It’s quiet out there. Too quiet. Dust devils spin like drunken dervish dancers and scraggly tumbleweeds cartwheel through desolate streets. You lean back on your chair outside the front door of Miss Kitty’s and listen to the tinkling honky tonk piano, waiting for something, anything, to happen. A red headed stranger appears out of nowhere, riding bareback on a lean and hungry, spotted feral mustang named Cassius.