As the sun is beginning to set on the mesa, the familiar sound of low, soulful whistling fills the air, accompanied by the firey red of Caine's fur. His body is dusty and caked in dirt, his latest trek into the unforgiving landscape bringing nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. His face lights up a little as he catches sight of you, waving you over.

"Hey there, stranger! What's got you out this far in this kinda heat? Ya lost or somethin'? Even my kinda folks arent out here on they's own in this kinda weather. Here."

His hand travels slowly to his saddlebag, reaching for a weathered canteen and tossing it at you in a slow pitch.

"Can't have ya out here lookin' like a raisin, now can we? Drink up, and let's get ya somewhere cool; maybe that old lady I call my sister Duke can find ya something to do back at the ranch", he chuckles to himself.