The Loner: Inferno

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The place didn’t have a name, at least as far as the rider on the dun horse knew. Probably the people who lived there called it something, but the tall young man didn’t care about that.

He just wanted a drink after riding all day in the baking New Mexico sun. One of the handful of buildings alongside the trail was a saloon, so that was all that mattered to him.

He reined the dun over to the hitch rail in front of the saloon and swung down from the saddle. Most of the buildings in the tiny settlement were adobe, but this one was constructed of lumber—freighted in from somewhere—and even had a porch and a false front giving the illusion of a second story.

MAHONEY’S—BEER—LIQUOR—GAMBLING was painted on the false front. Right to the point, the newcomer thought. He was a little surprised WHORES wasn’t painted up there too.

The man was broad-shouldered, lean but powerfully built. He wore brown whipcord trousers tucked into high-topped brown boots, a buckskin shirt unadorned with fringe, and a wide-brimmed, flat-crowned brown Stetson with conchos on the band.

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