The High Noon Symphony
By
Taryn Kimel and Joshua Trujillo

Part 1:0

Jesse James Calhoun looked across the barren tract of land that 
separated him from that...Thing. That thing that wasn't human. 
Couldn't be human. No human was *that* fast! The noon sun beat 
down on him mercilessly, but he dared not move. He glanced 
behind him at the old pueblo that dominated his view to the south. 
It'd been abandoned several years earlier and was a known 
stopping point for men on the run. Which is probably why he 
should've listened to his inner voice and not come. But he and his 
horse were dead tired. Now, they might just end up dead.

He tried to get even lower to the ground than he already was. 
Maybe then, he could get the jump on it. Her. The German. Some 
of the rumors were wrong. She wasn't ten feet tall and from what 
Jesse could tell, she didn't carry a gatling gun. She was just so 
damned *fast*. She'd chased him for the last nine days, her and 
that damned tall man in black that always rode with her. He was 
fast too, but not as fast as she. The German. Jesse had heard her 
swear when her first shot ricocheted off the ring on his ring finger. 
It was all he could do not to pass out from the pain as he crawled to 
his horse and took off. He'd been lucky that it was her last shot, on 
that gun, at least. Jesse looked down at his hand. It hadn't stopped 
shaking since he was forced to cut the damned finger off. It looked 
funky and purple and black and it stunk. That wouldn't matter, 
though, if he couldn't get to Mexico and there was only one town 
between him and freedom. A new town they called Trinity. Godly 
place, he supposed. He'd learn'm.

A horse whinnied in the distance and Jesse held his breath. He 
pulled his remaining gun up to his chest and chanced a glance to 
the barrels. All full. His own horse was behind him, tied up down 
the crick where it'd be quiet and just wait for him. He'd hid himself 
in front of the pueblo behind the only thing higher than 
tumbleweed, the watering trough. He looked down and shooed 
away a couple scorpions that thought his jacket looked like a nice 
place to hide. Returning his gaze to the distance, he froze. There 
was something out there. On horseback. Still too far off to tell for-

The metal clacking of a hammer being pulled back chilled him to 
the core.

"Turn around," a girl's voice said from behind, "But keep your 
hands where they won't get you killed."

Jesse nodded slowly and let go of his gun. He turned over slightly, 
his hands turned upward to show the bitch he wasn't armed. He 
looked past the silver glint of the huge barrel that was pointed at 
his head. He followed the line of the arm up to her face and 
gasped. The bounty hunter known as the German...The woman-
no...GIRL, he'd only seen at seventy paces sneered down at him. 
Her red locks flowed down across her back and whipped around 
her face in the wind, a twister of color. She had the bluest eyes, a 
blue of pure steel. Jesse had never known a killer could look so 
beautiful. And he began to cry, for this was surely the face of God 
herself come down to take vengeance for the wrath that he'd sown 
on earth. She scowled at his tears but it mattered little, for he had 
seen the face of an angel. As she pulled the trigger, he knew that 
his soul was scoured clean by that one perfect moment of beauty...

***

She looked up from her latest kill. The tall man in black had ridden 
up to the other side of the trough with her horse. He reached into 
his saddlebags and withdrew a cigar that he'd been working over 
earlier. He lit it and sat back in the saddle.

"Do you have to smoke those things when I'm around?" she asked 
him.

"Ma'am, you know what the sight of blood does to me," he sneered 
down at the body, "I get all excited and I just-"

"I KNOW," she barked, "You don't have to remind me. We only 
need the head to get the bounty anyway. I'll see about getting a fire 
going so we can cauterize the head. Won't drip all over the place 
then...After that, you can have the body, okay?"

"Miss Langley, you are a HEAVEN-SENT angel!" he smiled 
happily, dismounting.

Annie Langley sighed and looked down at the former Jesse 
Calhoun. He was a sad bit of a man, who died a sad bit of a death, 
but he'd been able to evade her best efforts for almost ten whole 
days. Something that no one else had ever done. The best was 
three, and that was because she gave him a head start. She pulled 
back her coat and holstered The Preacher', the large 'No.2' 
engraved in the side catching the light. It was a specially made gun 
and her pride and joy. She called it The Preacher because when her 
prey saw it, they tended to pray to God. She had no use for either 
their prayers or their God...Just their lives. Annie took off her hat 
and fanned herself with it. One thing about the American West, it 
was just too damned hot.

"Cain," she called after the man in black, "There's a creek a little 
ways to the south. Calhoun's horse is there too, you can water the 
horses there."

Cain Randle smiled his enigmatic smile and tipped his sloppy 
black hat to her as he led the horses off. Whew, it was hot...

***

Shane Ivanson stood and watched as the train pulled off towards 
the north, having dropped its' single lonely passenger at the single, 
lonely station out in the middle of God's Texas. Shane sighed and 
looked at the letter in his hands again.

-I'll pick you up at the station when yyou get in. Don't head for town 
without me.
-				Molly Kimberly		-

He looked at the picture that had been paired with the note. It was 
an older photo of a rather austere looking woman, seating in a 
severely blank setting, the neck of her dress pushing her chin up 
through her nose. Shane had never really liked those kinds of 
dresses on women. They looked like they were choking all the 
time. Unfortunately, the kinds of women who wore those dresses 
were the ones that you normally *wanted* to choke. He really 
hoped that she wasn't what she appeared to be in the picture. Shane 
tugged at his own tight collar as the heat began to sink in around 
him.

The station sat on one side of the single pair of tracks that ran off 
into infinity in either direction. It was a simple wooden structure 
that wouldn't be of significant value in the east, but out here, wood 
buildings were few and far in between. Mostly because the 
summers were so hot that the slightest thing caused a fire and 
whoosh, nothing could stop it. There were a pair of men at the 
other end of the station, talking softly. One of them had a black hat 
and looked Shane's way every so often. It was like they were sizing 
him up or something. Shane really hoped that they wouldn't do 
something stupid, like try to mug him. He'd spent the better part of 
his youth in the cities in the east, always being moved around from 
stupid people having pushed him too far. Shane closed his eyes and 
tried to forget. New York. Boston. Cleveland. Chicago. St. Louis. 
All a blur of hate, pushing him back to the west. The few friends 
he'd made along the way were eager to go west, but Shane knew 
what it was really like. He knew what awaited him at the end of 
this road.

"Looks like he's sleepin'."

Shane opened his eyes. The two men stood in front of him, 
mounted on their horses, just off the platform. He hadn't even 
heard them approach. Shane swallowed hard against the bile in his 
throat and tried to smile.

"Hello," he said softly, "What can I do for you gentlemen today?"

"Whoo," the one without the hat hooted, "He even *sounds* like a 
city boy."

"Shu'up Earl," the one with the hat said, "Why're ya' here boy?"

"I'm, um, waiting for someone."

Earl drew his gun and cocked the hammer back.

"You'se waitin' fer us, ain'tcha?"

"Now boy," the other man said, "Just give us everything ya' have 
and we'll letcha live."

He began to draw his gun and a shot rang clear in the air. Shane 
flinched, but dropped to one knee and caught the man's gun. He 
swung it around to Earl as he heard another hammer lock into 
place next to him. He dared a glance and realized that his feelings 
were correct. The gun was pointed at the man in the hat, who now 
nursed a bloody hand.

"Actually, he was waitin' for me," a woman's voice said behind 
him, "Werncha, Shane?"

Shane got back to his feet as he looked beside him. Under the hat 
was the stern face from his photograph, but certainly not wearing 
that stern dress. Striped, pale shirt with blue denim pants over 
which were the rough cowhide chaps, vest and gloves of a 
wrangler. The same pale yellow hat adorned a mass of purple 
hair...Purple? Must be a trick of the light...Her face eased into a 
smile and she winked at him. When she wasn't austere, she was 
quite beautiful, actually. Shane couldn't help but smile in return. 
Her eyes widened in alarm as her gaze flicked to the man in the 
hat. She fired as his gun came free. Shane whipped his head around 
and saw that Earl had retrieved his other gun as well. Shane felt no 
time. No time for indecision. No time for thought. No time for love 
or hate. No time...He pulled the trigger.

The bullet pushed at an angle through the side of Earl's head as his 
ear and left side of his head blossomed with red. Earl slumped 
forward slightly in his saddle and fell slowly to the ground. Shane 
dropped the gun as a heavy buzz settled in his ears. It was only 
until Molly grabbed him by his shoulders and shook him that he 
realized he was screaming. The silence that followed beat twice as 
loud.

"Shane..." she tried to calm herself, "Are you okay? Did he get a 
shot off? Were you hurt?"

Shane just shook his head numbly. She, still a hold of his 
shoulders, looked off the platform at the spreading remains of Earl. 
There was still a twitch in his leg. Molly shivered and looked back 
to the boy.

"You've never shot someone before, have you?"

Shane shook his head again. He leaned forward slightly and put his 
hand on his head.

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick..."

"You'll be okay," she sighed, "You have to remember, they were 
gonna kill us."

Shane continued to shake his head.

"That's still no reason to take life," he said softly, "I know it's not 
reality. But I've gotta believe it's the truth."

Molly had no answer. Shane went to his knees and finally sat 
down, his breathing somewhat back to normal. Her heart rate had 
returned to normal as well. He began screaming and she thought 
that he'd been hit. What a way to return him to his father! With a 
couple extra holes in him...A gurgling sound caught her ear and 
she looked off the platform where the man with the hat had fallen. 
He was still alive? The man rolled onto his back, a coil of wire in 
his bloody hand. He sneered and flicked a match to life with his 
other hand. Using supreme concentration, he joined the two above 
his pulsing chest and the wire came to life. The man smiled at 
Molly one last time before letting the coil drop as he died. Molly 
frowned until she saw that the wire lead to a saddlebag. An uneven 
rumbling in the distance caught her ear and she turned to it. A dust 
cloud arose from the baked earth, which meant only one thing. 
Friends, but not hers. She looked from the hissing saddlebag to the 
approaching dust cloud and back again.

"Oh Hell..."

***

"But..." Shane tried to yell as the horses thundered under them, 
"Why are we running?"

"Look over yer left shoulder," Molly turned back and concentrated 
on getting more distance between the bandits and the boy.

She cursed softly but knew that the bandits were only the first of 
her troubles if she didn't get the boy back in one piece...His 
father...She shivered reflexively. On a brighter note, the boy was a 
crack shot for never having shot someone. From what little she 
knew of him, he grew up with his father before being sent away. 
She figured that his talent was just that, talent. Mix that with luck 
and practice and you'd have a better shot than Doc Holiday. And 
yet, he'd never killed a man before today. Odd that. From what she 
knew...Well, at least the boy seemed nice enough...

Shane swore to himself as he spotted the ever-growing cloud of 
dust forming behind them and the rising mushroom cloud of smoke 
behind them. Shane drew back to the saddle and spurred his horse 
on faster. He'd killed someone today. He'd become a murderer. He 
had sinned before the eyes of God and before those eyes his father 
would make sure he'd burn in Hell. It made no difference to that 
man whether or not it was in self-defense, he was going to Hell. 
And his father would be there to greet him. Tears formed and 
Shane shut his eyes against the grit kicked up by their horses.

Iampenitent...Iampenitent...IAMpenitent...

He reached up and wiped at his eyes, smearing gritty dirt over his 
sleeve. He paid it no heed. His soul was dirty, what did it matter if 
his clothes were clean? He watched the landscape idly. His 
everswift mind shunted from the danger of the bandits, having seen 
to it that his horse could go no faster, to the passive blandness of 
the wheat fields, swaying in the wispy, golden wind. His mind 
roved back in his head. His father had sent him off after his mother 
died fighting bandits. She had been sheriff, as well as a wealthy 
land-owner, her family having secured much of the area of Trinity 
from the Mexicans. Shane knew that his great-granduncle fought at 
the Alamo, and it was a source of pride for him. One of the reasons 
he actually practiced when he was back East. He'd been warned 
not to, but he did it anyway. He felt like it was a small way he 
could still keep in contact with his mother. His 
mother...Aiyana...He couldn't even remember what she really 
looked like. He had no picture and he knew that his father kept no 
picture. Shane shook his head. That seemed wrong somehow...

He looked over to Molly and smirked to himself. How so unlike 
that woman in the picture. That woman was austere and severe and 
several other words that rhymed with 'ere'. This woman...This 
woman was free. Free as dandelion thistle blown clear in the wind 
in the springtime. She was sharp as the thorn of a rose and just as 
beautiful as its petals. Even dirt-caked and gritty, her purple hair 
bounced a lithe tune under her flailing hat, the thin, yellow strap 
the only thing keeping it on her head.

The town came slowly into view as they rode along. Shane felt like 
his legs were going to lock up, not having ridden in so long. He 
was used to the carriages and cars of his high society foster 
parents. Certainly, his uncle, whom he'd been staying with in St. 
Louis, never rode on a horse. Truth be told, no horse could 
probably hold a man that size. The horses under him and Molly 
neighed roughly as they pulled up to the outskirts of town. A sign 
proclaimed that they were entering a God-fearing country, Trinity. 
No outlaws allowed. Shane read that and snorted slightly. Molly 
shot him a look which he ignored. If they only knew...Shane 
slowed his horse as they came up to the first house. A tall brunette 
stood near a clothesline, hanging shirts.

"Nellie!" Molly called to the girl, "Get to the bell tower and sound 
the alarm! We've got bandits headed this way!"

"Yes Miss Kimberly!" Nellie shouted as she dropped the shirts and 
sprinted out towards a church in the distance.

Shane scowled. He knew that church. He knew it all too well. 
Molly set off again, this time into the middle of town. Shane 
looked behind him and fear gripped him as the cloud had 
noticeably coalesced into a group of rather angry hoodlums. Shane 
spurred the horse and followed Molly. The town unfolded around 
him as they rode to the center. It hadn't looked this big from the 
outside, but then Shane realized that he'd only seen a small portion 
too. At the center of town lay a fountain, gurgling slightly in the 
late afternoon light. Circular and fairly non-descript, there was one 
thing he remembered about the fountain. He looked up at the large 
stone cross that adorned the dais in the center. Gleaming black and 
stiff and evil. Just as the day he left this awful town. And now he 
was back. Why?

Why...He'd been asking himself that since he received the 
telegram. There were three simple words on the telegram. Three 
words and here he was, back at the start. Back where his mother 
died and back where he didn't want to be.

"Over here Shane," Molly said as she got off her horse nearby, 
"Hurry up!"

Shane pulled his horse away from the dread cross and steered it 
toward-

"A saloon?" he asked as he dismounted.

"Yeah, a saloon..." Molly watched him, "What about it?"

Shane shook his head as he tied up his horse.

"It's nothing..."

A gunshot rang out behind them and both headed for the door. The 
place smelled of whiskey and old sawdust, but for Shane, it drew 
long memories out of his head. They weren't pleasant ones but they 
made no sense either, so he shook his head as a woman approached 
them. She had blonde hair that curled around her features lovingly. 
Shane tried to keep his eyes up at her face, but with a bodice like 
that, it was hard. Or rather, he was trying *not* to be hard...She 
had a red pin in her hair that let two large feathers flutter in the 
breezes behind her right ear. Her red and black skirts rustled 
slightly as she moved, the pleats showing her shapely, fishnet 
stockinged legs. The red heels were a nice touch, in Shane's 
opinion...

"Hmmm, I suspect that this is his boy?" she purred as she ran a 
hand through Shane's hair.

A shiver ran down his back at her touch and he coughed slightly.

"He's just like his father," Molly said as she looked out one of the 
windows, "Always getting into trouble somehow, that is..."

"Whaddya mean, trouble?" Shane came back to reality, "I was just 
standing there..."

He flinched as another shot sounded.

"That's what I mean," Molly raised her eyebrow, "Like ya' couldn't 
tell those two guys were hooligans."

The blonde lady took a seat at the bar and poured herself a drink.

"No! I couldn't!" he snapped.

Molly's brow wrinkled as she got in his face.

"Oh, like the slimy attitude and the six-shooters weren't enough of 
a CLUE?"

"I don't know how you've been brought up," Shane began, "But I 
was taught not to JUDGE people!"

A shot snapped through the window and between the two of them. 
Molly blinked and looked to the blonde, who now held the bottom 
part of a glass. She sighed and reached over the bar for a towel as 
Molly scratched her head. She looked to Shane, who had thrown 
himself to the ground.

"Oh get up," she snorted sullenly as she scratched her head, 
"They're just shooting at random...If they were aiming, then *I* 
would be afraid of someone who could shoot like that."

Shane looked to the blonde, who nodded stiffly as she got up from 
the bar stool. She put out her hand and helped him to his feet.

"I'm Ruth Anderson," she said with a smile, "Proprietress of 
Anderson Hall."

"Anderson Hall?"

"Yup," she smiled, "It's across the street and down a ways..."

"Yeah," Molly snorted, "Ya' know...Cathouse."

Shane started at the vernacular and sputtered at the meaning.

"A...A-a house of ILL REPUTE?"

Ruth shushed him hurriedly and shot a look out the window.

"Yeah, so what?" she whispered.

"IN Trinity?"

Ruth blinked at him and broke into a throaty laugh that made a 
shiver ripple up Shane's spine. He shuddered inadvertently and 
blushed.

"Oh you sweet, naive, boy..." she breathed at him, "Your father 
can't prohibit us. We have a don't ask, don't tell policy..."

The window shattered in another stray shot and a chunk of the bar 
bounced off Shane's chest. Shane looked to Molly, who looked to 
Ruth, who nodded as they turned over a table for cover.

***

Ramon looked around the little town. It sickened him that Franco 
and Earl had been caught like that. They were better than to be 
caught unawares by a woman. Kimberly. It *had* to have been 
her. She was the only one that could've not only gotten the jump on 
them at the station, but blown up the dynamite as well...And they 
were gonna use that for the safe in Veracruz! Ramon wheeled his 
horse around and growled. Horses were tethered outside almost 
each building. She could be anywhere. Manuel coughed as he rode 
up next to Ramon. The boy was a little singed from being too near 
the blast. He'd lost two others and there were a couple that had to 
take off because of wounds. He sighed. It was all there was to it, 
really...

Trinity would have to go...

***

"I'm sick of this..." Molly snarled as she flipped bullets into her 
gun, "I hate hiding like this..."

"Put those things away," Ruth said, "You know what he'll say-"

"He can bite me!" Molly set a loaded gun on the bar and retrieved 
the next from her holster, "I'm the sheriff, dammit...I'm supposed 
to protect this damned town..."

"Miss Kimberly, there's like, twenty of them out there," Shane said 
next to her.

He hoped that it would be enough to get her to calm down. She 
stopped and thought for a second.

"First off, it's Molly. Miss Kimberly makes me feel old," Molly 
smirked at him, "And second...I've got more than two guns..."

"But they're on horses and are all...slimy...and stuff..." Shane 
continued, frustrated by his lack of elocution.

"You DO have a way with words," Ruth laughed as she raised her 
fan to hide her smile.

"I'm the sheriff," Molly said, "I'll go out and face them, but I'll do 
it my way, which they won't like-"

"No. HE will go."

The voice came from the second floor balcony. The timber and 
pitch Shane knew from his nightmares. He stopped the shaking 
that threatened to drill him into the floor and turned.

"Father..."

Grant Ivanson stood, a white gloved hand at his hip. The white 
collar of the priesthood stood shocking exclamation against the all 
black of his outfit.

"It's been a while," Grant said, smirking down at his son.

***

The
High
Noon
Symphony

1:0 - The Beautiful Beast

***

"You will fight them."

"Father..." Shane breathed, "I...can't fight them..."

"How can he fight?" Molly shouted at him, "He's just a boy! How 
can you expect him to-"

"He WILL fight," Grant proclaimed, "Or he will LEAVE. If he 
will not fight, then there is no reason for him to stay."

"But..." Molly felt hamstrung by the proclamation.

"Why did you call me, father?" Shane could not look at the man, 
"Why did you want me here?"

"I had a use for you," he answered.

Shane hung his head as he bit back his tears. It was true, then. His 
fears, which he'd held down since receiving the telegram, were 
realized. His father didn't want *him*. His father wanted some 
damned gunman. It never changed with him. His father was no 
different than before...Shane looked back up at the man, an angry 
scowl on his face. The smile on the face of the elder Ivanson faded. 
He reached behind him and tossed something to the boy. Shane 
caught the heavy object easily and looked at the hunk of polished, 
slivery metal in his hands.

"Big Momma..." he breathed reverently.

"You will fight them with that," Grant's voice raised above the 
occasional gunshot.

Ruth pulled her fan to her face to hide her smirk. Molly caught it 
and shot her a dark glance, but said nothing. Molly hated the 
thought of what needed to be done, but realized that, as far as 
Grant Ivanson was concerned, no one else could do it. She just 
hated the feeling of sending Shane out to do her job. Perhaps...

"You can't really expect him to go out against all of them," Molly 
growled at Grant, "There must be ten men out there."

Grant said nothing for a moment, but turned his attention to Ruth.

"He will receive instruction?"

Shane jumped as Ruth's fan snapped closed. An oddly serene look 
crawled slowly across her face. He felt ill and looked for some 
help from Molly, but found only uncertainty.

"But...They're all killers!" Molly shouted at Grant, "He's NOT 
ready..."

Grant smiled again.

"You will go," he said to Shane.

"Why, father?" tears fell from the boy, "Is this why you called me? 
To fight your battles?"

An audible sigh escaped the elder Ivanson.

"You will go because you must go," Grant said tiredly, "There *is* 
no one else. The sheriff is too valuable to the safety of the town, so 
you must go."

Stricken sobs burst from the boy as another bullet whined off the 
table near him. It didn't matter to him, though. The bullet could 
have been a little to the left and taken him from the misery that he 
felt in his life. He wasn't really wanted here; his father just didn't 
want to bloody his own hands. Nothing had changed...

"How could you do this, father?" Shane growled at Grant, "How 
could you ask me to do this?"

Grant simply smiled back, his superior air reeking in Shane's nose. 
Shane jumped slightly as Ruth laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I think I can answer that, Shane..." she turned away from him, 
"Follow me..."

Shane followed numbly as Ruth led him to a door near the back of 
the saloon. Behind the stairs and across from the dusty storeroom, 
she opened the door. In a windowless room, a pair of candles lit 
hard shadows against a figure that knelt next to a bed. The man 
kneeling there stood, but didn't turn.

"She cannot fight," the man said softly.

"She will fight," Ruth said to him.

The tall man turned to one side of the room, a disgusted, hateful 
look on his face. He ran a hand through his white hair and fell 
silent as Ruth entered the room. She turned and beckoned to 
Shane. He looked back at Molly, but was met again by the same 
disgusted look that the tall man had. Shane moved and stood next 
to the bed with Ruth. He gasped at the apparition on the bed. She 
was beautiful, white as the first snow in Boston. Soft white, like 
cream. Her hair was a bluish shade of silver. It shone in the 
flickering light like ice in the sun. Her chest and right arm was 
wrapped in bandages and Shane could see black smudges along her 
perfect, white face, where the bandages covered her right eye. He 
looked up, stunned, to Ruth.

"This is my daughter, Raye," she said calmly, "If you don't fight, 
she will."

The girl opened her left eye and turned to them. Shane was 
captivated by the crystal ruby eye that stared unblinking at her 
mother.

"Raye, you will fight again," Ruth said coldly, "The boy will not 
fight."

Her eye moved from her mother to Shane, who could not return 
her gaze.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, almost a whisper.

Shane gaped as the girl closed her eye and slid her feet from under 
the covers. He could hear the tall man behind him growling 
slightly. If he was so unhappy about this, then why didn't he damn 
well stop it?

"No!" Shane cried, "Don't get up!"

He knelt to her. A thin line of sweat broke out on her forehead 
from the effort. She stopped as she sat up and looked at him 
calmly.

"You're hurt..." he said softly.

"You will not fight," it wasn't a question.

"How can I?" he asked, "If my father only wants me to kill, why 
should I? Why should I bloody my hands for him?"

There was the rumble of what sounded like thunder and a young 
woman burst into the room.

"Miss Kimberley! They're using dynamite!" she shouted, "I think 
they mean to blow up the whole town!"

Molly huffed angrily under her voice.

"Shane," she growled, "Move aside and let Raye go. If you won't 
fight, then she must..."

"No!" he turned to Molly, "How can she or I be expected to kill for 
someone else? I can't fight worth a damn and she's hurt! How can 
we-"

A shockwave ripped near the saloon, shaking the building on its 
very foundations. Shane tried to steady himself with the bed frame, 
but Raye was thrown forward into his arms. Shane held her as the 
building rumbled around them. The rumble died away and he 
heard the adults behind him picking themselves up. It was then that 
he heard Raye whimpering in his arms. He pulled her to arms 
length and froze in horror at the pain etched on her face. Bright 
crimson lines crawled from under the bandage at her one eye and 
mingled with tears from the other. Another shot of pain ran 
through Raye and she cringed against him. She opened an eye at 
him and raised her head to his cheek. Shane could feel the tears 
and blood against his face.

"We fight, not to kill," she whispered, "But to protect those we 
love..."

Shane felt her relax in his arms as her head slid to the nape of his 
neck. Shane sniffed back his own tears and laid her gently back 
onto the bed. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes. It came away with 
her blood. Shane could barely hear himself above the roar in his 
ears.

"All right..." he said, "I'll do it...I'll fight..."

***

"Try not to aim for the Miller's General Store, okay?" Molly 
pointed at the crude map between them, "Mr. Miller keeps kegs of 
gunpowder up front for the miners that pass through and one stray 
shot could make a big boom..."

Shane continued to wipe his hands as Molly told him what *not* to 
shoot at. He glanced to Ruth, on the other side of the bar, who 
deftly loaded bullets into his mother's gun. Big Momma. Shane 
never thought he'd see it again. It had been made for his mother by 
one of her friends. Ruth looked up from oiling the gun and smiled 
at Shane, who looked down again as he tried to concentrate. Others 
had entered the saloon through the back as rumbling explosions 
knocked the air around. The girl that had come into the room 
before, Mary Clark, kept watch at the window on the left side of 
the saloon front. The glass out of the right side was missing, 
probably from the earlier explosion. It was all so surrealistic, 
almost like a dream. Shane looked down at the blood that spattered 
his shirt sleeves and the front of his shirt. No dream. There was a 
sharp snap across from him and he jumped. Ruth smiled and put 
Big Momma back on the bar.

"As I showed you, you have nine shots in the first barrel..." she 
waited for him to continue.

Shane picked up the gun and clicked the slider into place below the 
back chamber of the double chambers.

"Push it forward, and the front chamber is used," he slid the little 
tab forward, "Slide it to the back, and I have a whole new set 
of...Bullets..."

"Don't be such a prude," Ruth tutted at him, "Raye's killed more 
men than you've probably met."

"Shut up, Ruth," Molly spat at her, "Shane, you only have eighteen 
bullets, so no wasting them. Take aim and then fire."

He nodded. He slid Big Momma into her holster at his right leg as 
he got off the bar stool.

"Miss Kimberley," Mary Clark said from her place at the window, 
"The bandits have moved more toward the north end of town..."

"It's time," Molly said.

She then turned to Grant, who had once again taken position at the 
balcony.

"Is there really no other way?"

"No."

Molly turned back to Shane.

"Now or never."

Shane took a breath and went to the door. He looked outside, 
trying to see where the nearest bandit was, and made his way 
silently out the swinging door.

Shane, Molly thought to herself in a desperate prayer, Don't get 
killed out there.