Jules blushed deeply at the older man's kind words and quickly turned her face away.  "There's a little more, if you want.  I'm not really very hungry," she admitted.  That wasn't exactly the truth; in fact the woman felt like she could have eaten one of the horses still waiting patiently in front of the building.  But she and Jess had been eating nothing but salt pork, beans, and corn ever since leaving Colorado, and she could barely stand to look at the mush anymore.  Hopefully once her sister came back with money for the horses and wagon they'd be able to visit the general store for something different, but judging by the landscape of the area the redhead was doubtful they could expect to find any real fresh fruit or veggies.  There might be white flour if they were lucky though, and sugar.  Her mouth began to water at the idea of making a real cake or some cookies again, now that they had a proper stove and oven.<br/><br/>But dreams of confectionery would have to wait for another day.  From a building down the street (the bank, she recalled a moment later) a series of loud bangs had rung out.  Jules had been in the west long enough to recognize that sound, and it sent her heart leaping into her throat as she staggered backward into the doorway of the barbershop.<br/><br/><i>Jess, where's Jess?</i>That was her first thought.  But Jess had gone away from town, and knowing her luck she'd probably just come back pissed she'd missed all the action.  No, the elder Barrow was going to be fine, there was no doubting that, but all the same Jules found herself wishing her sister was there.<br/><br/>There was at least one comforting presence nearby though.  The one-armed man who'd helped her with her belongings immediately leapt of his feet and had drawn a firearm, and was darting off in the direction of the bank faster than she could say Christopher Columbus.  That reminded Jules she wasn't entirely unarmed, and after crouching as low to the ground as she could manage, she climbed back up into the driver's seat of the wagon, beneath which was the shotgun that had served as the sisters' primary form of protection during their travels.  It was loaded, but as the woman looked back towards the bank her hands were visibly shaking.  Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she slipped back down from the seat and darted back into the dim gloom of the barbershop.<br/><br/>The tall woman kept her back pressed to the wall near the door, angled in such a way she could still see the bank and fire towards it, if needed (and if she could get her hands to stop shaking).  Any moment she expected a gang of anywhere from two to twenty robbers to burst out of the bank and swarm down the street towards her, but what she didn't expect was the sharply dressed woman who had fled out of the brothel across the street directly into the barbershop itself.  Jules was so surprised she nearly dropped the gun, but after determining the lady was not indeed there to steal her last thirty dollars, the redhead quickly urged her inside and away from the door.<br/><br/>"Did you see them?" she gasped at the refugee, peering back out the door towards the bank.  "How many are there?  Is anyone hurt?"<br/><br/>Under normal circumstances Jules might not have been so chatty to a woman who had come running out of a whorehouse, or a woman as well-dressed as her guest was.  Both intimidated her for very different reasons, and if she'd had time to really think about it she would have been mystified at the paradox of the idea.  At the moment though, all she could think of was the commotion down the street, punctuated with fearful thoughts for her sister, and the helpful man who'd spoken so politely to her only minutes earlier.<br/><br/>"Please be okay," she whispered beneath her breath, willing her hands to steady just in case.