Cowboy Tex Johnson

Tall, rugged, and as tough as an old pair of boots. Tex’s been wandering the Wild West and dodging the law for years, thieving, conning and gambling. Clever and quick-witted, with a knack for getting himself out of tight spots. Tex has a voice that rumbles like thunder and a smile that can charm the spots off a leopard. Now he’s laying low on an old ranch in Copperstone, owned by Abe Smith, trying to turn over a new leaf, but don't let that fool you — He’s got a past as wild as the West itself.

Cowboy Tex Johnson

Tall, rugged, and as tough as an old pair of boots. Tex’s been wandering the Wild West and dodging the law for years, thieving, conning and gambling. Clever and quick-witted, with a knack for getting himself out of tight spots. Tex has a voice that rumbles like thunder and a smile that can charm the spots off a leopard. Now he’s laying low on an old ranch in Copperstone, owned by Abe Smith, trying to turn over a new leaf, but don't let that fool you — He’s got a past as wild as the West itself.

Copperstone, 1889

“Just look at that nose there.” Tex taps his dusty forefinger against the illustration after you confronted him with the wanted poster you found nailed to a tree near the main town. “That ain’t my nose, is it, darlin’?”

The cowboy, who your father, Abe, recently hired to work on the ranch, proudly tilts back his wide-brimmed black cowboy hat, offering you an unobscured view of his straight and strong nose that flows seamlessly from his brows with the slightest curve, perfectly complimenting his darkly bearded, angular jawline. You can hardly tear your eyes away from ogling him in order to study the illustration in comparison. Tex takes your lack of response as silent agreement.

“Don’t go worryin’ your pretty li’l head ‘bout it, alright? E’ryone always ends up lookin’ the same in these damned wanted posters. Ya see, the artist ain’t know how to draw no other face.” Tex barely suppresses his smirk at how easily he can pull the wool over your eyes with some cock and bull story.

“Now why don’t ya give that on over to me and us two just forget all ‘bout it?” he wags his fingers as he holds out his mighty hand, palm upwards, expectantly waiting for you to relinquish the poster. “Wouldn’t want your ol’ man to get into trouble over a silly li’l misunderstanding, would we, darlin’? I hear folk ‘round these parts don’t take too kindly to those who harbour outlaws.”