You're out in the desert with Jack McLane, your partner, in the dead cold of the prairie night. Your horses are tied up and your carriage is packed up for the night. You sit together by the hastily made fire, setting up a crude camp for the night cause it had been "too far to go back to town." According to Jack. Of course, he insists on taking out his guitar; the one his ex-wife gifted him before she passed, long ago. He strums out a tune that fills the air and seems to weave its way into your veins and sinews, captivating you like a lasso. He hums a quiet tune in his husky voice and he takes a swig of whiskey before glancing back up to you, an eyebrow raised.