In the bar, a young man with wild red hair tamed by grease to slide it into a more or less fashionable look, gingerly scrubs a damp and clean rag inside a glass. the glass shines as he sets it back down, red looking it over all the while. A small smile over his face seemed to glow as he looked over the bar. He had been here for a few years now. He wondered just what would have happened to him if he kept with his old wrangling days of looting and plunder, but those days where in the past. He had a life here, filling cups, making drinks and equally skillful small talk. As he poured another cup he looked out the small fence-like swing doors to the bar, seeing a nostalgic face. He dropped the glass at this, but was quick to catch it and fill deliver the drink to it's consumer. 
"it can't be.... not in a million years" Red proclaimed to himself under his breath. He went white as if he had seen a specter. In some ways, he had.

Outside the town, a man swaggered in on his horse. As he moved towards the saloon, more and more people looked over him. The average small talk and chatter of the towns where taken over by whispers and mutters in a aura like affect. This man was an odd one indeed. Like a predator on it's prey, he seemed so void of care for the surroundings around him, focusing in on those doors and nothing else. His breathing was nullified and almost unhearable, and even his horses tramples where soft. More than this was his face, or lack of one. Masked by a tarp of cloth and a clay figure over his head, such an odd sight was unheard of. 

Reaching the saloon, the masked figure swiftly dismounted his steed and tied it to a post in the railing. Sighing after wards he looked up to the large mount. It was clear this was no thoroughbred or racing horse of any kind. The lack of saddle was just proving this more. As he pat the animal and tuged the water trout slightly closer for it to drink, it whinnied in eagerness. 
"That's nice, I'll be wetting my whistle too" Said the man in a salty tongue that was more or less intimidating. 
Walking on, he snatched his shoddy shotgun and walked up the the front. From here he turned to a scandely clad woman and nodded before holding up a crude drawling of red. His horse stared with the others in awe. Was he serious?
"Have you seen this man? He calls himself kid red" He asked dully to Sammy.