"No word from Strawberry yet, Mr. Cervantes, but anyone coming from that way may experience some significant delay, what with the sudden Pinkerton presence after that situation in Blackwater. I'll send word round to the saloon should I receive any information pertaining to your business associates. Also, sir, the gunsmith sent word last night your pistols were ready."
	"Much appreciated, take this for your trouble."
	"Far too kind Mr. Cervantes, much obliged, sir."
	"Don't mention it, in Saint Denis, we take care of those who help us."

	Diego's fine boots knocked the porch wood as he stepped outside, scanning the crowd that bustled up and down the main street of Valentine. His spurs chimed as he made his way to the gunsmith, his bulky frame used to weaving through bustling walkways. The bullish man reeked of fancy, his burgundy frock coat draped over his fine vest and french dress shirt. The bright white of his cuffs poked out from under his tailored coat sleeves as he walked. 

	As he walked, Diego pulled his fine leather gloves on, because even though he would never admit it, Valentine was a lot colder than what he was used to. Last time he was in Valentine, he was just a boy. The cold mud between his toes made them numb, and he fumbled whatever English he could. That was a long time ago, and now, the people of Valentine stared because the of his dress, not his skin, because of the pomade in his hair and the way he strutted down the street, like it was Saint Denis and everyone knew who he was, what he could do.
	
	He tipped the gunsmith handsomely, his mauser and volcanic pistol were as clean as a whistle. Both pistols were ivory gripped, black steel with brass. Back in Saint Denis, he was known to use the volcanic as a hammer when he needed to, but there wasn't much construction being done in his line of work. He was from the city, the cobbled streets of Lemoyne's biggest urban sprawl, revolvers and bullwhips were not his forte, nevertheless, the man knew how to fight. Growing up in the city as muscle for gamblers made him quite the brawler. 

	'Send the Mexican' Claude would say, and debts would practically pay themselves. Other than skin tone and name however, Diego was pure Saint Denis city stock: Fine clothes, slicked hair, tough beard, and an eagerness for money and violence. The people of Valentine were to slowly find out just who he was. Being in town a few days, he had attracted enough attention with the money he was spending at the saloon, but the recreation was superficial, a way to kill time until business was handled. Yet there was Diego, still in Valentine walking through the mud every morning just to get around. With no word from Strawberry, or Saint Denis, Diego was ready to kick his feet up with sincerity.

	With his horse comfortably stabled and his room booked through the next week, Diego strolled into the saloon for a haircut and to finally mix with the locals in earnest. The bartender poured him a shot of whiskey as they conversed, Diego wanted to see about getting tequila shipped to the town. Meanwhile Annie, the saloon girl he spent his first night with made her way over to him.
	
	"Well Mr. Cervantes, long as you need to handle business here in Valentine you are more than welcome to unwind here, sir."
	"Barkeep, my good man, I knew you'd say that." Diego smirked as he raised his glass.