western wild

Dawn breaks dull over Dustrock. The streets are quiet — too quiet for a town that sleeps with one eye open. Sheriff Elias Crowe leans on his rifle, watching the wind drag yesterday’s trouble down Main Street. Far south, Padre Mendoza blesses a shipment of stolen whiskey. To the west, Reno Graves sharpens his blade and waits for the law to blink first. In the canyons of Widow’s Pass, Marshal Clara Vale buries another friend, promising the dirt she’ll make it even. The trains scream through Broken Spur, black smoke rolling like the devil’s laughter. The rail company calls it progress; the graves say otherwise. Up north, the Black Crow Tribe watches it all from the ridges, old spirits stirring in the dust. And somewhere between Coyote’s End and Lone Bell, a stranger rides alone — a hat pulled low, gun heavy, and no name worth repeating. Fate’s got its boots on, and the desert’s listening. In the Wild West in Texas, the sun don’t rise for heroes — only for those fast enough to meet it.