"This must be a ghost town," said Jake a rather large man who had been riding behind Steve. He was Steve's oldest friend.
"Yeah, an' there probably ain't a drop of whiskey in it," Steve said as he looked at the sign that was hanging in front of an opened door. And right after he said it, an old man stepped through the doorway, wearing a clean white shirt, and holding a Sharp's rifle in his hands.
"Look, Steve," it's an old man, Carl said, pointing towards the old timer.
"I can see that," Steve said, still brandishing his Colt. "For cryin' out loud, I'm lookin' right at the old buzzard.