"Quite honestly, Marshal, I was busy freeing myself.  And, when I saw the knife I was so shocked I convinced myself it wasn't what I was seeing.  But, as I thought, as I calmed, I realized exactly what it was.  It was Tim's tooled leather sheath strapped to that man's skinny leg.  Both men were dirty, not even six feet tall.  One had brown hair and the other had barely any.  The bald one should have a nice mark on the side of his head from where he had a run-in with a whiskey bottle.  I don't take kindly to having my hair pulled," she added, giving the Marshal a look that said most patrons had known as they'd prepared to draw down on the men.   "Guinevara dealt with things; the one with the lump on his head might be missing a few teeth after she kicked him in the face."  She shrugged.  "Dirty beige or white shirts, darkish pants, neither had seen soap or a tub in a long while.  Both men had brown eyes...like mud.  One had thick lips and the other had no upper lip and a narrow mouth."<br/><br/>Irene glanced at Sam.  "We know how to deal with those types."  There might have been a little emphasis on the pronoun, but she didn't mean that the Marshal didn't know how to deal; just that she and Guinevara had done just fine on their own.