Cowboys are cursed
to not have a name.
Currently thinking about how big theme of wild west media is "not having a name." In the plain, endless prairie, who cares about your name? Who is there to hear it, anyway?
The main cowboy in Johnny Cash's most famous song, riders in the sky, is refered to as just that – a cowboy. Nothing more, nothing less.
The most famous western protagonist of all time is literally known as "The man with no name." We learn through the movie that he never uses his name – the most he has is a nickname, mocking his golden-brown hair.
When the Texas Ranger appeared in town (in "Big Iron"), no one even dared to ask his name.
Perhaps it's better, to not have a name. Names bring cowboys bad luck - they're nothing but trouble. Think about Bill Carson - he had a name - and how he ended up? With the worst death possible, by starvation and thirst, mere moments away from getting the help he needed.
And what about Tuco Ramirez? How did he end up? Tied in a noose, on an unknown cemetery, all alone. His name got him wanted and persecuted by law.
No, it's better (for a cowboy, anyway) to be nameless. At most have a nickname that people can call you, but nothing else besides that. Think about Blondie. (Or Angel eyes).
Names bring nothing but trouble – with a name, they can identify you, set a bounty on your head - and on your name. Without a name, the best someone can do is describe you – tall, blonde, smokes his cigar. Heh. Good luck, there's million like that out there, same pigs as him. You'll never find him.
Nobody will.
Put on my grave: Nobody was faster than me. (He shot me, and didn't even give his name).
Put on my grave: Trinity, for the holiness of the body, and nothing else.
Put on my grave: Unknown. And bury me next to Arch Stanton.
