Kate does her best not to stand out, but it's easier in crowds. There's not much she can do about being a blonde-haired, blue-eyed pistol of a woman, dressed in britches and worn boots. She turns heads as they climb onto the boardwalk.

Inside isn't much different. The menfolk who aren't so drunk they can't see straight turn and stare. Kate glances at Butch, something like an apology — or maybe just frustration — caught in her eyes.

"Well, I reckon we can work ourselves up t'the hard stuff."

She moves to grab them a table in the corner, scanning the room for familiar faces. Looks like they're the first ones here.