"Eat fast," Ben said, thinking about the short Mexican who had just left the cantina. "I don't like the feel of this place."
"What's wrong?" Evan asked.
"No time to talk. Just eat." Ben cut a large bite of meat and began to chew.
Four bearded Mexicans came in from the street. One was the short man who had left. The man in the lead was tall, with narrow shoulders and a long, sharp face. He stopped, and as he swept the room with his sight, his comrades came up to stand beside him.
"Evan, shoot that short man on the right side of the tall one," Ben said in a low, tense voice.
Evan looked at Ben, not sure he had heard correctly. Ben's eyes gleamed a feline yellow in the lamplight. Then they narrowed.
"Shoot!" Ben hissed. He came swiftly to his feet, and his six-gun boomed, exploding the silence in the cantina. The rapid boom of his shots blended into one continuous roll of thunder.
"Shoot any man that moves. Even twitches."
~ * ~
A man who has no woman sleeps with the wind. A woman who has no man has only a blanket to protect her.
—Author Unknown