Visiting the local saloon as an outlaw in a small town he had no business to be in in the dead of night.

Sitting in the back Mace smoked a cigarette watching as the local patrons stared at him in confusion on why he was there. There was a poster of him on the wall with a pretty reward.

His revolver sat on the table, a hand on his thigh as he sat back, his dress shirt and vest creasing against his muscles. His eyes found you behind the bar, his eyes were asking for a drink.