A man is walking along the beaten path that leads one through the grounds to the stables that sit out in a field beyond the lake, his direction headed towards the bar. He's carrying a leather bag over one shoulder and a rifle over the other, and the way his feet are methodically trudging along the dirt one might think at first glance that he was a soldier returning from battle.

But as he approaches, it becomes obvious that he is not a soldier, but from an even earlier time, given the outfit (boots, spurs, bandana tied loosely around his neck, half-chaps, well-dirtied denim and cotton and leather, hat tipped back off his forehead, and a Colt holstered at his hip) he's wearing.

Doc notices the man with the drink and offers him a slightly-weary smile as they get within range of conversation. He slows his walk and glances at the bar's back door.

"I'm hopin' there ain't nothin' weird goin' on in there tonight that's driven you out here," he says by way of greeting. "'Cause I just got done drivin' in a whole mess'a sheep and I'm really not lookin' forward to dealin' with Milliways bein' weird on me."