Imagine, for a moment, a saloon in the Wild West. It's a bunch of regulars, and a few out-of-towners, and things are all right. Then someone walks in through the bat wing doors.
Someone in a broad, flat-crowned hat, with silver spurs. The room goes quiet, and the whispers start.
He might be just a man, but people have heard tell of him. They know those low-slung guns, and that scar along his right hand. Before he even opens his mouth, everyone in the room is thinking about shaking his hand.
Just kidding, that's just what I have dreams about, but you get the idea.