A cowboy rode into town and decided to stop by the local saloon for a drink. As it often went in these parts, the locals had a habit of giving strangers a hard time. When he finished his drink, he stepped outside to find his horse had vanished.
Without a second thought, he strode back into the saloon, twirled his gun in the air with ease, and caught it effortlessly above his head, firing a shot into the ceiling.
“Alright, which one of you low-down varmints took my horse?” he bellowed, his voice calm but carrying a dangerous edge. The room fell silent. No one said a word.
He took a slow sip from his beer, then looked around the room with a steely gaze. "I’m gonna have one more drink," he said. "And if my horse ain’t back out there by the time I finish, I’m gonna do what I had to do in Texas. And believe me, I don’t like doing what I had to do in Texas."
The locals shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting between each other. The cowboy finished his beer in silence, then strolled out of the bar.
To his surprise, his horse was waiting for him by the hitching post, as if nothing had ever happened. He saddled up, gave the crowd one last look, and started to ride out of town.
As he was leaving, the bartender walked out to ask, “Hey, partner, before you head out, what exactly did you have to do in Texas?”
The cowboy turned in his saddle, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I had to walk home,” he said with a wink.