Six Bullets Less One (Six Bullets Book 2)

A Western Journey Through Violence, Loyalty, and Conscience

Wyoming Territory, 1872. Albert Binax lives a quiet life as a beekeeper and hired hand, far from the troubles he once knew. That peace is broken when the family of Morris “Moe” Schoenfeld, his former employer, arrives with news that Moe has disappeared.

Drawn back into a dangerous world, Binax joins Vincent Clendaniel, a bounty hunter newly known for capturing one of the nation’s most notorious criminals. Their search soon reveals that Moe has been abducted, sending the two men east in pursuit of his captors.

As the trail leads toward Fayetteville, Arkansas, Binax is forced to confront more than the men responsible. He must also face the violent instincts he has long relied on—and the challenge of Moe’s deeply held belief in altruism and non-violence.

A character-driven Western set in the aftermath of the frontier era, this story follows a tense journey of rescue, moral conflict, and life-changing confrontation.

Read the book and follow Albert Binax into a world where justice, restraint, and loyalty are tested at every turn.

Excerpt from the book

The knock on the door was unexpected. Isolde, a Rat Terrier, stood and began barking. An old dog now, she had gone deaf a few years previously. She had almost completely white fur except for some black patches on her face and back. Over time, both colors had begun to fade. Binax assumed she felt the vibrations from the knocking and was responding to that. She had also begun to lose her vision, but she would still bark when prompted.

“Easy, girl,” he said and patted her head.

“Yeah, be right with you,” Binax said to the door.

Typically, he would be frustrated with the interruption. True, he’d finished tending to the bees hours ago, and his evening routine only involved watching the fire with Isolde while he sipped mead. Kirby Nathanson, Binax’s former employer, used to end the day with a glass of brandy. Binax never imagined he would adopt a similar ritual, but Trace suggested he could make wine from some of the honey Binax got from the bees, and Binax figured why not. Trace worked for the Lawsons, who owned the farm and allowed Binax to live in a cabin on the land. Technically, they were his employers, but he spent most of his time tending to the bees and fishing in the creek nearby. Binax had been passing through and helped the Lawsons deal with some unpleasantness. They offered to compensate him for his time. As a result, he ended up staying on as a caretaker. Trace was one of their hands who would drop by once or twice a week to visit with Binax and assist him if needed. Trace was also keen to learn about beekeeping, and Binax enjoyed the boy’s company.

Binax opened the door, and an elderly man with stooped posture stood next to a young man and woman.

“May I help you?” Binax said. A loaded Spencer Repeating Rifle leaned just outside the doorframe, but he didn’t think he would need it. There was a pause before the younger one spoke.

“This is Menachem Schoenfeld,” the young man said. “I’m his son, John, and this is my wife, Rosalie.”

“Schoenfeld?” Binax said. He stared at the elderly man before him, scrutinizing his features to see if there was a resemblance. The elderly man had snow-white hair that peeked out from under his hat and a beard to match that hung to his sternum. Spectacles barely clung toward the tip of a thin and pointy nose. John had a short-clipped mustache and brown hair that was mostly hidden by his hat. Rosalie had blonde hair done up in a single braid, arranged in a bun. They were modestly dressed and seemed out of place in these parts.

“Please, come inside,” Binax said. Before they could cross the threshold, he warned them about Isolde.

“She’ll bark, but she won’t bite,” he added. She might get riled up once she realized they had company, since she’d feel more than one set of footfalls vibrating the floorboards. Binax found three chairs for his guests, including the one he’d been using. He would stand.