Revenge Walks the Dim Light.

     The room fell immediately silent except for the clink of a glass being set down on a heavy wooden table. Like a shadow, the man who walked through the entrance, loomed across the room. His curly beard framed his wild, billowing hair that spilled out from under his travel worn hat.With the poorly lit room, his eyes were forced to squint, giving them a sharpness that pierced the room's awkward silence like a broad headed arrow. He was clad in a heavy leather jacket with the crisply folded collar jutting out. His hands, forged of steel, tensed at his sides. A wide glossy black belt crossed his waist, with a heavy square silver belt buckle that gleamed and sparkled even in the dim and gloomy light. His rough tanned face was unmarred, yet stained with a look of having seen far too much for his age. The eyes of the men sitting at the saloon's tables and benches darted like wild animals trying to escape his hawk eyed gaze. Heavy thumps of leather boots on rough floorboards echoed as he crossed the room. He stopped to pick up a glass of whiskey from a table, belonging to a visably shaken looking old man. With one swift swig, the glass was emptied. The clank of the glass being set down on the table was once again the only noise to break the silence. His thumb teased the brass hilt of his six-shooter.