Sighing at the untimely leaving of the old salt, the Man From The West realized that someone would have to fill the bill for the gunfighter ballads and the burden had fallen upon his shoulders.

He squared them and bag in hand entered a dressing room.

Stripping to his undies (basic black), he pulled on a pair of boot socks. Foxed trousers, medium gray in color, were pulled on and a dark red cotton shirt was tucked neatly into the waistband and secured with a lightweight "ranger" belt. Black books with medium heels were jerked on over the socks.

He stood up and carefully tied a black silk neckerchief around his neck; this was followed by a black vest. A gold stem-winder watch, secured by a gold chain, went into a vest pocket.

He reached again into his bag and brought out a matched set of .45 caliber Colt's revolvers -- the "Single Action Army" model -- with gutta-percha grips. He laid them carefully on a chair and retrieved from the bag a set of well-worn plain black leather holsters set in a belt glistening with the brass of extra cartridges.

Strapping on the holsters, he picked up the revolvers. Balancing one in each hand, he executed a quick Border Shift, a Forward Roadagent's Spin, and a Reverse Roadagent's Spin. Holstering a pistol in the left holster, he carefully loaded six cartridges into the remaining weapon and holstered it and then loaded the one in the left hand holster.

He sighed again, pulled on a pair of tight black goatskin gloves, snapped his bag shut and locked it, and strode out into the sunshine, an aura of menace in his every move.