When a towering, dust-covered cowboy struts right into a saloon with a glare that would soften iron, the native outlaws often know higher than to push their luck.
This specific drifter tied his stallion to the hitching publish, walked inside, and downed a stiff glass of whiskey to scrub away the path mud. However when he stepped again out onto the porch, his eyes narrowed—his horse had been stolen.
Storming again inside, he slammed his heavy fist onto the bar with a crack that appeared like a gunshot. The music stopped. The poker desk froze.
“Alright, hear up!” the cowboy growled, his eyes scanning the terrified room. “I’m ordering another drink. If my horse isn’t again the place I left it by the point I end… I’m gonna do precisely what I did again in Texas. And God assist me, I actually don’t wish to have to try this once more!”
The bartender swallowed laborious, his arms shaking as he poured one other shot. The native thugs exchanged nervous, sweaty glances, fearful of no matter horrific massacre “Texas” implied.
The cowboy slowly drained his glass, threw down a coin, and walked out into the solar.
Certain sufficient, a panicked thief had already returned the horse, tying it completely to the publish. Because the cowboy saddled as much as depart, the bartender nervously crept out to the porch. “Uh, excuse me, mister… what precisely did it’s important to do again in Texas?”
The cowboy tipped his Stetson hat, sighed closely, and replied:
“I walked house.”
