Just then this den of iniquity and ugly got a shot of goodness and beauty. At the top of the staircase appeared Gracie, a fair-skinned, apple cheeked china doll, a fine featured and, for this end of the world, a rather refined lady. She looked elegant standing there in her blue satin dress filled out with its layers of white petticoats. If it weren't for the fact that she was heading downstairs from the cathouse she ran, she could pass for a lady from the high-class of Boston.
Gracie had that feminine air about her that made men turn their eyes and treat her with a bit more courtesy than they would the run-of-the-mill woman flesh. There was a certain steel inside those silks she wore, a certain something that made menfolk watch their P's and Q's. She could give a look with those dark blue eyes that gave any drunken cowboy the message, "Don't take what I don't give."
Every eye followed her down those fourteen steps, no bets made, no drinks sipped, no cuss words spoken. Then she'd give a smile, a flip of her long blond hair, and the saloon returned to being a cow town saloon.
"Hey, boys, I see Missouri is cleaning you out tonight," Gracie said as she began making her rounds of the tables. Missouri blushed, Ben chuckled, Billy leered, and I babied my pair of Queens.