The keep, a round-faced gentleman of German descent, is taken aback. He shifts his gaze between the women, looking uncomfortable.

"What can I get you?"

"Whiskey an' a sarsaparilla," Kate smirks, not pausing to see whether or not Rachel is shooting her daggers. "An' a name. Thomas Black?"

The barkeep pours the drinks, and nods over Kate's shoulder. Three men sit at a table in the corner. There's a game of cards spread out in front of them, but their attention is unmistakably on the women.