A long long time ago, when giraffes had short necks and zebras were à pois, there was a gentle cowboy who just loved three things: being alone, playing his violin and riding his horse.
He played his violin every evening, inspired by the countless stars and the fire. His horse listened, waving his heavy head slowly and murmuring horses' ancient songs until he fell asleep.
There were times in which the cowboy remembered when he was young and brave and her name was always in his mind. But those times were gone, she was gone, and all that he could do now was riding and playing sad songs. He didn't even have any friends and couldn't do all the cool things every cowboy liked to do, like getting drunk at the saloon or duel with his magical guns. Actually he hadn't any guns. He was too gentle to kill somebody.
His name was Chris.
One dry day he was exploring a new territory when he suddenly saw a canyon on his right. It was dark and unnerving, but he was a cowboy, after all, and didn't feel fear, so he decided to go through it. His horse tried to warn him of the dangers hidden in the dark, but Chris didn't understand the horses' language and went on.
After some minutes he was surronded by a cold mist and he felt a presence on his side. It was a pale, skinny, old man who wore a dirty poncho, so ragged that its coulors had vanished, substituted by that of the dust.
"Cowboy" said the man "There were three of us, three".
Chris was puzzled and speechless. He stared at the man, motionless.
"There were three of us. We only had one bullet. Three men and only one bullet. What would you do if you were three, with one bullet, and you were surronded by ghosts?"
Chris stayed perfectly still.
"Three. And one bullet." The old man stayed silent for some minutes, as if he was trying to recall some distant and faded memories.
"You can't kill what's dead. Dead men tell no tales. Oh no! They told tales. They told us tales that would have made babies blind and blood stop in women's veins. Terrible legends. We were three. And we had one bullet. Just one. The first was Hugh. He begged to be killed with a stone. Oh, the cries he made when we thrusted a rock into his belly! Then it was Bob's turn. He went mad. "I hear their stories, I hear them. My heart is freezing!" he kept saying while he cut his ears. I strangled him. And then I was the only one left. Me and the ghosts."
Chris began to be filled with terror.
"There were only three of us. And just one bullet".
Then the man walked slowly away from our beloved cowboy and disappeared into the fog.
Chris continued his journey along the misterious canyon. He was disturbed no more, but at a certain moment he was sure he had seen three skeletons on his left side. One wore an old poncho. "Only one bullet" heard Chris.
When he emerged from the fog, a zebra à pois crossed his way.
