In 1843, when the Millers stole a secret gold mine in New Mexico, everyone wanted to kill them -- especially Geronimo. Hatred here is a way of life, but war with Mexico looms, complicating survival. In a lawless time, in a brutal land, where murder is just a popular career, Jack Miller will do anything to take what he can and kill who he must. The legend born amid that bloody landscape will forever transform the Wild West.EXCERPTS: A shot boomed and a bullet ricocheted off the rock in front of his horse. Still drunk, Geronimo almost fell off. Another bullet collapsed his horse, almost pinning his leg. He rolled free and searched for his assailant. The bully dove into Jack, who smacked his gun against his head until his back slammed into the wall. Then Jack hit his eye. The bully howled. Fearing the noise, Jack punched him several times until a servant ran up. The world's first repeating rifles knocked the first 25 attackers off their horses. Never in human history had so few fired so many so fast. Hank ran past Geronimo wielding two revolvers and shot the renegades. Hank kicked one Indian in the chest, sending him flying off the mountain.The Colts entered the battle, raining down bullets on a few thousand charging enemies. The Texans had bullets to burn, so they fired away. "Kill her!" Alope ordered. Matt had a throwing knife that burrowed into her plump bosom, up to the hilt. The lovely lady slid to the floor, blood dribbling out of her mouth.Fire ants scrambled over his body, but Jack never cried out. That worried even Juh. "I've never seen that before." "He'll cry like a little bitch soon," Geronimo promised. "Not even great warriors can withstand anthills."Miller rested his barrel on a furrow in the oak wall. He saw his first bullet remove half a head and chuckled. The sight of blood didn't bother him unless it was his.Tomasito, a burly Apache in his 50s who did not look like a Tomasito, charged on his favorite warhorse. Standing in his stirrups, without moving his mount, Matt shot him high in the chest from 1000 yards. The Indians were still laughing when Jess galloped up behind them, firing two revolvers. He hit them all, but did not kill them all. He and their leader traded rifle shots.
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