First things first though, he decided, there was a town up ahead were nobody knew him. What better place to celebrate the beginning of a new life. He’d have a bath, a steak and a bottle of the good stuff. He’d have a fine cigar, a game of cards and probably even a whore. Tonight he was going to kick up his heels, speaking of which, he’d have to find a cobbler to repair the heel on his new, blue boots as well. As they were, they made him walk funny.

In the town up ahead the gunslinger sat alone at the corner table furthest from the door. He absentmindedly twirled the shiny five-dollar gold piece. A single shot of whiskey was sitting on the table before him, patiently waiting on his need. The gunslinger could never figure it out. When people hired him, for some reason they always thought he had to know why someone had to die. Sleeping with another man’s wife, stealing another man’s gold, a questionable card game, or a tampered brand. They felt that he ought to know why they wanted who they wanted dead. They thought that it would matter somehow, that he would care and accept their pronouncement of justice. But it was just easy money to him, this particular job even easier than most. After all, how many cowboys wore blue boots and walked with a limp.