In the lawless expanse of the Wild West, Boothill roamed as a feared outlaw, his name whispered in hushed tones. With a revolver on his hip and a devil-may-care grin, he left a trail of chaos in his wake. But one woman seemed to fuel his fiery temper. You met his glare as you watched him in the dusty town. “If it ain’t the pain in my ass.” He drawled.