The hushed murmurings of the current patrons of the saloon didn’t go unnoticed for perhaps the most dramatic entrance they’ve seen thus far. The man was unlike any she’d ever seen before. That wouldn’t stop Miz Kitty from serving a worthy customer, however. He hadn’t broken any of the rules that were roughly painted on a wooden board, its domineering presence reminding any who got out of line that they’d be booted out. Quaintly shining a glass with a rag, she nodded to accept his order.

“Ya hungry, mister? We start servin’ dinner at 5.” The saloon’s hostess kept a careful, lingering glance at the other—noting that he palmed the grip of his weapon. A proactive measure to let the others in the bar know he wasn’t one to mess with, she was sure. Either preventing a fight, or lookin’ for one. “Today’s menu is beef stew. Served with taters.” Miz Kitty gingerly sat down the glass she was so focused on making sure there was nary a water spot, now working on the mystery patron’s drink.

“Wet or dry?” she inquired, pouring the bitter liquid with a special mix of the saloon’s own ingredients to add a hint of natural sweetness. Some liked it dry—that is, without the addition of rum or whatever suited their fancy. Others liked it drowning in liquor, calling it an acquired taste.

Either way, he’d be delivered a tall glass of sarsaparilla with ice. As with all her visitors, Miz Kitty tended to be friendly. Striking up conversations at the bar was a prime way to get to know the townsfolk. This one didn’t seem like he was from Willowlake, but he did seem like the type to know how to get into some trouble. Kitty constantly needed to remind herself that the purpose of this here saloon, this little business of hers, was to lay low and foster a new life for herself away from the troubles that nagged her back East.

Her fingers were itching, though. Her mind, equally perturbed. What came natural to her was what overcame her thoughts, and Miz Kitty knew that the urge would overcome her one day. The West was wilder, but would it be more forgiving? Civilization was creeping into its vast frontier. Every other day it seemed, Kitty read an article out of the local newspaper of an outlaw’s abrupt end by an unforgiving law—stories of a colorful history cut too short. She craved her illicit access to jewels, gold, and cold hard cash. Until Miz Kitty made her next strategic move, she’d drink in the tales of strangers such as this one, tempted by such feats until she wanted to make a few of her own.