The saloon went silent when the stranger walked through the doors.

He was dusty, exhausted, and carried a revolver low on his hip. The bartender stared at him for several seconds before whispering, “You need to leave. Now.”

The cowboy frowned. “Why?”

Before the bartender could answer, six armed riders appeared outside.

Their leader entered slowly.

“Your brother is dead.”

The stranger’s expression hardened.

“Who killed him?”

The gunman smiled. “That’s the problem. Your brother wasn’t the one they killed.”

A shot suddenly shattered the saloon window.

Everyone dropped.

The stranger drew his revolver and fired twice toward the doorway. The six riders scattered as terrified customers crawled beneath tables.

The bartender grabbed the cowboy’s arm.

“Listen to me. Your brother discovered something before he disappeared.”

“What?”

“He found out who was paying those men.”

The cowboy stared at him.

“Who?”

The bartender hesitated.

Then he pointed toward the sheriff standing outside among the armed riders.

The cowboy slowly looked through the broken window.

The sheriff raised his gun.

“He paid them,” the bartender whispered.

Another shot exploded through the saloon.

The stranger ducked behind the bar, loaded his revolver, and looked at the bartender.

“Then I guess we’re going hunting.”

And outside, the sheriff was already waiting.