In the dusty Sonoran desert sunset, the wind was blowing like a wounded coyote, dragging skin-stinging sand like needles. The El ranch stood imposingly, its pens full of cattle and exhausted cowboys ending the day. No one expected that night to change everything.

Suddenly, a weak knock on the front door broke the silence. The foreman, a weathered man named Ramon, cautiously opened a revolver in hand. Before him, a girl of no more than 8 years old, her dress torn and her face covered in tears and dust, panted as if she had run miles. Lord, they, they beat my mom. He is dying.

The little girl stammered in a trembling voice that cut through the air like a sharp knife. Ramón blinked incredulously. Who was this girl? Where did it come from? The ranch was at the edge of any town, surrounded by treacherous cannons where bandits lurked. Before he could ask, the girl collapsed into his arms sleeping.

Please help her. The bad men with guns. The uproar attracted the ranch’s owner, the ranching giant known as the black bull. He was over 2 m tall with broad shoulders like an ox yoke and a thick beard that hid scars from past battles. His real name was Mateo Vargas, a man who had built his empire with iron fists and an infallible rifle.

The cowboys looked at him with respect and fear. They said he could knock down a bull with a single blow. Mateo walked down the stairs with heavy steps, his cowboy hat pulled back, revealing dark eyes that scrutinized everything. “What’s going on here?” his voice growled like distant thunder. Ramon explained quickly, holding the girl.

Mateo bent down, his imposing figure contrasting with the fragility of the little girl. Tell me, my daughter, who are these men? Where’s your mom? The girl looked up, eyes full of terror. In the old cabin, near the red canyon, there were three of them wearing masks. They said they were looking for gold. They hit her with the rifle, she bleeds a lot.

And then he let go of the hook that froze everyone’s blood. One of them had a scar on his hand like a star. He said they would come back for me if I didn’t talk. Mateo felt a chill. I knew that scar. It belonged to El Escorpión, a legendary bandit who had ravaged the border years ago. It was rumored that he was hanging dead in Chihuahua.

How could that be? The rancher clenched his fists remembering how the scorpion had killed his brother in a similar ambush. It was revenge or worse. Without saying a word, he ordered his men to saddle the horses. Come on, now. The night fell like a black blanket dotted with indifferent stars. The group Mateo, Ramón and four armed cowboys rode at a gallop, guided by the girl who clung to the giant like a savior.

The desert was treacherous. Snakes, hidden ravines and the echo of howls that could be animals or bandits. Every shadow seemed alive, every gust of wind a whisper of death. They would arrive on time. The girl murmured prayers, but Mateo smelled danger. Suddenly, a shot tore through the darkness. Ambush.

The horses neighed. One fell wounded. Mateo rolled to the ground, pulling out his tail. To the ground, he bellowed. Bullets whistled bouncing off rocks. The cowboys returned fire, but were outnumbered. From the shadows, cruel laughter, the black bull. I thought you were dead, motherfucker. It was the living scorpion and thirsty for blood.

Mateo saw the scar glow under the moon when the bandit reloaded. How had he survived? Rumors said that he had made a pact with the [ __ ] in the abandoned mines. The rancher shot one of the attackers who fell screaming. But the girl, the girl was exposed. A bandit pointed at her laughing, “The girl first to suffer.

Mateo threw himself like an enraged bull, getting in the way. The bullet grazed his shoulder, burning like fire, but it didn’t stop. He punched the bandit with a punch that broke his jaw sending him into the dust. “No one touches the girl,” roared his voice dry in the canyon. The inspired cowboys fought back. Ramón killed another with an accurate shot.

The scorpion cursed and fled into the darkness, leaving a trail of blood. They arrived at the cabin at dawn, a noisy adobe slum. Inside the mother lay in a pool of blood, pale as death. She was a beautiful woman, with hair as black as night, but bruised and weak. My daughter,” he whispered when he saw the girl.

Mateo raised it with a gentleness surprising for its size. “We will save you, ma’am. I’m Mateo Vargas.” His men bandaged her, but they knew she needed a doctor in the village. The return trip was tense. Would the scorpion return? Every creak in the bushes was a suspenseful hook. The girl told more.

His father had been a miner. He discovered gold in a secret beta, but the bandits killed him. The mother kept the map and that’s why they tortured her. At the ranch, the doctor arrived on time. The woman named Rosa slowly recovered. Mateo was watching over her, his eyes revealing a secret. Years ago, Rosa had been his childhood love before life separated him.

Coincidence. No, the scorpion knew. It was a trap to lure the rancher and steal the gold. The giant felt rage boil over. It doesn’t end here, he vowed. Days later, a messenger brought a note. Gold or girl dies. Black cannon. Midnight. It was the letter of the scorpion. Matthew gathered his men, but this time he planned cunningly.

They would be armed or it was a distraction. The tension was growing. Cowboys whispered of traitors on the ranch. Ramón acted strangely, disappearing at night. Was he the mole? Midnight came, a full moon illuminating the canyon like a lantern from hell. Mateo rode alone, as the note requested, but his men were still hidden.

The scorpion appeared with 10 bandits, the scar glistening. The map, Toro, or I’ll kill you like your brother. Mateo smiled coldly. My brother, I will avenge him now. He drew not a revolver, but dynamite from the mines. Boom. The explosion shook the barrel. Rocks falling like deadly rain. Bandits screamed in crush.

The scorpion fired, wounding Mateo in the leg, but the giant caught up with him by squeezing him against a wall. For Rosa, for the girl, for everyone. But the final hook, the scorpion gasped laughing. Idiot, Ramón is my brother. He has the girl now. Mateo turned pale. He rode back, blood dripping, heart beating like a war drum.

At the ranch, Chaos, Vaqueros Muertos, Ramón with the girl tied up, pistol in his 100. The gold is mine, boss. It always was. The confrontation was epic. Mateo, unstoppably wounded, charged. Bullets flew, but their size saved him. He disarmed Ramón with a blow that knocked him unconscious. The girl ran into his arms.

Rosa, already recovered, appeared with a rifle. I killed him for you, Matthew. Years ago. So King revelation. Rosa was not an innocent victim. He had faked the beating to lure Matthew, allied with the scorpion for gold. But seeing his daughter in danger, he betrayed everyone. “Forgive me,” Mateo pleaded. Betrayed, he looked at her with pain.

“The desert does not forgive.” He tied it up by handing it to the serif. But the girl adopted her swearing to protect her. Years later, the ranch prospered, but Mateo bore the scars. The desert held secrets and every wind whispered warnings. More bandits would return. The suspense never ended in the old west.