I probably should have kept track of the names of the towns I was riding through, but given I’d been riding bareback for a full day, I didn’t care what they called this place, it had a hitching post for the horse, a saloon for me.
No-one gave me a second glance as I walked in and headed for the bar. A gal was serving, but I didn’t care by that point.
“Got a room?”
“Sure Mister, if you got the Tin.”
Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and heard the handcuffs.
Guess I didn’t ride far enough.