Rain falling from up above. Raging discharges of almighty power light up the black skies. Deafening thunder shakes the ground to its core. It would seem God was making his appearance known in this small Mexican town. It isn't him making his appearance known. It was a mere man.
Men lay dead on the drench ground in mud and blood. Gunshot wounds mark all their bodies. Town even bares the gaping wounds. It does look as though Death has made a claim here. If you knew this man, then you would believe he was.
Foolish enough to stand and watch the calamity unfold in this fierce thunderstorm is a small group of townspeople. While the ones not so foolish have decided to seek shelter and watch this from broken windows. One stands out among all them, though. It's an old Mexican woman. She is one of the foolish ones but there is one difference. She holds rosary beads in her frail hands. Woman is praying for him. It looked like the man was in no need of it.
We were almost near the end of our tale.
A man in an old duster limps as he follows blood stains on the street. He's in pain. It is seen on his face. Well, this man does have some lead in him. He is grasping hard on his side to keep himself from losing any more of blood. Someone also shot him in the leg. He has seen better days. Who was this bleeding man, you ask? His name is Gil Randall. Remember the name as you were going to hear more of it in this tale.
Among the dead bodies is a wounded man in an elegant suit. He's dragging himself through this graveyard. He would make haste from the town but his leg has buckshot in it. He has Gil to thank for being in the condition he is in. Would tell you his name but it look like it's not going to matter now. He stops dead in his tracks as a familiar presence looms over him. Sheer fear is on his face. He was then kicked over on his back like a dog.
Gil was pointing his pistol at the man's head…