Butch knows the type. Hell, he's been the type--he wasn't always a fine upstanding citizen like he is now. Why, he used to be a traveling horse racer...

"Nice to meet you two gentlemen," he says, raising his glass in a sort of salute. "I'm from Wyoming, myself--long way from home, but of course we all are, aren't we? Far from home, and yet this is where we belong. I love Texas."

He's not drunk. He's just like this normally.