He rolls his eyes at her nagging, and follows where she aims Beaut. He's glad Concession seems to want a drink and isn't giving him trouble, because it lets him look around again.

His first real Western town. And it looks exactly like he thought it would. Dusty, and wooden. Horse shit here and there, and every bloke's dressed more or less like him. He runs his tongue over dry lips, and reaches for his hip flask.

'We stoppin' here, there?'

He's dying for a fag, but he remembers as he automatically goes for them, that he can't.

'I need fags.'