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"…Now that, my friend, is how the west was won!"

Just over the dreaded shadow cast by Cobalt’s big, blue hat, three bleeding gunmen wriggled on the dusty floor before him. One fat, the other two thin and frail, the three bounty hunters had aimed on taking the gracious price on Cobalt’s head. Yet, they, like the seven he left dead at Crazy Mary’s Cantina, were now as dead as the dried tumbleweeds that sifted through the wide western plains.

"Tisk, tisk; you boys just weren’t fast enough…nobody’s fast enough." Muttered Cobalt, as the African American man tilted his cowboy hat in a slight gesture of respect to the recently departed.

The sunrise appeared massive in the distance and Cobalt was on the move again. He had to keep moving if he wanted to avoid the corrupt clutches of the jaded Confederate Army. As a soldier, he fought hard and brave, but their bloodlust was bringing nothing but murder and mayhem to his once beloved land. More so, after accidentally killing his own brother, who was forced to fight for the rival army, Cobalt grew crazed and mean. Going AWOL from a military prison camp, he left the army behind and took to life as the old west’s quickest gunslinger, albeit, an outlaw and a thief as well.

"…Ha, they promised freedom," said Cobalt as he spat angrily on the ground. "I made my own freedom. …In this world, a black man has only one kind of freedom, the one he makes for himself!"

After cursing the land behind him, Cobalt soon arrived at a new town. He could see it in the wavy haze of desert heat that the sun so brutally wrought on his back. The first thing he noticed was that the small homestead seemed devoid of people, but as he drew closer, small figures began to emerge from the dust-laden town’s small shops. Cobalt quickly turned to a fairly large tavern, which had a long, dilapidated signpost that read: "Calamity Jane’s Saloon".

"Ah, any time is a good time for whisky," whispered Cobalt, while lustfully eyeballing the liquor bottles behind the saloon’s windowpane.

Jumping off his horse, Cobalt strutted into the saloon, swinging open the spilt doors in dramatic fashion. The lone bartender was a retched sight to behold. His body was frail and his skin seemed gray and ashy. On the other side of the bar, a lone woman dressed in an old fashioned nun’s outfit, cradled a warm glass of water in her hands. Cobalt just sneered at her curiously and sat at the bar.

"What will it be?" Asked the lanky barkeep.

"Give me one flask of ale and two shots of the smartest whisky you got in this joint." Answered Cobalt, now tipping his hat toward the hooded nun to his side.

"Hey, sister, excuse me for asking; but wouldn’t you like something with a little more pep to drink? I got a couple coins in my pocket that will fetch it for you." Said Cobalt with a slick smile.

Turning to Cobalt and lifting the hooded nun’s veil from her face, the hardened outlaw drew back in shock. There was nothing wrong with her, but her stunning beauty was more than the dark rider had expected.

"Like the red-skins past the plains, I‘m not very partial to firewater anymore, kind sir." Replied the beautiful nun, now sneaking her hand into the left side of her black and white garment.

Cobalt quickly noticed the nervous demeanor of the woman and also knew that her hand was probably on some small firearm she had hidden below her long gown.

"Heh, you just relax now, little lady. I ain’t no woman herder. Despite what them white boys down south say, not every colored man got his eyes on the loins of white women." Said Cobalt, half-laughing at his own remark.

"Now let me guess, you must be sporting a six-gun under that pretty, little outfit of yours, right?"

The woman released a slow and cautious smile, while letting the port side of her double barrel ride out from under her habit.

"Wrong, cowboy -- ladies like me have to have a little more…’confidence’ in these parts. Surely a man of the world like yourself could understand that." Spoke the nun with the smallest hint of pent-up flirtation.

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