The hours pass quietly. At one point, Kate hears riders in her vicinity, a pair from the sound of the slow canter of their mounts, but they never draw near to her, passing through without any knowledge of her presence in her makeshift shelter. As the light begins to fade from the afternoon sky, a chill settles among the trees, the valley suddenly taking on the cold of the mountains once more.

Making the changes to her appearance proves easy for the outlaw. Peering out of her hiding spot toward town, she can see lantern light begin to burn in several windows, and notices several people gathering at Ramsey’s restaurant, as well as the two saloons. A small group of men takes up the porch of the Patron House, each partaking in a cigar or pipe. The sounds of piano can be heard thinly in the air.

The panic that gripped the town over the sudden violence at the Thornton-Curry appears to have subsided. To Kate’s eyes, all appears calm.

This was as good as any time then.  Time to get shot, or try to work her way deeper into the confidence of the local good for nothings like herself, or hell why not both?

She waded into town casually like nothing was amiss, and headed into Wilson's like any traveler might do.

Kate strides across Lincoln's Main Street as tinges of dusk darken the cloudy sky. Her presence attracts little attention, most passerby entirely focused on their own affairs. As she nears Wilson's Saloon, she is greeted by the tinny melody of a piano.

Stepping inside, she finds the air heavy with tobacco smoke, the dark wooden walls are largely bare, save for a few momentoes from the cattle range, branding irons, lassoes, horseshoes and the like, along with the bills for a handful of visiting performers. The right side of the barroom is occupied by the bar itself, a long, well used piece that stretches down most of the room's border, a tall mirror behind it. On the left are numerous tables and chairs, many of which are occupied. A piano sits against the back wall, a slender, black haired man minding its keys. Close to the piano, a pair of tables are hosting card games.

Kate spies two people from Evans' crew, the rifleman and the brown haired woman, seated at a table, talking quietly over glasses of whiskey. If they recognize Kate, neither gives any indication. At another table, Kate notices a pair of men drinking beer, both sporting deputy's stars. Three women, dressed in the colorful attire of saloon girls, circulate among the customers. At the bar, a white haired barkeep with a drooping mustache busies himself by polishing glasses.

Kate didn't get in a big hurry.  She wasn't sure if the two she recognized from before were here just for her, but probably not.

In practical terms, even if she went back to her hidey hole, she should eat.  So food first.

The bartender regards Kate with raised eyebrows as she steps over to the bar. From the door behind the bar, the outlaw catches the pleasant scent of cooking food. Putting the glass he was cleaning underneath the bar, the barkeep says, ”What can I get you?”

From one of the nearby card tables, one of the players curses, slapping his cards down in frustration.

"Let's start with grub and suds."  She'd look into her contact in a moment, but again, priorities.  Her eye wandered to the sound of the card game going awry.  She was ready to hop the bar and duck, expecting to hear an accusation of cheating next...

The card table calms after a moment, one of the men assuring the disgruntled player that streaks of bad luck always end. The frustrated participant agrees to another hand, though the atmosphere of the game remains mildly tense.

The bartender returns with a bowl of Irish stew and a generous slice of soda bread. Setting the food in front of Kate, he pours beer into a glass mug for her. "Haven't seen you in here before," he comments.

"Yeah, you haven't."  Kate agreed.  She ate quickly.  This was a survival tactic not a pleasure trip.  "You could say I'm a recent business partner of Jim McDaniels."

The barkeep grunts in acknowledgement of Kate’s mention of McDaniels. He produces a pocketwatch and checks it. ”Unless he’s busy with other matters, he should be in directly.”

He shifts his attention to another customer approaching the bar, who Kate notices is the woman from Evans Gang, her hair so black it almost seems blue in the lantern light. She orders two glasses of whiskey, then glances at Kate with a curious expression as she waits for the barkeep to fulfill her request.

Kate knew this wasn't going to end nicely, she'd either shoot, be shot, or have to flee soon.  She wasn't quite shoveling food in her mouth but it was pretty close.  She stopped herself to chew, since choking would be an even worse disaster.

Besides she was genuinely starving, it wasn't hard to force the food down anyway.

She made eye contact with her strange new barmate.  Kansas Kate wasn't the type to stare people down at random (she'd done it before to goad someone out into the street), but she wouldn't flinch if someone else laid eyes on her.  No she peered right back, with a gaze that was hard enough to grind corn with.

Whatever curiosity the woman has appears to quickly fade. After meeting Kate's eyes for a moment, she returns her attention to the barkeep, collecting the requested glasses of liquor and departing for her table.

A moment later, a tall man with a hint of beard and hair the color of sand enters the saloon. His eyes are lost to the shadow cast by the dark colored hat he wears. He is dressed for the range, a tan colored duster framing him, his hands sheathed in worn leather gloves.

He speaks quietly to the bartender,who nods in Kate's direction. After receiving a mug of beer, he saunters over to her. "Understand you wanted to speak to me," he says.

Abruptly, Roving Wolf's talisman grows cold against Kate's chest.

Part of Kansas Kate, the cowardly part ironically, wanted to get all steely eyed, goad him into stupidity and draw right there.

But that wouldn't do.  That wouldn't do at all.

"Well that just depends now."  She responded coolly, giving in a twisted smile and a long drawl.  And she began... to prattle?

"I have just entered recently into a derivative enterprise you see, and you know how it is now with all the talk by wire.  I'm here lookin' fer my partners, we's gonna set up in rye spinach.  Course ah don't know much about no farmin', not real sure what a rye spinach is.  Course th' feller what sold me th' deed, he couldn't talk right so he kept calling it things like Pies are Finnish, or sometimes it came out like 'the spy is finished'.  Poor feller."

She took a chomp and a short swallow.  She had no idea how this gang operated exactly but with all the skullduggery and go-betweens and hiring outsiders to take down their enemies for plausible deniability, they seem to think they were a theater troupe so she though to play into it a bit.

But her eyes were on his hands.  Because hands kill.

McDaniels leans against the bar, hooking the thumb of his gloved right hand under his gunbelt, mere inches from the Colt in his holster. He affects a casual smile. "I'd heard about how...busy it was here earlier and one of my acquaintances...well, he mentioned that he'd reached out for help with a problem he was having trouble getting solved. It was kind of you to lend a hand."

He nods toward the saloon's entrance. "You want to follow me to my office, we can see to it you're rewarded for your assistance. I believe there might also be another favor we'd like to ask of you."

"Oh good, ah didn't come this way for nothin'."

It was a good thing Kate had accelerated her meal.  The beer she could swallow almost instantly and proceeded to do so.

Done, she pushed off the bar, tucking her thumbs into her armpits like she meant to mimic a chicken, yawning and stretching.  When her hands were at the height of the reach she looked at her 'business companion' inquisitively.

For all her pageantry and trying to come off as an eccentric goof, she wanted to plug him right now.  When an Injun gives you a doodad what turns cold as the devil's titties when bad mojo is about, it tends to effect ya.

McDaniels watches Kate with what the outlaw perceives to be a mixture of amusement and skepticism. Nodding to the batwing doors, he says, ”This way.”

Outside, a glance at the sky tells Kate that it is about an hour away from full dark. McDaniels moves briskly across the street, towards the southern styled building that sits alongside the Murphy Store. The outlaw can see lantern light already glowing orange within the all of the windows in the structure, though she notices no silhouettes of any occupants within. Mounting the porch, McDaniels gestures for Kate to follow him inside as he opens the front door.

Beyond is a well furnished sitting room with several upholstered chairs, the walls covered in blue patterned wallpaper. The scent of recently smoked pipe tobacco lingers in the air. A lone door, which stands open, leads to a hallway that stretches past three closed doors. From behind one of them, Kate can hear a pair of voices engaged in muted conversation.

The amulet continues to burn cold.

”Coins or script?” McDaniels asks. ”We’ve also got some silver and ghost rock on hand, if that’s more to your liking.”

"A mix.  Ghost rock in any form is like carrying expensive kindling, and all metal weighs too much."  She responded coolly, dropping the somewhat goofy persona she'd been using as if showing him the 'real' Kansas Kate.

Well, that's exactly what she was doing.

McDaniels nods. "Wait here," he tells her before stepping into the hallway.

As he moves away, the cold from Kate's talisman recedes.

It returns a few moments later when McDaniels returns to the room with a small sack, which he hands to Kate. The coins jingle within it. "Three hundred. You're certainly welcome to count it."

"I can offer you something that pays almost twice as much. That is, if you can spare a few hours of your time this evenin'."

"Well I do have quite the busy social life, but I imagine I can make accommodations fer sech a distinguished gentleman as yourself."

Kate took the money, but she didn't count it.  Desperate amateurs count it.

McDaniels smiles. ”It’s actually pretty simple. A lot less risk than what you pulled off earlier today.”

“You’ll need to meet up with Jesse Evans and a few of his people behind the Torreón at two this morning. The group’s going to take up positions around a building here in town.”

“You’re not going to go inside. That’s someone else’s job. You’re just going to keep watch and, if anyone happens to escape what happens, you’ll make certain they don’t get too far.”

“Basically picking off strays. Sound easy enough?”

"Oh I'm your Huckleberry, but yer selling it too hard hoss.  Sounds a little too easy, what's the catch?"  Kate replied, wanting to sound willing to do it, but reasonably skeptical and not desperate.

McDaniels removes a pouch of tobacco and some papers from his jacket pocket. He begins building a smoke unhurriedly. ”The catch,” he replies, ”is the building. It’s the courthouse.”

Kate played it off like that didn't phase her.  In a sense it didn't, Kansas Kate didn't have an innate respect for civic structures, but the way he talked about it suggested some gaps in her intel.

"And that's a problem why?  Ah mean if'n ya don't like th' courthouse why not just lit 'er up and be done with it?"

McDaniels lights his cigarette with a match. He smiles and shakes his head. ”Courthouse is a symbol. Tells folks there’s order around here. Makes ‘em feel secure. Problem isn’t the building. It’s who’s in it. Law can be a powerful thing, if it shares your interests.”

He exhales a slow stream of smoke. ”Let’s just say we’re seein’ to a changing of the guard. Only thing you’ll need to worry about is if someone tries to run off before it’s finished. Easy enough job. But an important one.”

Kansas Kate found that response... interesting.  But she didn't comment further.  She wanted to ask details about what they hoped to accomplish inside, but that would give her away as something besides a hired thug.

"So someone else smokes 'em out an' I have me a little turkey shoot.  All right.  Ah can oblige."

”Good to hear,” McDaniels replies, ”Though don’t let that trigger finger get too itchy. If all goes as planned, there won’t be anyone running out of the place. And you’ll collect without firing a shot.”

“The Torreón. Two this morning.” With a nod, he dismisses Kate.

Outside, the outlaw can see that Lincoln’s Main Street is entirely lifeless. The only signs of occupation are the lights filling the windows of the Patron House, the Thornton-Curry, and Wilson’s Saloon. Above, the sky is fading from a dark blue to a star filled black. The mountain air is crisp, though it is almost comfortable compared to the burning cold that has finally begun to fade from Kate’s chest.

Between the vacant street and the deep shadows, Kate is confident that she remains unseen as she slips through the night to the back door of Desiree Thornton’s bar.

OOC: Kate can join the rest of the posse in the Night Belongs to the Dead thread.