He peers at her, then looks away, uncomfortable in the knowledge that he probably ought to offer some kind of comfort. It's the sort of thing Etta might tell him is right, or Butch would do easy as breathing, but Butch is good with people, and Etta's a woman and generally better at these sorts of things, and Sundance is...

Best when left to his own devices.

He clears his throat, wishes he'd thought to refill his pouch of chaw. "Seems there oughta be somebody in charge."

To give them answers, or to direct this milling crowd of confused arrivals. He's seeing others who look like they don't belong, now that the first shock is over, but when one walks by, head entirely obscured by a darkly-tinted fishbowl, he looks back at Miss Barlow right quick.