The solitary rider strolled into the saloon. At his hip hung a heavy, pearl-handled iron, yet it was no instrument of destruction. When the lawless mob closed in, the rider drew the pistol with lightning swiftness. Instead of lethal lead, a fragrant, crimson torrent of wild desert roses erupted from the barrel and showered the desperados in velvet petals. Their scowls melted into soft, starry-eyed grins. Where bloodlust had burned just moments before, an overwhelming wave of tender affection filled the air. In the shadows, a cowgirl looked on in astonishment at the clamorous, turned amorous, throng. She turned her gaze upon the rider. He tipped his hat and holstered his miraculous peacemaker. Arm in arm they left the saloon, swung astride their mounts and spurred on, leaving the love-struck town behind as they rode into the crimson glory of the fading western sunset.