In the dusty sun-baked West, in a cheap and smelly old saloon filled with a motley assortment of typical scoundrels, enters a solitary thirsty gunslinger, and although this may be true, he is not entirely alone. Mysteriously, the husky masculine voice of an invisible narrator accompanies the pale and tall gunman on his every step, describing explicitly his next move, revealing more and more, little by little. But why should they trust the "voice", furthermore, as it is widely known that nobody likes spoilers, why won't this all-knowing sadist stop spilling the beans?
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The weary gunfighter walked slowly through the saloon. The long miles from Cheyenne had taken their toll.
Who's sayin' that stuff?
He scanned the room with a suspicious eye. Years on the run from the law had taught him that a tough man could get out of a situation, but a smart man never gets himself into one.
Please quit doin' that. I just want to have a shot of whiskey in peace.
But the gunfighter would find no peace for the Henderson boys were waiting in the corner to kill him for ...