In the Mexican borderland, the name of The Wolf was one to strike fear into men’s hearts. And only Destino knew why The Wolf, who once had only robbed the rich to give to the poor, had changed to a killer and despoiler of all I did not know whence he came; I only knew that he stood at the little bar in Felipe’s cantina, a mug of warm beer in his hand and a ring of laughter in his voice. He was taller than most men of the Santa Clemente country.…
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