"Same as the others," Tex muttered to Kit Carson's son, Kit Willer, riding beside him. "The stagecoach guards never saw the attackers. Said they 'rose from the earth and vanished into stone.'"
As he tied the last prisoner, Tex looked up at the stars. "Superstition's a weapon, Kit. So is greed. But the truth? That's a faster draw than either."
Tex knelt. A red candle stub. Then he spotted it — a feathered headdress painted on a rock, but the feathers were inverted. "Not Apache. Not Navajo. Someone's playing pretend."
"Two more days," Bullock said, "and we declare the road haunted. Then the railroad buys the ghost route from the territory — cheap. And we get paid." Tex Willer Pdf
I understand you're looking for a story related to "Tex Willer PDF." However, I cannot produce or share copyrighted comic book content (such as full PDFs of Tex Willer comics) without authorization. What I can do is write an in the spirit of Tex Willer — featuring the famous Navajo-born Texas Ranger — with new, non-copyrighted adventures.
Tex stepped from the shadows. "Evening, Sheriff. Ghosts don't usually carry Winchester '73s."
Bullock reached for his gun. Tex's Colt .45 cleared leather first — a single shot sent the sheriff's pistol spinning. The others froze when Kit's rifle clicked from the bell tower. "Same as the others," Tex muttered to Kit
Here’s an original Tex Willer style tale: The Ghost of Mesa Roja
The sun bled red over the Arizona desert. Tex Willer reined in his palomino, Navajo, and studied the tracks below the canyon rim. Five riders — shod horses, one dragging a hoof — headed toward the abandoned mission at Mesa Roja.
That night, hidden among the mission's ruins, they watched. At midnight, three men in crude war paint and cavalry cloaks emerged from a hidden cellar below the old altar. They chanted nonsense syllables, lit candles — then another man came forward: Sheriff Bullock from Tombstone. "Superstition's a weapon, Kit
They chose the cellar. Inside, Tex found sacks of stolen army payroll, a theatrical ghost costume made of bedsheets and phosphorous paint — and the real killers of five men.
"The cellar," Tex said, "or the cemetery. Your choice."
Kit dismounted, touching a dark stain on the sandstone. "Blood. And... wax?"