Back at the warehouse—
Twenty-nine men were already down.
Only four remained.
At this point, calling it a fight felt disrespectful to violence itself.
The guards were collapsing everywhere like teenagers seeing a woman for the first time.
One guy tripped over a chair and knocked himself unconscious trying to run from Shadow.
Honestly?
Natural selection was doing most of my work.
Meanwhile Shadow stormed through the warehouse like divine punishment wrapped in horse hair and bad intentions.
Men crashed through tables.
Crates exploded apart.
Somebody screamed my name.
Somebody else screamed for their mother.
And in the middle of all that chaos—
Tuco stood near Carlos’s office clutching a cordless telephone with trembling hands.
Still trying to call Carlos.
Still praying his boss would answer.
Poor bastard looked seconds away from a heart attack.
I leaned casually against a support beam while Shadow introduced another man’s ribcage to the floor.
“You know,” I said, “for criminals, you people panic surprisingly fast.”
Tuco slammed the phone down.
“The hell are you doing?!” he snapped.
“You goddamn Sheriff!”
I walked toward him slowly.
The first punch turned his face sideways.
The second painted blood across his teeth.
The third folded him straight into the dirt.
I know …
I know …
I might’ve overdone it.
But after watching him spit on Enrico’s corpse earlier?
I considered it emotional therapy.
Behind us, Shadow finished dismantling the last few guards.
One poor idiot got launched across a table so hard the wood collapsed under him.
Silence slowly returned to the warehouse.
Broken only by groaning.
And fire crackling from overturned lanterns.
Tuco wiped blood from his mouth and staggered backward.
Then suddenly—
“Duel,” he gasped.
I blinked.
“What?”
“I challenge you…” He pointed at me with shaky fingers.
“To a duel, Silverstone of Emerald Ranch.”
Ah.
There it was.
The Honor Code.
In Emerald Ranch and Sandalwood Valley, honor meant everything.
People would rather die than break their word.
At least…
That’s what outsiders believed.
The actual code was much simpler:
Be honorable to honorable people.
If the other guy pulls a gun during a sword duel?
Shoot him first.
That’s survival.
Not dishonor.
Still…
A duel was a duel.
And Tuco knew exactly what he was doing.
If he won, he escaped.
If he lost, maybe he died quickly instead of getting dragged back to Emerald Ranch in chains.
Fair gamble.
So I sighed dramatically and nodded.
“Alright …
Let’s dance.”
We stood back-to-back in the center of the warehouse.
The remaining goons watched silently.
Dust drifted through the orange sunrise spilling in from the broken doors.
Somewhere nearby, Shadow snorted impatiently.
Then together—
“Three…”
“Two…”
Before we could even finish counting, Tuco spun around and pulled the trigger.
Coward.
The gunshot exploded through the warehouse—
—but Shadow moved faster.
She slammed into Tuco from the side like a charging cannonball.
The bullet tore harmlessly into the ceiling.
Tuco flew across the room and crashed through a wooden crate hard enough to splinter it apart.
Then Shadow started stomping him.
Hard.
“OH SHI— SHADOW STOP—”
Too late.
One kick hammered into his stomach.
Another smashed into his jaw.
Again.
I sprinted forward and grabbed Shadow’s reins before she turned him into paste.
“Goddammit,” I muttered.
“Now I gotta drag you back alive.”
Shadow huffed proudly like she’d done nothing wrong.
The remaining goons stared at us in complete silence.
Then I slowly looked toward them.
“…You boys wanna help carry him?”
Every single one of them nodded instantly.
Smartest decision they’d made all morning.
“Get the Gold out …
all of it”
A few minutes later, the surviving gang members were hauling a gold crate out of the warehouse under my supervision while I searched the place myself.
Turns out Carlos had enough gold hidden in there to fund a small war.
Also found several barrels of gunpowder.
Now…
A responsible Sheriff probably would’ve confiscated those safely.
Unfortunately for the warehouse—
I’m not always responsible.
I ordered the goons to make a trail of powder from the center of the building all the way to the entrance.
Nobody argued.
Fear really improves teamwork.
Once the line was finished, I lit a cigarette and glanced toward the trembling criminals beside me.
“Anybody know a farewell song?”
Silence.
“Tough crowd.”
So I flicked the cigarette anyway.
The ember landed against the powder trail.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then—
Tssssssssssss—
Sparks raced across the floor.
The fuse vanished into the warehouse.
For one long second, nothing happened.
Then the entire building erupted.
Wood shattered outward like shrapnel.
Glass burst across the sand.
The shockwave punched straight through my chest and nearly knocked the gold off my shoulder.
Behind me, the goons screamed and dropped flat onto the ground.
Meanwhile Shadow just stared at the burning wreckage calmly like she approved of my decision-making.
That sunrise looked beautiful behind the flames.
Orange sky.
Orange fire.
Black smoke twisting into the heavens.
Real poetic stuff.
Then the heat slapped me across the face.
“…Alright,” I muttered.
“Maybe we should leave.”
That’s when I saw him.
A silhouette emerging slowly through the burning smoke.
Broad shoulders.
Long coat.
Butcher knife gleaming orange from the firelight.
Carlos Vargas.
And judging by the look on his face— he was furious.
I mean who wouldn’t?
Imagine leaving home for one night and coming back to find somebody turned your headquarters into a bonfire.
Even if it was a terrible warehouse.
Behind him rode several armed men on horseback.
Within seconds, we were surrounded again.
One guy charged first.
Shadow kicked him directly off his horse.
I grabbed another by the collar and slammed his face into a crate.
A third swung a machete—
I ducked under it, punched him in the throat, then threw him into his own horse.
The animal panicked immediately and bolted into two more riders.
Complete chaos.
Me and Shadow moved together naturally at this point.
Like we’d practiced it for years.
Maybe we had.
Then suddenly—
I noticed Carlos wasn’t fighting.
Oh no.
Tuco.
Carlos had dragged Tuco upright by the collar.
Tuco looked absolutely petrified.
Not scared.
Finished.
The kind of fear where your soul already knows your body’s dead.
“You worthless bastard,” Carlos growled quietly.
His butcher knife slid free slowly.
The blade reflected the burning warehouse behind him.
“One night,” Carlos whispered.
Tuco started begging immediately.
“Boss… Boss please…”
Carlos ignored him.
“You failed the mission.”
The knife stabbed into Tuco’s shoulder.
Tuco screamed so loud nearby horses panicked.
“You destroyed my warehouse.”
Another stab, this time in his gut.
Blood splattered across the sand.
“And worst of all…”
Carlos leaned closer.
“You embarrassed me.”
Then the knife started falling fast.
Brutal.
Wild.
Merciless.
Each strike sent blood splashing across the burning sand while Tuco’s screams slowly dissolved into silence.
I tried moving toward them—
—but three more idiots blocked my path.
Wrong decision.
I dropped the first with a gunshot to his leg.
Shadow crushed the second under her hooves.
The third ran immediately.
Smart man.
But by the time I reached Carlos—
Tuco wasn’t moving anymore.
Carlos mounted his horse calmly, blood dripping from the knife in his hand.
“Let’s retreat!” he barked toward his remaining men.
The riders turned instantly and disappeared deeper into the desert.
Damn it.
I could’ve chased them.
Probably even caught them.
But the surviving criminals here would scatter if I left.
And somebody had to drag all this gold back too.
So instead, I sighed heavily, slung the bags over my shoulder, and pointed my revolver toward the surviving goons.
“Tie yourselves together.”
Nobody argued.
A few minutes later, we started the long walk back toward Emerald Ranch.
Behind us— the warehouse burned until nothing remained except smoke and ash.