[i]And so, the two met. JT's eyes lay resting sharply on the newcomer, his gaze that of a razor blade trailing over a face - One wrong move, and there would be blood. The Marshal of the West stood in between the gates of the Dojo, shutting the iron doors behind him as he slowly exited to the tune of his boots and spurs. Not often did the gunslinger get to meet another vaquero in this civilized land. Most were holed up in the Shi Canyon, playing bandit to the few civilized towns that dot the inner lane of the dusty hellhole. [/i]