On the way down to Pecos, I saw a stagecoach in the distance. At first I thought I was seeing things, but then it was right there in front of me like a punch in the gut. I put my hand on my gun as the wooden wheels came to a stop. Dust and weeds blew beneath the leather straps of the thoroughbraces. I sensed movement inside. With a short twitch, I cocked back the hammer of my gun.

I gave a tight grin and stared the nearest horse in the eyes. She turned away and got so scared she started bucking like a drunk dancing girl. I turned my head back and a man fell out, dropping to the ground as the bucking horses moved the coach forward. His eyes were like thin cracks, and he stared me down as nervous as a whore in church.

I let him take the first shot. His aim was off so I let him fire another round before I shot him twice in the face. When the little devil raised his hand again and aimed in my direction, I cracked his skull with the ivory butt of my pistol and kicked him hard to make sure he was truly dead.

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