The Scotsman dismounted his horse, groaning with effort to carry his cuirass. It was certainly annoying to carry around as a civilian, especially in all the heat but he was damned if he was going to let someone stab him in the back or some squirrel-gun toting cowboy trying to take him as easy pickings just because he was too lazy to wear it. He went to the general store to buy some cartridges for his revolver along with some powder, shot and oxidized paper to create the massive cartridges for his howdah pistol. He would go to the cheapest stable but in it give a lot of money with a little extra for the owner to keep quiet. Finally, he went to the old Mary-Ann inn. He didn't get a room, merely getting himself scotch and looking about the place. His face was extremely sunburned because he had not worn his hat, a lesson he would never forget. Sipping his scotch he would place his revolver and sword on the table for instant access should he need it while he happily rolled himself some cartridges for his howdah pistol. This was the Wild West after all.

Satisfied he motioned to the bar-man to come over, the man no doubt certain that a man with a Scottish accent this far west would have some money. "Psst, this place is safe, right? No Mexican bandits nor Indians raiding, right?" he asked, keeping a weary eye out. Pinkerton was one of the places he had invested in when the civil war broke out, and he was hoping old deeds could be at least of some worth.