A rugged cowboy walked into a dusty saloon, ordered a drink, and went back outside a few minutes later only to find that his horse had been stolen.
Furious, he stormed back through the swinging doors, drew his revolver, and fired a loud shot directly into the wooden ceiling.
“Which one of you lowlifes stole my horse?!” he roared.
The room fell dead silent. Nobody made a sound.
“Alright,” the cowboy growled, slamming his fist on the counter. “I’m gonna sit right here and drink one more beer. And if my horse isn’t tied back up outside by the time I finish this glass… I’m gonna have to do what I did back in Texas!”
The saloon went dead quiet. Nervous whispers broke out, and within minutes, the cowboy’s horse was returned to its post, freshly brushed and watered.
As the cowboy finished his beer and stood up to leave, the trembling bartender leaned over the counter and whispered, “Excuse me, partner… but what exactly did you have to do back in Texas?”
The cowboy sighed, adjusted his hat, and replied,
“I had to walk home.”
