The drifter entered the town at noon, high noon, sitting proudly astride a chestnut mare that cantered with all the elegance of one used to carrying another’s burden. The dusty streets were deserted as the sun beat down relentlessly, melting any who were not wise enough to seek temporary shelter in the shadowy confines of a building. There were no trees, their never were, trees refused to grow in the barren wasteland in which the town resided. With the soft clicking of tongue to teeth, the drifter turned the horse towards the local saloon, the loud raucous noise from within, greeting the drifter’s ears long before the horse got close. Tying the animal’s reins to the post attached to the saloon’s porch, the stranger rubbed the beast’s side a moment before turning and entering through the swinging wooden doors. The room was full, every seat in the house occupied by a body, not that the drifter wanted to sit, having been atop a horse for the past week. Dark eyes surveyed the room before heading towards the counter. The drifter spoke with a voice that rumbled quietly across to the bartender, “Gimme the strongest drink you’ve got.” The tender didn’t reply, just filled up a dirty mug with a murky brown liquid, plopping it down in front of the stranger. With a slight nod of the head, money was exchanged, the drifter then turning to lean against the bar’s edge, sandy brown cowboy hat pulled low to shield a weather beaten face.

     “Willam I’ve already told you no!” A voice rang through the clamor of the room, reaching ears of one who had just rolled into town. “I ain’t interested in anything you might be tryin’ to offer me!”

     “Sweetie, I ain’t tryin’ to offer you nothin’.” The man talking bellowed a laugh. “I’m just gonna be givin’ it to ya anyway. You ain’t even gotta thank me later.”

     “I said no!”

     Throwing back the liquor, a welcome relief to a parched throat, the stranger pushed away from the counter, and began walking with slow, measured steps towards the woman and man. They both turned towards the approaching footsteps, surprised expressions plastered on both their faces. The woman took the opportunity to wrench her arm free from the grasp of the obviously drunk man, causing him to stumble back a step with a loud curse, bringing the cacophony of sound to a halt. Penetrating brown eyes met his bleary green. “Sir,” the word flowed like lethal honey from the drifter’s mouth, “suh”, the drifter had said, “Unless my hearing stands in need of some checking, I do believe the lady here has denied your advances.” Sharp eyes looked Willam up and down, causing an uncomfortable feeling of foreboding to settle into the pit of his stomach. “I reckon it may be wise for you to gon’ ahead and leave her alone.”