A man clothed in simple black, except for a white collar, steps up and enters through the establishment's doorway.

The owner looks up from his work. "Good morning. How's goes our new shepherd of the flock?"

"Fine, thank you. And yourself?"

"I am well. What can I do for you? Nothing personal, I hope."

"Well, you can help me satisfy my curiosity. I asked the sheriff. He told me to ask you."

"What about?"

"The epitaph on a certain gravestone."

"You must be talking about the one which reads, here lies Twenty. For him, that was plenty."

"That indeed, is the one."

"I'm not surprised that the sheriff couldn't tell you anything."

"Why is that?"

"His demise occurred under the watch of our previous sheriff."

"Then, as the undertaker, it seems the telling of it would naturally fall to you."

"And so, it has."

"Would you be willing to relate the story?"

"The tale is not long."

"Still, I'd like to hear it."

"Well, it starts this way, pastor. When he rode into town no one knew his name, but everyone knew why he was here."

"And how did they know that?"

"From the way he wore his gun."

"Oh, then he was what they call a gun hawk?"

"Exactly."

"Who did he come to kill?"

"Not rightly sure, as the then sheriff was alerted, and faced him down himself."

"So the sheriff proved faster."

"Actually, no. That's just it, the gunfighter drew first, but for some reason he choked, then the sheriff 's bullet struck him down."

"Well, how does the twenty part fit in?"

"He had twenty notches on his gun. Also, the sheriff said he was twenty. By his looks, the townsfolk agreed."

"So you never found out the fella's name."

"No, but after this our former sheriff resigned and moved on."

"Who. then, chose the inscription?"

"The township decided, rather than leaving it without any engraving to have that written on his marker. It seemed fitting in more ways than one."