Ray clapped his paws together, as he walked into the saloon, having buried the wolf. He smiled, and sat in a chair against the wall, dropping the coffin in front of himself. Ray opened the lid, and deployed the old Gatling gun. He turned the handle, causing the gun to turn slightly, before he began cleaning it, talking quietly. "Charles Sherman. Age, twenty-five. Cause of death, bullet through the leftmost temple. Date, August first, nineteen-oh-one."