The stranger rode into town on the day of the Great Duststorm. Where he came from was never known, but everyone soon wished he was back wherever that was, or anywhere else, just not here.
He had a look about him. A look that was as hard as the rugged landscape of the planet. Harsh, dry, without mercy. Men averted their eyes as he passed, women crossed the street to avoid even being near him. The fear he caused was evident in the furtive looks and hurried steps of the town folks.
The stranger made his way to the saloon and stood just outside the swinging doors. He scanned the gloomy interior like a great cat looking for prey. Sensing no danger he entered and made his way to the bar. The few patrons who were seated near him quickly left their seats for either the door or a distant table.
Overcoming her fear, the bartenderess asked, "What's your name honey, and what will ya have?"
He looked at her for a moment, and in that short time she knew exactly what he wanted.