The Colt in my hand roars as I open fire on the second ranger. If I’m going to die, I might as well die with my boots on. I’m on my feet before his body hits the ground. I act on instinct, pulling my knife and throwing it in his face with one smooth move. The first of the sonuvabitches shows his ugly mug, swiveling to my view. My comrade is lying in front of me, his brown duster turning red as blood flows from the holes in his back. I can hear their sneers just around the corner. Time seems to crawl by as I try to cram more bullets into my revolver, huddling behind an outhouse.
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