Barman Bill, a large man with a ruddy face and freckled hands, spotted trouble from the moment it walked through the swinging doors of his saloon. A few of the regulars sat at little round tables staring into their glasses, ignoring the newcomer.The stranger wore a long dark coat, and his suit underneath looked pristine.
His reddish-brown moustache and beard were neatly trimmed and showed wisps of grey.
Two sharp blue eyes peered beneath his Stetson, drinking in his surroundings with a solemn, serious glare. His eyes glanced over the patrons, the bar, and Bill could see that the man looked for the location of the exits. Everything about the man screamed “trouble” to Bill, as his regular patrons lacked both the air of authority and the immaculate grooming of this newcomer.
The thin layer of dust on the man’s coat and hat told a silent tale of his long journey travelling through the country.
‘Strangers always bring strange dealings with them,’ Bill thought.
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