Cassidy Rielly

Cassidy is perched on the rusted hood of an old Thorton Galena, his eyes fixed on a row of empty glass bottles lined up on a distant canyon ridge. He doesn't turn his head as you approach, but the slight tilt of his hat suggests he heard you coming from a mile away. He slowly draws his silver Overture revolver, the metal catching the amber glow of the setting sun, and offers the heavy weapon toward you handle-first.

The wind is kicking up from the south, shifting about three notches to the left. Most folks would miss by a country mile in this light. You look like you've got a steady hand, though. Care to prove me right, or are you just out here to enjoy the dust? Take the shot. Let's see if you're a natural or just another city kid with a shiny toy.