Kate crosses the dry creek bed at a fast pace, moving up the slope on the opposite side into the dense collection of trees that occupy the far bank. Vaguely, she is aware of Cooper wheeling his horse around behind her, calling out to the two deputies that are in pursuit. As she barrels forward into the thick shadows of the forest she hears the noise of a shotgun blast, but recognizes that it is distant, and not aimed in her direction.

Soon, her lungs burning, she halts. Glancing up at the sun through the canopy of pine needles overhead, she sees that Lincoln proper remains north of her. Listening to the sounds of the surrounding valley for a moment, she hears nothing. She is, finally, truly alone.

The wayward outlaw stopped, collapsed, and rolled onto the ground.  Her voice hoarse and rough, she laughed.  She would have whooped, but for lack of breath.

That was one of THE stupidest things she'd ever done.  She could only pray it worked, and Kate blamed God for her problems, so the odds there weren't good.

All the same, if you were going to be an outlaw, it was good to be an outlaw.

After a few minutes to get her breath and her wits back, she realized she was in a bit of a fix.  Kate was a dedicated gunfighter, not a scout, not a ranger.  This would not be easy.

Getting back into town was easy enough, theoretically, but figuring out the best way back in was a trick too.  She'd have to wait for darkness or distraction or both.

Well first things first, time to look around a bit, make sure she actually was alone out here.

21:03, Today: Marshal, on behalf of Kansas Kate, rolled 19,4 using 1d6,1d6, rerolling max with rolls of (6+6+6+1)19,4.  Notice.

Kate gets to her feet, scanning the pines, spruce, and cottonwoods that surround her for any hint of movement, any suggestion that someone might remain in the vicinity, still seeking her out.

The valley is still. Studying her surroundings for several minutes satisfies the outlaw that she is truly by herself, free of pursuers.

However, looking to the east, something catches Kate’s attention: A group of shapes, a short distance east of her location, each one no more than waist height, gathered in what looks to her like a clearing within a circle of piñon trees. Nothing appears threatening about the group of objects, but something about them suggests to Kate that they are manmade, and thus distinctly out of place amongst the untamed foliage that surrounds them.

Oh fantastic. She mused to herself sarcastically.

Kate was not naturally the curious short, curiosity got you shot, but man made suggested man and man's accoutrements, which might  be mighty useful right now.  Besides, she would need a spot to hole up in besides the tower, probably.

Cursing her own idiocy, she drew her Schofield and moved in, carefully.

Stepping close to the clearing, the identity of the objects becomes clear to the outlaw.

They are grave markers, perhaps ten in all. Most fashioned from wood. Several are simple, flat pieces of board with names carved onto their surfaces, but four are crosses, each of which carry no identification for who is buried before them. Two of the markers are made from stone, and it appears that names were once painted on them, but time and the elements have done away with all but the faintest traces of the writing.

But what draws Kate’s immediate attention are the graves themselves. Four of them appear to have been hurriedly dug up, the dirt thrown violently and haphazardly on all sides of the hole, each of the wooden coffins broken into pieces. From where she stands, Kate can see no trace of any remains within the burial plots that have been excavated.

What the ever-loving hell.

Well, that wasn't good.  The best possibilities Kate could think of were horrible.

Though the paint was faded and the coffins dug, she checked around carefully, and then out of horrible curiosity checked to see if there was any clue left who these people had been, after all the writing was very faint and not completely gone in  some cases, maybe even if a clue remained in the opened coffins.

With some patience, Kate is able to extract a pair of names from the eroded markers: Esam Painter and Rhoda Tulley. None of the grave stones, as best the outlaw can tell, offered any additional information such as dates of birth and death, or sentiments of any kind.

The open graves are completely empty, save for the broken pieces of lumber. Kate sees no traces of remains nor anything that might have belonged to any of the deceased within any of them.

Taking a step back and taking in the collection of isolated plots as a whole, Kate is left with the impression that she has stumbled onto what likely served as Lincoln’s “Boot Hill” once upon a time. The burial spot for criminals, castoffs, and undesirables.

Esam Painter.  Rhoda Tulley.

Kate wished she were a tracker.  She felt like these graves had been vandalized some time ago, but she had no idea.

Well, there wasn't much else to do here immediately.  She surveyed around and made sure there was nothing else here, then looked at the sun.

Did Kate run out toward the river, or the other way?  I'm going to have to figure out my approach back to town and it matters which side she's on.

OOC: Kate’s dash out of town took her south of Lincoln, in the oppposite direction of the the Rio Bonito river and the Capitan Mountains. The range can serve as one landmark the outlaw can utilize to orient herself. She’ll need to travel directly north to reach Lincoln’s Main Street again.

All right, there wasn't much for it.  Lincoln wasn't that big.  She'd have to cut east or west and then try to turn back north again, hoping she didn't go in circles or overshoot it.

The directions, she'd just have to do her best on.  At least the distance she could track.  Kate ran her fingers down her gunbelt and counted off ten rounds, and left a gap in the eleventh loop.  Each time she took a step she could count off with her left hand and pocket a round from the other side of the belt with her right when she reached ten.

The only question was east or west...

lol unless there's an obvious clue, she just picks one?

OOC: The courthouse is at the west end of Lincoln’s Main Street, so moving in an easterly direction is likely Kate’s safest bet.

Using her best approximation, based on the position of the sun and mountains, Kate sets off in a northerly direction, shifting her steps to the east as she uses her rounds to track the extent of her progress. By the time she has pocketed nine of them, she finds herself back at the now familiar dry creek bed at the foot of the forested slope, close to the spot where she was finally able to elude her pursuers for good.

Edging further ahead a few paces, the outlaw is able to see Lincoln’s Main Street once again through the screen provided by the trees.

Kate nodded.  It wouldn't do to just pop back out right now, she would at least wait for dark.  She figured out where Wilson's was, and then skirted about town.  She needed a hidey hole.  She had to make at least some effort to look a tiny bit different before she came back in after dark.

Moving along the creek bed for several paces, Kate locates a hollow on one side, partially concealed by the hanging roots of an aging pine tree. The interior resembles a tiny cave, just large enough for a pair of people to tuck themselves inside. Peeking out of the hiding spot, Kate can see a portion of Main Street if she cranes her neck,  though she doesn’t have a clear view of Wilson’s Saloon.

A few insects buzz through the nearby foliage. Otherwise, the forest is still.

OOC: Once you’ve outlined Kate’s next steps, kindly give me a Notice roll.

Insects were an annoyance.  Kate wasn't much of a ranger but she could do with some tinder, might not need it right away, but some dry wood was good to gather.  A nice big one to prop up some of her gear would be any better.  A brush that could serve as a broom might be nice too.

Sure.  As Kansas Kate plays Better Homes and Gardens with the cave:

21:01, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 5,11 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,(6+5)11.  Notice.

Venturing back out, Kate is able to locate an armful of dry piñon branches, along with a stout pine limb that can be stood on its end and used to hang some of her gear. After placing her finds in her shelter, she steps out again, searching for a broom, finally happening upon a thick piece of cottonwood with several thin offshoots that will suffice for the job.

Turning back in the direction of her shelter, the outlaw catches sight of a figure through the trees, walking slowly through the forest. As best she can tell, his focus is on the ground and he doesn’t appear to be aware of her presence. A few moments after she spies him, he crouches down, examining the soil, plucking some of the dirt from the ground and rubbing it between his fingers. What she can perceive of his attire reminds her of a brave from one of the tribes from the nearby Coyote Confederation. His long, braided hair is silver.

Interesting.

She hoped he was a native with the natives.  To her knowledge, she had no beef with them, unless someone had hired an Indian tracker to go after her.

Well, Kansas Kate was not much for stealth, and she who hesitates is lost.  Might as well find out, but right now she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.  Besides, she could draw down on him first if it absolutely came to that. She was probably on his turf, if anything.

"Well mighty neighborly of you to come callin' on little ol' me Ke-mo sah-bee."  Then she affected a southern accent. "Land o' Goshen, I have a gentleman caller and ah'm not even chaperoned.  Oh Lordy, I think I may have the vapors!"

She mimicked the motion of a handheld fan.

As she steps out into the man’s line of vision, Kate can see that his face is deeply lined. He is wearing a buckskin shirt and trousers, the tunic adorned with numerous beads. Dirt on his face and hands tell her that he has likely been living in the wild for some time. Several necklaces hang about his neck, the leather thongs holding feathers, bones, and polished stones. A knife is sheathed at his hip and a bow sits within arm’s reach on the ground beside him, a quiver made from buffalo hide on his back. He makes no move to reach for either weapon as he regards the outlaw steadily.

”Most people out here, unless they’re fools like me, are hunting silver or mustangs. Or they’re running from something. What’s your reason, tuwikáa?” he asks.

OOC: Kate, give me a Common Knowledge roll.

Kate kept with the sarcasm.  "Li'l old me?  Oh I'm just looking for a place to build a new schoolhouse, this town is going to need one."

At least she dropped the fake southern accent.

15:05, Today: Kansas Kate rolled 5,2 using d6,d6, rerolling max with rolls of 5,2.  CK.

OOC: Kate may still be relatively new to this part of New Mexico, but she’s familiar enough with it to recognize that the tribe most associated with this part of the territory is the Mescalero Apache. But based on the stranger’s garb and ornamentation, she is certain that he is not one of them.

”The children. The schoolhouse. Entangled by some of the poison from the mountain.”

He shakes his head, then glances back over his shoulder, in the direction of the cemetery Kate discovered. “Did you come out here looking for bones?”

His question went unanswered, because he'd just dropped a bit of a truth bomb.

"Wait a minnit there feller... you mean ta tell me there's more of this cow dung spread out over yonder?"

The silver haired man studies Kate for a moment, then nods. Pointing to Lincoln’s street, he says, ”This valley it has seen much blood spilled, beginning long ago. The people killing each other in the town, they are just the latest to do so. It is not just about money or land. They are listening to the shadows from the mountain.”

“You did not answer me. Are you here hunting bones? Or are you here for some other reason, tuwikáa?”

"Let's go with other, I hope to not remain here too long all considered.  But to hell with me and my horse patties, ah'm awful curious about these shadows from the mountain."

Kansas Kate felt like something important had been discovered.

"Whaddya they call ya anyhoo?  They call me Kansas Kate, for obvious reasons."

”I am called Shabbakasha. In your language, it means ‘Roving Wolf’.”

OOC: Although she doesn’t speak the language, Kate is well traveled enough to guess that Shabbakasha’s name is Comanche in origin.

He gazes at Lincoln’s now quiet street.”I am one of only a few of my people that keep watch on this valley. Waiting for the time when what haunts the mountain awakens.”

He looks back at her. ”It has been stirring for some time, tuwikáa. If you want to know the root of what is happening in your town, you need to learn about those that are there that have traveled to the mountaintop. There are only two. One was wise, and fled. The other did not.”

"Really now?  Who's the idjit?"  She asked, having the feeling this was important.

”The only one that survived the wagon train that sought to cross the mountain range,” Shabbakasha tells her, ”Lawrence Murphy.”

“It was when he returned from Capitan that he sought to own this valley and all that is in it.”

"Huh.  That's a might peculiar ain't it?"  Kate looked for an improvised seat.  "Ah guess that's made things a might hard around here ain't it?"

Though she didn't understand their ways, Kansas Kate had always felt a kind of ease with natives, mostly because a lot of them weren't real keen on the white man's laws either.  It was only the one point of commonalty but as far as those went, that was a good one.

Roving Wolf nods slowly.  ”Since Murphy returned, since he began his war here...the shadow on the mountain has grown stronger. Should he continue, things will only grow worse.”

He studies her for a moment, then adds, ”The dead. They are meant to rest. They no longer belong here, in this world. They have their own.”

“You found the graves? Those that have been disturbed?”

"Yeah I sure did fella... oh hell... you mean to tell me..."  Kate let it trail as she put it all together.

She wasn't much of an expert on such things (she wasn't an expert at all) but she knew enough about the Rail Wars to know the walking dead were definitely A Thing.

”Understand, tuwikáa, they were awakened for a reason. To spread death. But also fear.”

He shakes his head. ”It is a foolish notion. Those that sought their aid...they believe that they can control them. They are wrong.”

He taps the back of his left hand. ”The one who stirred them from sleep. He bears a mark on his hand. The owl. It is like a deep burn. A brand.”

Kate reflexively covered her own right hand.  Not that the pentagram burned onto it was visible, but that talk of a mark... that hit a little too close.

"Well, sounds like that's who I need to put a bullet in then.  Oh hell, that means these deaders are just a roamin' around here don't it?"

Shabbakasha looks at Kate and sighs. ”For now, the forest tells me that the dead remain under the control of the one who work them.” He shakes his head. ”But they will only remain so for a short time longer. Then all will be in danger.”

“This man, I do not know his name. But the spirits tell me he has no regard for the law. Not man’s law. Not the Earth’s.”

Kate chuckled.  "Well, sounds like I'm here for a reason then, I ain't so good at the laws of man, Earth, heaven or anything to speak of."

Roving Wolf nods in understanding. ”You were running from them. The law. Perhaps you are the one best suited to find this renegade, tuwikáa.”

He reaches to his neck, removing one of the amulets draped around his neck and offering it to her. Kate can see that it is bird skull, yellow with age, suspended on a leather cord. ”Some of the dead, they walk the valley. Hide in the shadows. But the greatest of them, it dwells in the earth, tearing free of the soil when it hunts.”

"Ah hell."  Kate kneeled.  "Now that sounds right awful.  You know like most white people, I don't have much of a solution for things I can't just shoot to death."

For the first time, Shabbakasha chuckles. "You are very honest. tuwikáa. The spirits were right in having us meet." He drapes the amulet around her neck. "The raven's skull...it will grow cold when the dead, or the one that called them, are near."

"If you hold it in your left hand until it grows warm, I will know where you are. I will come to aid you. I have faced war before."

He pints to the north. " I am going to the foothills. To see if anything else has woken that should be asleep."

Kansas Kate was taken aback, and didn't really know how to react properly.  "Well I ain't sayin' I never told a lie, I told a baker's dozen today.  But I guess I at least have a purpose about it, and there's no reason to lie to you Roving Wolf. I guess I better get them idjits settled.  Course I'm an idjit myself.  Be careful out there."

”You as well. Trust only those who have earned it.”

With that, Roving Wolf sets off, moving west, quickly melting into the trees and vanishing from view, leaving Kate alone amongst the pines.

Her view of the town still clear through a gap in the foliage, the outlaw can see that all has grown quiet in Lincoln. For now, the street is calm.

Kate looked up at the sun.  Even if they'd calmed down, it was probably a horrible idea to just go back too soon, and she had some work to do out here.

Kate returns to her hiding spot in the dry creek bed, finding all as she left it. With some additional searching nearby, she locates the other items she requires to create a functional shelter. Remaining alert, the outlaw does not see or hear any further movement nearby. For the time being, she is alone among the tall pines.

OOC: Let me know what Kate plans next. At the moment, she is effectively out of danger.

The plan was pretty simple really.  Maybe too simple.

Kate had worn a bandanna, a hat and a duster when she'd run out of town.  It wouldn't hide the fact they'd seen a woman do it, but it gave her a little to work with.

She'd stash the duster, the bandanna and the hat here in the cave in a little cache.  Then she'd build a little fire pit, try to scavenge for water.  She'd try a trick to change the color of her hair, but she didn't have what she needed for that, so instead she put a braid in it to at least change the style.  It'd just been loose earlier.  Hopefully it'd be enough she wouldn't be recognized the very second she appeared.

By the time all that was done it would probably be close enough to sunset to wander into town just around dark.  She'd go try to collect her "reward".

They'd probably shoot her in the gut, but Kate hoped this would play out like she'd hoped.  If not, well, such was the life of Kansas Kate.

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.