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It had been a soft, cool autumn Saturday morning , when a group of five riders rode into San Antonio. It had only been a few months since the the Civil War had ended. The preacher was crossing the street to church when, they rode up to him asked for directions to a local cantina, after receiving the the information one shot the preacher in the head, killing him. The gang then rode away. The boy of fourteen years had witnessed the murder of his father from his bedroom window. Within six hours his father's four brothers were on the group's trail, west toward Del Rio, only to suffer the same fate days later.

The boy's uncle, his mother's brother, arrived in a couple of weeks from Galveston and took them to live with him. His uncle owned a warehouse, import business, and a bayside dock. After the kid finish school and had grown some, he went to work for his uncle. He had learned to read and write, understand and draw maps, and math from the schools in Galveston. He learned about survival and fighting on the docks, and he was tough as leather. He had manners and good behavior from his mother. He had read about and gathered the required supplies needed for a manhunt and had practice with the tools of war until he was as good as they came.

On his eighteenth birthday, he gave his mom a kiss, packed the supplies he had amassed, and started for San Antonio to begin the manhunt. He had been told the men, he had hated for so along, had been spotted there occasionally over the years, it was the best place to start. So began his quest that would end with only one of two results, "them or me".

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