Vaquero: Libro

Bruno’s eyes flickered. The woman. Elena. She had been his wife. Then she had been Don Rafael’s prize. They said she died of a fever. Bruno knew the fever had a name and a pearl-handled pistol.

Bruno’s hand moved faster than a rattler’s strike. The Colt roared once, twice, three times. The two gunmen in the doorway crumpled before their hands touched their pistols. The third bullet took Don Rafael’s hat off and pinned it to the wooden wall behind him. libro vaquero

"Don’t," he said.

Don Rafael raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what is that?" Bruno’s eyes flickered