weeks he had been on the claim, he went into the local town. It was not much of a town. It boasted a general store, a garage, a hotel with restaurant and four bars.

Already Greg had a favorite bar. It was the Lady Luck. He favored it because the women there were to his liking. One in particular, Wanda Wilde, who resided in the hotel and made her living off her men friends, kept Greg coming back for more. She was a raunchy redhead, with a mind of her own and a good sense of humor. Coupled with a bottomless appetite for sex, her qualities were exactly what Greg required in a woman.