As our story begins, Thad Packer is struggling through a swamp, pushing aside the reeds and rushes that grow higher than his head. Thick ooze grips his ankles as he wades knee deep in water. His face is thin and lined and the pallor - unusual in the frontier country - speaks of many years in prison. Packer pushes on, not knowing that grim and terrible death in the form of quicksand lays ahead. His bloodshot eyes were burning with a pent-up hatred, and he continually muttered the names of three men...