Panel 1 - The Old West. An prairie lined by a wooden fence. Fire orange and pink sky, wispy cotton clouds a pastel blue. Open wooden gate with a wrought iron arch, a stylized brand of "TB" at the top. A brown and white horse with a blanket and saddle with bags tied to a fencepost by the reins. A cowboy slides a shotgun into the blankets. His face is shadowed by his wide-brimmed black hat. He is wearing an Indian poncho over his denim shirt, jeans, and boots, Colt revolver on his hip, and smoking a cheroot in his teeth.
Panel 2 - P.O.V. over the cowboy's shoulder, as he grabs the pommel of the saddle to mount his horse. He's looking at a little boy in tattered work clothes, his long-ish hair blowing in the afternoon breeze. He is holding a tattered issue of a pulp adventure in his hands: Adventures of the Squared Circle Gang.
KID: Think you'll ever come back someday?
Panel 3 - From the Kid's P.O.V., looking up into the face of the cowboy on his horse. It's RYAN K. LINDSAY, adjusting his hat over his eyes, squinting like Eastwood, cheroot still in his teeth, a knowing smile on his face.
RYAN K.: I don't know, kid. Ranch is in good hands, I reckon. Maybe someday.
RYAN K.: But if and when I do...
Panel 4 - Foreground, we see the Kid sitting on the fence, pulp adventure rolledup and in his back pocket, waving goodbye to our hero. RYAN K. is framed by the ranch gate, riding away, silhouetted by the setting sun, sitting tall in the saddle.
RYAN K.: I'm bringing all Hell riding with me.
CAPTION: Vaya Con Dios, Amigo. Gracias.