Dusk, some-where in West Texas. The horse that enters the larger-than-average town has lost its spunk; almost dragging its body on hooves that are short of three ironclad shoes. A figure resembling that of a young female, struggles to keep herself in the saddle while holding onto the pommel to do so. What catches the eyes are the twin low-slung six-shooters riding her hips on either side. A second glance at the girl will leave a man astonished at her beauty, something not noticeable at first glance. Her clothes are trail-worn and dirty; dust and sweat mingling to form a thin-layered crust on her skin.