[Gwathagor]

The tall stranger strode wordlessly into the pub and took a long, slow, squinting look around. Mighty fancy for a saloon, he thought. Well, as long as they've got whiskey...He stepped up to the bar wordlessly, his spurs ringing as he moved, and tossed his broad-brimmed hat onto the counter, equally wordlessly. Beside it, he thumped down a coin of indeterminate value, and wordlessly ordered whiskey. This involved a great deal of squinting and glaring, but he eventually got his point across and downed a quarter of a bottle of the stuff.

"Thanks for the business, stranger," said the man behind the counter. "What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't," replied the stranger, and, throwing his poncho back over his left shoulder, he sat himself down in a corner with the rest of the bottle. From that vantage point, he continued to survey the "saloon" and each of the newcomers as the entered, one by one. His shooting iron, which hung low on his right hip, was restless in its holster, and he slid it in and out to make sure that it was loose and ready to draw at moment's notice. The pistol was loaded with silver bullets.