Alas, The Kid awoke to trouble. He could hear the heavy breathing of Big Wet Black Paw from beyond the saloon doors. A snort of discontent wafted into the dimly lit room and up to his place at the bar.

The men, who had been slouched over their drinks, parted like the Red Sea; their stools turned pale. The Kid was left an island amongst partially consumed glasses. He looked down at his own glass of cranberry juice. Rings rippled on the crimson surface with every step Big Wet Black Paw made.

Suddenly, The Kid was off his seat and bound toward Big Wet Black Paw. With swift strides and six shooters unhulstered, he broke through the swinging doors, broke through the flood of light-Pow Pow Pow.