He was alone. He was always alone. He didn't know how to communicate well with people. He was shy and prone to long periods of silence. He was just him and his horse. He was among the heros of the Old West. He had a whip and he knew how to use it. He worried about his future sometimes. He wasn't getting any younger and it was getting harder to take the punishing work of cattle herding. He smoked a lot and he drank some. Some day, he thought, he'd have to give it up and he'd have to settle down somewhere. Somewhere where it was quiet and the sky was blue and you could look around and see forever. 

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