A cowboy walks into a deserted saloon...

And there's no tinkling waltz on the piano, no gentle buzzing about the days activities, it's empty. A mournful bartender polishes an immaculate glass and halfheartedly waves away a fat, clueless fly.

The cowboy sidled into a stool and fished a coin out of his pocket. He flicked it with his thumb, and it sang in the air before ringing out on the wooden bar.

"Say friend, you got a whiskey?"

The coin rattles to a stop, and the bartender looks up with a patient smile.

"That is," says the cowboy, "if you're not too busy."

"No sir," says the barman. "Never too busy." He pops the top off a dark bottle of rye and pours a generous glass.

The cowboy throws it back, licks his lips, and says, "My, my, my. Doesn't do any good in the bottle, does it?"

"I suppose it doesn't," says the bartender.

The fly buzzes by.

"Well!" says the cowboy, clearly itching for company. "Where in the Sam Hell is everybody?"

"Oh," says the bartender, "they're all at the hangin'."

"Hangin'?

"Hangin'."

The cowboy motions for another belt of brown, and the bartender obliges.

"Now who might they be hangin' today?"

The bartender puts his rag on his shoulder, looks the cowboy straight in the eye and says, "Sir, today they're hangin' none other than 'Brown Paper Pete'."

"Brown Paper Pete?"

"The very same."

The cowboy points to the now empty glass and makes the international 'just one more' gesture.

"That's an interesting name, isn't it?"

"It does have an air about it, sir."

"Now why do you suppose they call him that?"

"Well sir," says the bartender, "they call him 'Brown Paper Pete' because he wears a brown paper hat."

"Does he now?"

"He does."

"And if it rains?"

"He wears it all the same."

"My goodness."

"That ain't the half of it, sir! See, he also wears himself a brown paper shirt."

"A shirt?"

"And a brown paper tie. Both of which are firmly ensconced in a well-fitted brown paper frock coat. Do you want me to tell you about his pants?"

"I think I have a pretty fair idea," says the cowboy. "Would it be presumptive of me to assume that they are made of brown paper as well?"

"They are indeed. And he has a nice pair of brown paper boots, and a fine set of brown paper socks."

"It appears," says the cowboy, "that this outlaw's sobriquet is well-earned!"

"Now I don't know what that specifically means, sir. But I'll wager I agree."

The cowboy sips in silence.

The fly makes another round.

The bartender goes back to polishing the gleaming glass.

"So!" says the cowboy. "What are they hangin' him for?"

The bartender puts down the glass, wipes a smudge from the bar, looks up at the cowboy and says,

"Rustlin'."