Her hand was a blur when she pulled the gun and slapped the hammer. During competition Julie normally shot at a small balloon. Wyatt's chest was a far larger target. His gun had not cleared the top of his holster when the shot rang out and the tiny pulse of light struck him in the chest. The hit was not exactly where she wanted it...the second button of his shirt...but it was close enough.
Hickcock's mistake was even worse. Not only was he late, startled by Wyatt's rash move, but he also had the wrong weapon. The shotgun was a fearsome thing, but it was big and heavy...and impossible to move quickly. And in this case, it wasn't even cocked.
Julie didn't see Wyatt's nametag light up, for she was already swinging to meet the new threat. Her gun spoke again and this time her aim was better. Hickcock was still trying to swing the big shotgun when the laser touched his shirt dead center. Only then did she look back at Wyatt's nametag, confirming what she already knew to be a fact.
The two men stood there in shock, their nametags a bright red. They glanced at each other in disbelief.
Her pulse pounding, Britches slowly straightened up. Finally she rolled her gun twice over her finger and backflipped it into the holster. She had practiced that many times, too.
"Gentlemen," she said with just a hint of smugness, "the doctor's office is down at the end of the street."
* * * * *
Just inside the hotel window above them, Lara Croft smiled. She had only been in bed a few minutes when she'd heard the yelling in the street. She had gotten to the window just in time.
She turned back to her bed. "Good show, Britches. Bloody good show."
* * * * *
From his office window, Matt Branson was also smiling as he watched Wyatt and Wild Bill heading dejectedly down the street. The two had come into his office earlier, and having finally found their belongings at the train station, they'd asked what they could do to help.
Branson had known that this was too good an opportunity to pass up. Wanted posters were in his desk for every guest with an outlaw name and it had only taken him a few seconds to select the right one. The two men had boasted of how easy it was going to be to bring her in, but now they'd have difficulty living it down.
He glanced in the other direction and saw Little Britches enter the livery stable. She was fast all right, no doubt about it. But then again, she hadn't faced Arizona yet, either.
* * * * *
Britches pulled her horse to a stop and looked back over her shoulder. It was very quiet and only an occasional birdcall disturbed the silence. She scanned the surrounding area, but she didn't see a thing. She was barely a mile from Silverado, but she had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her.
After searching for half a minute, she gave it up. "C'mon, Brownie, let's go."
A little later she topped a small rise and pulled the horse to a stop. Below her was the ghost town. The place was aptly named, for it sat in a low spot, next to a dried-up streambed. The town and the stream lay in a valley between two lines of hills. Near the top of the hill to her right she could see the remains of what must've been the silver mine.
The town itself was a small affair, eight or ten buildings, surrounded by a host of small shacks, apparently where the miners had lived. The place had obviously been abandoned long ago, for most of the smaller buildings and several of the larger ones had collapsed, victims of the relentless pounding of decades of heat, rain, wind and snow.
Britches turned in the saddle and glanced back over her shoulder. As before, she didn't see a thing. But the tingling feeling wouldn't go away.
Before turning down the road, she pulled her gun and replaced the two rounds she'd fired at Wyatt and Hickcock. She'd never had to draw against a person before; she'd always fired at stationary targets. It had really not been much of a challenge; most anyone in her club could have beaten them. Still, it was a little unnerving, having to shoot at a person.
* * * * *
Seeing the girl disappear over the rise, the watching man grunted with satisfaction. She was alone. This might not be so hard after all.
* * * * *
Wild Bill Hickcock and Wyatt Earp stepped into the doctor's office, a highly embarrassed look on their faces.
"Mornin'," said the doctor, a balding man of forty. "What can I....oh, I see. Hand me those nametags, gents, and we'll fix yu right up."
A moment later he handed the nametags back, now once again a dark red. "There yu go, good as new. Have a seat and as soon as your hour's up, you can go get into more trouble."
While the men were pinning their tags back on, the doctor walked to a chart on the wall and placed a second "X" next to each man's name.
"Whatcha doing, Doc?" asked Wyatt.
"Keepin' the tally," Doc replied. "We keep track of how many times you get killed. Lowest score in each group gets to take home a little trophy. He or she can come back at half price next time, too, if they wish."
The two men peered over his shoulder. There were solid lines drawn through the names for Doc Holiday and his wife and the two young men, Billy and John Wesley. There were single X's next to each of the women's names and double X's for the remaining two men.
"Guess our group's not doin' too well, huh?" Hickcock asked. "Four of nine didn't make it through the first day."
The doctor tried to be diplomatic. "Well, look at it like this. You've got a better chance of winning the trophy. Shucks, all you gotta do is outlast three women."
* * * * *
Britches had just ridden into the ghost town when she saw a man coming up the street. Startled, she pulled Brownie to a stop. He looked just like every old prospector she'd seen in the movies, complete with the long beard. He was even leading a burro laden with prospecting tools, picks and shovels, etc. He smiled and waved when he saw her.
Britches waved back and touched her heels to Brownie's sides. Maybe he knew something about the town's history. She'd been to a couple of ghost towns on vacation and it was always interesting to hear how people lived a hundred years ago.
But as she got closer, something about the man bothered her. What was he doing here in the middle of nowhere just when she happened to show up? Was it just coincidence? The man wasn't armed, but the smile on his face was wrong.
Britches looked around. No one else in sight. Feeling definitely uneasy now, she eased her gun out of the holster. But instead of raising it, she kept it down, next to her leg.
"Wal, howdy there, missy," the prospector called. "Welcome to The Bottoms. Or what's left of it."
Britches pulled Brownie to a stop, turning the horse so her right side faced away from the man on the ground.
"Hello," she replied. "Do you live around here?"
"Me? Nah. I just poke around these hills from time to time, hopin' I might find somethin' them old boys missed. They took a fortune outta that mine up there, and who knows, maybe there's more where that came from."
He seemed friendly enough. "Have you had any luck?"
"Some. I find a nugget once in a while. But nothing to amount to anything. What brings you down this way?"
"Sheriff Branson suggested I come take a look." She smiled. "He said this place was haunted."
The prospector laughed and slapped his leg. "He did? Ha! Don't that beat all." He shook his head. "No, missy, it ain't haunted." Then his face hardened. "But there are some folks that don't like strangers poking around." He pointed at her. "Like you're doing now, fer instance." Now his face was stone cold.
Britches felt her heart beating rapidly. "I…I didn't mean make to anybody mad. I just wanted to come and see the town. Maybe…maybe I should leave?"
"Wal, now, ma'am, I'm afraid it's too late for that. Spade left orders for us not to allow no visitors. Normally we'd jest shoot anyone fool enough to ride in here. But seeing as how you're a gal, and a right pretty one, wal, we'll just have to do it a little different. Ain't that right, Chad?"
"That's right, Pete."
Britches was startled by a voice from somewhere behind her and before she could turn, a rope flew over her head and dropped around her waist. The rope tightened and Britches' arms were pinned to her sides. Startled, she saw the grin on the prospector's face.
"Git down off thet horse, lil' lady. Or my buddy Chad'll pull yu right outta the saddle."
* * * * *
Alison Kennedy looked up from her paperwork to see Lara Croft approaching the counter. "Good morning, Miss Oakley. Did you get any sleep?"
"Not much I'm afraid," Lara replied. "I'm still pretty wound up."
Indeed, thought Alison. She looked tired. Especially her eyes.
"I heard about what happened," Alison said. "Are you all right?" She'd already gotten Spade's report and was interested in hearing Lara's reaction.
Lara nodded. "Sure. Like I told Britches a while ago, I had a good time. It was totally unexpected. I didn't have the slightest idea what Spade was up to." Her smile dissolved into a grimace. "I'm going to get even with that man before the week's over."
Alison laughed. "He's terrible, isn't he? We're lucky to have him."
"You know, I'm curious," Lara asked. "How do your people handle their living arrangements? Surely you must have sleeping quarters for them if they have to be up all night."
Alison smiled. "You wouldn't be trying to find out where Spade lives would you? Like, for revenge, perhaps?"
Lara laughed. "You're pretty fast, Mrs. Kenton."
"Please, Abby will do just fine." Alison leaned back in her chair. What could she tell Lara? As a woman, she was all for Lara kicking Spade in the rear end. But as a co-worker she didn't want to get in the way of whatever Spade had in mind. She decided to compromise.
"The answer to your question is, yes." She grinned.
Lara's eyebrows went up a fraction. "But you're not going to tell me anything else."
"Not on your life. Do you think I want Spade after me?" Alison laughed. "Sometime I'll tell you what he and the guys did to me right after I came here."
Now Lara was really surprised. "You?"
"Mr. Trimble asked for volunteers to be a guest during our pre-opening. I had no idea what I was getting into."
"Excuse me for saying this, but somehow you don't seem like the western type, Abby."
"I wasn't before I came here. I met Mr. Trimble at a dinner while he was raising money to build this place. Later he asked me to come and work for him. I've really enjoyed it. My job is mainly guest relations and I spend as much time here as I do up at the office."
Alison glanced down. "Say, what's with the long dress? I thought sure you'd be going out to look for Spade."
"I'll get around to that," Lara replied grimly. "But right now I'm famished. I haven't eaten since dinner last night."
* * * * *
"I said, get down, missy," the prospector said. "Or yu want Chad to pull yu outta the saddle?"
Britches wondered what she should do. She had the gun in her hand, but the rope tightly bound her arms.
The prospector glanced at the man behind her. "All right, Chad. Pull 'er off there."
"Wait!" she called. "I'll get down."
The prospector nodded. "That's better."
The rope loosened. But instead of dismounting the usual way, Britches learned back, threw her right leg over the saddle and jumped off. She hadn't done it like that in a long time and a tiny jolt of pain lanced through her left leg when she hit the ground.
Gun in her hand, she ignored the pain and swung quickly toward the man with the rope. She could see the look of surprise on his face when he saw the weapon. But Chad was quick, and he jerked hard on the rope. Britches stumbled forward, off balance, desperately trying to bring up the gun. Chad grinned and jerked the rope again, pulling her to her knees.
"Get her, Chad!" shouted the prospector from behind her.
Chad laughed. "She's a wildcat, ain't she Pete?"
But he was a little too slow pulling on the rope the next time and the delay was Britches' needed. Using only one hand slowed her down, but not enough to matter. The gun flashed and Britches saw the dumbfounded look on Chad's face. He reached up and touched the hot place on his shirt, four inches to the right of his glowing nametag.
A single word escaped his lips, a good indication of the frustration he felt. Then he fell over and lay on the ground.
An instant later Britches remembered the prospector, and turned to see him running for the nearest building, a two story hotel. She triggered two quick shots at him, but missed as he darted through the door. Pulling the rope awkwardly over her head, she threw it aside and took off after him.
A moment later she burst through the front door of the hotel. Britches stopped, her heart pounding, and tried to listen. Yes! Footsteps down the hall. Holding the revolver in front of her, she advanced slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. She was almost to the kitchen, when she heard the squeak of a door being opened.
Running into the room, she had the barest glimpse of the prospector in the doorway and her hurried shot hit the doorframe next to him. The next shot cut through empty air where he'd been a split second before.
Determined to the catch the man, Britches pushed her way through the door and outside. She raced to the end of the building and around the corner…and skidded to a stop.
The prospector charged toward her, a large shovel held above his head, clearly intending to smash her with it. But he never swung it, because Britches shot him. A look of surprise crossed his face and he dropped the shovel. He staggered backward a couple of steps, turned, and fell on his face.
Her heart pounding and her breath coming in ragged gasps, Britches lowered the gun. After returning the weapon to her holster, she reached down and rubbed her left leg. Her old injury hadn't bothered her for quite a while, but now it reminded her of the piece of steel in her leg. The massage seemed to help a little and finally she walked slowly around to the front of the building, limping slightly, a dozen emotions flashing through her mind. This was so different from fast draw, where all you had to do was…
She rounded the corner and stopped dead in her tracks. In front of her was the same man who had shot her on the train. He was dressed in black, with black chaps and boots. A pair of six-guns hung low around his hips, the holsters tied to his legs. A black hat was pushed back off his forehead and a week's worth of scraggly beard covered his face. His eyebrows were dark and bushy and everything about the man screamed evil.
"My name's Arizona, kid," he said with a sneer. "And you just made a big mistake."