JEFF KANE HAD COVERED a day long ride when he reached Magdalena, a small town in the Mexican province of Sonora. The man, also known as 'Laredo Kid' since his time as a postman between San Antonio and Laredo, reined in his horse on a nearby hill in front of the city and let his eye travel. The few houses of Magdalena looked like they were thrown in the rugged, barren land that looked like an ember. A land that God had to have created in anger.

Kane rode along Main Street, which called itself"Calle de los Santos" – the street of saints. May the devil know why it bore that name. There had to be a reason. Perhaps the answer was to be found in the cemetery where Kane had passed. Many of the graves bore no names and even more bore names that sounded American.

Otherwise, the city consisted only of a snow-white church, a few houses of sandstone or clay and some bodegas, where the vaqueros of the area drank their tequila.

At the end of the"Calle de los Santos" was the largest of these bodegas. An ugly wooden construction whose facade color had to be faded decades ago.

Jeff Kane reined in his horse, dismounted and tied the animal up at the hitchrack in front of the bodega. Then he knocked the dust off his clothes. A week-long ride through dry, desert-like areas made the sand crawl everywhere and it was no doubt time he take a bath.

In Laredo he had escaped his pursuers, who had falsely accused him of murder. Since then, he had kept on the Mexican side of the border and had also avoided towns.

From the bodega was heard quarrelsome babble.

Kane let the swing doors fly apart and entered.

Inside there was a pleasant semi-darkness.

The bodegero was a short stocky man with dark eyes and a bushy mustache. He stared at Kane like a ghost. The five men in the bodega turned and fell silent. They had spoken English. Obviously, they were Americans. Kane noticed immediately that they were excellently armed. They were wearing deeply strapped revolver belts and Bowie knives. Their clothes were tattered. Some worn-out Drillich trousers, which used to come from the Confederate Army's former holdings, linen shirts. One of the guys wore a full-length Saddle Coat. Between his teeth was a cigarillo. The pants had been through best times already, bu