Charles “Ax” Axton slapped the dust off his chaps and pulled his revolver out. He brought the chamber to his lips and blew, while it spun smoothly. His heart pounded hard in his chest as he approached the town—it always did—and he had to be ready for anything.

Dos Lobos was little more than a whistle stop and a place for miners before they battle the desert heat to get to the silver mines. Mexico was a few days ride and the next big town was too. People ended up in Dos Lobos when they couldn’t get nowhere else like tumbleweeds against a fence. A few farms, cattle ranches, and of course, the mines—that’s all there was. Legit, that is.

Ax watered his horse and stepped into the saloon. He took a table near the window, facing the door, and sized up the characters within. A big-busted brunette sidled up to him.

“What can I get’cha? We got whiskey, tequila, bourbon, beer, and if you a prayin’ man, sarsaparilla.”
“Beer, please.”

Ax drank slowly, hoping that his past was truly behind him. Justice was done.