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The pueblo was semi-affectionately referred to, by its inhabitants, as "El Hoyo De Mierda."

The Shit Hole.

The young man who rode up to its main gate was quite striking. He was obviously a full-blooded indio! But, of which tribe, it was hard to tell. As he wore a black-banded gray Stetson hat with the brim pulled down over his eyes. This was off-set by a snow-white shirt (with matching trousers) beneath a red poncho decorated with a most unsual motif sewn with black thread.

A man astride a rearing horse...in the palm of some kneeling giantess' right hand.

The young man's own mount was a blue grullo Morab. And, he carefully reined it in when they found themselves confronted by a pair of bandidos armed with Civil War-surplus Henry repeating rifles.

"Whoa, Gunmetal."

"Como te llamos?" demanded the older guard.

"El Muchacho de San Blas," replied the youth: "Aqui para hablar con Don Julio."

"Don Julio?" echoed a third voice.

The San Blas Kid looked up, and beheld a man in his mid-thirties to early forties. Just as sun-browned as himself; but, sporting a goatee. And, where the Kid was armed with a single-action Colt Peacemaker in basic blued steel, the bandit chief (for he could be none other) was armed with a pearl-handled, nickel-plated, single-action Starr revolver (Model 1863) in .44 caliber.

The latter now cantered up to the other side of the main gate astride a white stallion that looked to be pure Andalusian.

"Yo soy caballero, ahora?"

"Just tryin' to be courteous, senor."

"Esta verdad," replied Julio Valdez: "And, what manner of courtesy do you expect in return, extranjero?"

"Well, now that you mention it? I'd liked to speak to a Haqihana Arapaho name of Prairie Wolf."

Valdez smirked: "And, what if I say 'no' to this little request?"

The San Blas Kid remained stone-faced.

"I'm afraid that ain't an option."

There was an awkward tension for the next sixty seconds (though it felt more like the proverbial eternity). Then, quite surprisingly, the bandit chief...

...began to laugh!

"Tienes mui grandes cajones, senor!!" he finally managed to exclaim, before adding: "Perhaps, too big."

"Take my word for it," replied the Kid: "There are other things in this world a whole lot bigger."

"Tal como su boca, por ejemplo?"

"No!" came a thunderous (and decidedly female) voice: "Like _my_ mouth!"

Valdez turned around in his saddle, looking behind him. And, then (with increasingly wider eyes), above him. Because, standing there, was a woman. A white woman with short red hair and jade-green eyes. Yet, wearing not one stitch of clothing. Which should not have been surprising...

...seeing as she was a hundred feet tall, at least!

"Madre de Dios!" muttered Valdez.

"Not quite," smiled the giantess: "But, we can fix it so's you meet Her in person!"

The bandit chief did not fail to notice the plural. He looked back at the San Blas Kid for all of thirty seconds, before finally yelling:

"Un brujo!!!"

Valdez went for his gun, and so did the Kid. The Kid proved faster, however. Pulling his first bullet right between the bandit chief's eyes! And, even as he was re-cocking the hammer of the Peacemaker, he was drawing a double-action Starr revolver (Model 1858, hidden beneath his poncho) from its holster on his right hip. As a result, he put a bullet between the eyes of the second guard almost as fast as he killed the first one!

He then urged Gunmetal forward, at full gallop. Picking off those bandidos who proved too elusive for his giant sweetheart's bare feet.

To be continued
Chapter End Notes:
* Morab: a Morgan/Arabian cross-bred

"How are you called?"

"The San Blas Kid. Here for a talk with Don Julio."

"I am a gentleman, now?"

"Is that true...stranger?"

"You have big gonads, mister!"

"Such as your mouth, for example?"

"Mother of God!"

"A warlock!"
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