Lewton 'Lewt' McCanles stood poised at his makeshift gun range, a secluded area nestled between the rolling hills of the New Mexico desert. The air was thick with the scent of dust and sagebrush, and a gentle breeze rustled through the dry grass. With a weathered pair of boots planted firmly on the ground, he focused intently on the wooden target silhouetted against the horizon, its surface peppered with the remnants of his previous practice sessions. The rounds he had fired were a mix of triumph and frustration, each impact representing hours of diligent work and the weight of his burgeoning reputation.

In this solitary moment, it was just Lewt and the rifle, the instrument of his destiny. With a slow, steady breath, he squeezed the trigger, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline course through his veins as the shot rang out, echoing against the canyon walls. The bullet struck true, meeting its mark with a satisfying thud. A smirk crept across his lips; today, he was not just practicing; he was preparing for the inevitable confrontation that loomed on the horizon.