A Gunman’s Last Stand
In the dusty twilight of a forgotten frontier, a lone gunman found himself in the wrong place at the worst possible time. The land stretched out for miles dry, cracked, and silent, save for the mournful whistle of the wind. The kind of place where men vanished without a trace, and justice was just a whisper carried off by the dust.
He stood alone on that barren stretch of land, his boots sinking into the hot sand, the grip of his revolver slick with sweat. Twelve riders emerged from the horizon, silhouettes against the dying sun cutthroats, thieves, and killers. Men with nothing to lose, and blood in their eyes. They fanned out like a hunting pack, their spurs clinking, their horses restless, as if they already...