A guest commentary by Boh Herbert
As a teenager, I loved and read up what we called "cowboy novels", for lack of a better name.
In one of the novels from The Saint series - (I believe it was) - the novelist describes the scene in a pub in the Wild West. It is one of a tired cowboy, riding across rolling hills into the sunset, seeking out a place to stay the night but also more importantly looking out for where to quench his thirst.
In this particular scene, the Saint rode into the town center, climbed down his horse, tethered it next to other horses outside a pub, walked inside, ordered a drink and settled to enjoy it. Hardly had he taken a sip of the drink than the bullies rallied, trying to intimidate him.
"Hey, stranger!" the self-appointed chief of the bullying cowboys called out.
The Saint looked around for the stranger and seeing no one to whom he could ascribe the appellation, he returned his attention to his drink.