Eldon had recovered from her intial shock when first coming into the Byway. She'd kept her voice low and somewhat gruff; left her hat on, and ordered a shot of whiskey. Back home in Virginia, when she was growing up, she'd snuck off to her daddy's still a few times and tried a bit of white lightening. The whiskey served at the Byway seemed tame in comparison.

Even as scary was it was, pulling off this masquerade as a man, she thought to herself, gawd, it is so good to be shut of that pigheaded husband of mine and out on my own!

She'd been careful about glancing back at the woman climbing the stairs; the one who gave her a smouldering, lingering, half-smile look. She hoped no one noticed the slow crawl of a blush she'd felt on her cheeks.

Oh, she knew that look well; she'd used it herself when she was young and naive, thinking the best thing in the world would be to be married at fifteen, raise a family and keep a decent house. The family had never come in the three years she'd been with James Forsythe, despite his somewhat feeble and fumbling attempts. She'd found it easy enough to cow him into leaving her alone once she realised it was not the life she thought it would be. Though she thought she was in love with young Horace Stephenson, her father had insisted she marry the older James, a widower of some means. Well, daddy, thanks for that. At least I have enough to get me through for a while, from what James left me.

"Hey, barkeep!" she raised her voice. The man washing glasses, drying them and putting them up on the shelves behind him, looked over at Eldon. He slowly walked over and said, "What can I do for you, son?"

"I'm lookin' for a fellah named Bill Rogerson. D'ya know 'im?" she asked. "Joe Crawford, over a'the stable told me I might find 'im here."

(Aside: sorry, folks, I am still not up to speed. Should be better and have more time after the 15th. Have your way with Eldon, if you'd like. I'll try to stop in and keep her going as much as possible.)