Kate nods and curtsies when it's appropriate as they pass people on the walk, but the niceties are always punctured by the awkward shift of passerby's eyes to her legs, and the hitch in her step. Her footfalls echo unevenly on the weathered wooden planks.

She keeps that kerchief close to her face, nervous that the outlaw in her will shine through regardless of the current act.

"That right? Well, that's a comfort. You won't go blowin' up our marks 'fore we even get a chance to get back to the Bar and grab the others, then?"

Her voice is a low hiss to avoid being overheard, but the teasing tenor is still audible enough.